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

by Frank G. Slaughter

  The girl smiled graciously and held out her hand. “You are welcome to our house, Luke.”

  Tongue-tied for the moment by her beauty, Luke fumbled with her fingers. Somehow he managed to touch them with his lips while he mumbled an incoherent greeting. The girl sensed his confusion, perhaps because her beauty often struck young men dumb when they saw her for the first time. “Do you like my garden?” she asked to put him at ease.

  Luke found his tongue then. “It is exceeded in beauty only by its mistress,” he said gallantly.

  Mariamne clapped her hands and laughed with pleasure at the compliment, while Ananias beamed proudly upon them both. “You are nimble of tongue and wit, Luke,” he said approvingly. “But watch her, for she is no chucklehead. You must keep your wits about you.”

  “The Queen Mariamne is reported to have been both wise and beautiful, Ananias,” Luke said. “Your daughter is a worthy namesake.”

  Mariamne’s lips parted, and soft color rose to her cheeks. Luke could see that she was pleased by his remembering the name of Queen Mariamne, wife of Herod the Great, who had built the magnificent temple at Jerusalem. “I was looking at the tower named for you only a few weeks ago, Mariamne,” he told her.

  “You have come from Jerusalem?” she asked excitedly.

  “And Tiberias,” Luke was human enough to want to impress her with the fact that he had also visited Herod’s capital.

  Impulsively Mariamne took him by the hand and pulled him over to the bench. “Tell me about it,” she urged. “I have never traveled beyond Damascus.” There was nothing of coquetry in the gesture, for she seemed completely unspoiled, in spite of her beauty.

  “I must go to the shop for a little while,” Ananias said, laughing. “Be careful, Luke. She will worm all of your secrets from you.”

  Luke had known some young girls in Antioch, but his studies had left him little time for frivolous pursuits. Besides, most of the girls he knew were shallow, it seemed to him, knowing nothing of philosophy or science, interested only in preening to attract the attention of young men, or chattering endlessly about clothes, jewelry, and entertainment. Mariamne was different, however, and he found himself describing for her the Sea of Galilee, painting in words the blue of the water, the green of the olive trees, and the marble-white of the Roman villas. But he said nothing of prisoners driven through the streets with chains dragging from their ankles, or the heavy burdens imposed upon the people by rascally tax gatherers to pay the tribute that Rome demanded in return for its protection. Nor did he speak of Stephen and the horror of his death outside the walls of Jerusalem.

  “Where do you go next, Luke?” she asked when he finished the account of his travels.

  “Back to Antioch, and then to Pergamum, to continue my studies in medicine at the Temple of Asklepios there.”

  “Will you pass through Tarsus?” the girl asked. “My mother was from there. She was a Greek, like yourself, but she died when I was a little baby and we moved to Damascus. Father says she was very beautiful.”

  “She must have been,” Luke agreed fervently.

  Mariamne put her hand upon his and said softly, “I like you, Luke.” And then she repeated in a whisper, for her father had come into the garden, “I like you very much.”

  The noonday meal was served in the garden, but Luke hardly knew what he ate, for Mariamne continued to chatter gaily throughout the meal. She possessed a talent for mimicry and imitated the traders who came to her father’s shop to buy cloth, now puffing out her cheeks to represent a fat Persian from the East, now stroking her chin as an oily Arab pirate from the desert, or again assuming the pompous mien of a Greek who brought for the markets of Rome. She kept them helpless with laughter, and Luke was completely smitten with love long before it was time to go with Ananias upon his daily round of visits to the sick. He willingly promised to return on the morrow and tell her about the theater in Antioch.

  Luke learned little from Ananias about healing, however. In some cases the pudgy weaver apparently healed instantly. But these people, it seemed to Luke, were ill only temporarily in their minds and were helped by the kind manner of Ananias and his assurance of the power of Jesus to help if they trusted Him. Ananias himself obviously believed completely in such a power, and Luke wondered if his healing ability might not come as much from this confidence as from any other source.

