Dear and Glorious Physician (69 page)

Lucanus could not refrain from weeping at this letter, and he gave it to Hilell to read. Hilell, beginning to read coldly, ended by being much moved. “Poor man,” he murmured at last. “How embittered and distraught he must be to confide so in anyone.”

He said, “In spite of Pilate’s advice Herod Antipas has appealed to his brother-in-law, Agrippa, in Rome. Agrippa has much influence. Therefore there will be a delay in Antipas’ departure from Jerusalem, until it is decided what power Agrippa has with Caesar. Delays are the formidable arms of princes. There will be no immediate resumption of the persecution of the Christians here; one cannot tell of the future. It depends on their own discretion, which, in fervent men, is lacking. The high priest is in a fury, and sends constant messages to Antipas. Who knows what the future will bring? We can be sure of only one thing: it will bring change, either good or evil.

“I have friends in many places in the world. The Jewish Christians are attempting to proselytize in Damascus, and there is much anger there. So I have heard today. It seems that some of the younger and more fervent disciples of the Christ have arrived in that city, and preach and exhort constantly, bringing their tidings to the very pious Jews there in residence. I have had a letter this morning from my good friend, Saul of Tarsus, a Roman citizen, a member of a noble Jewish house, and a lawyer of much magnitude, and a Roman official. He is going to Damascus to put down the insurrection and disorders in the city. He takes his Roman duties seriously. He had intended to visit me here, but business at the last moment, in the law courts, prevented it. Saul is a man of no meager power, and he is stern. I fear for the Christians in Damascus.”

Lucanus considered this with anxiety. Then, as he pondered, he was suddenly exhilarated and mysteriously consoled. “Do not worry,” he said, and wondered at his own words. “All will be well.”

“I do not like platitudes,” said Hilell, smiling, “for I am a logical man with no particular optimism. But when you say, ‘All will be well’, then I feel that you speak with the tongues of angels, and not with the tongues of men.”

Hilell wished to provide Lucanus with an escort to Nazareth and Galilee. But Lucanus refused, with gratitude. He needed only a sturdy, powerful horse, capable of climbing on short legs. He would spend many nights on the road in taverns. Hilell was horrified. Even knowing Lucanus as he did, it seemed incredible of him that a Roman citizen of a noble family, a physician of considerable wealth, a friend of Caesar’s, should travel like a common man. “I am not trying to be humble,” said Lucanus, smiling. “I wish only to move fast without encumbrances, and to see the country.”

The horse Hilell produced was Arabian of a calm disposition and accustomed to long journeys and dust and mountains. Lucanus fastened his physician’s pouch to the saddle, a blanket, and his painting materials. Hilell insisted on providing a basket of fine foods and wines. Lucanus would wrap his head in cloth against the blasting sun and wear a heavy mantle to cover his legs. With misgivings Hilell bade him farewell, shaking his head. Lucanus cantered away, waving his hand to his friend.

It was early morning. He left Jerusalem; the air was already hot. The fresh horse trotted briskly. They crossed the River Cedron over a stone bridge. The sky possessed a deep golden color, and this was reflected in streaks and shadows on the quiet, narrow waters, with its ripples of brighter gold; the banks were guarded by black pointed cypresses. Hilell had advised going by way of Bethany and Jericho, so that Lucanus would approach the River Jordan, following it to Galilee, which Lucanus would visit first. Lucanus soon found himself in a wilderness, desolate, reddish brown, treeless, the earth tangled with high thistles, all surrounded by low flat hills the color of brass shimmering with heat. The rough and narrow road was empty, for it was one little taken, others preferring the longer way on the Via Mare near the sea. Sometimes Lucanus passed a lonely Roman fortress, from the tops of which soldiers peered at him curiously. Once he was halted and challenged by an officious officer, who could not understand how a humbly clad man could be in possession of such a fine horse and on such a road. When Lucanus revealed his identity the officer was more puzzled than ever, but respectful. He invited Lucanus to take wine with him, and as Lucanus was now thirsty he accepted and entered the cool depths of the fortress and sat on a stone bench to drink wine with the young officer. Upon an inquisitive question, Lucanus replied that he was going to visit Tiberias. The officer noted his splendid rings and said, “Though no Jew would ever attempt to rob you, not even the barbarian Samaritans, there will be mean, poor caravans on the road who will not hesitate to cut your throat for those rings.” So Lucanus put them in his pouch.

When he was on his way again he did encounter one or two small caravans of camels and asses and men with dark fierce faces who stared at his horse. But Lucanus stared back at them; he was of high stature, and there was a sword at his belt, and his blue eyes were cold and unafraid.

