Dear and Glorious Physician (30 page)

The ship halted at various brilliantly colored ports during the day, but Lucanus did not come up to see them. It was as if life had become a terrible, hurting thing to him again, as if all his wounds had begun to fester with new infection. His struggles with himself had reached the unbearable state. I cannot love again! he would cry in himself. Love is fetters and chains; love is death. Love is a binding to a hearth, and the fire in the hearth destroys a man’s peace.

Greece did not lure him; he sat below in his hot little room, empty-eyed and with his hands clasped between his knees. “At least, you should glimpse the home of our people,” Cusa urged him, with mingled impatience and concern. But Lucanus only shook his head. “If you would tell me what tears your soul ...” Cusa began. And Lucanus only shook his head again. “You do not eat,” said Cusa. “I have brought my own wine, my precious wine, and you barely sip it.” Lucanus was silent.

One day the sea and air were so calm that the sails dropped and drooped, and the sun was a fury. The ship went on more slowly, as the galley slaves were now the only means of propulsion. At twilight the ship was like a wandering moth on the flat and heliotrope floor of the ocean, and the wake hissed with a barely audible sound. Then Lucanus, on the deck, heard the deep and dolorous chanting of the slaves, and it seemed to him that it was an extension of the misery in himself. They must sing so all the time, he thought. I have not heard it before! I have been thinking selfishly of my own pain. As he thought this, and turned about, he saw some men climbing up the ladder from the lower deck, weightily carrying a naked black man. They pushed the body over the rail, and it sank with a faint splash into the sea.

The slaves watched it disappear, then they lifted amulets hung about their necks to their lips and scurried below. Death came to ships as well as to towns, thought Lucanus. He remembered that he had vaguely heard that ominous sound of a body being consigned to the sea on other twilights. He frowned. Then he went in search of the captain, who was sitting in his own room below with some of his junior officers. He looked up at Lucanus as the latter entered, and Lucanus saw that the broad face was anxious and angry. But the captain rose and smiled.

He said, heartily, “I thought I had offended you, Lucanus. You have not spoken twice to me since we sailed from Alexandria. Will you dine with me?”

“Thank you. But I have dined, Gallo.” Lucanus hesitated, searching the man’s face. “I have just seen a body thrown into the sea. Am I wrong in believing I have heard burials several times lately?”

The captain paused. He glanced at his officers with dark furtiveness, then smiled wider. “Ah, there are always a few deaths on a long journey such as this,” he said. “Bring wine,” he said imperatively to his officers. “Not such excellent wine as yours, Lucanus,” he added to the young Greek. “But adequate, I trust.”

He beamed at Lucanus and offered him the broad seat near the porthole. The captain’s room was hot and stifling; the walls were hung with maps. On a wooden table stood his sextant and a diagram of the stars. Lucanus sat down. There was a curious dry smell in this closed air, and he suddenly recognized it as spice and incense and medicinal herbs. He then noticed that these were burning in a small lamp on the table. A large lantern swayed smokily from the ceiling.

An officer brought in a jug of wine and some goblets, and the captain and his officers and Lucanus drank slowly. For some reason there was an odd, taut silence in the cabin, and Lucanus’ physician’s soul began to stir. He studied the faces of Gallo and the others; they were definitely shut and secretive. The ship barely rocked; it seemed to be moving in thick oil. The chanting of the slaves was closer and shriller.

Then Lucanus said quietly, “Tell me, Gallo.”

The captain looked at him in pleasant surprise. “And what shall I tell you, Lucanus?”

Lucanus gazed at him steadily for a few moments. “You have forgotten, Gallo. I am a physician.” He looked then at the fuming lamp significantly, but he did not miss the quick interchange of glances between the captain and his officers.

“Ah, so you are,” said Gallo, brightly. “And I have not forgotten.” He nodded to the officers, and they left the cabin. But when they had gone Gallo was in no haste to speak. He stared into his goblet, then refilled it, closed his eyes, and pretended to be absorbed in the wine’s bouquet and taste, which were inferior.

