The Divining (50 page)

     "Ulrika says the tunnel is clear."

     Primo scowled. He would rather stand and fight like a man than die like a rat trapped in a sewer. But he would obey.

     "The children and the elderly and the lame are to be carried," Sebastianus said. "Anyone who will hinder our escape. Primo, take several torches and place them along the way as you go, for those behind you."

     Primo and a few soldiers led the way, moving obstructions, setting torches, escorting those who came behind. The rest went down in a hasty but orderly fashion, with men carrying children, strong women supporting the elders. Sebastianus sent soldiers down at intervals, with more torches. Nobody spoke. But Ulrika saw the terror on their faces as they looked into the abyss. "Do not fear," she said, "but hurry. And do not look back. Follow the person in front of you."

     Down they went, one by one, the strong assisting the weak, lowering stretchers and litters into the ground, helping those on crutches and leading the blind. They carried torches and oil lamps. They found the ceiling high enough for them to stand upright and still have room above their heads—clearance enough, Ulrika thought, for the helmets of the king's soldiers long ago.

     Timonides kept watch on the highway. The priests and mounted guards were coming dangerously near. "No more torches," he murmured to Sebastianus, "or they will see."

     When a child began to wail, his mother covered its mouth with her hand and plunged down the stone steps.

     "They are nearly upon us," Timonides said, joining Ulrika and Sebastianus at the tunnel's entrance. "We must hurry."

     Two men bearing a child on a stretcher slipped and dropped the litter. Sebastianus quickly retrieved the child and handed him to one of the men, saying, "Hurry! You must run now!"

     Finally, they were all down, but the palm trees glowed with light from the arriving guards. War horses nickered, armor and weaponry clanked menacingly. "Go down, old friend," Sebastianus whispered to Timonides. "Hurry! They are here!"

     Timonides descended into the tunnel.

     "Now you, Ulrika. Watch for those who have fallen behind. Help them move along."

     She went in and then turned to find Sebastianus, not descending the steps behind her but outside, shifting the stone into place.

     "Sebastianus!" she cried, reaching for him.

     "There is no other way to seal this entrance. I will meet you at the caravan. Do not worry. I will be all right. I love you, Ulrika."

     
"Sebastianus!"

I
DO WISH YOU WOULD
come with us, Rachel dear," the shepherd's wife said. They were the last family to leave the oasis, having decided to take their small flock of sheep to Jericho, where they believed they would be safe from impending war.

     With the increasing presence of Roman military in the past weeks, there was no longer any doubt that fighting was going to break out.

     "Thank you, Mina," Rachel said, "but I will stay."

     As Mina picked up a stray lamb and held it to her ample bosom, she said, "We will miss you. We so enjoyed your stories. Everyone did. What a delight you were to travelers who rested here. I believe you so captivated them that they stayed longer than they normally would have."

     Rachel had enjoyed telling stories to the people who lived at the oasis, as she had told them to a girl named Ulrika years ago. Rachel spun inspirational tales of faith and heroism to an attentive audience of shepherds, date farmers, wheelwrights, and travelers who rested at the oasis.

     "You shouldn't be alone," Mina said, as her husband gestured impatiently
to her. They needed to reach Jericho by nightfall. "Now that Almah is gone, God rest her."

     "I will be all right," Rachel said. "This war will pass and people will come back to the oasis. Go in peace."

     P
RIMO SQUINTED UP AT
the sky and saw, over the stark Judean cliffs, vultures circling.

     She is hiding in there. The woman named Rachel.

     He said nothing to his companions, who were surveying the deserted oasis where, just days ago, several families had lived. Primo had decided that in order to save his master from committing treason by rescuing the widow of an executed criminal, he needed to find her first. When he did, he would kill her, and tell no one. And they could continue on to Rome with Sebastianus in the clear.

     "Rachel and I came here once a week to fetch water and to bathe," Ulrika said, as she looked at the pond that was fed fresh water from an artesian spring. Its surface reflected the surrounding palm and olive trees, and the clear blue sky. "We would visit with the people here, and get the latest news from travelers passing by." She traipsed over the dead grass where tents had been staked. "They don't appear to have been gone long."

     "They left in a hurry," Sebastianus observed, suspecting the reason why. Roman troops had been marching through the valley for weeks, to take residence at the nearby hilltop garrison at Masada. "Do you suppose Rachel went with them?"

     Keeping his eye on the vultures, and determining the landmarks over which they circled, Primo said, "My men and I will search the area. Maybe she is simply hiding."

