Dear and Glorious Physician

by Taylor Caldwell

  Now the city was fully alive and vivaciously deafening, the hard blue sky polished with sun, and without a cloud. Heat blew up from the streets and from the crowding columns. What meaning was there to all this activity, this vehemence, this rapid coming and going, these fast and purposeful feet, this trade, these laughing girls, these vociferous merchants? A group of lawyers, clothed in white, and with solemn faces, mounted the steps of the law court, conversing in low voices as if their concerns contained all life and all death. It was marvelous to believe that one’s being had significance, which it had not. But what would happen to the world if men ceased to believe that their existence was of any importance? Are they wiser than I? thought Lucanus, restlessly. He passed the Temple of Hephaestus, with its red tiled roof gleaming like huge serrated rubies in the furious sun. He had walked a long way, and he was tired and hungry, and longed now for his quiet house, his little garden with its pool full of pink water lilies, and the goat’s milk and cheese and brown bread and honey which would form his breakfast. And here was the slave market, the merchants already arranging their human wares to the best advantage. Lucanus averted his eyes, sickened as always; he usually avoided passing this high wooden platform and looking at the slaves, for he could not endure the agony.

  For some strange reason now he felt a heaviness in his feet and a great weariness, and he halted directly before the platform. The merchants were scolding and cracking whips; a woman was sobbing, a man pleading, a child wailing. Here were exposed for sale those who had fallen into debt, those who were homeless and had offered themselves for sale, those who had transgressed some petty law; some who were criminals. Three beautiful young girls with dusky faces and large black eyes, and clad very prettily, were being arranged in a coquettish group on crimson silk cushions. They were not at all disturbed; they passed a bowl of sweetmeats among themselves and eyed approaching buyers archly. So long as their beauty lasted, they could be assured of good homes and much petting and coddling. They flung back their long black hair and preened their necks, and murmured together in a strange tongue, and giggled at their own lewd remarks. They sat on the platform, demurely tightening their tunics about them to show to the best advantage every curve of leg and thigh and breast under the diaphanous material.

  The merchants did not have many to sell as yet, this early in the morning. A few buxom women, evidently excellent cooks, to judge by the pots arranged at their feet; a few children in the arms of bewildered and weeping girls; a few young men of no particular grace or strength; an old man or two; a group of sullen prisoners. Lucanus began to move on, but the listlessness remained in him, and he stood there. He attracted the attention of the three beautiful girls, and their voices rose eagerly, twittering, and a merchant ran to him and seized his arm. “Master!” he exclaimed. “Look upon these maidens, virgins from Araby! Sisters! Would they not grace your household? All can play zithers and other instruments to beguile your hours! All can dance like nymphs!”

  Lucanus shook off his grasp. The girls gazed at him with rapture and clapped their hands. They were entranced by his appearance. “Apollo!” cried the merchant. “These are your Graces! And the price is ridiculously low, for all of them!”

  “I am not interested,” said Lucanus.

  The merchant bent closer to him and whispered knowingly in his ear, “Master, I have a beautiful plump boy only ten years old, also from Araby, who has been castrated — ”

  Lucanus half turned to him, filled with a powerful impulse to strike him to the ground. But at that moment he heard the jangling of chains, a shout and a blow, and another merchant was driving a man upon the platform, and Lucanus turned to look, his face already sweating with rage. The slave was literally clothed in chains, which dripped and clattered from his manacled wrists and ended in iron rings about his ankles. No one but a dangerous criminal was ever chained so. The merchant’s whip cracked about his body and limbs and shoulders, but he moved with dignity and as though he felt no pain and was not aware of being in this place at all.

  There he stood now, his chains glittering in the hot light. He was completely naked; he wore not even a loincloth; he was like a splendid animal, and his skin was a dark brown, shining and shimmering like silk. Kingly, regal, and very tall, with a breast like two plates of joined bronze armor, with rippling muscles and marvelously formed legs and arms, he gazed at the sky with an immutable and aloof expression. His features were Negroid, and majestic. He wore his black and kinky hair in two short braids twisted together; a golden ring was thrust through the septum of his nose. His black eyes shimmered in the sun like two pools.

  Lucanus moved closer to the platform, fascinated. He knew with an instinctive knowledge that, despite the features and the color, this man was no creature from the jungle. He was regnant; he ignored all about him, but his was not the blind ignorance of a beast. The large and shimmering eyes brimmed with grief, but a quiet and resigned grief, and intelligence. Then he saw Lucanus, and the two young men looked silently at each other, one from the height of the platform and the other in the burning dust.

  The merchant, seeing this, grasped Lucanus again. “Master! Very cheap! Absurdly cheap! A strong slave, who, if he is kept cautiously chained, will more than earn his keep. Look at those muscles! Look at those hands, those legs! Master, I am ashamed to tell you the price!”