  As he made his way back to the governor’s palace Luke’s thoughts were of Mariamne rather than of healing. He found himself remembering with a warm glow of pleasure how pretty she was, how soft her fingers had been as they lay on his, the music of her laugh, and the way the rich color rose in her cheeks when she was pleased or excited.

  Several times, as Luke sat with Silvanus and the others at the feast that evening, the centurion was forced to speak twice to him before he heard. Finally Silvanus said in exasperation, “Who is she, Luke?”

  And without thinking, Luke answered promptly, “Mariamne,” then blushed in confusion at having betrayed the cause of his reverie.

  XII

  Matters of state lengthened the stay of Theophilus’s party in Damascus to more than ten days, but Luke was not at all displeased by the delay, for he was spending part of every day with Mariamne. With her beauty, she needed no particular learning or intelligence, the ways of pleasing men and attracting their attention being things that a woman knows by instinct, but her mind was keen also. And she was very well read, particularly in the works of the great Greek dramatists, of whom Luke knew but little, his own studies having been largely confined to the writings of philosophers and physicians.

  With intentional mischief she led him into the Plutus of Aristophanes, that satirical comedy which takes physicians and the pretensions of their art so severely to task. They laughed at it together, for Luke could see how truly it depicted many members of his chosen profession. He was happy during these carefree days in the garden by the city wall, for Mariamne was showing him a side of life, a gay and delightful one, far removed from the revels which he had vaguely thought accompanied music and the theater. The enjoyment of such pleasant things, he assured himself as a physician, must inevitably be reflected in heightened well-being for both body and spirit.

  Mariamne was an accomplished player on the lyre and possessed a very pleasing voice. Luke loved to lie on the grass at her feet beside the fountain while she sang. Sometimes her songs were in Aramaic, which he hardly understood at all. They were very pleasing to the ear, but when he pressed her for the meaning of the words, she only blushed a little and put him off. Some had been written by David, she told him, a great king of the Jewish people. And others by Solomon, said to be the wisest man who ever lived. But when she also told him that Solomon had many hundreds of wives, Luke stoutly maintained that he could not have been so wise, for who would want more than one if she were as lovely and desirable as Mariamne? At this Mariamne suddenly put down her lyre and, leaning over, kissed Luke full on the mouth, creating such a confusion in his senses that everything for the moment reeled before his eyes.

  It must have had a similar effect upon the girl, for Luke heard her gasp. Then she dropped the lyre and, cheeks crimson, ran into the house. While he waited for her to return, Luke considered this strange effect from contact with her lips but was totally unable to account for it. Nevertheless, he decided to repeat the pleasant experience at the earliest opportunity.

  When Mariamne came out again, however, she gave him no such opportunity, promptly saddling him with a large market basket and taking him off on a shopping expedition. By the time they returned, with Luke staggering under the weight of the loaded basket, he had to go back to the palace, so he was alone with her no more that day.

  He was back the next morning, however, and Mariamne was her own sweet self again. So the time passed and only two days remained until Luke must leave for Pergamum and his studies. He was sad as he joined Ananias and Mariamne for the evening meal that
day, but he tried to hide his feelings. As they sat in the twilight, enjoying the cool fragrance of the garden, it seemed to Luke that Ananias was not himself either. Mariamne sensed it, too, for she stopped her gay chatter and asked, “Is anything wrong, Father?”

  Ananias rumpled the dark waves of her hair with loving fingers. “Nothing to trouble your pretty head, child.” Then he turned to Luke. “I hear that you and your party will be leaving soon, Luke.”

  Luke had delayed telling Mariamne of his coming departure, planning to do it later in the evening when something might take Ananias to the shop, leaving them alone in the garden. Their relationship had somehow changed since the day she had interrupted her singing to kiss him. Some of the quiet sense of companionship they had shared before had been replaced by an indefinable reserve, a tingling sense of expectancy when they were alone together, which was far more exciting than their comradeship had been before. Now he was forced to break the news that his departure was set for the day after the morrow. The animation faded from Mariamne’s face at his words. She caught her breath and said in a whisper, “Do you have to go, Luke?”

