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

by Frank G. Slaughter

“Resurrectionis! Resurrectionis!” the voice of the priest boomed.

  “Resurrectionis! Resurrectionis!” The choir and the virgines took up the cry as the tauroboliatus rose from the pit while the bull quivered in the final throes of the death agony. Dripping blood, the initiate ascended to the throne, where he stood with arms upraised. When the chanting died to a low murmur, he intoned:

  “I, a man of mortal womb, having been this day begotten again by thee, out of some many myriads rendered immortal in this hour by thy grave, O all-powerful Mithras, am become divine, saved by thee. I rejoice that even in our mortal bodies thou didst deify me by the vision of thyself.”

  Above the chant of the choir now rose the shrieks and groans of the worshipers, who rolled and jerked on the floor in religious ecstasy. “Let’s go,” Luke said in disgust. “This place has become a shambles.”

  “The priests will dine tonight on tender beef,” Probus agreed as they made their way from the temple. “What did you think of it?”

  “How can they call that a religion?”

  Probus shrugged. “It pleases the worshipers, else they would not pay for it. Which reminds me, I have some more bald heads coming in for treatment. Will you go back to the shop with me?”

  Luke shook his head. “No. I think I will walk through the city for a while. I need some fresh air after that butchering exhibition we just visited.”

  XII

  Luke ate the midday meal in a little shop on the banks of the river. The strange restlessness still assailed him; in fact, it was only intensified by witnessing the barbaric rite of the taurobolium. He could not help comparing that repulsive ceremony with what he had witnessed of the way Ananias, Saul, Mariamne, and even Simon Peter seemed to feel about Jesus. Their religion was almost a comradeship, and they prayed to Jesus as if he were in the room, waiting to help them.

  Luke had been walking aimlessly, but now he found himself in the midst of a stream of people all moving in the same direction. Turning to a plump Greek who waddled along beside him in the press of the crowd, mopping his forehead, Luke asked. “Where is everybody going?”

  “To the theater for the games, of course. Today is the greatest event of the season. Dacius, the champion with the short sword, will fight a net and trident wielder from Cyprus. And there will be a venatio with the black-maned lions from Africa.”

  Luke knew the word. The venatio, or wild-beast hunt, was not yet so popular in other cities of the empire as it was in Rome, but he had seen it once in Ephesus, and also in Athens when he had gone there on a holiday from his studies in the temple at Pergamum. In Rome, he had been told, the condemned were often thrown to the beasts instead of formally executed.

  “It should be a fine spectacle,” the Greek said. “You are going, are you not?”

  “I think I will,” Luke decided suddenly. He had found some forgetfulness for the strange unrest in military life; perhaps he might find it again in the games, the nearest approach to a military combat outside the battlefield.

  The crowd was in a festive mood, laughing and joking with each other as they pushed past the small booths where the tickets were sold. Huge posters on the walls announced today’s events: “A Great Battle of the Mightiest Gladiators of the Empire,” one declaimed in the extravagant language which characterized such postings. “Twenty Fighters. Furnished by Anaxios of Ephesus Will Battle Twenty of the Champions of Antioch. The Reputation of Our City Is at Stake.” Another stated: “The Greatest Venatio Ever Seen in Antioch. Ten Lions and Eight Lionesses.”

  The bright afternoon sun shone upon the great façade of the stadium and the graceful travertine arches of the lower stories, framed in the prevailing architectural styles, Doric, Corinthian, and Ionic. The top-most story was of wood, and set upon it were metallic sockets bearing tall masts which held broad canvas awnings to protect the audience from the sun. Bearing a ticket purchased at the booth, Luke entered the building through the arch marked upon it. A stream of people wound through the corridors and up the stairs leading to the vomitoria, passages that gave access to the seats themselves. Luke had purchased one of the better seats and so was only about halfway up the broad shell of the theater, but the circular arena, covered with fresh white sand, still seemed far below. The fat Greek had remained just behind Luke in the crowd and had purchased the seat next to him. While Luke bought a cushion from a passing vendor, the Greek hailed still another seller and bought a sweetmeat, which he began to suck noisily.

