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

by Frank G. Slaughter

  Herod, Silvanus told Luke, was fearful that the followers of Jesus sought to dethrone him and set up another kingdom in one of the rapid changes of government which had been almost the rule in this land until the firm hand of Rome had settled upon it. And so, few were willing to admit any connection with Jesus of Nazareth, fearing the wrath of Herod and the Romans.

  “But I find nothing in the scroll to indicate that Jesus sought to overthrow the government,” Luke protested. “It seems to me that His concern is only with things of the spirit.”

  Silvanus smiled. “You are not a ruler, Luke. Those who rule obtain their office by climbing over others, so they always suspect someone else of the same ambitions.”

  “But that is selfish and deceitful.”

  “You are young, Luke. When you know more of the world you will realize that many men are selfish and deceitful. It is part of their nature.”

  “Socrates did say that an evil spirit, the daimonion, lives in every man and constantly battles for control,” Luke agreed. “Perhaps what the teachings of Jesus do is to strengthen and bring out the good in man.”

  “To the Jews who believe in Him, Jesus is also a great deliverer they call the Messiah,” Silvanus pointed out.

  “There are messiahs in every religion,” Luke objected. “Why should men look for someone to deliver them from the results of their own misdeeds when they know in their hearts that peace and happiness come only through kindness and love and repaying good for evil?”

  Silvanus smiled. “Do you realize that you were repeating the principles of Jesus then, Luke?”

  “Yes,” Luke admitted. “But all good men know these things in their hearts, Silvanus.”

  “Men do know them,” the centurion admitted. “But they need something else. In battle, a good commander always sees that the standard bearing the eagles of Rome goes ahead of the troops. It gives them courage and strength to fight on.”

  “Then Jesus must be a symbol to His followers of all that the good in men stands and fights for.”

  Silvanus looked at him keenly. “Could you set those things down in writing, Luke?”

  “Why, yes,” Luke said in surprise. “But there is nothing new about the idea. Plato and Socrates said the same thing.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean about Jesus being a symbol.”

  “Yes. But why?”

  “It may be just what most people are looking for,” Silvanus explained. “You could show them Jesus as a symbol of what His teachings seek to bring out, the fundamental goodness in everyone. Any man could understand a principle as simple as that, whether he believed Jesus to be the son of a god or not.”

  “But who would read it? After all, I am only the son of a Roman freedman, my father was once a slave—”

  “Jesus was a carpenter,” Silvanus reminded him. “But you may be right at that. You have the scroll and can study it. Later, when you are a famous physician, you can set these things down and publish them abroad. Then many will read them because you are famous.”

  Luke smiled. “Are you that certain of me, Silvanus?”

  The grizzled centurion put his arm about the youth’s shoulders. “If you can always speak and write the truth as simply as you have told it to me today, Luke, I am sure that men will read your writings as long as the world shall last.”

  VIII

  The road to Damascus led upward along the slopes of the mountains that ringed the Lake of Tiberias. From time to time, as his mule plodded along in the bright morning sunlight, Luke would lose sight of the blue oval lying hundreds of feet below in its natural cup, only to see it appear again unexpectedly as the path rounded a craggy bluff. So entranced was he by the ever-changing panorama of lake and mountain that his mule often wandered from the road and stopped to munch grass without his realizing it.

  Even after a full hour of climbing, the road was still below the elevation of the seacoast, for the lake lay about the eighth part of a mile below the level of the sea. The air, which had been humid and oppressing by the lake, grew cooler as they ascended, and the marching foot soldiers began to joke and sing bawdy songs in the invigorating mountain heights. Ahead towered the snow-capped peak of Mount Hermon.

