“Right,” said Thorion decisively. “What does the accused have to say to all that? Do you have a patron here, Chariton of Ephesus?” He pronounced my assumed name with a certain degree of dislike and with an air of lofty disdain, as though he’d never met me.
“I will speak for myself, Your Honor,” I said, and I got up and proceeded to do so. I described Diokles’ accident and the treatment Xanthos had given him, and protested my total ignorance of magical arts. “I trained in Alexandria, and I am a Hippocratic, both by training and by inclination,” I concluded. “We believe that diseases have natural causes and natural cures, and we are too busy studying these to pay much attention to magic. Besides that, we swear to use our knowledge to heal, never to harm. I am entirely innocent of this charge.” I sat down again. The people of Tomis whispered to each other, unconvinced, giving me sideways looks of horror and suspicion.
Thorion nodded and leaned forward. “As I understand it, the accuser used to be chief physician at the fort of Novidunum, until the arrival of the accused. Can anyone tell me what sort of job he did?”
“My client has practiced the Apollonian art all his life!” said the barrister in measured tones. “As his father before him, he fearlessly treated the sick, alleviating their pains, soothing —”
“Yes, yes, but what sort of job did he do?” asked Thorion. “Any witnesses?”
Sebastianus rose gracefully to his feet.
“His Excellency the most noble Sebastianus, duke of Scythia!” announced the usher.
“Your Excellency,” said Thorion, giving the old crooked-tooth smile, “I am delighted to make the acquaintance of so eminent a gentleman. I am honored that you have seen fit to attend our court.”
Sebastianus made a disclaiming gesture. “May I witness on behalf of the accused?”
“A gentleman of your quality could witness on behalf of the Devil.” Sebastianus proceeded to revile Xanthos forcefully as incompetent and bungling, and to praise me. “The year before the most esteemed Chariton arrived,” he stated, “the hospital at Novidunum treated eighty-three patients, of whom seventy-two died. Last year it treated a hundred and forty-eight, of whom a hundred and two recovered. Moreover, the number of men sick throughout my troops has dropped dramatically. I value Chariton’s services very highly. He is an exceptionally skilled and dedicated physician, and this talk of sorcery is nonsense.” He sat down.
Thorion nodded at intervals throughout the speech. “Your Excellency was good enough to say as much before, in a letter Your Diligence wrote to my predecessor,” he said when Sebastianus had finished. “So. Xanthos was chief doctor and did a bad job; Chariton arrives, supplants him, and does a good one. This fellow Diokles falls into the Danube, gets pneumonia, is treated by Xanthos, and promptly dies. Xanthos blames his enemy, who supplanted him.”
“Your Eminence!” cried the barrister. Xanthos sat up straight with his mouth open, gasping.
“Oh, be quiet!” said Thorion impatiently. “You can’t hide the fact that your client has a grudge against the accused. Do you have any evidence to link Chariton to the death?”
“He’s a sorcerer!” said Xanthos, jumping up before his barrister could get a word in. He gripped the court rails as though they were some kind of weapon he meant to hurl at me, and spat his words out, glaring around as though challenging the court to call him a liar. “Everyone in the fortress knows it. His own slaves boast about it. He gets his cures by magic. He mutilates the bodies of animals, yes, and of men too!” An excited rustle ran about the benches. “I have witnesses here who can attest to that!” Xanthos’ voice was rising with excitement, though his barrister was trying to get him to slow down, to produce this evidence for maximum effect. “Alaric and Ursacius here examined the body of a man, a Roman soldier, cut up by this gelded magician for some necromantic purpose! I myself saw him doing it, and they can swear to what he did!”
Horrified exclamations. I hadn’t realized that Xanthos had got himself some witnesses to the effects of my dissection: I’d thought it would just be his word against mine. The evidence was damaging.
