There was only one other wealthy family in Athens besides that of Turbo which Lucanus treated. The name of the father was Cleon, and he boasted that he was descended from the leather family famous at the time of Pericles. He and his wife and widowed daughter lived in a splendid villa near the Acropolis, whose gardens were surrounded by high gates and patrolled by slaves armed with swords or scimitars in the Eastern fashion. Lucanus liked none of the family, but Cleon had an obscure disease which interested the physician. Periodically he broke out in enormous hives which became livid, turned slightly pale after a few days, then erupted into hideous boils. Lucanus had seen nothing like this before; he was writing a treatise on it. He had eliminated the usual sources of the hives as a cause. The man’s diet had been reduced stringently. As he was a man of evil temper, and his wife no less so, and his reputation foul as a usurer, he was hated by all who knew him, including Lucanus. The physician was beginning to formulate a theory that the man’s own temperament was the cause of the outbreakings. His flesh was pitted like old stone, and one eye had been permanently injured. It was not new that vicious humors of the mind could strike somatically, but this was an extraordinary demonstration which intrigued Lucanus.
He went, that afternoon, to the luxurious mansion of Cleon. He invariably charged the old man a large fee, but he invariably gave him some temporary relief. He was admitted at once to the immured rooms in which Cleon spent his tormented days. The hives had arrived a week ago; they were already suppurating. Lucanus dressed the boils, while Cleon complained and winced and cursed. He was a tiny man, with a bloated body, a squint where he had suffered the eye injury, and a little face as riddled and folded as a nut. “After you were last here, my good Lucanus,” he whined, “I had surcease for many weeks, and I thought I was cured. Had you not arrived now, I am sure I should have died within a few days.” He showed Lucanus a new hive on one of his buttocks, but it was as big as a man’s fist, and tumid. Lucanus spread some ointment on it, after bathing it in very cold water.
“You do not come often enough,” said the old man, angrily. “I have added a new physician to my household, but he is no better than the others. I have had to have him flogged on numerous occasions, for he has a violent and blasphemous mouth when he is aroused, though for the rest he is a sullen wretch and of a cold, withdrawing temper.”
“And what did he say to you?” asked Lucanus, abstractedly. Within a few days the hive would degenerate into a formidable boil, which would have to be lanced.
The old man sprang up in his bed, and shook his fist. “When these hives occurred this last time I called him in and he examined me, and then he said — he dared to say, the dog! — that it was not my flesh that was ailing, but my spirit! I should have sent him to prison, or flogged him to death, or sold him to the galleys. But I had paid too much money for him.”
Lucanus lifted his head alertly. “A physician? A new physician?” The man had considerable astuteness then.
“I bought him in the market place, for a fine sum I can tell you! He is reputed to have been educated at Tarsus, but I will wager that he received what little learning he has from a midwife and a butcher! Do you know what happened yesterday? When the sun disappeared — you will understand I am not an ignorant man — I was aware that it was an eclipse. I heard my wife and daughter wailing; the slaves had fled into the cellars. Then this rascal, this new physician of mine, came into my chamber and looked at me with eyes like fire. And said nothing. He merely stood for a long while and gazed at me until I thought I should go mad. Ah, when I am well again, I shall put him on the block for any use! Preferably, of course, as a miner.”
He lay back on his cushions and gave Lucanus his best imitation of an agreeable smile. “The pain is already subsiding, my Lucanus. I am grateful to you.”
Lucanus gave the attendant slaves a jar of the ointment and instructed them to use it every two hours, day and night. He then walked into the hall and beckoned to the overseer. “I should like to talk to the new slave,” he said, in a low voice. “I think I can give the physician some instructions concerning treatment when I am not here. What is his name?”
“His name is Samos, for it is said he was born there, Master,” said the overseer, respectfully. “He is a surly dog. No doubt he was once a thief, for he is branded most unpleasantly.” He called for wine for Lucanus, who sat in a comfortable chair in the sun-filled hall and then sent for Samos. The slave returned with a tall, dark young man of a broad but distinguished face, somewhat long black hair and deep blue eyes, strong wide shoulders and the bearing of a king. He walked toward Lucanus silently, and his movements were stately. Then as he stood before Lucanus he raised his hand and lifted the hair from his forehead and contemptuously showed his brand. It was dark purple and knotted, and repellent. Then he dropped his hair over it again and said sullenly, “What will you have with me?”
Pity surged through Lucanus. He asked the overseer to leave, and then he motioned to Samos to sit beside him. But Samos said in his bitter voice, “No. I am only a slave, and have always been a slave. Do not be magnanimous to me. I want no man’s friendship, no man’s kindness. I am every man’s enemy.”
“So,” said Lucanus, smiling a little though his compassion increased. “Then stand before me like a slave, if that is all you believe you are. As a fellow physician I wished to ask you some questions.” He paused, and added in a lower voice, “I believe you are quite correct in your diagnosis of Cleon’s hives and boils.”
