1 False Start March 6, 6 BC. Two gray-haired men in the sunset years of their lives stand in the middle of a large room that has deep blue tapestries as tall and wide as houses hanging from the ceiling three stories in height. In the center of the ceiling there is a domed window twenty feet wide and ten feet high, which allows the sunlight to ignite the sparkling silver-and-gold specks intricately woven into the tapestries depicting the twelve heavenly signs of the zodiac. It is the ornate halls of the Astronomical Sect of the Magi Temple of Babylon, once the mighty capital of the empire by that same name and now a major city of the Parthian Empire. Two masters of that sect continue their debate on a bold action one of them has decided to undertake. One, more than a decade junior to the other, has his hands out, waving in an appeasing manner as he begs the elder to heed him. “Headmaster Farnah, please, you cannot just leave like this. The emperor has not granted us safe passage. You will not have his protection on your journey!” The elder steps forward and puts an affectionate hand on his most trusted colleague and answers with a fatherly tone. “That is why you will not be accompanying me this time, Master Daraya-Vous. Though I am sure the signs’ meanings are clear, Cetus is wily, and until the seed of the woman fulfills his mission, this world is dominated by that serpent’s evil. I will not risk the life of the only other man in our order who understands the signs of the zodiac as well as I. If I am wrong and he tricks me in some subtle way, responsibility then falls to you to continue the watch and look for the coming of the promised one.” Master Daraya-Vous sighs. His shoulders drop and he stares into his mentor’s soft, brown eyes. Like his own, the eyes of Master Vinda-Farnah,
headmaster of the Magi Astronomical Sect, do not easily adjust to the daylight shining through the projection dome. Both men have spent most of their adult lives taking their waking hours during the night, where they have devoted themselves to the study of the tapestry of the stars in the sky, in pursuit of understanding their meaning and their Creator’s message to man. He shakes his head. “It’s just that I do not interpret their meaning the way you do, Master. Jupiter is the king’s planet, and surely that is the promised one to come.1 But why would the Creator announce his birth by putting it in conjunction with Saturn, which represents the evil one?”2 Vinda smiles. “We have been over this many times, Daraya. They are in conjunction inside Pisces, which is the sign of the pouring out of the Creator’s blessings on all mankind because His seed has vanquished the enemy and fulfilled his mission. This happened three times in a six-month period. The Creator is declaring His champion’s victory at his very beginning. That is all.”3 “Yes, Headmaster, I see the reasoning. But we are talking about the birth of a child. The promised seed of the woman. Would any father want to bring up all the conflict his son will go through, including horrific torture and death, while announcing such a joyous occasion? Would you announce your own child’s birth by associating it with his archenemy and all that he will do to him?” Master Vinda-Farnah pauses a moment to reflect on his most accomplished student’s words. He smiles warmly. “Oh Daraya, you attribute too much human sentimentality to the Creator of the universe. I, too, was cautious and thought as you do now. But several days ago, we both saw it! The massing of Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn in Pisces. It is too much to ignore.”4 He sighs, shakes his head solemnly, and puts his hand on Daraya’s shoulder again. “I cannot be swayed from this path, my dear friend. I am an old man, older than even you. Very few ever reach my years in this world. If I don’t seize this opportunity, I feel I will have missed my life’s very purpose. I leave tomorrow at first light. When I get to Jerusalem, I will inquire from their scholars where their sacred scriptures say the promised one will be born, and I will go see for myself the Creator’s promised champion. When I find him, I will send for you.”
Master Daraya objects, but Vinda stays him with a raised hand, turns and walks toward the exit, but stops and looks up to the dome. “Master DarayaVous, please have the first-year Magi apprentices clean the dome today. There are smudges obscuring the sun’s rays on the tapestry’s depiction of the zodiac. It will cause them to misread the signs and hinder them when they graduate to the night watch.” Daraya looks to his mentor. “It will be done, Headmaster VindaFarnah.”
March 18, 6 BC, Tusbun, Capital City of the Parthian Empire Two young men practice their sword skills, one on the other, in the palace courtyard of His Royal Highness, Emperor Phraates IV, ruler of the second largest empire in the world. One is dressed simply as a senior cadet in the royal officers’ corps, but the other wears the distinguished princely apparel and a jeweled kufiya, marking him as the heir apparent to the Parthian throne. The prince, though a skilled swordsman, knows that the cadet, a very gifted fighter, is doing his best not to overwhelm him. Prince Phraates V arcs his thrust in and down after having just blocked an overhead strike from his friend. The thrust almost makes a touch as the cadet blocks it at the ricasso and rain-guard just above the hand. “You are going too easy on me again, Rassan!” says the prince as he jolts back, barely missing a counter thrust after the block. Rassan steps back and holds his sword up to his face and bows in the traditional manner. “Not so, My Prince! You almost had me on that one. It would have been a tie for this match.” Prince Phraates manages a frustrated smirk, takes his sword and imitates the cadet’s gesture and sheaths it. He places an arm around his shoulder and ruffles his hair. “Always the modest one, eh Rassan?” He shakes his head, and they walk to the entrance of the palace. “If I had ten thousand like you, I could push the Romans right back into the sea. Then my father’s empire would exceed that of Alexander the Great’s.” “But then you would have to rule that vast empire someday, My Prince. Remember how hard it was for Alexander’s generals to control all these lands
after his death? Haven’t you told me before that there is a point where more is too much, and too much can ruin even the wisest ruler?” “I should take heed of what I say around you, Rassan. You never forget a word, do you?” Before Rassan can answer, a tall, slender man wearing the robes of a Master Magi of the Magician Sect steps out from behind a pillar just inside the entrance. Rassan notices him first and immediately stops, steps back one pace, and bows his head in recognition of the emperor’s chief advisor. His features have always reminded Rassan of a dark raven, like one would see in the deep deserts of Arabia. He has a pointed chin and nose accentuated by hawkish, dark eyes and thick eyebrows that contrast with his graying facial hair. He first looks to Rassan. “His Eminence Phraates IV has ordered your company to intercept a rogue Magi astronomer attempting to enter the Roman Empire without his permission. You are to leave at once.” Rassan nods stiffly and turns to leave, but the prince holds up his hand. “Hold, Rassan.” Then he turns to the Magi Magician. “Master Dvandas, I know you counsel my father and have certain authorities granted by him in his court. But I was not aware that those extended to interrupting my time with my personal sparring partner, who is also eighty-seventh in line for royal succession! Need I remind you that next to my father I have supreme authority in our empire and when in my presence you must ask me before issuing orders to anyone?!” Master Dvandas cringes at the rebuke, but with a pristine courtly manner gained by years of climbing up the political staircase of the Parthian Empire, he smiles and bows his head. “Forgive my forthrightness, My Prince. I mean no disrespect. It is just that this is a sensitive and urgent matter that must be attended to with all haste.” “Sensitive and urgent? Nonsense! The Astronomical Sect of the Magi frequently sends representatives to the Roman Empire to gather learning from other parts of the world to aid in their studies. What makes this so special?” Master Dvandas holds up a hand in an appealing gesture. “My Prince, it is not the what but the who that is going and the where that makes this a sensitive matter. The who is Master Vinda-Farnah, headmaster of the Magi astronomers, and the where in the Roman Empire is Jerusalem. He quests to