He arrived at Bethany, dancing in wavering heat waves. The tight little streets were stepped and floating in yellow dust, and the people moved about noisily chattering and arguing, their stern faces dark with the sun, their heads protected by headcloths of black, white, or brown, with dusty robes of the same color. The tiny shops boiled with people, all of whom appeared irritated, and dogs barked, and children played on the steps of the climbing streets, and women with jars on their heads stopped to gossip. A heavy smell of roasting meat, acrid wine, herbs and garlic and offal hung over the little town, and Lucanus was happy to be out of it within a short time. Then he was in the wilderness again. The mountains changed, became dull, terra cotta in color, with outcroppings of clustered villages of a whitish gray upon them. The plains about Lucanus were forsaken, with an infinitely solitary and lonely air, scorched and empty; an occasional sticklike dusty palm battled for its wretched life on the brown and crumbling soil which was scattered with black boulders. Scrub and half-dead bushes, matted with the pervading thistles, and rearing masses of cacti only increased the melancholy of the wild scene. And the sun, like a brazen orb, hurled down its cataracts of unbearable light.

At noon Lucanus suddenly came upon an intensely blue pool of water in the wasteland, fed by an underground spring. To his delight, green-yellow young willows nodded about it and swept their fragile golden branches in the hot air. He tied up his horse, after it had drunk its thirsty fill of the cool water, and gave it a bag of oats. Then he sat down in the shade of the willows and opened his basket of food. He ate a portion of delicious roast fowl, stuffed with breaded herbs and onions, some oaten cakes which he covered with honey, and two rich pastries. He drank Hilell’s excellent wine, which he had taken care first to place in the cool water. It was like sitting in the center of a mirage, with the savage and barren land all about him, and the stony hills fuming with heat and dust in the near distance. He saw no living creature anywhere; a huge silence lay on the earth and the hills. He found himself drowsing, shook his head, and mounted his horse again.

He took care to keep to the road outside of Jericho, but he could see the town itself, all crowding, two-storied brown houses pierced with clumps of cypresses, sweltering in the heat, and even at this distance clamorous with voices. Now he encountered herds of sheep, browsing on the tawny grass, and shepherds with somber faces, or numerous goats guarded by sweating and noisy children. He urged on his horse towards the River Jordan, for night came swiftly in this land, and Hilell had told him of an inn near the river. Almost imperceptibly the land began to grow more fertile; an occasional mount bore terraces upon it, enclosing little patches of green grass or palm or olive trees, and even some fruit. Vineyards threw out their fragrance on the dry hot air. Lucanus climbed a barren mount, stones falling about him loudly in the silence. He reached the top, and there below him lay the narrow and winding Jordan, impossibly green, bordered with willows and tall refreshing trees. Smelling water, the horse bounded down the mount and increased his speed.

Upon reaching the high banks of the river, Lucanus dismounted, and man and horse slipped and clambered down the warm wet earth to the water. The horse drank deeply; Lucanus bathed his head, face, and hands. A sweetness of fertility lay on the emerald river, which wound sharply into the distance. Little farms stood near it, the white houses clear in the sun or sheltered by trees and cypresses. From this spot even the pervading mountains had a less stricken and terrible aspect. A child, with a flock of geese, approached Lucanus, staring at him inquisitively with great black eyes. Lucanus greeted the little girl kindly; she hesitated, then replied in Aramaic with the accent of the Samaritans. He beckoned to her, wishing to give her one of the sweetmeats in his basket, but she did approach nearer. She thought him a Judean, and the Samaritans were always in a quarrel with their fellow Jews, thinking them too cultured, too superior, and playing tricks upon them during the holidays, such as lighting fires on the mountains to confuse the priests. Suddenly she laughed shrilly, stuck her tongue out at him with impudence, and ran off with her geese, who hissed and squawked behind her.

Lucanus, mounting again, followed the incredibly winding river, and refreshed his senses with the small farms, the sound of cattle and sheep, the twittering of many bright birds in the dark green trees, the golden fields of barley and oats and wheat in the falling light, and the pleasant white, square farmhouses with their gay gardens. The sides of the mountains were cultivated here; they looked as though colorful Persian rugs, gigantic and many-hued, had been tossed on them. Now the light fell more rapidly. The river changed to running gold between its banks; the sky flushed to scarlet and jade over the mountains. The air became cooler.

