Dear and Glorious Physician (39 page)

He struck a bell on his table, and the bronze doors swung massively open, and Plotius and four Praetorians entered at once. Plotius glanced with concern at Lucanus, even as he saluted the Emperor, and he was astounded to see that the young man was leaning back in his ivory chair like an accepted equal.

“My good Plotius,” said Tiberius, “you will conduct Lucanus to the best of quarters, where he will remain for some time as my honored guest. And you will send a message to his mother that her son is with me.”

After Lucanus had left with Plotius, the Emperor remained alone for some time, his head in his palms. There were senators and Augustales and patricians waiting to see him, and magistrates, yet he did not call them. He thought of Lucanus’ lack of affectation, his noble simplicity, and that iron quality in him which could not be shifted, and his manifest virtues. He could not decide whether Lucanus was a fool or a very wise man for all his youth. Then he laughed harshly to himself. Lucanus was in the Imperial Palace now. The word would soon spread that he was here as the guest of Caesar, and corruption would seep slowly and insidiously towards him like oily black water. Would he be engulfed in it? Surely he would, for men tended towards viciousness naturally, and pollution was their natural element.

“We shall see!” said Tiberius, aloud, and laughed again, bitterly.

As Plotius led Lucanus away through other forests of white pillars and crowding statues, he said to him, “It is only my curiosity, but what did you say to Caesar?”

“What did I say?” Lucanus glanced at him in surprise. “Why, we had a conversation about various matters, and he was very understanding. I also prescribed for him.” Plotius shook his head, amazed. Tiberius was known to be capricious. “You insisted on your refusal?” asked the young Praetorian.

“Certainly,” said Lucanus, with some irritation. “I have said Caesar is very understanding. However, we agreed that I should remain in Rome, and in this household, for about six months, to honor the memory of Diodorus. After that time I shall depart.”

Plotius thought he had not heard right, and he turned his head to stare blankly at the physician. A man, and a Greek, had refused Caesar, and had not only left his presence a free man but had been graciously treated as a person of the utmost importance. They went on together in silence, Lucanus interested in all about him and Plotius in a state of confusion. If the statues had suddenly attained life he could not have been more astonished and incredulous.

They entered a wide and private corridor guarded by two Praetorians who saluted and stared at Lucanus curiously. Lucanus saw that the white walls were exquisitely painted with scenes of the utmost licentiousness and depravity, depicting centaurs and satyrs, nymphs and gods, men and women disporting themselves in shameful ways. But the soft debauchery did not sicken or revolt Lucanus, who was a physician and found nothing obscene in the intricate and marvelous beauty and functions of the human body. To him these pictures were the imaginations only of perverted and impudent children, who found pleasure in beast-like diversions. He had seen much worse painted crudely on the walls and inns in Alexandria and Antioch; these, at least, had been executed by a supreme artist. One scene was so bewitchingly amusing that he stopped for a moment to smile at it. He said to Plotius, “This man had an excellent training in anatomy, and a sense of humor.” The two young men studied this work of art then glanced at each other and laughed.

The Praetorians were everywhere, stiff and saluting, even in the hall leading to a most wonderful apartment with large open doors and windows looking out upon a wide and flowery and grassy terrace. Never had Lucanus seen such luxury, and never had he even imagined it. The vast and spacious room was walled in four different colors of marble, contrasting slabs of white, shining black, golden, and pink, and the gleaming multicolored floor mirrored back the light of the sky and the hues of the garden. In the center of the room stood a large bed of gilded wood in the shape of a dolphin, inlaid with glittering jewels, mother-of-pearl, ivory, and silver; upon it had been thrown a coverlet of intricately patterned silk like a profuse flower bed. Slender black or white marble pedestals, scattered over the room, held bronze and graceful statuettes of naked women holding aloft silver and golden lamps or objects of the most priceless art. Lemonwood and ebony and marble tables were covered with murrhine glass vases filled with flowers, so that the nimble spring breezes drifting through the doors and windows blew with fragrance. Voluptuous divans were disposed near the tables, clothed in bright silk, and near the walls waited many chairs, elaborately carved and gilded, with legs of ivory. A marvelous chest of hammered brass, studded with red gems, stood between the windows, which rippled with delicate lace curtains. A polished silver mirror hung over the chest. Beyond this restful and luxurious room was another, entirely of rosy marble; the sunken bath was at least twelve feet long and six feet wide, filled with warm and perfumed water, the bottom revealing a lascivious scene in the brightest of mosaics.