  The party halted for rest and food where the Way of the Sea crossed the river Jordan at a point called Jisr Benat Ya’kub, or the Bridge of Jacob’s Daughters. Since it was spring, melting snows pouring down into the river Jordan had swelled it to a rushing torrent fully thirty paces in width. The water was icy cold and bluish-green in color, and along the banks of the river grew flowering oleanders, the tall fanlike papyrus, and a balsamlike tree from which came the nuts whose oil was made into the famous “balm of Gilead,” much prized for its flavor and its healing properties.

  They paused by the river only long enough to eat and fill the waterskins, for much of the Via Maris that lay ahead traversed very dry country, and water must be carried on mules for the party, sometimes for several days at a time. When the column stopped again at the top of the long hill above the river so that the mounts and the walking soldiers could catch their breath, Luke dismounted for a last look at the Sea of Galilee.

  Against the blue of the lake was set the green of the vineyards and groves, the brown wharves, and the dazzling white palaces of the Romans and richer Jews. And upon its surface bobbed the bright sails of the fishing boats. Both Tiberias and Capernaum were plainly visible, their buildings reduced to the proportions of dollhouses. And across the lake the mountains dropped precipitously to the water level.

  Then Silvanus shouted the order for march, and the column moved out along the straight ribbon of road leading northward and eastward to Damascus leaving the compelling beauty of Galilee behind. Luke’s place was at the rear of the column so that his medical knowledge would be available in case any of the party needed attention. He settled back on his mount, conserving his strength for the long, hot journey ahead.

  Ten days later, the city of Damascus was a welcome sight from a hilltop several hours’ journey away. A low-walled square of white buildings, it lay on the south bank of the river Barada with the green of trees sometimes hiding the buildings. Thoughts of the cool shade and refreshment that waited ahead cheered the whole column, and it seemed to take on new life so that Luke had to kick his mule to keep up. Hardly had they started down the hill, however, when there was a shouted order, and the long train halted. Luke rode ahead to see what had happened.

  A knot of gesticulating men were gathered in the road, and as Luke came closer he saw that they were Jews. Silvanus and a pair of brawny soldiers had just pushed their way into the crowd, and Luke dismounted quickly and entered the breach they formed. Everyone seemed to be talking excitedly at the top of his lungs.

  Then Luke saw that a man was kneeling in the center of the excited crowd. His face was pale, sweat beaded his forehead, and he held out his hands in a gesture of supplication, as if begging for help or praying. The man seemed to be in the grip of utter terror, for his whole body was trembling. Luke recognized him with a start of surprise.

  The kneeling man was Saul of Tarsus!

  Silvanus saw Luke in the crowd and beckoned to him. Having lived in Capernaum, the centurion understood the barbarous tongue they called Aramaic. He was listening to a tall, bearded man who was pouring an impassioned oration into his ear. And as he listened a strange look came into his face.

  “What has happened, Silvanus?” Luke asked, but the centurion only shook his head in a warning to be silent and continued to listen to the tall Jew.

  Luke turned his attention to Saul, who still knelt in the dirt, his staring eyes moving ceaselessly about as a blind man’s do. Obviously some great change had come over Saul; he was no longer the arrogant, assured prosecutor who had questioned witnesses at the trial of Stephen. Luke wondered what could have happened to bring about such a change. Saul might have fallen, striking his head and leaving him partially ber
eft of his senses, but there were no marks upon him. Actually, he looked more like a person who had just experienced a frightening dream.

  Silvanus came over to Luke. “That fellow I was talking to is Hyrcanus, a member of the Sanhedrin,” he explained. “He and Saul were on the way to Damascus to continue their persecution of the followers of Jesus when a strange thing happened.”

  He hesitated, as if reluctant to speak further and Luke asked patiently, “What was it?”

  “You will not believe this, Luke, but Hyrcanus insists there was a blinding flash of light that stopped them in their tracks. Then Saul claimed to have heard a voice say, ‘Saul! Saul! Why do you persecute me?’”

  “Who was speaking?”

  “Hyrcanus says they could see no one, but Saul seemed to hear it, for he asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ Then he claims that the same voice answered, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. It is hard for you to kick against the goads.’”

