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

by Frank G. Slaughter

  “Let me take you to Glaucus,” Mark offered, and in the hall outside he mopped his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. “I am always saying the wrong things. Peter is often displeased with me because of it.”

  “You mentioned the scroll I took to Damascus,” Luke said. “Do you know where it is now?”

  “The scroll disappeared a few years ago,” Mark told him, “when the Sanhedrin was especially busy trying to destroy the disciples. Some say a woman took it away, but Peter insists that when there is a need for the sayings the scroll will reappear.”

  “Does Peter know where it is?”

  “I think he does,” Mark admitted. “But I am babbling on as usual. You will be wanting to see Glaucus.”

  The room they entered was bright with sunlight that poured through a window opening upon the central garden around which the house was built. On a low couch lay a white-haired man with the features of a Greek patrician. His cheeks were pale from illness, and there were dark shadows of sickness under his eyes. It was to the girl by the window that Luke’s eyes were drawn irresistibly. She was looking out into the garden when they entered, and in the sunlight her profile was etched as cleanly as the head of a Greek goddess upon a gold coin. So startlingly beautiful was she that Luke involuntarily caught his breath at the sight of her. Her features were of classic Greek, her hair dark but wavy and bound with a simple white bandeau. Her eyes, dark and direct, met his as she turned her head. She was tall for a girl, almost as tall as Luke, and her body was as graceful as a Greek statue. Luke judged that she was about twenty years old. She was dressed in a simple silken stola of pale green color with long loose sleeves and girded at the waist with a narrow leather belt. The sandals upon her feet were also of leather.

  All of this Luke took in with one quick glance before Mark said, “Glaucus, this is Luke, the physician, of whom Saul spoke.”

  Luke managed to take his eyes from the girl long enough to bow courteously to the older man. Then Mark said, “And this is Thecla.”

  The girl turned from the window and came across the room smiling, her hand extended in the Christian greeting. “Welcome to Jerusalem, Luke,” she said, her handclasp firm and friendly. When their hands touched, Luke felt as if a warm current had suddenly flowed between them, a purely physical communion that was strange and new and infinitely exciting. Thecla’s eyes were almost upon a level with his and, looking into them, he saw a sudden warmth spring up there as if she, too, experienced a similar feeling, then she colored slightly and withdrew her hand from his, going with Mark to the door before returning to the couch.

  Glaucus appeared to be suffering from nothing more serious than a mild remittent fever, but Luke could not be sure without further study. The elderly man’s pallor seemed more marked than he would have expected, and his body was thin, as if he might be suffering from some more deeply seated wasting disease as well. Luke did not wish to alarm father or daughter unduly, so he merely prescribed a light diet and a tonic and promised to visit the patient again later. Thecla followed Luke from the room and into the enclosed garden around which the house was built. There was a small pool filled by a pipe connected to the aqueduct that brought water from the hills. Thecla stopped beside it and turned to face him. “Do you think me unmaidenly, following you out here like this?” she asked, smiling. “After all, we just met.”

  “Did we?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “I felt in the room there as if I had known you for a long time.”

  “And I too.” Then she laughed a little self-consciously. “You have been reading too much Greek philosophy, Luke. Surely you don’t believe that we live over and over again, in different bodies, as some of the philosophers claimed?”

  “Perhaps I can express it better another way,” he said.

  “The soul is immortal and ’tis no possession of thine own, but of Providence.

  And after the body is wasted away, like a swift horse freed from its traces,

  It lightly leaps forward and mingles itself with the light air,

  Loathing the spell of harsh and painful servitude which it has endured.”

  “What a beautiful thought,” Thecla cried, her eyes shining. “You are a poet, Luke, as well as a physician.”

  “The thought is not mine, although it is a favorite with me. The verse was written by Apollonius of Tyana, a philosopher.”