Then he said, “I am glad you stay apart, Lucanus, and that you have not mingled with the other passengers. After all, you are our most important cargo.”

“It comes to me, Gallo, that I have seen nothing of the other passengers, though I confess that I have not been seeking their company.”

“They stay below at my suggestion.” Gallo put down his goblet and bent over the diagram on the table.

“Plague?” said Lucanus, softly.

It was as if he had not spoken for a minute or two. Then Gallo pushed aside his diagram and leaned his chin in his palm. “You may have noticed that we have missed a few ports of call,” he said. Then he slapped his hand on the table, and he was no longer smiling. “I should have told you before for your own protection, but then you were never among others. Yes, it is the plague. We are flying a yellow flag now, which you have probably not noticed. The ports will not let us put in when they see that flag. But there have been only a few cases, and those among the galley slaves.” He sighed. “The cursed East! All the troubles of Rome have come from there. When we reach home we will not be permitted to land until we have been free from the plague for at least a week. That is the law.”

“I am a physician,” repeated Lucanus.

“We carry a ship’s doctor,” said Gallo, annoyed. “You are a passenger. You are not at my service. You are the son of Diodorus Cyrinus.

What would happen to me if I exposed you to danger, or if you caught the plague and died?” His hazel eyes sparkled with umbrage. “I have told you: only the slaves are afflicted, and we keep them locked up far below decks. Last night we did not have a death. It is unfortunate that you saw the burial in the sea tonight. Lucanus, they are only slaves and dogs and criminals,” he added reasonably.

Lucanus thought of the faceless wretches in the hold, chained together, sweltering and sick and dying. He said, abruptly, “Summon your physician.”

The physician was a tired and middle-aged man, a Gaul with darting dark eyes, and a slave himself. “This is my own physician, Priam, Lucanus,” said Gallo.

Priam looked at Lucanus and bowed.

“It is plague on board?” said Lucanus.

“It is only the galley slaves,” said Gallo, impatiently. “But now that you know, Lucanus — and I feared to let you know — I shall order one of these fumigating lamps sent to your own cabin. Your Cusa already knows; he keeps himself and his wife and babe locked up now in his own cabin, except when he serves you. I ordered him, as captain and the absolute authority on this ship, not to divulge the plague on board in an effort to spare you disquietude.”

“The slaves are men,” said Lucanus, in a hard voice.

Gallo stared at him in amazement. Priam’s face became strange, and he too stared at Lucanus.

“What is a slave?” Gallo was aghast. He could not believe his ears. He knew that Lucanus was peculiar and unlike other young men, but this was beyond belief. “Lucanus, these creatures are felons, murderers, and thieves, condemned to the galley for years or life.”

“Nevertheless, they are men,” said Lucanus. His white face now bore spots of furious red on the wide cheekbones, and his blue eyes raged below his fair brows. Gallo was convinced he was mad. A galley slave a man! Gallo was alarmed. He said, with solicitude, “Your appearance is unwell, Lucanus. The climate in Alexandria is arduous, I know. If you will permit Priam to prescribe a light sedative for you — ”

“You do not understand me,” said Lucanus, trying to keep his voice quiet. “To me, as a physician, a slave is a man, a human being, capable of suffering as fiercely as a Caesar. A criminal, a felon, a murderer are also men. They are not apart from us in their humanity.”

Gallo’s eyes tightened. He would have Lucanus’ wine drugged. Gods, he thought, I am not responsible for his derangement! But what shall I tell the authorities when we arrive home? That the adopted son of Diodorus Cyrmus had been confined as a madman? The thought made him shudder. He said, in a brotherly tone, trying to soothe Lucanus, “Yes, yes. Certainly. Priam will conduct you to your quarters. He will stay with you for a while, Lucanus. He was graduated from Tarsus, and no doubt you will find much medical knowledge to discuss together.” He half rose from his chair. But Lucanus leaned forward and said in a repressed tone, “You still do not understand. You are a Roman, and you feel and think as a Roman, Gallo. A slave to you is less than a jackal. To me he is a brother.”

