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

by Frank G. Slaughter

  Such a preoccupation with unworldly matters at a time ordinarily devoted to revelry inevitably had a further effect upon the business of the city, particularly the work of the silversmiths, already seriously threatened by the tremendous influence which the Christian faith had achieved over a large segment of the people. In such an inflammable situation trouble was not long in developing. The first word that Luke and Probus had of it was when Alexander, a Jewish coppersmith and a friend of Probus, came to the shop one morning very much disturbed.

  “Demetrius, the leader of the silversmiths, is inciting a crowd to riot against Paul,” he reported. “I came to warn you before the mob gets out of control.”

  Probus lifted his eyebrows. “You Jews are against Paul too. Why not let Demetrius and his followers drive him out, as you would like to happen?”

  “It is well known in Ephesus that Paul is also a Jew,” Alexander explained. “A mob aroused against any Jew in these times may turn upon all of us.” Since all Jews had been ordered to leave Rome by Claudius, unruly elements in other cities of the empire had seized the opportunity to persecute this already much dispersed race.

  “Paul absolutely refuses to leave Ephesus,” Probus said.

  “Then there will be serious trouble,” Alexander said grimly. “A large crowd was forming when I left, and Demetrius is whipping them into a frenzy.”

  “Let me go with you to Demetrius,” Luke suggested. “Perhaps I can reason with him.”

  Alexander shrugged hopelessly. “You will be wasting your time,” he warned. “But I will take you to his shop.”

  Such a large crowd had gathered in the street before the establishment of Demetrius that they could not get near it. Looking around him, Luke found this crowd little different from others which had been stirred up by the visits of Paul. There was the same shouting but saying nothing, the same angry gestures, the same sporadic fights. This one, however, had the advantage of a forceful and skillful leader, which made it doubly dangerous.

  Demetrius stood on a table which had been dragged from the shop. “Men of Ephesus,” he shouted. “You know well that our prosperity depends upon this business of ours, and you see and hear that, not only in Ephesus but all over the province of Asia, this man Paul has led away a vast number of people by persuading them, telling them that gods made by human hands are not gods at all. Now the danger facing us is not only that our business will lose its reputation, but also that the temple of the great goddess Artemis will be brought into contempt and that she whom all Asia and all the world now worships will soon be dethroned from her majestic glory.”

  “Great Artemis of Ephesus!” someone shouted, and the crowd took up the cry so that Demetrius could not be heard. “Great Artemis of Ephesus!” The chant rose in waves of sound.

  “Look!” Probus cried. “They have Gaius and Aristarchus.” Two men were being dragged through the crowd toward the platform upon which Demetrius stood. The speaker looked down at the struggling knot of men who surrounded the two and asked in a loud voice, “Who are these two?”

  “This must be prearranged,” Probus observed. “Demetrius knows those two well. But why has he taken them instead of Paul?”

  “Perhaps he hopes to lure Paul into his hands?” Luke said. “He is sure to come when he learns that they have captured Gaius and Aristarchus.”

  “They are companions of Paul,” the men who had dragged the two through the crowd shouted in answer to Demetrius, at which the crowd began to howl once more. Some who were close to the platform struck at the victims with heavy staves which many of the crowd carried. “Hold your staves,” Demetrius shouted. “We will take them to the theater so they may be judged.”

  The mob seized eagerly upon this idea and began to surge through the streets toward the great theater at the end of the colonnaded street leading from the Temple of Artemis, dragging Gaius and Aristarchus with them. At almost every street corner it gained in numbers as more and more people attached themselves, joining in the rhythmic chant of “Great Artemis of Ephesus!” The passions of such an excited group could be skillfully directed upon Paul and the Christians whenever Demetrius was ready, leading to a full-scale riot.