Then Lucanus found the inn near the river, with a cobbled courtyard made of gleaming black stone. The inn was small but clean, and the landlord greeted Lucanus with pleasure, noting his horse. Not even Lucanus’ unaccented Aramaic annoyed him, or chilled his Samaritan heart. He did not often shelter travelers with such horses, and Lucanus’ manner, at least, assured the landlord that here was no poverty-stricken man. He was so pleased at having this visitor that he decided not to charge him more than three times the regular fee for food and shelter. He led Lucanus to a small neat room facing the river, and assured him that he would find the bed comfortable and untroubled by fleas or lice. Lucanus looked at the bare white wood of the floor and nodded.

He sat down wearily on the bed and yawned. The inn was filled with the hoarse voices of men and their loud laughter. Horses stamped in the stable. Feet sounded on the stones of the courtyard; a serving girl or two laughed merrily. Through the rough lattices that covered the one little window a scent of fertile earth and grapes and manure invaded the room, accompanied by the good smell of roasting goat meat and baking bread, and thick, spicy soup. A maidservant, without knocking on the door, brought Lucanus a pitcher of hot water, a bowl, and a rough brown linen towel. He gave her a coin, and she was so surprised and delighted that she favored him with an arch giggle and examined him more closely. His appearance pleased her, though his fair skin was hot and red and burned from the sun. She curtsied and left him, and went down to the kitchen to talk of the strange gentleman who had given her such a rich coin.

Lucanus opened the lattices and looked at the blood-red sky over the mountains; he heard the murmurous voice of the river, talking to itself among its trees and willows. He carefully washed his face, wincing, and anointed his burning flesh. He then went down a steep little flight of stone stairs to the common dining room, where at least ten travelers were already seated. A huge stone fireplace crackled with lighted wood, and on a spit meat slowly turned, and a girl basted it with its fat droppings. The floor of the room was flagged, the walls white plastered. The other travelers fell silent at the sight of Lucanus, their swarthy faces becoming watchful as they tried to place him as a Judean, a Galilean, a Samaritan. They had put aside their headcloths, and their hair had been rudely combed; their eyes glistened in the mingled firelight and lamplight.

He greeted them carefully in Aramaic. At first they did not answer him; they shrugged and exchanged glances. Then they replied, warily. The Galileans were almost as fair as he, and many of the Judeans. But he did not have a Jewish appearance, for all his perfect speech. Now the glistening eyes became suspicious. He smiled at them, but they did not smile in return. He thought anxiously of his pouch upstairs, with his rings. He had locked his door, but thieves were never detained by locks. He remembered old Cusa and his skill, and smiled again. The men did not speak for some time; they felt an alien presence. The men glanced at Lucanus’ poor clothing, and were puzzled. He had an air of assurance and calm, in spite of his clothing. They had already heard of his fine horse. He was mysterious, with his princely manner, and they did not like mysteries.

A silence brooded over the once vociferous table. The soup was thick and good, laden with spices and herbs, and filled with bits of boiled flour and meat. The travelers ate in morose quiet, peeping occasionally at Lucanus, who was enjoying his meal. The servants, who had heard of his generosity, served him first and with deference, hoping for more largesse. He received the tenderest pieces of the roast goat and the juiciest share of a boiled fowl. The wine was execrable, but his goblet was kept filled. His plate was constantly replenished with the ripest dates and many little salt olives and boiled vegetables. One of the maids, with a flourish, cut open a cactus fruit and elaborately spooned out the soft interior for him so that he would not be wounded on the thorns of the skin. All this the travelers noted with mingled resentment and heightened hostility and suspicion. Lucanus ate hungrily. At the conclusion of the meal he opened his purse and deposited what was considered an enormous gratuity on the table beside his plate. The travelers stirred and looked at each other.

One of them, an arrogant bearded man with angry eyes, spoke bluntly. “Who are you, Master?”

“I?” said Lucanus, surprised. “I am a physician, Lucanus by name.”

“A Roman?” The query was full of contempt.

“No. A Greek.” Lucanus smiled.

“You speak Aramaic well, Master.”

“I speak many languages.” For the first time Lucanus was aware of the hostility.

“You wear a sword. Is it customary for physicians to wear swords?”

“In a peaceful country?” added another.

Lucanus looked at his sword, and then at the threatening faces. “I am an excellent swordsman,” he said, quietly. “I was the best athlete in Alexandria.”

No one answered him, but all of them glowered. Then one finally spoke, uneasy at the cold blue steadiness of Lucanus’ eyes. “We are a peaceable people. We dislike weapons.”

Lucanus shrugged. “I sleep with my sword in my hand,” he said, and rose.

He had had the thought of wandering about on foot after dining. He abandoned the idea. He went to his room and carefully locked his door and the lattices. He took his sword from its sheath and laid it on the bed. He was suddenly exhausted. He lay down and was instantly asleep. He kept his lamp burning.