  The slave looked down at Lucanus, and a mysterious quickening, an eagerness, glowed in his eyes, and he took one step forward. The chains clanked. There was a searching passion on the slave’s face now, a pleading, a hope.

  “His name,” said the merchant, rubbing his Levantine hands, “is Ramus.”

  “What has he done?” murmured Lucanus, looking up into the slave’s passionately searching eyes.

  The merchant coughed and scratched his bearded chin. “Why — why nothing, Master.” He added, confidentially, “To tell you the truth, Apollo, he is mute. He cannot speak. He came to Athens some time ago, and he walked the streets and stared into the faces of the people; he was found, this heathen, in the Parthenon itself, moving among the statues, invading the temples. The watch saw him at night, walking in the light of the torches, sometimes carrying a lantern. It is said that he had armlets of gold and anklets of gold, but I believe this is a lie, for all he has is the gold ring in his nose. He was taken before a justice, and questioned by interpreters in many languages, and always he shook his head. He was given a stylus and a tablet, to write, but he shook his head. Naturally, he is a barbarian, from some far jungle or desert.”

  “How do you know his name is Ramus, then?” asked Lucanus. He moved a little closer to the platform; his heart was beating with heavy compassion.

  The merchant shrugged. “It is the name the people of Athens gave him, for he was a curiosity on the streets for many months. Crowds of jeering children followed him.”

  “Then?” said Lucanus, as the merchant abruptly stopped speaking.

  “Well, now, Master, you know how superstitious mobs are. It began to be rumored that he possesses the evil eye. You will notice how strange and luminous his eyes are. Women began to claim that his glance caused them to abort; when he passed through a field one night, a peasant saw him, and swore afterwards that all his sheep died and his olive trees withered. The rumors mounted; children fell on the streets writhing after his passage. Girls screamed they were seized by demons in the night, after he had gazed at them.” The merchant laughed and winked. “We merchants are more practical men. We know that the only evil is in not possessing money.”

  “He is not a slave,” said Lucanus, bitterly. “Did he have any money at all?”

  The merchant pondered, his sly eyes upon the young Greek. He fingered his scraggly beard. “He possessed gold coins with peculiar inscriptions, but of great weight. Scholars examined them; they could not declare the origin. Nevertheless, he bought food with them, though no one knows where he housed himself. The matter became serious when he purchased several loaves of bread and gave them to a gang of chained slaves
working on a road. It is true that such slaves are not fed well — That night the slaves escaped. It is rumored that the evil eye dissolved the iron — One must remember how superstitious the ignorant are — ”

  “How was he sold into slavery?” demanded Lucanus in a loud, harsh voice.

  “Master, the law court could no longer profess not to know of this creature and the enraged charges against him. As I told you, he was questioned; he cannot speak; he could not defend himself. It was decided he was a dangerous criminal. He was thrown into prison. Certainly the judges are not superstitious, but they are creatures of the people. You will remember Socrates; it was declared that he perverted youth and ridiculed the gods. The judges did not truly believe that, but there was the mob to consider, who have votes. Hence the hemlock cup. We purchased him today from the jailer, and so here he is.”

  “For no crime at all, but only for a searching!” said Lucanus.

  “Yes. For what was he searching, Master?” The merchant peered at Lucanus. “You are a wise man, O Apollo, as well as handsome like the gods! For what was he searching as he wandered the streets day and night and gazed in all faces?”

  Lucanus said shortly, “I will buy him. But you must remove the chains.” He swung the hooded mantle from his shoulders and held it up to Ramus, who, his wrists jangling, reached down for it with dignity and put it over his naked body. Then, to Lucanus’ sorrow, the slave’s eyes filled with tears, and he smiled a tremulous smile, and a great joy illuminated his dark features.

  The merchant leaped upon the platform, licking his lips. He ruminated on the price as he unlocked the chains. Then he frowned down at Lucanus and named a large sum. Lucanus contemptuously tossed a purse on the platform, and the merchant seized it with avarice and began to count the money, his lips slavering. He cried out with delight, “Master, you have obtained a great bargain! You will not regret this!”

  “Come,” said Lucanus to the slave, who lightly jumped from the platform and stood beside him. A thin chain dangled from his wrist; Lucanus understood that he was to take one end and lead his purchase away with it. He seized the chain, and it parted in his strong hands, and he threw it from him as though it were a tainted object.

  “You are free,” said Lucanus. “Follow me to my home. To our home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The little house, painted a pale blue, and with a rosy roof, sat within a small walled court. A pool floating with pink water lilies and broad green leaves, and filled with tiny golden fish, stood in the center of the garden. A large fig tree provided cool dark shade over a stone bench, and a few fruit trees, citrus and apple, and a big date palm, scattered themselves around the walls. Lucanus, besides cultivating his herb patches, also grew some roses, which reminded him of Rubria; jasmine surrounded his austere house. He could see, from his garden, the silvery hills of Greece, spotted, here and there, with the darkness of pointed cypresses and the darker silver of olive trees, and the pure blue of the skies.