  It was a strange story, and for a moment Luke was tempted to believe that it really was one of the miracles such as the followers of Jesus often described. But just then he happened to glance at the city of Damascus, and the sun was reflected from the gilded roof of a palace in a sudden glare that hurt his eyes. “There is your bright light,” he cried in a flash of inspiration. “A perfectly natural explanation. See the way the sun is reflected from the dome of that palace.”

  Silvanus and the Jews all looked at it, and some of them put their hands before their eyes to shield them against the glare. Hyrcanus spoke to the others, and they all began to talk excitedly.

  “That could account for the light,” Silvanus admitted. “But what about the voice?”

  “It mentioned the goads,” Luke suggested. “Why not the goads of Saul’s conscience? And remember, the others did not hear it.”

  “But they say Saul acted exactly as if he were hearing someone speaking to him from heaven.”

  “It could have been a hallucination,” Luke said confidently. “They are sometimes very real to people who are laboring under great excitement.” He pointed to the kneeling man. “Look at him. You can see that he is still tremendously disturbed.”

  Silvanus was impressed by the explanation, for he fiddled unconsciously with the sword at his belt, a habit of his when trying to make up his mind. Hyrcanus had been listening to Luke’s explanation intently, and he turned now to translate for the other Jews, who were pointing to the gilded roof from which the sun still shone in a bright glare then back at the kneeling figure of Saul, who seemed completely ignorant of the commotion he had stirred up on the road to Damascus. Luke could understand only one word in the flood of Aramaic that Hyrcanus was pouring upon the rest of the party. It was “Jeshua,” their word for Jesus. But as the Jewish official continued to talk, the faces of the crowd became threatening and several moved toward the kneeling figure, lifting their heavy walking staves to strike him.

  Silvanus noticed them and barked an order to two soldiers, who moved up beside Saul to protect him.

  “Why are they turning against Saul?” Luke asked.

  “Hyrcanus told them that Saul has been converted to belief in Jesus.”

  “He has no reason to say that,” Luke protested.

  “I am not sure but that he is right,” Silvanus said. “Saul told them that after the voice spoke to him he asked, ‘What would you have me do, Lord?’ And the voice told him to go into the city.”

  One of the men with Hyrcanus spat upon Saul with the peculiarly vicious gesture which they used to express contempt. Silvanus casually knocked him sprawling with the back of his hand and turned back to Luke. “This is a serious business, Luke. If Saul goes into Damascus and tells that Jesus spoke to him on the road to the city, many people will think it a miracle and might follow Jesus because of it. We have enough trouble with these people already, without Saul stirring up more.”

  Luke saw that Hyrcanus, too, was worried. It would be no tribute to the Sanhedrin if its most trusted emissary were suddenly converted on the road to Damascus to the very beliefs he had been so active in trying to stamp out. Hyrcanus might even be held accountable by the high court. Now he bowed before Silvanus and said, “Release this man to us, O Centurion, and we will return with him to Jerusalem at once.”

  Return to Jerusalem would mean death for Saul, probably by stoning, if he had indeed espoused the belief in Jesus. And Luke could not find enough anger in his heart even against Saul to wish that fate for him. “Why not go on to Damascus?” he suggested to Hyrcanus. “You must have Jewish authorities in your synagogue there.”

  But that suggestion only made Hyrcanus more excited. From a babble of Greek and Aramaic, Silvanus managed to translate, “Saul tore up the letters of authority they were bringing from the Sanhedrin so that they could persecute the followers of Jesus. That leaves Hyrcanus without authority, and Saul can do as he pleases in Damascus.” The centurion pulled his sword half out, then shot it home in the scabbard decisively. “Stay here, Luke,” he said. “I will go back along the column and discuss this with Theophilus.”