But Thorion waved it aside. “They can swear, perhaps, that a dead body showed signs of having been cut. You’ll swear, so you say, that you witnessed your colleague cutting the body. Was it the body of the deceased, Diokles? No? Well, how do you know the cutting wasn’t done as part of some standard surgical procedure? The accused is a surgeon, I presume? Well, there you are! Will your witnesses swear that the signs of cutting they saw were necromantic, and not administered before death in some attempt to save the patient’s life?” The witnesses looked nervous and unsure of themselves; they shook their heads.
“I saw him cutting the body after death!” Xanthos exclaimed. “He did it in a back room of the hospital at Novidunum, at night when he thought no one was watching, but I looked through the keyhole and saw him at it!”
More rustling about the benches. Thorion raised his hand for silence. “Even if I accepted your evidence that the cutting took place after death — and given your evident hatred of the accused, I don’t know why I should — can you give me any evidence that it was part of a necromantic procedure and not a standard medical dissection? Of course there are such dissections! Any educated man knows that learned doctors sometimes perform such operations, to gain knowledge about how to treat similar disorders in future. Have you read Galen, or Herophilos? What? And you a doctor, too! It is plain to me that you’re as incompetent as the most respected duke says. Do you have any other evidence?”
“Everyone knows he’s a sorcerer. I can call witnesses —”
“What everyone says isn’t evidence. Do you have any witnesses that he made a magical charm for anyone, or cursed someone to cause sickness, or practiced astrology? No? Any other evidence, then? No? Right, case dismissed.”
Uproar in the court. Thorion raised his voice and went on. “And I assess damages against Xanthos the son of Polykles, for bringing a malicious and frivolous charge against the most excellent Chariton. Assessor, do we have anything else for this morning? Right, the court rises until this afternoon.”
Xanthos and his barrister began to protest. Xanthos wept, beating his hands against the railings. The fine for bringing a frivolous charge is a large one, and he had obviously already spent heavily on bribes and barristers: the loss would ruin him. And he’d lost his job too, and would be unlikely to get another after this branding as an incompetent. He rushed up toward the dais, ready to beg Thorion for mercy; Thorion gave a sign to the ushers, and they pulled him out, still weeping. The barrister followed him, glancing over his shoulder at Thorion. The public got up, arguing loudly among themselves. Thorion sat back in his chair, thumbs through his belt, whistling soundlessly. He caught my eye and grinned.
When the public had left, Sebastianus and Athanaric rose and went over to Thorion; I got up as well. “Esteemed Theodoros,” said Sebastianus, offering Thorion his hand, “you don’t waste your time.”
Thorion shook the hand, grinning. “I heard enough windy speeches while I was an assessor; I don’t see why I should listen to more of them now I’m a governor. And I think I would have spotted that fellow as a liar and a cheat even if I hadn’t known about this case beforehand. But I suppose Charition has told you he’s an old friend of mine. Excuse me a moment, Excellencies.” He hurried over to me, stood staring for a moment, then shook his head in wonder. “By Artemis the Great! Lord God, Charition, I really didn’t recognize you. It is you, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” I said, and embraced him. He gave me a bear hug in return, then let go and stepped back, staring again.
“Trousers, too!” he exclaimed. “Eternal God, you look like a barbarian!”
“It’s cold here in the winter.”
“It’ll be pretty damn cold before I wear gear like that! Excuse me, Your Eminences.” He grinned at Sebastianus and Athanaric, who were both trousered. “It takes a bit of getting used to. I thought the trial went well, though I say so myself. I didn�
��t want to make it too obvious that I knew Charition. God, everyone will think I’m marvelously learned now! It was Herophilos and Galen who did dissections, wasn’t it, Charition? Did you do one, or did that fellow just make it up? It was a stupid thing to do, if it’s true. I was never so surprised in my life as when I found you were supposed to be coming here for a sorcery trial; I was just sending a letter to you, inviting you to come visit, when the assessor says, “But sir, this Chariton is to be here next week!” Anyhow, we’ve got that mess out of the way now; you’ll have to come to lunch with me, so we can talk — if Their Excellencies will excuse us.” He turned back to Athanaric and Sebastianus, still grinning. “I haven’t seen my friend for years; we grew up together.”
