The Road to Bithynia: A Novel of Luke, the Beloved Physician

by Frank G. Slaughter

  “It was not on Stephen’s body when we took it away,” Peter pointed out. “You were the only person to whom he might have given it.” He smiled. “But I would have known it anyway.”

  “This morning,” Luke cried, “when you told Stephen, ‘His words will be saved,’ you meant the scroll.”

  Peter nodded. “I knew it would be saved, but not how.”

  “Did you come to take it from me?” Luke asked.

  Peter shook his head. “The time has come for the teachings of Jesus to be spread abroad so that they may be read by those who did not hear them from His own lips. Stephen was commissioned to set the sayings down in a scroll.” He sighed as if in deep sorrow, and Luke remembered that the dead man had been his friend. “Those who crucified Jesus heard of it and took Stephen to kill him. But for your kindness, Luke, they would have found the scroll on his body and destroyed it.”

  Luke did not ask how Peter knew these things. Here in his presence it was easy to believe that he could look into the future if need be and that whatever he said would be true. “Then you must be one of the disciples of Jesus of Nazareth,” he said.

  Peter lifted his head proudly. “I am he who was chosen by Jesus to lead those who believe.”

  “The Company of the Fish?”

  “That is what we call ourselves,” Peter said, then added briskly, “but our time is short. The centurion Silvanus will be coming soon to see why a light burns so late in your tent, and I must be gone before he comes. Listen carefully, Luke. You go from Joppa to Damascus as soon as Apollonius sails.”

  “How could you know that?” Luke asked in surprise. Silvanus had only told him of the change in their plans as they were leaving Jerusalem. The new route would take them back to Antioch by way of Damascus, northward through the populous cities along the Lake of Tiberias, which the Jews called Galilee, and the city of Tiberias, where Herod had his seat.

  “There is One who knows all things,” Peter said. “Now listen closely, Luke. Keep the scroll with you and let no one but those you trust know that you have it.”

  “Not even Silvanus?”

  “The centurion knew Jesus. He is one of us already in his heart. And Theophilus will one day believe. But let no others know. When you reach Damascus, go to the street called Straight and inquire there for the shop of one Judas, a cobbler. In his house you will find Nicanor, who is one of the Seven, as was Stephen. You may give him the scroll.”

  Luke did not question Peter’s right thus to instruct him, for the big man had said he was the leader of those who followed Jesus, and the scroll rightly belonged to them. “But how shall I be certain of this Nicanor when I find him?” he asked. “Those who killed Stephen to get the scroll may figure out that I have it and try to get it from me.”

  “Do you remember the words of Stephen just before he died?” Peter asked.

  “Yes. I was the only one who heard them.”

  Peter smiled. “Someday, Luke, you will know that there is One who hears all things. What Stephen said to you was, ‘Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.’ Nicanor will repeat those words to you in Damascus.”

  Luke’s mouth went slack with astonishment, for he would have sworn by all the gods that no one other than himself could know those words. Before he could question Peter further, the big man rose. “Silvanus is near and I must go,” he said, laying his hand upon the youth’s dark head. “Blessings be upon you, Luke, for in you our Lord has found a faithful servant and a tongue like His own with which to speak to the hearts of men.”

  Then he was gone through the flap of the tent, so quickly that the fabric hardly moved and Luke was left alone, staring at the scroll and wondering if he had been dreaming. When Apollonius’s snore began again, however, his eyes fell to a dark spot in the sand that formed the floor of the tent, and he knew his senses had not deceived him. For that stain could be nothing else but blood which had dripped from Peter’s wounded feet.

  VI

  Placing the scroll in his clothes bag again, Luke stepped outside the tent. The moon was shining brightly, and in its light he could see Simon Peter limping along the road that led back to Jerusalem. The sentry was not ten paces away, and Luke walked over to him. “Did you see the man who just left my tent?” he asked.

  “No man left it, sir,” the sentry stated. “I have been in this spot for fully one turn of the glass.”