  But first he stopped beside Saul. “You are of Tarsus, Saul,” he said. “Are you not then a Roman citizen?” The prosperous city of Tarsus had been a part of the Roman Empire for many years, and many among its population were Roman citizens by birth.

  “Yes.” Saul spoke the words tonelessly, as a man does whose mind has wandered from reality. “I am a Roman.”

  The colloquy between Theophilus and Silvanus was short, and the centurion returned with a relieved look on his face. “This man is a Roman,” he told Hyrcanus. “As such he is entitled to our protection. We will take him with us into Damascus.”

  The Jews would far rather have taken Saul back to Jerusalem where the Sanhedrin reigned supreme in religious matters, but Silvanus ignored them. “Get up, Saul,” he ordered. “We are taking you into Damascus.”

  Saul got stiffly to his feet, swaying, as if uncertain of his footing, although he stood on level ground. “The light has blinded me,” he said tonelessly.

  “Blind?” Silvanus echoed. “How could it?”

  “I can see nothing,” Saul insisted.

  “Can you tell if he is really blind, Luke?” Silvanus asked.

  “Not for certain. He could feign blindness easily.” Luke said to Saul, “Try to walk, please.”

  Saul took a few halting steps, groping before him as a blind man does. Then he stumbled over a rock and would have fallen if Luke had not caught him by the shoulders. “He must really be blind,” Luke said, “or he would have seen that rock.”

  “Help him on his mule, then,” Silvanus said with disgust. “He can ride along with you.”

  As the column moved on, Hyrcanus and the others were left wrangling among themselves on the road, but when the Roman party was about a mile away, they finally mounted and followed. As they rode along, Luke tried to question Saul, but the short man answered in the same toneless voice, and he learned nothing that Hyrcanus had not already told them about what had taken place on the road to Damascus.

  While they waited at the city gate for a message to be sent to the governor announcing the arrival of so important a party, Silvanus came back to where Luke and Saul were sitting on their mules. “Did you learn anything else from him, Luke?” he asked.

  “No. He tells the same story that Hyrcanus did.”

  The centurion nodded thoughtfully. “Where was it that Peter told you to take what you are carrying, Luke?”

  “To the house of Judas, a cobbler. In the street called Straight.”

  “I remember now; many Jews live on that street. Some of them will undoubtedly know Saul and take him in. You will take an escort of four soldiers, Luke,” Silvanus said in a relieved voice. “Deliver the scroll and then ask in the neighborhood if anyone knows Saul of Tarsus and will take care of him. Deliver him to them and come on to the governor’s palace.”


  IX

  The street called Straight ran in a direct line entirely through Damascus. It was lined with beautiful colonnades and partially roofed over in the center of the city. Many shops opened upon the street, and Luke was directed at once to the establishment of Judas, the cobbler. Leaving the soldiers with Saul in the street a little way from the house, he entered the shop, which was open to the street. As was the custom here, the family living quarters were at the back, grouped around a small open garden visible through an open door. The whole place resounded with the tapping of many hammers as apprentices and artisans worked at benches around the wall. A man who was cutting patterns for sandals out of beautifully soft leather rose and came forward, bowing courteously. “What is it you wish, noble sir?” he asked.

  “I am seeking one Judas,” Luke said.

  “I am called Judas.”

  “My name is Luke.”

  Instantly Judas seized his hand. “You have the scroll?” he asked in low, excited tones.

  “How did you know?” Luke said, caught off guard. Then he began to back toward the door and the street, thinking that this might be a trick.

  But Judas turned and called into the back of the shop, “Nicanor! Nicanor! Luke has arrived from Jerusalem.”

  Luke stopped, for Nicanor had been the name of the person to whom Peter had told him to give the scroll. When a man hurried forward from the back of the shop, Luke’s first thought was that he looked like Peter. And yet there was no physical resemblance, for he was of medium height only, with a distinctly Greek face, and was beardless. What he and Peter did have in common, however, was a look of calm majesty, of peace and tolerance.