Lucanus did not want to die. He thought of his mother, his brothers, and his sister. He thought of all the work he must do. He was prepared to defend himself. Curse all that wine he had drunk! He lifted himself from against the wall and tested his muscles. He thought again of Plotius, armed with the short sword, who would soon be coming into this passageway. He and Hyacinth alone had seen Lucanus reject Julia with violence. It was possible now that Plotius was not even with Caesar; his allegiance was also to Julia, and he might be consulting her as to how best to dispose of the son of former slaves as quietly as possible.
He is big and strong, thought Lucanus, but I am bigger and stronger. Deprived of his sword, I could strangle him, or at least overcome him. However, he has that sword. Lucanus considered alertly. Someway I will overcome Plotius, he told himself. Then, someway, I will find my path out of this abominable place, not to return to my family, which would endanger them, but to get out of Rome. He took a step or two towards the lantern. Why wait for Plotius’ return? He would flee now. He heard the grating of the key in the lock and knew it was too late.
He ran back to the door and pressed himself to the wall in such a position that the door would open against him, and he would have an opportunity to jump upon Plotius before the captain could guard himself. If Plotius entered with his sword drawn, then he must die. Lucanus flinched. But it is my life, and the life of my family, and all my work, which I must protect, he thought, with the speed of lightning. He remembered the Commandment of which Joseph ben Gamliel had told him: “Thou shalt not kill!” But it had not been commanded that a man should not defend himself.
The door quickly swung open, and Plotius’ profile appeared, and Lucanus saw that he had not drawn his sword. Plotius, not seeing Lucanus behind the door, cursed softly, and called his name with anxiousness. He stepped into the passageway and closed the door behind him and bolted it, then swung about. He then saw Lucanus, and his white tense face, and understood. He grinned broadly. “So you were prepared, my Hercules,” he said. “Ask me no questions. I have talked with Caesar.” He was amused.
“What did Caesar say?” demanded Lucanus, not trusting him.
“Ah, you learn,” replied Plotius, wagging his head in admiration. “I merely told Tiberius that you were inexperienced, and that you had unwittingly offended the Augusta, who is noted for not suffering offense. I have said: ask me no questions. Your life is still in the deadliest danger. Follow me.”
But Lucanus hesitated. He stepped warily back from Plotius. “Am I not under Caesar’s protection, his guest in this palace? He has only to say the word and not even the Augusta would dare lift her hand against me.”
Plotius sighed impatiently. “How little you know, my good innocent. Julia could not, under the circumstances of your presence here, order your death openly. No, your death would happen more stealthily, and Caesar could not prevent it. There is poison, you understand, or an accident, and then your body would be conveyed sorrowfully to your family, with a scroll in Caesar’s hand. Julia has many spies and devotees on the Palatine, more than Caesar himself. So you are to be protected. Tomorrow, in disguise, you will leave the city, and a vessel will be waiting for you in the harbor. In no event are you to return to your home, or you will bring death there not only to yourself but to those you love. Once you are safe, Julia will be led skillfully to believe that Caesar became angry with you and banished you.”
He paused, and stared at Lucanus, who was still watching him. “It was fortunate for myself that the Augusta did not know I was lurking at the end of the portico,” he said. “But it was not fortunate for Hyacinth that he was the only witness to her mortification. He will doubtless be dead before sunset, having fallen down a flight of steep stairs, for instance.”
“What a Caesar, what an Augusta, what a city!” exclaimed Lucanus.
Plotius gaped at him, then shook his head. “What an innocent!” he replied.
“I trust no one,” said Lucanus.
“Excellent, my good friend. I will go on to my own quarters, and you will follow me. I was compelled to leave you here for a time in order to ascertain that my fellow officers are either asleep or on duty. But in a few moments the watch will change, and we must hurry.”
Still Lucanus hesitated. He knew little of Plotius, after all. Then he said, “I will follow. But first let me remove your sword.”