  Into the great outdoor amphitheater they poured, spilling out into the lower rows of seats. Gaius and Aristarchus, half conscious from the buffeting they had received at the hands of the crowd, were dragged to the stage behind the tall figure of Demetrius. As Luke, Probus, and Alexander were swept into the theater with the crowd the apothecary seized their hands and drew them into a side passage. “Follow me,” he directed. “I know a way to get close to the stage.”

  The narrow corridor led under the marble tiers of seats and emerged through one of the lower vomitoria only a little way from the stage, where they could see and hear whatever happened.

  “Stay close to the opening,” Probus warned, “in case we need to get out quickly.”

  “Where is the Jew, Paul?” someone in the crowd shouted, and others took up the cry: “Death to Paul! Death to the Jews!” This was the thing which Alexander had feared, for in their present state the crowd might easily turn upon all the Jews of the city. Before Luke or Probus realized what Alexander intended, he vaulted over the low parapet in front of the seats and ran for the stage. Upon the lower steps he raised his hand to attract the attention of the crowd, for, being a coppersmith, he would be well known to many of the metalworkers in the mob.

  One of the crowd shouted, “There is a Jew!” and others took up the cry. Alexander would have been killed then and there had not Demetrius shouted, “We have no quarrel with the Jews of Ephesus. Let us judge the Macedonians here, then we will go in search of Paul.”

  “If Paul learns that Gaius and Aristarchus have been taken by the mob, he may try to come here,” Luke said with a worried frown.

  “God help him if he does,” Probus added.

  “You and Alexander can go out through the corridor by which we entered, Probus,” Luke said urgently. “Find Paul and see that he does not come here, even if you have to restrain him by force.”

  Probus nodded his understanding of the stratagem. “What about you?”

  “I will stay here to help Gaius and Aristarchus if I can.”

  “Paul can go to my house,” Probus said. “We may be able to hide him until this blows over.”

  While Probus and Alexander made their exit hurriedly through the vomitoria by which they had entered the theater, Luke turned his attention back to Demetrius. The silversmith was not even trying to quiet the crowd, and Luke was sure now that his strategy was to use Paul’s disciples, Gaius and Aristarchus, as bait to lure the apostle into the hands of the mob, which, in its present temper, would mean his death.

  Into this tense and inflammable situation a new sound now intruded itself, the blast of Roman trumpets. Luke saw Demetrius wheel in the direction of the sound, and a look of dismay came over his features at this unexpected complication. The Roman authorities were very strict about riots and put them down when they arose, sometimes with bloody results. The sound of the trumpets had a quieting effect upon the crowd, too, for they knew well upon whom the staves of the lictors and the swords of the soldiers would fall if the riot had to be put down by force.

  Through the entrance to the theater marched a tall commanding figure in rich garments, followed by several men in the purple mantles and garlands of the Asiarchs, who were charged with maintaining order at this season. Guarding them was a squad of Roman soldiers with drawn short swords. A hush fell over the crowd as this impressive group marched up to the stage, and beside him Luke heard one of the Ephesians tell another, “It is Aristides, the city recorder and chief magistrate, with the Asiarchs.”

  Before Demetrius, the recorder stopped. “Who incited this riot?” he demanded sharply.

  “A man named Paul, noble Aristides.” Demetrius bowed respectfully. “He had defamed great Artemis of Ephesus.”

&n
bsp; The crowd started chanting again, but the recorder silenced them with a stern order. “Who are these men?” he asked, pointing to the two Greeks. “And why have you beaten them?”

  “They are followers of Paul,” Demetrius explained. “The crowd would have torn them to pieces. But I insisted that they be brought here to be judged.”

  The recorder turned to the crowd, and his voice rang out over the theater. “Men of Ephesus,” he said sternly, “who in the world does not know that the city of Ephesus is the guardian of the temple of the great Artemis and of the image that fell down from the heavens? So, as this cannot be denied, you must be quiet and do nothing rash. For you have brought these men here, although they are not guilty of sacrilege or of abusive speech against our goddess. If Demetrius and his fellow workmen have a charge against anybody, there are the courts and the judges; let them go to law. But if you require anything beyond this, it must be settled in the regular assembly. For we are in danger of being charged with rioting for today’s assembly, as there is not a single reason we can give for it.”