  For a moment Luke wondered again if he had been seeing a vision, in spite of the blood spot in the sand. But when he looked down the road, he could still see Peter trudging along in the moonlight. “Never mind,” he told the soldier. “I was only testing you.”

  Silvanus appeared from the shadows in time to hear the last words. “What is this, Luke?” he asked severely. “Are you an officer that you test my soldiers?”

  Obeying a sudden impulse, Luke said, “Look down the road, Silvanus, and tell me what you see.” For he could still see Peter in the distance.

  Silvanus jerked his head impatiently in the direction of Jerusalem, then back at Luke. “The road is empty,” he said. “What is the name of this ghost you have been seeing?”

  Luke spoke in a low voice so that only the centurion could hear. “He called himself Simon Peter.”

  Silvanus stiffened as if the point of a sword had been pressed against his back. To the sentry he said, “Move along now,” and then to Luke, “Come inside the tent.”

  When he had secured the tent flap, Silvanus demanded, “Now what is this all about, young man?”

  “Just as I told you,” Luke insisted. “A man who said he was named Simon Peter came here tonight and talked to me in this very tent. When I asked you to look down the road, I could still see him. Perhaps your eyesight is failing, Silvanus,” he added, smiling.

  But the centurion was in no joking mood. “Do you have any real evidence that this man Peter was here, Luke?” he asked.

  “Look there in the sand. It is blood from his feet.”

  Silvanus knelt and rubbed some of the sand between his fingers. “It is blood,” he agreed. “But why were his feet bleeding?”

  “He had walked from Jerusalem and his sandals were worn through. Now do you believe me?” Luke asked triumphantly.

  “I believed you the moment you said it was Peter who had visited you.” Silvanus told him.

  “Then you know him?”

  “I saw Peter some years ago. Is he large, broad shouldered, and heavily bearded?”

  “It is the same man,” Luke told him. “But why couldn’t you and the sentry see him?”

  Silvanus settled himself comfortably on Luke’s sleeping rug. “Strange things are always happening where this man Peter is concerned, Luke. He is the leader of those who follow Jesus of Nazareth and is said to have been given many of Jesus’ powers.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that he has supernatural powers, Silvanus? How could you believe in such things?”

  The centurion stared at the blood spot on the sand. “I don’t know what to believe,” he admitted candidly. “Can you explain how neither the sentry nor I could see Peter just now?”

  “Hippocrates speaks of people whose vision is poor at night,” Luke insisted.

  “My vision was always good before tonight,” Silvanus pointed out. “What did Peter want with you?”

  “He came about the scroll.”

  “What scroll?”

  There was nothing to do now but tell Silvanus what had happened that morning at the stoning of Stephen and show him the scroll. Besides, Peter had said that Silvanus and Theophilus could be trusted.

  The centurion took the slender spool and turned it in his hands. “So Stephen gave up his life because of this,” he said softly.

  “I see nothing in the teachings of this Jesus to make such a disturbance about,” Luke said. “They differ but little from the philosophy of Plato, for example.”

  �
�Read me some of it,” Silvanus said.

  Luke unrolled the parchment from the spool and read again the portion that he had been reading when Peter came. When he finished, Silvanus nodded. “Those are the things Jesus taught. They have set them down correctly.”

  “Did you hear Jesus teach?” Luke cried eagerly. “With your own ears?”

  “Yes. I heard Him once.”

  “And did you see Him heal the sick?”

  “Yes. In fact, Jesus once healed Gaius, my body servant.”

  “Tell me about it,” Luke urged. Here was an opportunity to learn firsthand something of the strange powers of healing which this Nazarene seemed to have possessed.

  “It was several years ago,” Silvanus began. “I was living in Capernaum, a city on the Lake of Tiberias. Jesus and His disciples came through one day. He was young, about thirty years, I would say, with a soft brown beard. I remember particularly His eyes.” Silvanus stopped for a moment. “They were the kindest eyes I ever saw. From the moment you saw them you knew that He could be trusted, even with your life.”

  “But the healing,” Luke said impatiently. “How did He do it?”

