The Divining (45 page)

     "Create that image in your mind as you hold onto this spoon. Focus on it. Make it real in your mind. Now whisper words that hold meaning for you. Repeat them, over and over."

     Timonides studied the spoon in his hands, his shoulders curved and
bent. Then he nodded, as if he had come to an agreement with himself. "Stars are destiny," he murmured.

     Ulrika showed him how to breathe, to sway, to focus. She spoke softly, instructing him, her simple words and subdued voice guiding him into a sensitive realm. "As you hold onto the anchor, send your spirit out ..."

     But even as she spoke, she saw his eyes moving behind his eyelids, the creases growing deep in his forehead, and she knew he was struggling.

     "I cannot!" he finally cried in exasperation. "Dear child, this is not going to work!"

     But she saw how lovingly he caressed the spoon, and she sensed the hope within him. Timonides did not want to kill himself, he did not want to join his son in an imagined hell. But how to save him?

     Ulrika thought for a moment as she watched, in the distance, a new caravan arriving from the west, a line of weary beasts and men entering the terminus. And it came to her that her personal meditation was designed to find external places. Timonides's sickness was of the spirit. It was internal. With renewed hope, she said, "Do not try to send your spirit out, Timonides. Instead, go deep inside yourself. Find the landscape of your soul. Explore it. Do not be afraid. Tell me what you see."

     He closed his eyes again, clasped the spoon, bringing it up to his chest. Breathing slowly. Swaying. Whispering, "Stars are destiny ... stars are destiny ..." Until he began to tremble and the chanting ceased. The breath stopped in his chest as Ulrika watched.

     "Blackness," he said in a tight voice. "I see a large gaping hole. Cold winds. Isolation. My soul is lost and lonely!"

     "Timonides," Ulrika said gently. "Hold a silent dialogue with your soul. Do not reveal it to me. Talk to your spiritual self. Ask questions. Ask what it wants, how it can be saved."

     As she watched the old astrologer withdraw deeper into himself, his posture relaxing, the wrinkles easing on his face, Ulrika saw Sebastianus walking back through the camp, a scowl on his face. He was alone. He had not found an astrologer who would come with him.

     Ulrika placed a fingertip at her lips, so that Sebastianus joined her and Timonides without making a sound.

     After a few more moments of silence, Timonides finally opened his eyes and said, "I cannot do it. Ulrika, it is easy for you. You are young and agile. But my soul is old and creaks like my joints."

     She leaned forward. "Many times I watched how you prepared yourself for a star-reading. I saw you close your eyes and whisper a prayer. Why did you do that?"

     "To open my soul to the stars, to let their wisdom pour in."

     "Then do so now."

     With a doubtful look, he settled back on the stool, firmed his grip on the spoon, closed his eyes and took the first deep, cadenced breaths. "Stars are destiny," he whispered, and told himself he was preparing to do a reading. But rather than journey inward to his soul, as Ulrika suggested, Timonides knew he must send his thoughts outward and up to the sky, for that was where he belonged. As he slowed his breathing and imagined the aroma of bubbling stew and felt the precious wooden spoon in his hands, the old astrologer felt himself relax, gradually, giving up the stress and strains of his fleshly life so that his spirit could be set free and soar up to the heavens he had so loved all his life.

     Soon, Timonides was flying among the forty-eight constellations, familiar friends now seen close up: boastful Orion, bested by a small scorpion and frozen forever in the heavens with his club raised, doomed never to fall. Andromeda, the chained virgin to whom Timonides now uttered the famous words of Perseus, her rescuer: "Such chains must only bind you to the hearts of lovers." And Cassiopeia, placed upon her celestial throne by spiteful Neptune, who had seated her there with her head towards the north star so that she spent half of every night upside down.

     Timonides mounted winged Pegasus and rode the four winds. They neared the sun and Timonides felt the blessed radiance on his unworthy face. He saw an icy comet streak past. He tasted the moon's sweet dew.