  “I know his writings,” Thecla agreed. “But I never saw that particular verse before. Isn’t it strange, Luke, that a pagan poet should express so exactly the way those of us who have accepted Jesus feel about His promise of life after death?”

  “I am not a Christian, Thecla,” he said. Then, moved by an impulse to be utterly frank with this beautiful girl, he told her of his association with the Christians at Antioch and of the things that went before it, his experiences here in Jerusalem and on the road to Damascus, the meeting with Saul and the cure of Apollonius. When he finished, her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes shining. “It must be all a part of God’s plan, as Paul says, Luke,” she cried. “And think how wonderful it is that you were chosen!”

  “But chosen for what, Thecla?”

  “Perhaps to do some great deed which will make your name famous for ages.”

  Luke smiled at her enthusiasm. “For the time being I shall concentrate on being as good a physician as I can.”

  “Do you think father is going to be all right?” Thecla asked.

  “I found nothing serious,” Luke said. “But he is very thin.”

  “I know,” Thecla said with a worried frown. “He has been losing weight for a year. I would hate for him to become an invalid; he is so wrapped up in his work.”

  “His work?” Luke echoed in surprise. The frail man on the couch hardly seemed able to do any manual labor.

  “We have a school for Greek children in Iconium,” she explained. “Father thinks that the modern Greeks are drifting too far away from the noble principles of the old philosophers, so he teaches them Socrates and Plato and Aristotle, while I try to help them learn weaving and other things they will need to know to make a living.”

  “How did you happen to take up the Christian faith?” Luke asked.

  “We had gone to Tarsus to visit relatives and I heard Saul—or Paul, as you call him—preaching on the streets. What he said impressed me so much that I brought father to hear him. Before we left Tarsus both of us decided to follow Jesus.”

  Luke had a sudden inspiration. “If you are going back to Iconium, why not go as far as Antioch with us?” he asked. “We will be returning in about a week, and I could look after your father on the way.” He did not add that it would give him an extra few days with Thecla while the boat moved along the coast from port to port, and perhaps some additional days in Antioch as well, until they could take ship for Tarsus.

  “I would like that, Luke,” Thecla said warmly. “And so would father, I am sure.” Just then Paul came from the house into the garden and Thecla called to him. “Luke wants father and me to travel as far as Antioch with your party, Paul. Then he can look after father on the way.”

  Luke saw an odd look in Paul’s eyes for just a moment, almost as if the idea displeased him. But when he spoke he said, “How fortunate for both of you. I am going to the house of Mary, the sister of Barnabas, Thecla, to leave word for Peter to join us here this evening. Would you like to go with me?”

  “Oh, I would,” she said warmly. “I have not been out of the house for days.”

  Paul turned to Luke, his manner almost peremptory. “Manaen is going to the palace now to try to get an audience with Herod, Luke. You will remember that he and Herod were boys together. Herod is always fearful of his health, and if you and Probus go with Manaen, you may be able to influence Herod on behalf of Peter and the elders and perhaps persuade him not to continue the persecution.”

  “I will do what I can,” Luke promised. “Good-
bye, Thecla.”

  “Good-bye, Luke,” she said, smiling. “I will see you at the evening meal.”

  IV

  As Luke, Manaen, and Probus were approaching the gate of Herod’s magnificent palace, a strange figure emerged from a shack close to the gate. It was an old man, skinny and tall, with a long beard and fiery eyes. “Whither goest thou, my brethren?” he inquired, peering at them.

  “You are Agabus, the prophet,” Manaen cried, “I saw you once before on the shores of Galilee.”

  “He who speaks the warnings of God goes whithersoever his feet are directed,” Agabus intoned. “Now I bring warning from the Most High to Agrippa, but he gives it no heed, so he will perish.”

  “Agabus is the last of the old-time prophets of God,” Manaen explained while they waited to learn whether Herod would grant an audience to his childhood playmate and the physician and apothecary from Antioch.