  This was a cogent argument to the logic-loving Greeks. Certain times were set by laws for the assizes, when the authorities met with the people in assembly to hear complaints and try wrongdoers. But this was no such orderly gathering and could well bring down upon the Ephesians the wrath of the Roman authorities, who abhorred riots. Nor could Demetrius afford to defy the recorder, for it was within the power of the city official to have him arrested there and then.

  At a nod from Aristides the soldiers blew another blast on their trumpets to gain the attention of the crowd. “I declare this assembly dismissed!” he shouted. “All must leave the theater at once or suffer arrest!”

  While the crowd was filtering out of the theater in the wake of the official party, Luke made his way to the stage, where the injured men were lying. A quick examination told him that their wounds were not mortal, and he was looking around for someone to send after a cart or litter when he heard Demetrius speaking to the men who had dragged Gaius and Aristarchus through the crowd at the beginning of the riot. Luke bent over the wounded men so that Demetrius would not realize that he was eavesdropping.

  “If we go quickly to the house of Priscilla and Aquila,” Demetrius was instructing his henchmen, “we can still find Paul. Put cloths over your faces so that you will not be recognized. We can kill him then and blame it on unruly elements from the mob.”

  Luke’s mind worked rapidly, for he knew that there was no time to be lost if Paul were to be saved. The crowd would not find the apostle at the house of Priscilla and Aquila, but someone there might reveal that Probus had come for him. There was only one answer: Luke must reach Paul at the house of Probus and get him away from the city before the silversmiths got there.

  By taking shortcuts and less frequented streets Luke moved as quickly as he could, but it seemed hours before he stumbled into Probus’s home. Paul and the apothecary were arguing spiritedly when he entered, and he heard Paul shout, “I am going to the theater! Don’t try to stop me!”

  Thecla saw Luke enter and went to him at once, thinking that he was hurt, for he was panting from having run through the city. “Are you hurt, dear?” she asked.

  “I am all right,” Luke gasped. “But we must get Paul away immediately.”

  “I will go to the theater,” Paul insisted stubbornly.

  “The mob has been dismissed by the city recorder,” Luke explained. “But Demetrius and his men have gone to the house of Priscilla and Aquila to look for you to kill you. They are sure to find out from someone that you came here with Probus and follow you.”

  “I will speak to them,” Paul began, but Luke cut him off impatiently. “Why do you think they will listen? The whole riot this morning was stirred up so the crowd would kill you and Demetrius could escape responsibility. They even dragged Gaius and Aristarchus there because they thought you would come when you heard they had been taken.”

  “I would have come,” Paul cried indignantly, “if Probus had not lied to me and brought me here.”

  “You should thank him for saving your, life, then. This is no mere riot, Paul, which you can quiet by speaking to the crowd. Demetrius is on his way here now with a group of hired assassins. I heard them say they would put cloths over their faces and kill you so that the authorities would not know whom to blame. We must get you to a place of safety.”

  “Luke is right, Paul,” Thecla pleaded. “It would not help anything for you to be killed by a group of murderers.”

  For the first time a look of doubt appeared in Paul’s eyes. While he might welcome a martyr’s death such as Jesus had suffered, nothing would be accomplished if he lost his life on a back street at the hands of assassins.

  Seeing that Paul was wavering, Probus said, “Silas has taken Anna and the children to her father’s home, Luke. You must take Paul and Thecla there at once.”

  Luke shook his head. “Demetrius and his henchmen are in the street. We might easily run into them.”

  “The river is only a short distance from here,” Probus said. “Take the first boat you find and row downstream. Silas and I will come downriver for you later, when the crowd has dispersed.”