     He began to cry. So much beauty. So much divinity. And he had sullied it. For the sake of filling his miserable stomach he had soiled everything he loved and held dear. Cherished beliefs and heavenly bodies were cast aside for fear of a salivary stone.

     "I am sorry!" he cried out as meteors and planets raced past him. "Forgive me!" he shouted as asteroids hurtled all around him. "Perseus, Hercules,
I did not mean to disrespect you! I am but a humble man, a web of weaknesses and fears and dreads. I am nothing compared to your greatness. Give me a second chance, I beg of you!"

     And then he saw the sparkling nebula, a cloud of compassion and color—the collective consciousness of the void—materialize before his eyes. It rolled toward him like a fog, obliterating stars, planets, sun, and moon until Timonides was engulfed in pure sweetness. He felt every fear and dread melt from his body as if his very flesh were dropping from his bones. He wept with joy.

     He lingered there, riding the cosmic winds, while his two earthbound companions kept their eyes on him. He no longer swayed. He had ceased his chant. He appeared almost not to breathe. Time passed. Camels and men also passed. The business of the caravan terminus carried on as it had for centuries, while Ulrika and Sebastianus sat vigil with their vulnerable friend during his spirit-walk.

     The sun was beginning its westward descent when Timonides finally opened his eyes and blinked at his companions in brief confusion.

     "Are you all right?" Ulrika said, scanning his face, looking for signs of mental disorder. But his color was good, his skin dry, his eyes wide and unclouded. She wanted to feel his pulse but held back, fearing that touching him would break his spell.

     "I am thirsty ..." His voice as thin as smoke.

     Sebastianus brought the astrologer a cup of cool water, which Timonides gulped down like a man who had just wandered in from the desert. He drew his hand across his mouth, frowning. Ulrika knew that he was readjusting to the physical world. She would not press him for word of his journey. He needed to come around in his own time.

     "It was most wondrous," Timonides finally whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I would not have believed it possible. Ulrika, through this focused meditation, I learned things. The gods revealed secrets to me. Is this how it is, this meditation? Does it make one a conduit to the Divine? They spoke to me ..."

     He held out the cup and Sebastianus refilled it. After another long drink, Timonides said to Ulrika, "The secrets which the gods revealed to me must remain secrets, for that is part of my holy office as an astrologer. But they
gave me another gift. They illuminated my inner self. And what I saw, I knew I must reveal to you, my friends."

     He turned to Sebastianus. "Nestor's death was a punishment on me, master, not on him but on me. My son died in terrible agony because of my transgressions. He was innocent. Even when he beheaded Bessas in Antioch, he was innocent."

     Sebastianus exchanged a startled look with Ulrika.

     Timonides explained briefly what had happened in Antioch. "And then Nestor himself was killed by his having head trampled upon. I had thought it was divine retribution, a head for a head. But Nestor did not know what he was doing. I see that now. Ulrika, I explored the stars and this is what I learned: that the gods were not punishing Nestor, they were punishing me."

     Sebastianus frowned. "I do not understand, old friend. What are you talking about? Why were the gods punishing you?"

     "Forgive me, master, for the terrible things I am about to tell you! But I can no longer carry this burden. I must clear my conscience so that I may clear my soul. When Nestor brought me the head of Bessas the holy man, I did not tell you. I then falsified your horoscope so that you would leave Antioch at once, before the authorities came for my boy. Worse, by bringing Nestor along on the caravan I made you an accomplice to a capital crime. You were giving aid to a fugitive, which meant a death sentence for you as well, should we be caught."

     Sebastianus stared at the old man for a moment, his brow knotting in surprise. "It is all right, old friend. I understand."