  “I don’t know what He did,” Silvanus admitted. “Gaius was sick with a fever of the brain, and we had given him up to die. When I heard that Jesus was healing the sick, I sent some Jewish friends to ask Him if He would heal my servant. I still don’t know what made me think Jesus could help Gaius, but when I met Him I knew that He could. And when I returned home Gaius was well.”

  “It must have been some strange new treatment,” Luke suggested, but Silvanus shook his head.

  “I think not, Luke. This was something beyond drugs and physicians.”

  “I have seen a man get well when he seemed to be dead,” Luke objected. “It was an affliction of the mind, and he was cured suddenly so that he seemed to rise from the dead.”

  Silvanus smiled tolerantly. “Suppose I tell you that Jesus fed almost five thousand people with a few loaves and fish.”

  “Did you see this yourself?”

  “No. But it was told to me by people who were there.”

  “You know how such things are magnified in the telling,” Luke scoffed. And then he had a thought. “Is that why the followers of Jesus call themselves the Company of the Fish?”

  “It might be,” Silvanus admitted. “Jesus taught them that He would provide for them. They may be using His feeding fish to the crowd as a symbol.”

  “But all this doesn’t mean that Jesus had to be divine, Silvanus. Does it make sense that the God of an obscure tribe like the Jews should have power over all the gods that men believe in? And if He were so powerful, would He let His Son become a mere man, an obscure teacher? And then let the Jews kill Him?”

  “I know little of gods and religions, Luke.” Silvanus got to his feet and tightened his harness. “Jesus was no mere man, I am sure of that.”

  “But you can’t really believe that He was divine, Silvanus.”

  Then the centurion said a strange thing. “Perhaps I am afraid to believe what I know in my heart is true, Luke. What did Peter tell you to do with the scroll?”

  Luke repeated Peter’s instructions. “Do you think I should obey them?” he asked.

  The older man smiled and rumpled the youth’s hair with a gnarled hand. “Have no fear, Luke. I don’t think you could keep from carrying out his instructions even if you tried,” he said enigmatically.

  VII

  Luke bade Apollonius farewell on the quay at Joppa before his ship sailed. As he watched his foster brother standing on the deck, straight and tall in military trappings, he felt a moment of envy. Apollonius would be a tribune, an important official in the Roman army, while Luke would be only a physician. Romans of that day looked down upon physicians, particularly Greek ones, and made mockery of them. But Luke had noticed that even the proudest Roman hurried to seek the advice of a Greek medical practitioner when he was ill, for they were known to be more learned and skillful than Roman physicians. Then he reminded himself sharply that he had no right to envy Apollonius but should be thankful that he had been reared through the generosity of Theophilus as a foster son, although his father had once been a slave. And it was entirely through the influence of Theophilus, he knew, that he would shortly enter the Temple of Asklepios at Pergamum, the most famous training ground for physicians of that day.

  Theophilus’s party left Joppa the following morning. Their way led northward along the great Via Maris, called the Way of the Sea because it touched the large lake which the Jews called the Sea of Galilee and the Romans the Lake of Tiberias. The Romans had built this great road upon the oldest highway in the world, the route from Mesopotamia on the north and east to Egypt far to the south. Through the Plain of Sharon to Pirathon they traveled leisurely, and thence through a mountain pass to the fortress city of Megiddo. It was wild and mountainous terrain, like much of the country they had traveled through in this troubled land. Luke found himself wondering, as he rode his mule at the end of the column, why the Jewish leader Moses had led his people here from the fertile lands along the Nile in Egypt.

  He had been reading the scroll while in Joppa, and as they neared Nazareth, the city where Jesus had lived, he wished to stop and make some inquiries about further miracles of healing. But a messenger brought word to Theophilus on the road, inviting him and his party to stop for a few days at the palace of Herod Antipas, tetrarch of Galilee, in the city of Tiberias. And since the hospitality of Herod was known to be lavish, the rest of the party was anxious to push on, so Luke did not get to see Nazareth.