  The stadium at Antioch was not so magnificent as the great theater for the games at Rome, but it ran the capital a close second. Around the arena a strong metal fence separated the participants from the spectators, protecting each from the other and from the wild beasts of the venatio. Above this fence a high platform of stone encircled the arena, studded with thronelike seats before which a gleaming balustrade partly overhung the arena itself. The next fifteen rows of seats constituted the cavea and were enclosed by walls with a special corridor, and vomitoria giving access directly to them. Restricted to the nobility, the equestrian order, and the officials and military leaders, as well as the richer Syrians and Greeks, this section was already half full. Only a few were as yet in the thronelike seats directly above the arena, and the luxurious center throne was empty. Reserved for the use of the emperor when in Antioch, and for the Roman governor when he attended the games, it was used on ordinary occasions by the promoter, known as the editor, who financed the performances.

  Above the cavea began the seats for the crowd, thousands of them reaching upward, tier on tier, to the very rim of the outer wall of the stadium. The people were cheerful, and there was much good-natured shouting back and forth. Occasionally, when a richly dressed figure moved into one of the box seats or into the cavea, there was a burst of applause as the crowd voiced its approval of one of the more famous names in the city. Over it all sounded the shrill cries of the vendors, who kept up a constant din hawking cushions, syrupy drinks, and trays of pastries and sweetmeats.

  Suddenly there was a blare of trumpets and the crowd rose, cheering. Upon the lower steps of the dais occupied by the throne two trumpeters appeared, followed by two slaves bearing banners. Beside Luke, the Greek said, “Petronius, the governor, sponsors the games today, and Dacius fights under his banner.” He grinned. “If Dacius wins, as he is sure to do, Petronius will win a small fortune in bets with Cyprians who favor the net and trident fighter.”

  “Suppose the Cyprian wins?”

  The Greek shrugged. “There will be another champion for a while. That is the way it goes.”

  Another wave of applause swept the crowd as Petronius emerged. A tall, hawk-nosed man with a haughty, arrogant face, he bowed once, then took his seat upon the luxurious throne. When he raised his hand as a signal, a burst of martial music sounded from beneath the amphitheater, and a colorful procession marched out upon the sand of the arena. Two giant Nubians in the lead beat a compelling rhythm upon huge drums; after them came a quartet of trumpeters, then fife players and wielders of the cymbals. In the wake of the musicians marched a group of acrobats and tumblers, cavorting in perfect rhythm, whirling and leaping quickly forming human pyramids from which one of their number was tossed expertly through the air to land on his feet.

  Behind the acrobats were the fighters themselves, heavily armed Samnites, lighter-clad Thracians, Gauls and Britons from the westernmost provinces of the empire, driving the chariots from which they fought a moving battle. At the rear of the procession marched a giant of a man in armor, his sword uplifted in salute to the governor.

  “Dacius! Dacius Victor!” the crowd shouted, breaking into a frenzy of applause. The slender figure of the net and trident fighter, the retiarius who marched beside Dacius, was almost ignored. His weapons seemed pitifully inadequate beside the massive armor and shield of Dacius, for they consisted only of a three-pronged spear upon a long handle and a net of heavy cords carried over his shoulder, large enou
gh to cover a man’s head and torso and deep enough to enmesh his arms, once it was thrown over them.

  Once around the arena the procession marched, to stop before the throne of Petronius. As the music rose to a climax and ended with the crash of drums and cymbals, the governor stood and lifted his clenched fist in the Roman salute, while the gladiators unsheathed their weapons and held them high before their faces, thundering the traditional salute at the arena: “Morituri te salutamus!” Then as the crowd roared its approval once more, the procession wheeled smartly and marched from the arena.

  Six men now ran out and started to belabor each other with blunt weapons, each trying to strike down the other by brute force rather than by skill, for their arms could inflict no cutting wounds. The crowd soon tired of this preliminary bludgeoning, however, and began to shout “Sine missione!” the cry of the bloodthirsty for a fight to the death.