  Had she waited for him to answer, Luke almost might have decided not to go back to Antioch, for he was strongly tempted to stay always close to her. Then she laughed, although her eyes were wet with tears. “Of course you do. You must become a great physician.” She puffed out her cheeks and threw back her head in such a devastating caricature of a pompous medical man that he could not help laughing. Then she jumped up and went running into the house, although she had hardly finished her meal.

  When Luke started to follow Mariamne, Ananias put his hand on the younger man’s arm. “She will weep and then feel better,” he said. “It is the way with women. You have been very good for Mariamne, Luke,” the weaver continued. “She has not known much of the world, and you have let her see it through your own eyes. I hope you will remember us when you leave Damascus.”

  “Oh, but I will,” Luke protested. “I will never forget Mariamne—or you, sir,” he added, blushing at thus having revealed his feelings.

  The weaver smiled. “Perhaps we may hope that you will return when your studies are finished. It would please me to think that you and my daughter might someday mean much to each other.”

  “She means a great deal to me now, sir,” Luke assured him. “And I shall certainly return.” Then he changed the subject to hide his own feelings. “You are troubled about something, Ananias. Can I help you?”

  The weaver looked at him quizzically. “You will make a good physician, young man; your perceptions are very keen. Yes, I am worried about Saul.”

  “But you cured him of his blindness.”

  “It is his life I fear for, not his eyes. Do you remember a man named Hyrcanus in Saul’s party when you found him on the road?”

  “Yes. He is from the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem.”

  “Then you know that Hyrcanus followed Saul to Damascus. And you have probably heard that Saul has been telling people everywhere how the Lord spoke to him on the road.”

  Luke could not have escaped hearing of Saul’s activities, for all of Damascus was seething with stories of his eloquence and his dramatic description of how Jesus had called him to join those who called themselves the Company of the Fish. More startling, however, was Saul’s insistence that Jesus still lived, although unseen by ordinary men, and that he himself had seen Jesus when he had been blinded. Great crowds were listening to Saul nightly, and each day hundreds of new believers were immersed in the river Barada in the rite of baptism which Jesus had prescribed for those who believed in Him.

  “Last night,” Ananias went on, “there was a riot at one of the synagogues where Saul was speaking. We are sure it was stirred up by Hyrcanus. Several of our people were hurt, and Nicanor and Judas were barely able to keep Saul from being seriously injured.”

  “Why not send Saul from the city until things have quieted down?”

  “Saul is willing to leave Damascus,” Ananias explained. “He wants to go into the desert for a while. But Hyrcanus has gotten the ear of Paphos, the governor, and has persuaded him that Saul is a troublemaker and should be sent back to Jerusalem for trial before the Sanhedrin.”

  “That would mean his death.”

  “Yes, and we must keep it from happening at all costs. Paphos has already issued the order for Saul’s arrest, but Nicanor has hidden him away for the time being. Even worse, Hyrcanus has learned that the scroll containing the sayings of Jesus is here in Damascus and has made a public vow to find and destroy it.”

  “Where is the scroll now?” Luke asked.

  Ananias reached into his robe and brought out the small parchment roll, holding it reverently in his two hands, as if it were a precious jewel. “Nicanor gave it to me because he feared his house would be searched, since he is known to be the leader of the Company of the Fish in Damascus.”

  The bloodstains and the jagged tears from the stones which had lacerated Stephen’s body were still plainly visible on the scroll. It seemed a small and unimportant thing to be the object of a search in which one man had already lost his life and still others might follow him.

  “This parchment contains the hope of the world, Luke,” Ananias said. “Whatever happens, these teachings must not be lost.”