  “He looks more like one possessed by a devil,” Probus observed, but Manaen shook his head. “Agabus has never failed to be right in his prophecies. If he foretold my death, as he has Herod’s, I would start to set my house in order.”

  A slave came to the gate then to escort them to the presence of the king. The Emperor Tiberius had hated this sniveling grandson of Herod the Great and had kept him in prison to keep him from plotting discontent among the Jews. But Agrippa had been a close friend of dissolute Caligula, and when that most perverted of all the Romans came to the throne at the death of Tiberius, the Jewish prince was hauled forth from prison in triumph and given the crown, not only of the tetrarchies of his uncles Philip and Antipas, but of Judea as well. Once more a king, Herod Agrippa I, reigned over all the Jews, but when Caligula tried to force this proud people to worship him as divine, a rebellion had flamed even before the new king could take his throne. The death of Caligula suddenly removed this source of discontent, and Agrippa was elevated to the kingship in Judea under the protection of the Emperor Claudius.

  The new king had not been long in showing the cruelty and perversion characteristic of his family. When the followers of Jesus began to admit Gentiles to this new branch of the Jewish faith, he found most of the orthodox Jews strongly behind him in his plan to persecute and destroy the new faith. Only the sickliness of the king, his dalliance with a succession of women who pleased his fickle desires, and his love of feasting and drinking had kept him from turning all of his evil energy against the Christians. Lately, however, the murder of James had emboldened the most vicious of the Herods to redouble his efforts against the fledgling sect.

  Luke was shocked by his first sight of the Jewish king. Agrippa reclined on a couch in a magnificent apartment, as elaborately decorated as anything Luke had seen in Antioch, although the Jews abhorred ostentation. The monarch was short, his legs spindly, and his body bloated, his face swollen with dissipation and plethora. His skin was unhealthy in appearance, his ankles swollen, and he breathed with a rasping wheeze that was notably unpleasant in sound.

  On a cushion at Herod’s feet a beautiful young woman reclined, dressed in the diaphanous pantaloons and circular golden breastplates of the Eastern dancing girls. Her mouth was sulky and her hair unconfined. She had been dancing strenuously, for her breasts still rose and fell quickly, and the musicians in the corner held their instruments in their hands. A dozen slaves waited for the king’s nod to carry out his every wish.

  Agrippa hardly bothered to acknowledge the introduction of the three. “Come to the point, Manaen,” he said contemptuously. “For what favor do you remind me that we were boys together? And expect none, for you well know that I hated you as a child and see no reason to alter my feelings now.”

  The king of the Jews seemed to regard himself as above all niceties of ordinary conduct. He tousled the hair of the dancing girl with a heavily ringed hand whose fingers were as puffy as his ankles and stared at them truculently with bloodshot eyes. Luke could make the diagnosis in one quick glance: plethora, brought about by an over-abundance of blood from gluttony, drunkenness, and debauchery. Herod’s body was obviously beginning to break under the strain of the overloaded blood vessels, as by the puffy skin and the rasping wheeze. He might live ten more years, or he might die tomorrow.

  “Well, speak up, Manaen,” Herod snapped. “Who are these people with you?”

  Manaen found words then, having recovered from his shock at the condition of his boyhood playmate. “I bring Luke, a physician of Antioch, who is also the son of Theophilus, deputy governor of Syria. And Probus Maximus, an apothecary and historian.”

  Agrippa’s manner moderated a little. “I met the noble Theophilus in Rome,” he acknowledged. “His son is welcome to the court of Herod.” Luke bowed low. “What do you do?” Herod barked at Probus.

  “I mix medicines according to the secrets of the Egyptians,” Probus said smoothly. “Potions which can kill or cure, according to your desires.”

  “Are you a poisoner?” Herod laughed unpleasantly.

  “Only in the service of so great a king as yourself, noble Herod, since kings can do no wrong.”