  At a signal from the trumpeters the blunt-weaponed fighters ran off and six Samnites took their places. The traditional beefy, heavily armed gladiators of the Roman arena, they wore steel helmets bearing the crest of the impresario to whose stable of gladiators they belonged. One leg was protected by a metal greave, a leg armor extending from above the knee to the ankle. On their left arms they carried great oblong shields with which to protect their bodies against the blades of the heavy Roman short swords. They were skilled fighters, and the crowd kept up a continual hubbub as now one and now another brought blood from an opponent. Luke found himself gripped by the rising excitement and the sheer thrill of man-to-man combat, although the principals meant nothing to him.

  One of the fighters went down, his sword arm slashed by a long cut. Lying in the sand with blood pouring from his wound, the fallen gladiator managed to raise himself up and cried, “Missus! Missus! Mercy! Mercy!”

  From his throne Petronius waved negligently to the crowd, indicating that the decision was theirs. The man had fought well and the people were in a good mood. A burst of applause and a sea of waving handkerchiefs gave their approval to his plea, so the leeches ran out to apply cloths to his wounds and bear him from the arena.

  Next a bevy of light-armed Thracians fought each other. Protected only by helmets and small round shields, they used a short curved sword and fought in close formation. The lightness of their armor gave them more mobility than the ponderous Samnites, and their long, graceful leaps and parries, the skilled strokes and counterstrokes stirred up the enthusiasm of the crowd. They took the fighters to their hearts, applauding a skillful cut and shouting with bloodlust when the sharp point of one of the curved swords entered a fighter’s neck and slashed through it, bringing a fatal gush of blood.

  After them, Britons and Gauls fought from chariots, creating a magnificent spectacle as they careened and wheeled across the arena in the fleet vehicles, each seeking to overturn the other and leave the driver at the mercy of a long spear. But these battles were mere preliminaries to the main event, the epic conflict between Dacius, the champion secutor, or sword-bearer, and the retiarius with the net and trident.

  When the fight began, Dacius stood like a rock, slashing and jabbing at the retiarius. The slender fighter, unhampered by weight of armor, leaped with remarkable agility about his opponent, now striking with the trident, now tossing the net expertly so that Dacius was forced to lumber backward lest he be entangled in the cords. Once the net wielder managed to throw his tough web over Dacius’s head and shoulders, quickly leaping in to strike with the trident at a vital spot in the unprotected groin of his heavier adversary. But somehow Dacius managed to loosen his shield and drop it enough to ward off the spear. A blow of his huge arm sent the retiarius sprawling, giving the secutor time to free himself from the net.

  Like everyone else in the great theater, Luke was on his feet shouting encouragement to the agile Cyprian, for the sympathies of the crowd were now all with the graceful fighter against whom the odds had seemed hopelessly weighted at first. Again the cat-and-mouse play began, but now the retiarius, emboldened by his near victory, became more daring in his attack, moving in swiftly to jab at the burly figure, whirling the net above his head as a constant threat of entanglement to Dacius. The crowd was screaming, and Luke found himself shouting hoarsely with the rest, hoping the slender man could win by sheer agility and courage.

  Suddenly the net swooped through the air and enveloped Dacius, tying up both his shield and sword arms. The retiarius leaped in for the kill now, striking with his spear for the great veins that coursed through the secutor’s groin. But Dacius, although his shield and sword were still unusable because of the net, managed to twist his body with desperate strength and avoid the fatal thrust. As it was, the points of the trident buried themselves in his massive buttock muscles, and the long handle snapped in two. Blood stained his thin tunic and the pain must have been agonizing, but Dacius somehow managed to slash through the cords with his sword and, dropping his shield, let the net fall around his feet with the shield still entangled in it.

  The retiarius had been thrown off balance by the breaking spear and was for the moment at the mercy of the huge gladiator. Sensing that unless he killed his opponent at once the crowd would give him his life, Dacius jabbed savagely at the helpless figure on the ground, finding the throat with the point of the sword and bringing a gush of blood. A second stroke severed the man’s head from his body. As the slender form collapsed in a red pool on the sand, an angry roar broke from the crowd at the unfairness of Dacius, who, by the laws of the arena, should have given his fallen adversary an opportunity to cry for mercy and receive the verdict of the crowd. Only the heavy metal fence kept the people from surging down into the arena itself to destroy Dacius with their bare hands as the wounded gladiator hurriedly limped from the arena, the trident still buried in the thick muscles of his buttock.