“This is a woman’s apartment,” said Lucanus, accustomed to the austerity of the homes of Diodorus. Two naked slaves entered, bowing before him, and he stared at them with admiration. They were a young man and a woman, tall and slender, and of such an incredible and dazzling blackness that they resembled polished marble rather than flesh. The valleys and undulations of their bodies had a pale sheen, as if dusted with silver, and their fine features, delicately carved and patrician, seemed created by the most gifted artist. The girl’s black hair flowed in soft rippling waves down her smooth back, and her breasts were high and pointed and glimmered with a glossy light. Neither she nor the young man wore anything except heavy golden necklaces around their necks and hoops of gold in their ears, which cast reflections on their mirroring skins.

“These are your servants,” said Plotius. It seemed ridiculous to Lucanus that he should be in this apartment with slaves to serve him alone.

He wanted to protest, but Plotius, with a wink, saluted and left him. He looked at the boy and girl and did not know what to say, and they gazed back at him with their full dark eyes and wide white smiles. They waited for him to speak, so he said, awkwardly, “What are your names?”

The boy replied, bowing again, “My name is Nemo, Master, and this is my twin sister, Nema. Command us. We are at your service.”

The girl walked gracefully to a table and poured a gemmed goblet full of wine for Lucanus. He took it from her delicate hand, entranced by her incredible beauty and the perfection of her face and body. He put the goblet to his lips and drank a little. He had never drunk such wine, rosy and scented and sweetened with honey. The boy brought him a tray of ripe figs rolled in chopped nuts, and other sweetmeats. Lucanus ate one or two. He frowned. “I do not need servants,” he said. The boy and girl smiled at him emptily, but they stood there like statues, unmoving, as if what he had said was in a strange language. If he was amazed by them, they were equally amazed by him, for never had they seen such fairness of complexion, such golden hair, and such handsomeness. The three young people stood and admired each other artlessly.

Another servant entered, bowing deeply, and informed Lucanus that the Augusta, Julia, had commanded his appearance at her banquet to be given that evening at the eighth hour. He retreated, leaving the three alone again to their mutual contemplation. Then Lucanus said, like a youth, “I suppose I cannot refuse. But I have nothing to wear but what I stand in.” He looked at Keptah’s treasured toga, which was travel-stained, and at his dusty, plain leather sandals. Nemo went to the brass chest, opened it and brought out a tunic of fine linen, with an embroidered border of gold, and a toga as white as snow, also bordered in gold, and a pair of golden sandals and a girdle of intricately wrought gold inlaid with gems, and arm bracelets to match. Like a merchant reverently displaying godlike wares, he draped the garments over one arm and held up the girdle and bracelets with the other hand.

“Well,” said Lucanus. He considered the wardrobe effeminate; nevertheless, he put out his hand to smooth the fabric and examine the jewelry. “I shall feel like an actor,” he remarked. Nemo indicated that the bath awaited him, and that he and his sister would wash him and anoint him with perfumed oils, and massage his body. But Lucanus revolted at this. The two slaves regarded him with astonishment, and looked mutely at each other.

“I have bathed alone since I was three,” Lucanus explained. The slaves merely stared at him in disbelief. He lifted his voice. “I wish to be alone,” he said. Puzzled, they bowed and left him, closing the doors behind them. They took up their stations outside and played soft music, to beguile him, with a flute and a lyre. Above the sound of the frail harmony Lucanus could hear the steady iron patrol of the Praetorian who was to guard him. He shook his head. He tested a divan, and was alarmed to feel himself almost swallowed in the capacious softness. He rose and went from one work of art to another. Never had he seen such artistry. The tiny statuettes were so beautifully executed that they revealed the most minute veins in their hands and throats and feet. He ran his fingers over them, and it seemed to him that they lived.