Gallo was in despair. He had troubles enough, and a madman was on his own precious ship with him! He glanced at Priam, who was gazing at Lucanus as one hypnotized, and a tear lay at the corner of his eyelid. Gallo stared at his physician. Was the rascal drunk? He said angrily, “Priam, conduct the noble Lucanus to his quarters and prepare a draught for him at once! He is obviously ill.”

But Lucanus turned to Priam and said, “My Indu teachers have taught me that rats and their fleas spread this disease. Have you heard?”

Priam was unable to speak. He shook his head dumbly.

“It is true,” said Lucanus, as one physician to another. He pointed at Priam’s thin dark legs. “You should wear wrappings of linen on them to protect yourself from the fleas when you go among the slaves to minister to them.”

Gallo lost control of himself, and shouted, “Do you think I would permit my physician, for whom I paid a thousand gold sesterces — a thousand gold sesterces! — to go into the galleys? He is here to protect my passengers, not slaves, and none of the passengers has been stricken. The moment he reported to me that the plague had struck the galley slaves I forbade him even to approach their locked door. I am the captain! My orders are of life and death on this ship, and I seek no pardon from even you, Lucanus, when I remind you of this!”

Lucanus answered calmly, “I suggest that every rat on this ship that can be found be exterminated at once, that every room be fumigated against the fleas, that every inch of wood on this ship be washed with lye.”

Gallo had regained his control. Lucanus was speaking rationally, but madmen also had their rational moments. He said, “I will give these orders at once. And now — ”

Lucanus rose. “And now I will go into the galleys and see what I can do, after I wrap my own legs and arms in linen against the fleas.”

Gallo got to his feet. He said, in a deadly tone, “I must remind you again that I am captain, and that even if Caesar were my passenger he would have to obey the maritime laws. While we are on this ship, my ship, I am the supreme authority. You will return to your quarters. Lucanus, and my physician will go with you to calm you.”

“No,” said Lucanus. “Unless you drag me there. I am a physician, and I too have my duties, and my laws.”

He will have to be confined closely, thought the unfortunate captain. At any moment he may become violent, and the gods only know what will happen. How was it possible even for a madman to reach such heights of madness? “I shall go into the galleys — ” Gallo hesitated. He would summon his officers and have a light chain attached to Lucanus’ legs and wrists. The dismal prospect opened before him of delivering the adopted son of Diodorus Cyrinus, the descendant of the Quinites, the former Proconsul of Syria, chained like a criminal, at the home port. Diodorus’ tempers and rages were notorious. The captain himself would have to answer for this serious offense against the person of Lucanus, even though he was only too obviously mad. Gallo debated. The dilemma was hideous. But still he had the law with him, and it was for Lucanus’ protection that he must act.

“Have you no pity, Gallo?” asked Lucanus, hopelessly. “I know that a slave, particularly a galley slave, is less than an animal to you. Galley slaves can be slaughtered with impunity. But consider. Let your heart listen and be moved for a moment. The slaves bleed as you bleed; they die as you die. And where your spirit goes, there go their souls also. Are you concerned with my own health and safety? Yes. If I should sicken, or die, then you would fear Diodorus, my adopted father. I understand.” His voice softened. “You have only to leave the galley door unlocked. I have my medicines, and I swear to you that I will do all to protect myself, and I absolve you of blame in my behalf. No one need know but us that I am ministering to the slaves. I will come and go unseen except by them.”

“I am weary, Lucanus,” said the captain. “Leave for your quarters at once or I must — I must — have you taken there by force.”

“Unless I halt the disease, Gallo, it will spread to the passengers. We may float into port a ship filled only with dead men.”

Gallo turned away. “Go to your quarters,” he repeated. “In the meantime I will give orders to do as you have suggested.”