Samos’ face changed; his wide and sensitive mouth moved, and his large blue eyes blinked as if suppressing tears. He was not old; Lucanus guessed him to be not more than twenty-two. The young man hesitated; then, with a muttered oath, he jerked a chair forward and sat near Lucanus, and glared at him. “I am correct,” he said, and his voice was defiant. “But what can a man do with one such as Cleon, except to call in the priests and have them exorcise his demon? Unless he is a demon himself!”
Lucanus laughed softly. “Who knows?” he murmured. “But tell me. Were you truly educated at Tarsus?”
Samos looked aside; his profile was strong and classical, with fine planings about his cheeks, and with an excellent chin. Lucanus felt a tug in himself: the younger physician reminded him vaguely of someone, and the remembrance was a hurt. Then Samos said, “I was born in a certain household in Samos. They had a fine physician there, and I followed him about, and finally I was his assistant. He was becoming old; he recommended to my master, who was almost as cruel and vicious as this Cleon, and a merchant of the world, that I be sent to Tarsus. And so I was. I spent three years there, and was graduated with laurel leaves, and my teachers were all gentle, good men, and those years were all the happiness I ever knew.”
A tear slipped along his eyelids, and he blinked furiously, drew out a kerchief from his belt and blew his nose. Then he stared dully at the polished white floor. “While I was in Tarsus I knew I could no longer be a slave. I must be free or I must die. So I told one of my teachers. But he counseled patience. Physicians did not kill themselves. If I earned enough in gifts from my master I might eventually buy my freedom. But he did not know my master, who was less generous than Midas. I received no gifts, nor expected any. After a year I ran away.” He paused and caught his breath. “I was captured and sent back. I expected death, or, at the very best, to be sent to the galleys. But my master had spent much money on me, so he had me branded. Then I became like a wild wolf, he said, and he sold me, and so I came to this household, which is like his.”
Lucanus regarded him with a compassion which was as vivid as physical pain. He slid, “Would you like to be with me? Would you wish me to purchase you? If I am successful I will free you, asking only that you be my companion, for I am lonely, and I have no friends.”
Samos started; he swung on his buttocks to Lucanus, with an incredulous expression. He saw the physician’s beaming blue eyes, his gentle smile, his graying golden hair, and he knew that Lucanus was not jesting. He uttered a faint, choked c
ry and fell before the other man and laid his head mutely on his knees. Then he began to weep, not with tears, but with the dry sobbing of a man who, facing death, has been promised life. He wound his arms about Lucanus’ waist and clung to him, speechless.
Lucanus put his hand on the head on his knee. The hair of Samos was fine as silk, and very thick, and slightly curling. Lucanus sighed, and let him remain at his feet, clinging to him like a child, until he was more controlled. Then he said with the utmost gentleness, “Remain here while I talk with Cleon. And pray.”
He loosened the clutching arms, which were smooth and yet muscular, and went back to the chamber of Cleon. Cleon was half asleep, having been relieved of his suffering, but when he saw Lucanus he raised his head from the cushions. “Ah,” he said, “what a treasure you are, my Lucanus. I have not slept for many nights, and now I am as a child in a soft cradle.”
“I wished to examine that hive on your buttocks just once more,” said Lucanus, and pretended to be freshly interested. “It is subsiding; it is very possible that it will not suppurate. This is a difficult place to have such an affliction; it can extend dangerously.”
He sat down and regarded Cleon with an expression he hoped was kindly. “I have been talking with your slave, Samos. I believe you have been robbed. That is, this young man can never do anything for you, or your family.”
Cleon screamed with wrath and beat his clenched fists on his cushions. “I knew it!” he cried. “Cursed be that merchant, that foul vulture! I should never have trusted him. He has a very bad reputation. Hah! I will sell Samos to the galleys.” He sucked on his toothless gums, and his eyes glittered with pleasure. “It will be happiness to me, thinking of him there. But I have been robbed, plundered! What shall be my vengeance?” He leaned towards Lucanus cunningly. “Can you not give me a letter saying that the wretch has attempted to poison me? Then I can have him executed.” A bead of saliva appeared at the corner of his mouth, and he licked it.
Lucanus pretended to consider this judiciously. Then he shook his head. “It comes to me that I need a household slave. Will you sell him to me? He is very proud and arrogant.”
Cleon’s hard and piercing eyes searched his face. He lay back, grumbling. “Well, now, he cost me a pretty penny.”
Lucanus nodded. “One can sympathize with you, Cleon. What did you pay for him?”
The crafty eyes narrowed. Cleon knew all about Lucanus; he knew all the gossip of the city. This fool of a clever physician was a rich man; if he were mad enough to treat the rabble for nothing, and so acquire a godlike reputation, then he should pay for both his madness and his reputation. So Cleon named an outrageous sum, beyond Lucanus’ immediate resources. Lucanus was both angry and concerned. “Why, that is the price of the most dexterous physician beyond all price; it is the ransom of a prince!”
Cleon shrugged. He was again sleepy. “Then,” he said, “I will keep him and have my pleasure with him, and shall order him flogged every day, in this chamber, so I can delight in the scene.”