He was aroused by the sound of young masculine voices on the terrace outside his opened doors, and he went to them. Two young men, his age or younger, and completely naked, were wrestling on the grass. Their amber-colored bodies rippled with disciplined muscles, and after a few strenuous moments their flesh dripped with bright water. They were evidently accomplished athletes, practicing rather than playing, and their handsome faces were strained and intent and unsmiling. They grunted, expostulated and shouted, unaware of Lucanus watching them with deep interest. Sometimes they cursed foully. The young physician wondered if they were slaves. He observed their falls and their grips, their straining muscles, their dexterity and strength. Then he walked through the doors. They saw him and sprang apart and frowned.

“Greetings,” said Lucanus, suddenly aware of unfriendliness and hostility.

They stared at him, insolently, and deliberately examined his travel-stained clothing, his plain sandals. As if they had spoken, he felt their sneering comment on his lack of jewelry, and their opinion that he was no one of consequence, and their wonder that such as he was even present in the palace at all. They believed him an intruding freedman, a man who had in some way wandered into this apartment so near the apartments of the Augusta. But he did not know that he had also aroused their enmity because of his appearance, for though they were handsome youths they could not compare with him. Then one scowled darkly with suspicion. Was this stranger to be the new favorite of the capricious and insatiable Julia?

“Greetings,” said one, surlily, and winked with ostentatious ridicule at his companion, who coughed loudly.

“I am Lucanus, a physician, and the son of Diodorus Cyrinus,” said Lucanus, and felt heat in his cheeks.

“Oh,” said one of the wrestlers in a heavy tone, indicating that he was not impressed. A physician. No doubt he was a former slave. Neither of the young men had ever heard of Diodorus. The other wrestler said, “You are here to attend us?”

“I am here as Caesar’s guest,” said Lucanus, coldly. Then his blue eyes flashed at the obvious insults which had been extended to him. He said, while they were dubiously recovering from his casual reference to Caesar, “You are good wrestlers, but clumsy. Your trainers lacked art. You could not compete for more than a moment with an accomplished athlete. You are amateurs. Doubtless, however, better training will transform you into mediocre wrestlers, if you work hard enough.”

They were silent, breathing quickly. They still could not believe that Lucanus, dressed like a countryman, was actually the guest of Tiberius Caesar. And they hated him for his criticism. “No doubt,” said one, “you are a much better wrestler.”

“So I am,” said Lucanus, leaning against the side of the door. He ate the sweetmeat in his hand, and pretended to be engrossed in enjoying it. Then he added, while their eyes blazed at him, “I was much superior even before I was trained in Alexandria.”

He went on, while they remained silent, “I could wrestle better than you when I was ten years old.” And he smiled at them sunnily.

One of them stepped forward, his eyes sparkling with rage. “My name is Hyacinth,” he said. “And I have ten sesterces which say that I can throw you in three seconds.”

The other echoed him. “My name is Oris,” he said, “and I have twelve sesterces which tell me I can throw you in two seconds.”

Lucanus lounged easily against the side of the door and licked his sticky fingers. Then he felt of the purse at his belt, and said, “And I have fourteen sesterces which have just whispered to me that I can take each of you in turn and throw you in one second.”

He wondered, justly, for a moment, if he should inform them that he had been instructed in a peculiar form of combat which had been imparted to him in Alexandria by a teacher from Cathay. No, he decided. They were too insolent, too insulting, too self-assured, and he disliked them. He suddenly straightened, threw aside Keptah’s toga, and then stripped the coarse blue tunic from his body. He stood before them like a column of white marble, and they stepped back, uneasily. But his body, after a moment, seemed too smooth and elegant to them. They laughed, and one of them half crouched and came towards him on arched legs. This was Hyacinth.