“So he informed us,” said Sebastianus. He looked somewhat taken aback, as well he might.
“Then you will excuse us. Though I’m delighted to make Your Honor’s acquaintance — and yours, most noble Athanaric. You’ll have to forgive me: I didn’t recognize your name last night; I remembered it after you’d gone. The most illustrious Eutherios mentioned you to me, saying I could rely on your assistance if I had any trouble with the Goths. I gather some big transportation of them across the river is going on, though not in this province. I would be delighted if Your Excellencies would honor me with your most esteemed company at dinner. I have much to learn if I’m to do a good job here.”
Sebastianus and Athanaric bowed and murmured that they’d be delighted to attend His Excellency at dinner; Thorion bowed back and thanked them, then towed me off rapidly into the rear of the prefecture, where he had his residence. One of the court scribes followed, but as soon as we’d crossed to the house Thorion turned on him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. The scribe gaped and offered him some papers; Thorion snatched them. “Why are you showing me these?” he said, glancing through them. “I’ll look at them later.” He shoved them back. “I want to talk to my friend and I don’t want to be disturbed,” he announced loudly, glaring from the scribe to two or three of the prefectural slaves who’d come up. They bowed and retreated hastily. “But I’ve invited their eminences Duke Sebastianus and the agent Athanaric to dinner: see to it!” he shouted after the slaves, and they bowed again.
Thorion took my arm. “Never get any privacy here,” he told me, pulling me into the building. “By the holy apostles, Charition, I didn’t know you had such powerful friends! You should have seen the letter that Sebastianus wrote — and the one from the agent Athanaric! You’re a reincarnation of Hippocrates, according to them. I didn’t know what to think!” We went upstairs: up one flight with a carved stair rail and plaster walls painted with seascapes; up another, steeper flight with plain walls and a plain railing, into the servants’ quarters. “We’ll have lunch with Maia. She’s expecting us,” Thorion explained as he reached the top and stopped, panting a little from the climb. “It’s no use trying to be private downstairs; people are always coming in. Could His Excellency sign this, would His Excellency look at that. His Excellency will see no one till this afternoon!” This last was directed at one of the slaves, a girl who had come out of her room to see who was talking; she gave a gulp, bowed, and went back in. Thorion strode down the corridor, stopped so suddenly that I bumped into him, and rapped on a door. It opened instantly.
Thorion had not changed at all; my Maia had changed a great deal. The hair that I remembered as red was gray now, and she seemed smaller, dried like leather. Her eyes slid eagerly past Thorion to meet mine directly; they widened. She stood back from the open door and let us past, then closed it, bolted it. “Oh, my dear!” she said breathlessly, staring at me.
“I didn’t recognize her,” remarked Thorion.
“Oh, my poor darling!” said Maia, and embraced me, standing on tiptoe to do so. Had I grown that much? Or had she shrunk?
“The trial went beautifully,” Thorion told Maia, going on into the room without waiting for her to let go of me. The room was a fairsized one, with orange-painted panels, and a bed, a couch, and a stool drawn up around a small table set with delicacies. Thorion sat down on one end of the couch and picked a bunch of grapes off the table. “The man bringing the accusation was a piece of spite and jealousy; anybody could see how he hated Charition. And His Honor the duke was there in person, and this Athanaric man, and the duke made a speech about how wonderful Charition is and how she’s cured all these people and is the cleverest doctor this side of Alexandria. I’ll say one thing for you, Charition, you’ve made a great job of this doctoring. I didn’t know what to think!”
Maia was still holding me; she put her hand against my cheek, looking into my face. Then she shook her head. “My poor dear!” she said again. “And you were such a lovely girl!”
“Leave her alone for now!” Thorion told her. “Let her find her feet. Come and sit down. Immortal God, stuffed dormice! You really have made an occasion of this, haven’t you?”
“It’s for the reunion,” said Maia briskly, letting go of me. “And I don’t have much to spend my money on, do I? You don’t like me giving it all to the church.”
