As everyone watched for the bone to crack and reveal a message from the ancestors, Timonides glanced over to where his son was preparing the night's dinner—a curious dish comprised of long fat threads made from rice flour, called noodles, boiled in a broth and mixed with vegetables and meat. Nestor's round face glowed in the light of his cook fire, a smile on his face as he added spices to the pot. Timonides sent a silent prayer of thanks to the stars. His son was safe. Nestor's crime back in Antioch was behind them, and although the caravan was not far now from its destination—the Imperial Court of China—by the time they returned to Rome, Nestor and Bessas would be forgotten. The gods had clearly forgiven Timonides for falsifying horoscopes, he concluded gratefully. Perhaps they did not blame a man for wanting to protect his son. Pulling his cloak tighter about himself against the chilly spring night, Timonides pondered the miracle of being on the other side of the world.