Plotius looked him in the eye, then lifted his arms, smiling, and Lucanus disarmed him. He trotted briskly down the passageway and turned to the right, and Lucanus followed, gripping the sword and glancing cautiously about him. In the farther passageway a long series of oaken doors had been inserted, and faint sounds of snoring came from them. Here it was drier, and there was a scent of grass from an unknown place, and the clean whisper of a wind. Plotius stopped before one door, unlocked it, and entered, silently beckoning to Lucanus. When Lucanus was inside, Plotius swiftly closed the door and bolted it. His voice had dropped when he spoke again. “We must keep our voices low. No one must know you are here, for I, like you, do not trust anyone.”
His small bedchamber, lighted solely by a hissing lamp, was stark and austere, containing only a chair, a rough bed, and a table on which the lamp stood. Swords and two shields hung on the plastered walls, and in various little niches had been placed crude, toylike heads of various gods. In one niche, by itself, and a little larger, was a skillfully executed small marble head of Diodorus, over which hung a banner of Rome, and it was this that Lucanus saw. Still fumy from wine, he felt his eyes fill with tears. He put Plotius’ sword on the table, looked at him straight, and said, “I know I can trust you,” and he pointed to the bust. “You must have loved my father.”
“Yes,” said Plotius. He went to the little bust and touched it reverently. “As did my father, and my uncle, the senator, who was done to death by his colleagues because he loved his country and was an honorable man.” He paused. “So did Tiberius love him.”
Lucanus sat down on the edge of the bed. His headache was becoming more frightful, and he was filled with grief that he would not see his family again, perhaps ever. He held his head in his hands, and croaked, “I should like some water, very cold water.”
Plotius, laughing softly, lifted a jug from the floor and held it to Lucanus’ dry hot mouth, and the young man drank thirstily. Immediately he was nauseated, and Plotius hastily pulled aside a brown wool curtain and thrust him into the latrine beyond. There he retched and vomited the sour wine until he was exhausted. But his headache remained. When he had completed his relieving he re-entered the bedchamber, where Plotius was waiting, still armed and helmeted. He had added a cloak over his uniform, and was yawning as if all this were the most ordinary matter in the world.
“I am not to leave you for a moment,” he said. He removed his helmet and laid it on the table. “You will occupy my bed, and I will sleep across the threshold, wrapped in my cloak. Do not protest. Your flesh is more delicate than mine; I am a soldier and accustomed to sleeping on the ground. I have bolted the door, but it may be possible, though not probable, that someone saw us when we fled from Julia’s banquet.”
“And not even Caesar can protect me!” said Lucanus, with scorn. “Not even from a trumpery woman.”
“You did not seem, at one time, to regard her as trumpery,” said Plotius, showing all his big white teeth in a happy smile. “I recall occasions when you returned her kisses ardently, and once, I do remember, you removed that Cretan hat of hers and balanced it gravely on your head, to the great admiration of the guests.”
“Impossible!” said Lucanus, horrified.
“Indeed, it is so.” Plotius was enjoying himself. He lifted his hand in an oath. “So I swear it. You also offered on more than one occasion to give Julia a demonstration of your prowess as an athlete, except that neither Hyacinth nor Oris was willing. You then declared that on the occasion of the Great Games, a week hence, you would challenge any athlete to any demonstration. The guests were much impressed, and Julia was very proud
.”
Lucanus remembered the shining hot hiatuses during the banquet. While Plotius spoke, he suddenly recalled, with shame, the applause of the guests, and dimly, as in a dream, he saw himself rising and bowing. He groaned, held his temples.
“You bragged,” said Plotius, with deeper enjoyment, “of one Bruno, who was like a bear, and who had taught you wrestling in Alexandria, and whom you finally defeated. You also mentioned that you have in your possession a golden cup testifying to the fact that in all athletics you were the best.”
Lucanus groaned more loudly. It was true. Plotius could not have known of these things without hearing them from Lucanus himself.