“You do what you like with it, that’s all I keep telling you,” said Thorion through a mouthful of grapes. “It’s just a shame to see money I give you as a salary going into church coffers, that’s all. It’s much better spent on stuffed dormice.”
I sat down on the other end of the couch; Maia took the stool. “What’s this about money?” I asked.
“Maia’s salary,” explained Thorion. “As housekeeper.”
I looked from one to the other. “You didn’t tell me you freed her!”
“Didn’t I? Well, I did. I inherited her after Father died, and had the papers drawn up at once. Not that it makes any difference. I freed Philoxenos too, and made him farm manager. You remember Philoxenos?”
“Of course. Maia, how wonderful! I never drank to your freedom; let me do that now.”
Maia smiled rather wanly and poured some wine into my cup; it was standing in a jug, already mixed. “Though as his excellency Lord Theodoros says, it doesn’t make much difference,” she told me.
I laughed; I’d forgotten how fond she was of titles. “To my Maia,” I said, lifting my cup, “Elpis of Ephesus, a free woman!”
Maia smiled again, then poured some wine for herself and Thorion and joined the toast.
Thorion talked while we ate the stuffed dormice, telling me about the estates in Ephesus and all the slaves and dependents of the house, and about his friends, and about Constantinople. I was quite happy to sit and listen, asking the odd question. I knew that sooner or later the talk would settle on Me, and that would be difficult.
Maia watched me silently, not eating much. Her eyes were red rimmed, one more so than the other. It seemed a bit rheumy as well, and she rubbed it occasionally as though it itched. There was a pause in Thorion’s account while he downed another dormouse, and Maia noticed me looking at her eye. She smiled. “Will you give me a prescription for it?” she asked.
“I was just thinking of one,” I said truthfully.
“I’m sure it will be a good one,” she said evenly. “I think you must be a very good doctor. Are you happy, my dear?”
“Yes.”
She gave a long sigh, staring at me wistfully. “I wanted you to come home. I wanted to see you married.”
“I know you did. I wish . . . I wish I could, and still practice the art. But I can’t; I had to choose one or the other.”
She nodded slowly. “I never thought you would come back. When you left Ephesus, I told Thorion that it was forever. He told me not to be silly.”
“And I think you’re both being silly now,” said Thorion. “I don’t see what’s so wonderful about this art, though I suppose I am pleased you’ve done so well at it, Charition. But you’ve learned it, and you’ve practiced it, and you’ve been away for more than five years, and I don’t see why you can’t come back and get married now. And don’t look so mulish. You’ve spoiled your looks a bit, but nothing that a few
months and a bit of make-up won’t cure: you’re pretty enough, and still not too old. And I’ll see that you get half the estate as a dowry. You can marry whomever you like, and set whatever conditions you want. You can even play doctor to your own household. I know you used to plan to do that. Well, what’s wrong with that? It’s no good living without a family, pretending to everybody that you’re something you’re not. Do your own slaves know? No, I thought not. It’s no good. And you keep getting into trouble, first that damned heretic archbishop in Egypt and now this!”
“He wasn’t a heretic,” I said sharply.
“He was a damned rabble-rouser, then, and in trouble with the authorities! You should have let him alone. And doing dissections? That was asking for trouble. You may be clever, but you never had any sense. I thought about having you arrested properly on this charge and smuggling you out of the prison; I thought that then you’d have to see reason. But I didn’t want to have your slaves tortured; I don’t like it. Not since Festinus did it to Maia.”
“It would kill me to go back to being a lady,” I said. “I won’t do it. Let it alone, Thorion, please. I don’t want to argue.”
“I just don’t understand!”
“How would you feel if someone told you it was improper to hold a governorship, or an assessorship, or any office; that you couldn’t appear as a witness on your own behalf in court, and your consent wasn’t required for your own marriage — which somebody else would arrange for you? Wouldn’t you do everything you could to avoid an enslavement like that?”
“Yes, but I’m a man!”
“Well, in the eyes of the world, so am I. Now. You’re used to the freedom, and so am I. And I do love the art, probably more than you love your governorship.”
The Beacon at Alexandria Page 32