  Agrippa stared at him for a moment, then laughed loudly. “You are a droll fellow and an impudent one.” He leaned forward, suddenly malevolent again. “Give me one reason why I should not have your tongue torn from your mouth.”

  “Because I control strange powers which might better be used in your service,” Probus said urbanely. “Such as this, for example.” He whisked the amber elektron from his robe and, quickly rubbing it with the woolen cloth, held it above the dancing girl’s head. Instinctively she recoiled, but as her head moved, her hair rose stiffly under the strange power of the elektron, so that it appeared suddenly to be standing on end.

  “By the tents of Israel!” Agrippa exclaimed. “What devil’s work is this?”

  “No devil’s work,” Probus assured him, beginning to rub the elektron again. “Merely a harnessing of the forces of nature. It is even said,” he continued, “that this stone has the power to stimulate the growth of hair. If Your Majesty wishes . . .” He held the elektron out toward Agrippa’s own balding head, but the king recoiled in obvious fright. “Later, perhaps,” he stammered, “not now.” He turned back to Manaen then. “What do you want?” he barked unpleasantly.

  Manaen was nervous in the face of Herod’s obvious antagonism. “I—I have come to beg that you lessen your zeal in persecuting those who follow Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “Are you a follower of the Nazarene?”

  “Yes.”

  Herod’s face purpled, and his fingers in the girl’s hair clenched, so that she squealed with pain. “You, a Jew, admit to believing in one who threatened to destroy the temple built by my grandfather?” he shouted. “How dare you show your face before me?”

  Manaen cringed before the king’s murderous rage. “I am sure that Jesus was speaking in parables,” he tried to explain, but Herod cut him short.

  “Say no more! Go while I let you have your life!”

  “But—” Manaen tried to protest.

  “Go! Go!” the king screamed in fury. Realizing that he would only damage the cause he had come to plead by staying, Manaen quickly left the room. When Probus and Luke started to follow, Agrippa called them back. “Wait, you two. I would speak with the physician.”

  Not knowing what treatment they would find at the uncertain temper of the king, Luke and Probus turned reluctantly back to the royal presence. “Are you followers of Jesus too?” Agrippa snapped.

  “We believe in your God,” Luke told him, “and we work with those who follow Him. But we have not been baptized.”

  “You are Greeks, are you not?”

  “Yes,” Probus said. “And citizens of Rome. I am a graduate of the University of Alexandria and other schools. Luke possesses the certificate of a physician from the Temple of Asklepios at Pergamum and was at one time the surgeon to the Roman commander, Sergius Paulus.”


  Agrippa’s manner became less truculent. From his long residence at Rome he knew what such qualifications meant. Realizing this, Probus had listed them in order to impress him. “I heard of your success with Sergius Paulus,” the king admitted. “Have you any other important cases?”

  Luke hesitated, but Probus said, “Naturally a physician is not allowed to boast of his cures, but it was Luke who cured Gallio recently in Antioch.”

  Agrippa’s face darkened once more with anger. “A curse on Junius Gallio,” he almost screamed. “He is supporting these Nazarenes by recommending to the emperor that they not be persecuted. But I will break up this sect,” he shouted angrily, “or die in the attempt.”

  Then with an effort the king calmed himself and wiped his face with a perfumed cloth which a slave sprang to hand him. “Come closer, Luke,” he ordered, “and tell me whence come this swelling of my ankles and hands and this accursed wheeze in my breathing?”

  Luke knelt beside the couch and examined Agrippa briefly. He found nothing that the first quick glance had not told him. His fingertips sank into the puffy flesh of the monarch’s ankles to the depth of the nails, and when he put his ear to the pallid skin of the king’s chest a bubbling wheeze was plainly audible, as described by Hippocrates in such cases. The veins everywhere were so distended that they stood out from the flesh, a sure sign of severe plethora.

  “What is your opinion?” Agrippa demanded.

  “Less food and wine would do you no harm,” Luke said frankly.