“As for dancing, you declared, you were truly expert. Had not Julia restrained you, you would have given a splendid exhibition at once.”
Plotius sighed. “I should have enjoyed that exhibition. It was evident, however, that the Augusta wished to see you perform in private, in that manner and in sundry other ways.” He sighed again. “Had you, however, undertaken to show your prowess in that field you would have hurt Caesar immeasurably, not because you had lain with his wife — for she has lain with many — but because he discerned you were a good man.” He thrust out his lips, considering. “He understood, when I spoke to him a little while ago.”
Lucanus rolled his head in his hands, shuddering. “Why does he not divorce or banish her? Is he a man or a fool?”
“Julia is the daughter of old Augustus, and the people loved him, and they do not love Tiberius.”
Lucanus shuddered again. He was still nauseated, and a thousand little devils were knocking on his skull. He was also deeply ashamed. He looked up at Plotius, and then suddenly the two young men were laughing, Plotius leaning against the wall helplessly, and Lucanus sprawled on the bed. Their paroxysms were the more violent because they had to muffle their laughter behind their hands and arms. When Plotius could control himself he said, hoarse with mirth, “You swore that if Julia would kiss your garland you would eat every rose, including the thorns. But she whispered something in your ear which apparently changed your mind. I should delight in knowing what it was.”
“I should not!” Lucanus then saw that at some time he had abandoned his toga and was only in his pale blue tunic. “Let us hope that she considers me impotent, and that I did not wish to give her a demonstration!”
They laughed again. Lucanus cautiously sipped a little more water. Plotius would not permit him to blow out the lamp. He stretched himself out on the stone floor across the threshold, wrapped in his cloak, and was immediately asleep. But Lucanus, now he was alone with himself, could not sleep. He would soon be far from all he loved, in exile. But had he not wished that? He turned on the bed restlessly. It was long past dawn, and he heard the many hurrying feet of the officers in the passageway outside the door before he fell into a feverish doze.
He had a strange and terrible dream. He saw Rome in flames; he heard the thundering of tens of thousands of columns crashing to the ground; he heard the riotous lamentations of a multitude. The black skies reddened overhead, and a vast smell of corruption, as of roasting carrion, blew over the city. He saw bloated Caesars with evil, corrupt, or stupid faces, crowned with oak leaves and laurel. Porticoes shot with flame; temples quivered like paper, and were dissolved. Arenas roared with beasts, and lions sprang from their cages upon a fleeing populace. From somewhere came a loud, deep voice: “Woe, woe to Rome!” And the thundering filled the whole universe, and the statues of red-tinged gods exploded into crimson fragments and fell with the columns, and white walls heeled like sails and collapsed, and the Seven Hills fumed like bonfires, and the Tiber ran like bloody water.
When Lucanus awoke he saw that the lamp had been freshly filled and that it was hissing and burning with a yellow light. He had no way to tell the time, but he felt that it was very late. No window opened anywhere in the room. He went into the latrine; high in the thick stone wall he discerned that there were small round piercings for air; he stood on the latrine and peered through the holes and saw a green turfy bank, and a glimpse of cypress trees from which blew a sunny, poignant scent. He calculated that it was past noon. He returned to the sleeping room and for the first time saw that a meal had been placed there for him of soldier’s wine, fresh cheese, clean brown bread, and a basket of fruit. With surprising appetite he ate and drank. This was the food he knew.
He understood that he would have to wait. His safety depended upon the most unreliable sources, and the most devious. Once he tried the door; it was locked from without. He shot the inner bolt cautiously. He prowled the small chamber restlessly, thinking. If it were not for his family he would have rejoiced at leaving Rome and its environs at once.