Lucanus waited calmly. He merely raised his right arm and extended it. The gesture was languid, almost limp, and he did not bend his body. Oris barked a single laugh. Hyacinth’s teeth glittered between taut lips. Then, like a corded snake, his arm lashed out towards Lucanus, and his curved hand caught Lucanus’ shoulder. Oris blinked, for something had blurred before him. Dumfounded, he saw Hyacinth lying on his back in the grass, his eyes protruding and fixed dazedly. Lucanus yawned. “Well?” he said to Oris, ignoring the other young man. “That was one second. And you?”

Oris moistened his lips. Hyacinth groaned from the grass, lying there like a fallen statue. Then Oris, who possessed much courage, leaped at Lucanus. It was as if a pliant thunderbolt had touched him. He felt himself hurtling into space, and he joined Hyacinth neatly on the grass, shuddering all over.

Lucanus pulled on his tunic, smiling. “You owe me twenty-two sesterces,” he said. “Remember to pay them.”

The two young men lifted themselves to a sitting position, carefully examining themselves. They shook their heads to clear their bemused minds. “You are not hurt, not even bruised,” said Lucanus, shaking out Keptah’s toga. “Of course, if you have brains, which I doubt, they are slightly addled just now. They will clear, however.”

“What did you do?” cried Hyacinth, tenderly rising to his feet. “I did not see you move! I felt nothing! Yet a second later I was flying through the air. It is magic!”

“Yes. Magic,” echoed Oris. “Who can resist magic?”

Rubbing themselves, they glared at Lucanus, who lifted his golden eyebrows at them. “Magic, nonsense,” he replied. “You are just amateurs. Did I not tell you?”

“I won a purse of gold at the Great Games!” shouted Hyacinth, coloring violently.

“And I won the second purse!” echoed Oris, grinding his teeth.

Lucanus laughed in their faces. “Then I should win two purses,” he said. “Come, what else can you do?” He was exhilarated, his strong young body eager for more exercise. “Discus throwing? Spear casting? Ninepins? Boxing? Running? Broad standing jumps? Fencing? Surely you can do more than this childish tugging at each other.”

He stepped back two paces, jumped forward, bent his legs, and launched himself into the air. Incredulously two pairs of starting eyes followed him. His feet rose cleanly high above their lifted heads. He dropped back to the earth like a white cat.

“Match that,” he said, without a hurried breath, “and you will owe me nothing.”

There was the sound of enthusiastic clapping at the door, and they turned and saw Plotius there, laughing. Then Hyacinth and Oris were frightened. They knew Plotius well, and the high esteem in which Tiberius held him for his courage and his discretion and military qualities. Plotius sauntered out onto the grass and put his hand on Lucanus’ shoulder. “What an exhibition!” he exclaimed. “My dear Lucanus, you could compete in all roles at the circus and have Rome at your feet! For my instruction, I beg you to engage me in fencing tomorrow.” He looked at the two young wrestlers. “Who are these children?” he asked.

But Hyacinth and Oris dropped their heads and slunk away towards the end of the terrace. Plotius said, “They needed a lesson, those pampered darlings of the Divine Augusta. Take care they do not try to poison you at the banquet the Augusta is giving tonight in honor of Cybele; she is devoted to the widowed goddess. Doubtless she would like to be a widow, too. By the way, I could not follow your movements when you wrestled those boys. You did nothing but extend your arm, then, as they seized your shoulder you bent backwards, and they were flying! Like Icarus, with the same result.”

“I took advantage of them,” said Lucanus, grinning happily. They went back into the room together, where Plotius inquired why the slaves were absent and playing music in the corridor outside. “They wanted to wash and smear me with perfumed oils,” said Lucanus. He took off his tunic and jumped into the bath, where he swam a few feet, tossing back his wet and golden hair and raising a sparkling spray of water. Plotius squatted on the brim of the bath and watched him with intense admiration. “Never have I seen such a body,” he said. Lucanus slipped through the water like white alabaster, and as smoothly. “Ah, but the ladies will love you!” Plotius added, shaking his helmeted head.