     "There is more! I lied about your horoscopes. All of them! On that first day when Ulrika came into our caravan camp outside Rome, I lied about the message in the stars because I wanted to keep her with us, out of my own selfish interests. I thought the salivary stone might come back. And I kept lying! I kept falsifying my readings for this reason and that, always for myself. I saw a terrible calamity in your future, yet I did not warn you. But no catastrophe befell you, and so I knew it must be the gods punishing me with misreadings. I kept promising the gods that I would stop and then Nestor killed Bessas and I had to keep falsifying the readings. Oh master, in Antioch the stars said that you were to go south with Ulrika but I told you that we were to go east at once to Babylon."

     Sebastianus's expression turned to stone, his silence deepened, and Ulrika saw that he barely breathed.

     "I perverted astrology to suit my own selfish needs," Timonides continued, "and in this way the fates drove my son to commit a crime. It is my fault! I alone am responsible for the death of Bessas the holy man, just as I am guilty of sacrilege and offense to the gods by using the stars to my own gain! Forgive me, master." Timonides slid from his stool, fell to his knees, and grabbed Sebastianus's ankles. "Please tell me you forgive me!"

     Sebastianus stared down at Timonides, while the wind picked up, bringing sounds of the city and river traffic, the smells of cook fires and beasts sweating from travel. Men's shouts, the noise of blacksmiths' hammers, the braying of mules—all flew on the air while Sebastianus Gallus stared at his old astrologer and the import of what Timonides had confessed sank in.

     Finally, in a wooden voice, Sebastianus said, "I forgive you."

     "Thank you, master!" Timonides cried, sobbing with relief. Lifting himself from his knees, he dashed tears from his cheeks and took a seat on his stool. "Your forgiveness is my reward. And I have been rewarded with something else, too. I know now what I should have known all along. That when Nestor's soul was brought before the gods for judgment, they would not have seen a man who had committed murder but a sweet, pure, simple soul. The gods knew that Nestor was innocent! And for this reason, he is not in Hell but in Heaven, in the bosom of divine protection."

     He turned to Ulrika. "Dear child, I knew this, and yet I kept this knowledge from myself. What a wondrous thing this meditation is, for the answers to my agony were within me all along! You have given me a precious gift that I will not use frivolously."

     He jumped to his feet, shouted, "I shall give you an honest reading now, master," and dashed inside the tent.

     Ulrika turned to Sebastianus.

     Pain shot through her heart. She tried to think of words. Tried to find a way to comfort him. But all she could do was lay her hand on his arm, to let him know she was there, that she loved him.

     For on Sebastianus's face was the look of a man whose faith had been utterly shattered.

T
HEY KISSED IN THE
shadow of the Ishtar Gate.

     It was not a farewell kiss; they would be apart for only a short time. Sebastianus was going to meet with the supreme astrologer in Babylon, and Ulrika had an urgent errand at Daniel's Castle.

     Tomorrow they were departing for Rome.

     Two weeks had passed since the day of Timonides's startling confession—a day that had set Sebastianus Gallus on a quest of obsession. Needing to restore his faith in the cosmos—to undo the terrible damage wrought by an astrologer's astonishing admission, Sebastianus had embarked on a mission, meeting with every soothsayer, star-reader, and seer in the city. Ulrika had been at his side, trying to help, offering to guide him through the same meditation that had set Timonides free. But Sebastianus was not interested in answers that lay within himself. He sought answers that lay in the heavens.

     "I wish you would wait, Ulrika," Sebastianus said now as they stood at the base of the massive city gate through which kings and conquerors once
passed. "The priests of Marduk do not yet know of Judah's grave, that he was not cremated with the others. But if they hear of it, they will send guards. Wait until I have seen the Chaldean."

     "I will be all right," she said. "Primo is taking me. And I will have Timonides with me. You do not know how long you will be with the Chaldean, and I am anxious to talk to Miriam. From what I have heard, they need to be urged to leave Daniel's Castle at once, and I think she will listen to me. This time tomorrow, my love, we will be far from this place and on our way home."