  Luke understood why Ananias had shown him the scroll, but logic argued that it was none of his worry. The Company of the Fish believed that the sayings of Jesus were especially sacred because they had been spoken by One whom they vowed to be the Son of Jehovah. But Luke himself believed no such thing, for he could not admit either that there was such a god or that his son, if He really existed, could have taken human form on earth and been crucified by ordinary men. And yet, some deep inner voice kept reminding Luke, the principles set down in that torn and bloody roll of parchment did contain a way of life which could bring peace and happiness to the world if men could be brought to follow it. With that thought, a decision crystallized in his mind. “If you will trust me with the scroll,” he told Ananias, “I will try to see that it leaves Damascus safely.”

  The weaver’s face cleared. “I was hoping you would make that offer, Luke. Traveling in the party of Theophilus, you would not be searched. The sayings will be safe with you.”

  “What shall I do with the scroll once I am clear of Damascus?” Luke asked.

  Ananias put the slender parchment roll into Luke’s hands. “Jesus will tell you when to pass it on to another,” he assured him. “Have no fear of that, Luke.”

  “What of Saul?” he asked. “Are you going to arrange for him to leave the city?”

  “We have no plan,” Ananias admitted. “But be sure that the Lord will give us one when the time comes.” He stood up. “You had better go now and put the scroll in a safe place, Luke. The guards may search my house at any time, since I am known to be among the Company of the Fish. You must come again before you leave the city and say good-bye to Mariamne.”

  “Yes, I will come,” Luke told him. He could not leave Damascus without seeing her again and begging her to wait until he could return.

  “God guard you, then,” Ananias said, embracing him, “for with you goes the hope of the world.”

  XIII

  Silvanus listened gravely to Luke’s account of what Hyrcanus was doing, his vow to destroy the scroll, and his plan to take Saul back to Jerusalem in chains. “Paphos was speaking to me of this today,” he said. “The ethnarch Aretas has ordered him to keep the goodwill of Herod, which means that Paphos will do everything he can to help Hyrcanus.”

  “Was I wrong in accepting the scroll?” Luke asked. It was one thing to foil the Sanhedrin and its agents, but quite another to evade the lawful rulings of a governor in the Roman Empire.

  Silvanus shook his head. “You did no wrong, Luke. It is part of a plan.”

  “What plan?” Luke asked, mystified.

  Silvanus di
d not answer but went over to the window and stood there, staring out upon the city and fiddling with his sword. Finally he turned back to Luke. “You hate Saul, don’t you, Luke?” he asked.

  Luke shrugged. “Why should I do anything else? He was responsible for the murder of Stephen and persecuted the followers of Jesus, while I have found nothing but good men in the Company of the Fish.”

  “A man who executes another on the orders of a state is not a murderer, Luke,” Silvanus said severely. “You heard Sixtus pronounce the death sentence in the name of the emperor.”

  “Would you have executed Stephen if ordered to do so?”

  “Of course,” Silvanus said crisply. “Any soldier would have obeyed the order.”

  “But that doesn’t make it right to kill innocent men.”

  Silvanus put his hand upon Luke’s shoulder. “You will find much in the world that is not right, Luke. And who knows, perhaps you might become an instrument through which many men may know right from wrong, for you are kind, courageous, and wise. Let us suppose you believed that this man Saul was more than you think he is right now, perhaps as important to the world as the teachings of Jesus set down there in the scroll. Would you help him escape death at the hands of the Sanhedrin?”

  “If I believed those things, I would,” Luke said promptly.

  Silvanus smiled then, for Luke had given him the answer he was seeking. “I do believe them, Luke. Just why, I don’t know, but something tells me they are true. And I want you to help arrange Saul’s escape from Jerusalem.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I can trust you, and I know your courage is beyond question.”

  “But how could we get him out? They will certainly be watching for him at the gates.”

  “He could be disguised.”

  Remembering Saul’s stature and his godlike head, Luke was doubtful about any disguise hiding him from detection. “He would be out of place in a Roman column,” he objected, “and would be easily spotted.”