  Sick with excitement and revulsion, Luke got to his feet and started for the exit. Around him the crowd still screamed insults at Dacius, but when some took up the cry of “Venatio! Venatio!” others joined in the demand for the wild-beast hunt to begin. Just then the Greek be-side him shouted, “Look! They are bringing in the traitors!”

  Luke turned, curious to see who dared to defy the might of Rome and its emperor. Six people were being driven into the arena by guards bearing whips; all were naked. A tall man and a beautiful girl marched proudly in the lead, as if defying the crowd, each helping an older person who was hardly able to walk. Another man, middle-aged but strong, carried the frail body of a white-haired woman, perhaps his mother, in his arms. Luke could feel nothing but pity for these people, whatever their crime, for they seemed wholly defenseless there on the sand.

  Before the throne of the governor the guards left the small group, driving into the ground three short-handled spears which the men could use if they chose to fight against the lions. But one of these men was crippled, another could hardly rise from the sand, and the middle-aged one simply stood with the older woman in his arms. The young man put his arm around the shoulders of the girl, and she leaned against him as if to gather courage from his strength.

  Then a full-throated roar broke from the crowd as a black-maned African lion bounded from one of the arena gates. He paused, a magnificent specimen of animal beauty and ferocity, while behind him a lioness and another male padded out on the sand. For a moment the lions did not see the little group of humans huddled helplessly on the sand, then their scent reached the leader. He growled menacingly, and his ruff stiffened. Slowly the great tail began to lash the sand and, crouching, he moved forward, the others following, converging upon the doomed men and women.

  “What is their crime?” Luke asked the Greek beside him.

  “Treason against the empire. They refused to acknowledge the divinity of the emperor or to serve with the army.”

  “For what reason?”

  The Greek shrugged. “It is said that they belong to some sect that worships a strange god, one they call Christos.”
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br />   “But Christ was a Jew,” Luke protested. “And these people are not Jews.”

  The Greek’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know so much about Christos—” he began, but a sudden roar from the crowd drew his attention back to the arena.

  As the lions came nearer, no one in the group made any move to fight them except the tall young man, who stood in front of the group with the girl. Luke could sense his agony at the thought of the claws of the lion tearing into the beautiful young body of his beloved, and everyone in the theater heard his sudden cry of anguish. Then, stooping to kiss the girl quickly in farewell, he seized one of the spears and jerked it from the ground, moving out before the others to face the lions alone.

  Not ten feet away from the doomed group the black-maned lion crouched and launched his body through the air, ignoring the puny threat of the spear. But the lone defender stood firm, and as the lion’s claws raked his body he stabbed at the soft underbelly of the beast, driving the spear completely through it and pinning the thrashing animal to the sand. Then, leaping to jerk another spear from the sand, he turned to face the other two lions, jabbing at the lioness, who turned and retreated, snarling, well beyond reach of the spear. The third beast, as if amazed that a naked human dared stand against them, stood irresolute.

  The crowd had surged to its feet, screaming with excitement, and Luke was seized by the hope that the young man would somehow win his battle with the beasts and be pardoned. He saw Petronius make a hurried signal to the trumpeters and thought he might be giving the prisoners their lives, but when the blast sounded, a full dozen lions surged into the arena and bore down upon the doomed humans. It was all over in a matter of seconds then; wild beasts surged over the group, snarling and tearing at unprotected bodies, clawing the young man and the girl and going on to slash open the flesh of the others.

  Dizzy with revulsion and nausea, Luke stumbled through the nearest exit, leaving the pandemonium of the kill behind him. He staggered blindly through the empty corridors and down the stairways, with no idea where he was going save that the way to the street lay downward. Finally, when there were no more stairways, Luke realized that he was lost in the lowermost passages of the amphitheater where the cages of the animals were located and the rooms in which the gladiators awaited their turn in the arena. The cooler air in the stone-lined passages relieved some of the nausea and dizziness engendered by the horror he had witnessed, but not knowing in which direction the outside lay, he could only walk along, hoping to reach an exit. Then the door of a cell appeared and he hurried to reach it, thinking that someone there might give him help.