  The interior of the house, which contained only three rooms, had been plastered white, against which the meager furniture cast sharp black shadows in the blaze of morning sun. Here the curtains at the windows were of some thick heavy blue stuff, and the same cheap material hung over the doorways. The red tiled floor was bare. Lucanus led his new purchase into his house, and Ramus looked about him mutely and indifferently. And always his shimmering eyes returned to Lucanus’ face with eagerness and seeking.

  Lucanus went to his spring in the garden — the source of the pool — and brought in a large pitcher of goat’s milk. He put this, foaming and cool, on the bare wooden table, sliced some dark bread, placed this with inexpensive cheese on the table, and added a wooden bowl of fruit and a dish of honeycomb. Ramus watched him in utter silence, standing in the center of the room. Then Lucanus said, gently, “This is our meal. Sit with me and eat.”

  Ramus gazed at him dumbly. Lucanus, watching him, repeated his words in Latin, then in some of the Mediterranean dialects. There was no response. Lucanus tried Egyptian, then finally a mixture of Babylonian, Hebrew, Aramaic, and African. It finally came to Lucanus that Ramus had understood all these various tongues, and that some terror in him kept him from acknowledging this. So Lucanus shrugged, and said in Greek, “There is some reason why you refuse to admit that you understand me, and if I knew that reason I would comprehend. Until you trust me you may keep your own counsel.” He looked at Ramus earnestly, and continued, “In the Greek language the word meaning ‘slave’ also means ‘thing’. To me you are a man, therefore neither a slave nor a thing.”

  Ramus’ majestic Negroid face did not change, but a single tear slipped around his eyelid, and his lips trembled. Lucanus looked away an instant, then returned his regard to the colored man. He said, very softly, “I see you hear me. You are not deaf also?”

  For a long moment or two Ramus did not respond, then, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. Lucanus smiled, and motioned him to one of the two benches at the table. But Ramus raised his hands above his head, pressed the palms together, dropped them so to his breast, then fell on his knees and touched the floor with his forehead in silent prayer. Lucanus’ face darkened sadly, but he waited with politeness. Ramus rose and seated himself at the table; Lucanus’ mantle flowed about his shoulders, and the big golden ring in his nose glittered in the sun. Lucanus broke the bread and gave Ramus half. They began to eat. The light filled the small stark room and lay like a yellow halo about Lucanus’ head. And always Ramus watched him as he ate and drank.

  “I could take you to the praetor tomorrow and have you given your freedom,” said Lucanus, quietly. “But that would do you no service. The authorities would seize you, throw you into prison, and deliver you up to the slavemasters once more. In two weeks’ time we leave Greece for a while, for I am a physician, a ship’s doctor, with a few homes here and there where I rest. At the first port I will seek out a Roman praetor, and you shall have your freedom, and then you may leave for your own country.”

  He looked at Ramus. Then, to his astonishment, Ramus smiled radiantly and shook his head. He lifted his large dark hand, pointed to himself, then to Lucanus, and bowed.

  “I keep no slaves,” said Lucanus, sternly. “The owner of slaves is more degraded in my sight than the slaves themselves.” He studied the other man. “Ah, I see. You are indicating that where I go you wish to go also?”

  Ramus nodded, his smile brighter. “Why?” asked Lucanus.

  Ramus made the motions of writing, and Lucanus rose, brought him a tablet and a stylus. Ramus began to write, slowly and carefully, in Greek, then gave the tablet to Lucanus. “Call me Ramus, Master, for such is the name the Greeks have given me, and my own name will mean nothing to you. Let me be your servant, whether you free me or not, for my heart told me, on seeing you this morning, that where you go I should go, for you shall lead me to him.”

  Ramus had written precisely in Greek, but it was a scholar’s Greek, stilted and pompous. Lucanus lifted his fair eyebrows and tapped the stylus against his lips. “I do not understand,” he said. “Who is he to whom I shall lead you?” Ramus smiled brilliantly. He reached for the stylus and tablet, and wrote, “He is he who will deliver my people from the curse laid on Ham, my ancient father, and him I seek, and through you I shall find him, and only through you, whom he has touched.”

  Lucanus looked at the tablet for a long while. Finally he shook his head. “I understand the Jewish religion. It was Noah who upbraided his sons for finding him in his drunken nakedness. He particularly laid the curse on his son, Ham, of the black countenance. It is true that the black man has been truly cursed, but not by any deity, but only by man. If there is God, and I know there is God, He has not cursed any of His children. Nor to any man has He given the commandment to curse other men, but only to do good to them.”