  “But how will you escape?” Luke protested.

  “I am well known in the city,” Probus assured him. “They will not bother me.”

  A new sound came from the street, the tramping of heavy feet, as if a band of men were approaching the house. All of them realized instantly what had happened: Demetrius had learned or surmised where his quarry had flown.

  “Quick!” Probus directed, pushing the three of them toward the back of the house. “Make for the river. I will try to hold them here until you can get a boat.”

  Paul hesitated, as if even now he could not realize that he was facing violent death, but Luke seized his hand and urged Thecla out through the door leading into the small garden that gave access to the back street, half dragging Paul with them. As they scuttled down the tree-lined lane that ran back of the house toward the river they could easily hear the angry shouts of Demetrius and his men before the house.

  “I hope nothing happens to Probus,” Thecla panted, running beside Luke.

  “Let us hope God will protect him,” Luke agreed soberly. Behind them there was a momentary lull in the sound of the crowd as they surged into the house, thinking they had run their prey to earth. But there was no time to stop and learn what had happened to Probus. They had been given a few minutes’ respite; it would be all too short a time in which to make their escape.

  All three of them were exhausted when they reached the stone parapet that guarded the channel of the Cayster here in the city, but there was no time for rest. Luke climbed upon the parapet and searched the brown flood of the river for one of the boats which were usually tethered all along the banks and in which they could float down the stream to safety. But this time no boats met his gaze, nothing except the stream itself and the stone walls that lined its banks. Too late he remembered that the owners of boats took them out of the water during the Feast of Artemision for fear they might be stolen or damaged by the crowds that filled the city.

  “What will we do, Luke?” Thecla cried. “There are no boats.”

  A sudden burst of sound, like dogs baying upon the trail of a wounded animal, told them the mob had picked up their escape route and were again in pursuit. But with their backs to the river there seemed no means of escape. Luke glanced down at the water, then back at the other two. “Can you swim, Thecla?” he asked.

  “A little,” she admitted. “Perhaps enough to get across, no more.”

  “And you, Paul?”

  Paul turned when Luke spoke, but slowly, as if he were in a daze, still unable to believe that he was really facing death with no apparent help from any source, not even the divine intervention which he believed had always come to his aid. “No,” he said dully then. “I ne
ver learned to swim.”

  Quickly Luke searched the banks of the stream once more for something upon which they could float downstream to safety, but there was nothing that offered any hope. Then he noticed something which in his anguish he had overlooked before, a narrow stone ledge about three feet above the water level and some five feet below the top of the parapet against which they were leaning. He recognized it at once as the opening of one of the great cloacas, or sewers, which emptied into the river every hundred feet or so here. Lined with stone, the cloacas were about four feet in diameter, with the opening only partially submerged in water, except when the tide was high and the level of the river covered them. Now the tide was low and the water level only half covered the mouth of the sewer, leaving several feet of open space above the water inside the passage. It was an unpleasant haven in which to be forced to seek refuge, but he saw no other alternative.

  “The cloaca is only partially submerged,” he told Thecla and Paul hurriedly. “There is a chance that we can drop over the bank here and hide inside it.”

  Thecla shivered at the thought of entering the water and the filthy sewer, but she nodded bravely to show that she understood. Luke climbed over the parapet above the mouth of the sewer and stood on the narrow stone ledge which had shown it to him. The small platform was only about a foot wide and barely long enough for him to stand on with a good footing.

  “You first, dear,” he said to Thecla. She climbed over the parapet, and Luke helped her down on the stone ledge beside him with her back to the river. Then, taking her hands, he lowered her over the mouth of the cloaca. She shivered as the water touched her body, but her eyes were unafraid and she even managed to smile. “Feel with your feet for the mouth of the sewer,” Luke instructed her.

  She nodded and moved her legs, then shook her head, and he let her down a little deeper. “I am touching it now,” she said then. “There seems to be a platform here at the sewer mouth.”