At length a key grated in the lock, and Lucanus stood before the door silently. Then he heard Plotius’ muffled voice, “It is I.” He shot the bolt and stepped back quickly. Plotius entered, with a knowing smile; he carried a large bundle in his arms, which he laid on the bed. “While you were sleeping like a babe, my good Lucanus, I have been busy. First, at the order of Caesar, the Prefect of the Praetorians placed conspicuous notices throughout the palace that you had been banished early this morning. This was to assuage the Augusta’s wrath.” His face changed. “I was not mistaken. Hyacinth was found dead a few hours ago of poison, in his bed. His friend, Oris, is now in the Mamertine for his murder.”
“But he did not murder Hyacinth!”
Plotius pursed up his lips and looked at the ceiling. “I understand he confessed — under torture. If Oris had not been drunk or asleep he would have been poisoned also. Ah, well. All men must die.”
“What will happen to Oris?”
“There is nothing you can do, my friend. I have said I have been busy. I have visited your home, and here, in this large bundle, are your medical pouch, some clothing, some keepsakes from your mother and Keptah, and your medical books. What! Are you going to weep? Your mother understands, and Keptah also. There are letters from them.”
He added, “Edict of banishment to the contrary, it is very possible that the Augusta has spies about, not only in the palace but at the gates of the city, ready to fall upon you and kill you. Therefore a disguise is necessary.”
He opened the bundle and withdrew from it a very coarse brown garment, usually worn by slaves or rural overseers, and a well-executed wig of thick black curls. There was also a pair of wood-soled sandals, and a girdle composed of twined ropes.
“You will go to the Esquiline Gate, beyond which awaits a humble nag. But you will have to walk to the gate. It is a long journey.” He fished through the bundle once more and brought out two moneybags. He poured a golden clattering stream on the bed. “The smaller is from your mother. The larger from Caesar, with his compliments. And here is another gift from Tiberius, who must love you indeed.” Plotius reverently unwrapped a ring of incredible magnificence. Very huge, it depicted the bow and shield of Artemis in brilliant diamonds, superimposed on a heart of turquoise, and all set in polished gold. “You will observe,” said Plotius, dryly, “that it is a virginal ring.”
“I am no virgin, though that may astonish you,” said Lucanus, with a slight laugh. He put the ring on his finger, then turned it about so that its richness was hidden against his palm. He held out his hand for the letters from his mother and Keptah, and sat down to read them quickly. They were brief, and filled with love and confidence, and, in order not to wound him, they expressed no grief or fear. His mother explained that from time to time she would send him money from the bequest of Diodorus; he had only to write her, and she would dispatch the money to any city.
There was another letter in a strange, delicate hand, and Lucanus opened it. It was from Sara bas Elazar, and it too was brief, but ardent and tender.
“I shall love and cherish you always, my dear Lucanus. I should, like Ruth, wish to follow you wherever you go, and be with you eternally. Do not be surprised when you see me, for I shall know where you are. For me there can be no other man, and my prayers are
with you. I know that always you will search for my little brother, Arieh, and will find him one day for me, in the name of my father, whom you consoled. God bless you and keep you, and may He watch your comings and your goings and be on your right hand, ever mindful of you, and may His rod and His staff comfort you.”
“What!” exclaimed Plotius. “You are weeping. That must be a very touching letter. From a lady, doubtless.”
“Quiet!” said Lucanus, and wiped away his tears.
He stood up to examine his physician’s pouch, and as he opened it a golden object fell from it, with its chain. It was Keptah’s cross. He hesitated, then clasped it about his neck. Plotius’ strenuous brown eyes widened, then narrowed. “A cross!” he said. “And in gold! Why is this?”
“I do not know,” said Lucanus. “But Keptah told me it is an old symbol, from Chaldea, called Babylonia by the Jews, that great dead empire. It is a symbol which the Egyptians used also, securing it from the Babylonians; they placed it in their Pyramids. One of their Pharaohs, who declared that only one God existed and so incurred the wrath of the priests, wore such a symbol about his neck, and so did his followers. The Pharaoh’s name was Aton, I believe, but it was long ago. I wear the symbol, for it was given to me by a girl whom I loved — ”
Dear and Glorious Physician Page 45
