The Divining

     As she thought of Sebastianus, Ulrika felt her heart turning toward him as a flower turned to the sun. She knew she was falling in love with this handsome man who had come flying out of the forest like a hero from myth,wielding a massive sword as he cut down, one by one, her savage assailants. That image, imprinted on her brain, was as vivid as if he were at that moment fighting off enemies, his sword whistling through the air as he protected her with his strength and power.

     But she knew that such a love was a luxury that could never be hers. Sebastianus was bound for the ends of the earth, while she herself was on her own personal path.

     As she and Nestor and their companions mounted the temple steps, Ulrika thought of the many shrines and holy places she had visited since leaving Colonia, to light incense, offer sacrifice, and ask each god to illuminate her. If her gift came from the gods, she reasoned, then it was they who must instruct her in what to do next.

     She purchased a small white bird from the dove vendor on the temple steps, giving him a copper coin and receiving the assurance that the bird was perfect and free of blemish. As she took the small cage from the vendor, Ulrika saw a young man standing next to him—a youth who had not been there a moment before. Ulrika waited, listened, and then the vision faded.

     It frustrated her. She had experienced several such visual and auditory spells during the return trip to Rome, and they were all random and without meaning. Perhaps, she thought with hope as they reached the main entrance at the top of the marble stairs—perhaps compassionate Minerva will show the way.

     They entered the dim interior and saw a large sanctuary stretch before them—a circular hall fringed with white columns, a shining marble floor, with lamps hanging from the ceiling, and at the opposite end, the goddess herself, larger than life, seated on a throne. Priests were lighting incense and chanting while citizens handed over their offerings of doves and lambs.

     Ulrika paused inside the entrance, to calm her mind, to open her heart to whatever message the goddess might send, and her companions halted also, looking around at the magnificent marble walls and domed ceiling and thinking that the goddess of poetry and music, healing and sewing—but most of all, the goddess of wisdom—must be very influential indeed.

     A portly priest in a white robe and smelling of oils and incense, approached. "How may the Goddess help you, dear visitors?"

     His voice was softly feminine, his eyes kind and smiling. "I have come seeking guidance on a personal problem," Ulrika said, and she handed him the caged dove.

     "You have come to the right place, dear lady, for Minerva is the Goddess of Nearness, and she is near you now, to hear your prayer. Come this way."

     As he turned, a ring of keys jingled at his belt, and Ulrika wondered if the prophecy of the Egyptian seer were about to come true.

     But the priest neither offered her a key nor unlocked a door as he took her and her companions to a quiet alcove where Minerva was depicted in mosaic tiles above an altar. To Ulrika's astonishment, the priest opened the cage and allowed the dove to fly free. She had expected him to slaughter it, as most gods demanded. Instead, they watched it flutter and circle and then fly out of the temple and toward the sunlight.

     The priest smiled. "That is a good sign. Doves are the messengers of the gods. Minerva has heard your prayer."

     "How will I hear her answer?"

     The priest stepped up to the altar, where Ulrika now saw a series of scrolls lined up, each with a different color ribbon. "Choose," he said.

     She pointed to the one tied with a blue ribbon.

     He opened it, and read out loud, softly, "Your lungs are in a hurry. It is as if they are in a chariot race." Then, to Ulrika's surprise, he rolled the parchment up and re-tied the ribbon, replacing the scroll on the altar.

     "That's all?" she said.

     "The Goddess heard your prayer and guided your hand. That is her answer."

     "But what does it mean?"

     "The gods speak to us in their own language. Sometimes interpretation is elusive and does not come to us right away." He bowed slightly, said, "Minerva's blessings," and left.

     They descended the steps and entered the busy marketplace again, Ulrika's companions thinking of the approaching midday meal, Ulrika puzzling over the goddess's cryptic message, and Nestor eyeing a bowl containing round, shiny objects that he thought he would like to take with him.

     Ulrika did not see the blind beggar squatting in the shadow of Minerva'stemple, did not see Nestor suddenly reach down and grab a handful of coins that generous citizens had tossed into the beggar's bowl.

     It happened quickly: the man shot to his feet, shouting, "You dare to steal from a cripple! And a blind one at that!" And before she could react, his blind man's staff, which kept him from bumping into buildings, went up in the air and came down with a resounding crack on Nestor's head.

     Nestor fell. He started to cry. The pain was more than he could bear. Why had the man hit him? And then Reeka was there, grabbing the staff as it started to come down again, stopping it, protecting Nestor from his attacker, saying to the man, "He has the mind of a child, do not strike him again. And who are you to accuse of theft, when you yourself steal from good citizens by pretending to be blind?"

     And then she was on her knees and speaking soothingly to Nestor, touching his head where it hurt, where blood now trickled. But the pain went away beneath Reeka's gentle touch. The fragrance of her hair and clothes entered his nose and filled his head in the way food aromas did. He felt better. His tears and fears subsided as he listened to her soft voice and felt her tender touch.

     He wanted her to hold him in her arms and never let go. Nestor, who had only ever known two emotions in his life, now felt a third settle into his heart like a radiant sunflower.

     Nestor had fallen in love.

     SEBASTIANUS WAS AT THE CARAVAN CAMP, conducting trade with a wine merchant, when he saw Ulrika and her party return. Nestor's head was bandaged, and Ulrika herself was looking distraught.

     Sebastianus went to meet them. "What happened?"

     As Ulrika recounted the incident to him, he saw afternoon sunshine glow in her blue eyes. He noticed the way the long honey-colored hair seemed to peek teasingly from beneath her palla, and how the blue of her soft linen gown brought out the hues of her eyes. He was acutely aware ofthe rise and fall of her bosom as she spoke in one breath about false cripples and the honesty of the i

     Sebastianus knew he could easily fall in love with her. He desired her. He wanted to make love to her. But he was not free to do so. In Rome they would say good-bye.

     "Hoy there!" came voices from the crowd. They saw an anxious Timonides hurrying toward them. "Terrible news, master!" the astrologer shouted.

     "What is it?"

     "It is Emperor Claudius," Timonides said breathlessly as he drew near. "He is dead!"

     "Dead!" Ulrika cried.

     "Assassinated, according to rumor. But, master, they are saying that Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus has been proclaimed his successor, and that he is systematically destroying all who were closely co