Lucanus knew his obstinacy. He stood up. “If you do not sell Samos to me, then I shall never return again, and you will surely die. I mean this, Cleon,” he added, sternly.
Cleon opened his eyes in fright. “You would not abandon an old man!”
“I surely will. Make up your mind. I have no doubt you paid highly for Samos, but not what you have stated. I offer you now, and for the last time, three hundred gold sesterces, freshly minted. Take it, or find yourself another physician.”
“You would condemn me to death!”
“Certainly.”
“Why do you want Samos, that dog?”
“I have told you. He has taken my fancy. I have broken wild horses in my youth.”
Cleon paused, gasping in fury and spite. He wished Lucanus were a slave; he would have him flogged regularly; he would have him branded with hot irons until his flesh sizzled. He screamed, “Give me the money, and may Hecate haunt your dreams!”
Lucanus smiled. “Withdraw your curse, or I will be unable to return to you tomorrow for further treatment.” He tossed a purse on the bed. “And now you will sign a bill of sale to me.”
A few minutes later he returned to the hall where Samos was waiting for him. Samos looked at him with wild blue eyes, his lips working desperately. Lucanus took his arm. “Come home with me,” he said, as he had said to Ramus long ago.
Lucanus placed all the lamps he had on his table, on which he had laid his sharp and shining instruments. Samos sat in a chair beside the table, rigid and waiting, his eyes fixed with love and devotion on the other man. Lucanus mixed a potion in a goblet of wine and held it out to Samos. “This will relieve your pain,” he said. “I do not know how successful I will be in diminishing this terrible brand, but I will do my best.”
“You will succeed,” said Samos. “Dear Master.”
“Do not call me master,” said Lucanus. “Call me by my name.”
“I will remain with you always, whether you give me my freedom or not — Lucanus.”
“I will take you to the Roman praetor tomorrow, and you will have your freedom. You may not like my life. You are young, and in the proud set of your face I see ambition. Swear no oaths, which you may regret.” Lucanus smiled, and still extended the goblet.
“How can I regret, ever?” demanded Samos, passionately. “That you have taken me to your house as a friend, the only friend I ever knew! That you have offered to free me, I who prefer to die rather than be a slave! I ask only that I serve you forever.”
“Still,” said Lucanus, “you are young; you are an excellent physician. The world will be yours. As a free man you will be a citizen of Rome. Fortune could come to your hands. But first, before all this shining future — and I shall not hold you to your promise — the brand must be removed. Drink this at once.”
Samos, his hand shaking, took the goblet. He stared into the murky depths. “Opium,” he murmured. He looked into Lucanus’ eyes, then slowly put the goblet on the table and drew a deep breath. “No,” he said.
Lucanus studied his face, then he nodded. “It is painful to become a slave, but it is more painful to become free. I understand. You prefer to take your freedom with suffering, for it will cleanse your heart. However, I warn you that this will be agonizing.”
Samos gripped the sides of his chair and raised his face. “I am ready,” he said.
“Close your eyes so the blood will not drip into them.” Lucanus lifted a narrow keen blade. He must work fast. He examined the brand again. Ugly though it was, it was not an old scar; the skin was still tender about it, and flexible, for Samos was young. He would remove the brand carefully, not injuring underlying tissues, and would draw the clean edges together. When the wound healed there would be only a long thin wrinkle from the hairline to the brows, and in a few months it would whiten and be hardly noticed. Lucanus explained what he was about to do, and Samos nodded; his mouth had paled in anticipation, and had become rigid.
Lucanus drew the blade from the top to the bottom with a delicate touch, and the scar opened like a mouth and bled. But there were no large blood vessels underneath. Samos did not wince; he was very still. Lucanus wiped away the dripping blood and carved out the brand. Samos turned as white as death; his knuckles rose on his gripping hands. But he did not move. Lucanus began to sweat in his fast urgency; tears of blood ran from the wound and rolled in red drops down Samos’ cheeks; some gathered in little puddles in the corners of his mouth. The lamps flickered and blew in a light wind from the window.
The physician, concerned over the pain he was inflicting, glanced at Samos’ taut face for an instant. Again that sensation of familiarity came to him. “You are very brave,” he said, and his voice shook. “You are a brave and noble man, Samos.”
The brand lay in a little saucer, as evil as a demon’s eye, and already shriveling. Lucanus took up his linen thread and needle. Samos had a look of exhaustion about him; Lucanus wished he would faint. But the proud expression abou
t the younger man’s mouth did not slacken. Lucanus began to sew deftly, and he talked in a soothing voice of the work he did among the poor, and the odd cases he had encountered. Samos smiled faintly. The young smooth skin had to be stretched to meet together. The scar, oozing little drops of blood, slowly closed. It was done.
“Open your eyes, Samos,” said Lucanus, and fell into a chair and wiped away his sweat with the back of his hand. Samos opened his eyes and smiled at him with joy and pride. After a moment Lucanus bandaged the wound, which no longer bled. “Ah,” he said, “I am pleased with this. It will be better than I hoped. But now you must drink a goblet of wine with me, for I am undone!”
Dear and Glorious Physician Page 58