     He reined in his horse and steered it toward craggy cliffs broken into thousands of wadis, canyons, gorges, and defiles. As his eyes scanned the afternoon landscape, he thought about the strange twists and turns of fate. His master should be on a ship bound for Rome at the moment, not venturing deep into a politically volatile region on a treasonous quest! Primo
knew now that they had not come to rescue a husband and wife, simply the wife.

     They had left Babylon in haste, before the High Priest could change his mind and decide to make martyrs of Judah's followers. While the Gallus caravan had continued westward along the main trade route under the care of Timonides, Sebastianus and Ulrika had followed a southerly road with Primo, six soldiers, and a handful of slaves. The men rode horses while Ulrika rode a camel that had been fitted with a padded saddle for her comfort. They had traveled swiftly and constantly, stopping only to eat and rest, in a hurry to reach Judea before revolt broke out.

     Looking up at the vultures, Primo noted which way their scrawny necks swiveled, the specific spot they seemed to be eyeing. He guided his mare into a rocky defile. Silence hung heavy in these narrow canyons, the only sound being the sharp clip-clop of his horse's hooves. As he inspected a series of small limestone caves, he heard a sound—pebbles avalanching down a rocky incline, as if someone had slipped. Dismounting, he continued on foot into the narrow wadi that grew so tight he had to go in sideways. Steep rocky walls blocked out the sunlight so that the way was dark with just a wedge of blue sky overhead. Primo's sturdy hobnailed sandals crunched over the small rocks littering the canyon floor. He paused to listen, his soldier's instinct telling him that something alive was hiding nearby—a large animal or a person—watching, holding its breath, ready to spring.

     He stepped carefully, inspecting every crack and crevice in the canyon walls. When he took another step, he heard a gasp, and another cascade of pebbles. He looked into a crevasse and saw a dark shape huddled there.

     Primo smiled. He had found Rachel.

     "W
ILL YOU BE ABLE
to find the grave?" Sebastianus asked. "After all, it's been nine years."

     Removing the blue veil from her head and settling it around her shoulders, Ulrika turned in a slow circle as she tried to recall landmarks from her brief stay here. The dun-colored landscape looked unforgiving and lifeless.
Already, the spring flowers had withered and dried up. In the distance, she saw the pale blue ribbon of water that was the sea of salt into which the River Jordan emptied. "I will find it," she said.

     Sebastianus scanned the desolate landscape, the flat valley and steep cliffs dotted with caves, and then brought his eyes back to his wife. Beautiful, strong, determined. How he loved and admired her! How she had used her spiritual gift at Daniel's Castle to save all those people.

     After everyone had gotten down safely in the tunnels Ulrika had discovered, Sebastianus had pushed the stone back into place and then he had gone to confront the High Priest and explain that the citizens had dispersed and wished in no way to offend Marduk. The High Priest had watched Sebastianus with a keen eye and had asked but one question, "Do you intend to stay long in Babylon?"

     "I leave for Rome in the morning."

     The High Priest had swept his eyes over the scene, with its unoccupied tents, scattered bits of food, sputtering oil lamps—evidence of the recent and hasty departure of a large crowd. "Marduk watches over all," he said. "He hopes his people will return to the temple and the beneficence of his supreme power. Safe traveling, Sebastianus Gallus."

     To Sebastianus's amazement, the priests and temple guards had turned and headed solemnly back in the direction of Babylon. Sebastianus realized what had happened. The priests were not going to make martyrs of Judah's followers, because it would give the followers public sympathy.

     Sebastianus wondered if Judah's memory would survive. Although Ulrika had urged everyone to remember him, people would always need temples and idols and priests. He thought of the ancient altar in his homeland, in a place the Romans called Finisterre—"the end of the world." An ancestress named Gaia had built the altar many centuries ago, and there had been a time, Sebastianus was told, when people had come from all over to pay homage at the altar. From as far away as Gaul and the Rhineland, it was said, pilgrims would follow ancient routes in order to pray at the scallop-shell altar. But bandits and brigands had taken to lying in wait for the defenseless wayfarers, to rob them and even kill them, so that pilgrimages to the scallop-shell altar eventually stopped and Gaia's altar was forgotten.

     Would the same happen in Babylon? Would the priests, like those long-ago bandits, succeed in frightening worshippers into abandoning Rabbi Judah?

     P
RIMO DREW HIS SWORD
and raised it to deliver a swift death blow. But the woman rose to her feet, drew the veil back from her gray hair, and said softly, "I pray, noble sir, go in peace. I am not an enemy of Rome."