  It was hardly an hour before sunset when they reached the city of Magdala through what the Jews called the Valley of the Doves. As tired as he was, Luke could not suppress an exclamation of pure delight as they emerged from the narrow defile through the mountains ringing the lake. Suddenly it lay before them, a jewel of unbelievable beauty, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight far below. Now he knew why the Jews had came from Egypt and why they would return from the very ends of the earth to what a poet had called “the entrance to Paradise.”

  To the north a plain curved beside the lake for several miles. It seemed, from this distance, to be about a mile in width and was so thickly planted with vines and fruit trees that the fertile strip of earth itself could not be seen, the whole looking like a green carpet.

  Silvanus stopped beside Luke. “What do you think of it?” he asked.

  Luke took a deep breath. “Is there a more beautiful spot on earth?”

  The centurion smiled, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. “Yes, there is one more beautiful.” Then he seemed to recover his wandering thoughts. “That plain is one of the most fertile spots in the world, Luke. The Jews keep its fruits away from the markets of Jerusalem on feast days lest they prove a greater attraction than the rites in the temple.”

  “I wonder why all the Jews don’t live here,” Luke said.

  Silvanus laughed. “Walk around the lake and you will think they do. The whole shore on the west is almost one continuous city. Capernaum, where I lived, lies to the northward there,” he said, pointing to it in the distance.

  Capernaum was a familiar name to Luke, for it was mentioned several times in the scroll. Jesus, he was sure, had loved this fertile shore, and looking down upon it now, he could easily understand why.

  “That is Tiberias to the south,” Silvanus said. “We had better be going if we are to dine tonight at Herod’s table.” Luke could see the lovely city built along the hills beside the water, with the white marble villas of the Roman officials shining in the sunlight and, amid them, the dazzling splendor of Herod’s palace. Marble stairways led down to the water’s edge, where sumptuous pleasure barges lay. Nowhere in the world, not even in Rome, did the officials of the empire live more sumptuously than in this lovely city which Herod had built in honor of the Emperor Tiberius.

  But
it was not Tiberias or the life of the palace that interested Luke most. He had seen Roman splendor in other cities and found it not very attractive to one of his serious purpose. The occupants of those beautiful houses, he knew, spent most of their time in gambling, drinking, feasting, and making wagers on their favorite sword fighter in the next games. Always discontented, they bickered constantly among themselves, and often blood was shed over nothing more important than the question of which was the deadlier weapon in the arena, the short sword or the net and trident.

  The scroll had said Jesus healed many people on the shores of Galilee, and Luke was anxious to talk to some of them. In a few days they would be leaving this region and he would have no other chance to learn the truth about how Jesus healed from the very people who had been cured by Him. Gaius, unfortunately, had been able to tell him nothing, for the servant knew only that he had been deathly sick but suddenly became well.

  Luke roamed the teeming cities along the fertile coast of the lake during the next few days, walking in the very streets where Jesus had walked and upon the very shores where, according to the scroll, He had fed a multitude of many thousands upon a few loaves and fish. But he found no man who did not look away when he spoke of the Nazarene, and none would tell him of the healing miracles Jesus had performed, for Herod was seeking to stamp out this new faith and, in addition, the Romans were determined to let no opposition rise again among the Jews.

  Every day Luke saw prisoners being marched through the streets in chains, some to be executed; others to pour out their lifeblood under the claws of wild beasts in the arenas of Rome, and still others to sweat out their lives on Roman galleys. Roman justice was swift and impartial, but its weight was heavy on those who failed or were unable to pay the heavy taxes imposed by the conquerors. Daily, as Luke set out from the palace through the sparkling capital city of Tiberias, he heard the screams of slaves being whipped in the courtyards of the Roman villas. What he saw and heard sickened him at first, but it also made him think. Although by birth a Greek, he was also a Roman citizen, as his father had been before him, and he had always prized that citizenship highly. It had been his belief that the rule of Rome was always a just one, bringing peace and order to lands whose history had previously been that of strife and bloodshed. Now he was beginning to see how that rule was maintained, and for the first time he doubted the rightness of Roman justice.