“Others have told me that,” the king growled. “But I refuse to starve myself and die of thirst to please physicians. What medicine will cure me?”
“None,” Luke told him. “Your body is clogged with blood from too much food and drink.”
Luke’s calm appraisal of his condition evidently impressed the torpid monarch, for a look of apprehension came into his eyes. “Am I going to die?” he demanded.
“You could die at any moment,” Luke warned, “especially if you let yourself become angry or excited. But with proper diet and abstention from all drink except a little wine, you could live many years.”
“I choose to go on eating and drinking as I please,” Herod stated positively. “Have you no treatment to relieve me?”
Luke shrugged. “I could open your veins and remove some blood. It would relieve the congestion for a short while.”
“Open the veins!” Herod recoiled, blanching. “I am not committing suicide.” Luke remembered then that in Rome those who incurred the displeasure of the emperor were allowed to open their veins, thus bleeding to death.
“Only a small opening is made,” Luke explained. “And when the required amount of blood has been let, the cut is closed with a tight bandage.”
Herod rubbed his chin. “This is a strange practice indeed, but if it will help the swelling and wheezing, I would try it.” He looked keenly at Luke. “How do I know that you would not let me bleed to death? After all, you are allied with these Nazarenes, and they would like nothing better than to have me die.”
“I have sworn an oath as a physician,” Luke reminded him quietly. “Besides, your guards can stand by to see that I take no more than a full goblet measure of blood.”
“I must think about this,” Herod said. “Visit me again tomorrow and I will give you my decision.”
Probus said, “We will need a safe-conduct so that we may visit your Majesty. There are tablets in the corner; I will write one for you to sign.” Before Herod could object, he picked up a tablet and wrote quickly upon it with a stylus:
The physician, Luke, and the apothecary, Probus, with their assistants are to be admitted to my presence at any time.
Agrippa, Rex
Herod scrawled his name, but as he was dismissing them he began to laugh. “It would be better if I were to send you to care for that old crow of a prophet, Agabus, that lives by my gate, Luke,” he chortled. “A soothsayer has told me that I shall not die so long as Agabus lives, so I keep him constantly under my protection, although he reviles me. See if he needs any pills or concoctions as you go out.”
Agabus was eating his daily meal at the palace kitchen, the guard informed Luke and Probus, so they did not disturb him. As they walked back to James’s house Luke asked, “Why did you ask for that safe-conduct, Probus?”
The apothecary smiled knowingly. “Everything I know about Herod Agrippa tells me he would murder his own mother, and probably did. You never know when something like this may be valuable.”
V
Manaen had brought word of Agrippa’s resolve to destroy the followers of Jesus to James and the others, and it was an anxious group who waited for the return of Luke and Probus. Peter was there, and Luke saw that he had changed little in the past six years. The big disciple’s face was lined more deeply, but he had the same look of peace and the same kindly majesty was in his eyes. “We meet again, Luke of Antioch,” Peter said warmly in getting, “according to God’s purpose.”
Thecla and John Mark were sitting at the back of the now crowded room. She beckoned to Luke, and he went to sit beside her. The purpose of the meeting, it seemed, was to give Barnabas, Paul, and the others an opportunity to hear Peter’s story of his vision and the conversion of Cornelius, the centurion of the Italian band at Caesarea. Peter told the story simply: “I saw the heavens open, and a vessel descended looking like a great sheet with knots at the four corners. In the sheet were all manner of four-footed beasts of the earth, even wild beasts. And there were creeping things and fowls of the air. Then a voice said to me, ‘Rise, Peter; kill, and eat.’”
“Were there swine among these animals, Peter?” Paul inquired. “And fish without scales?” These were unclean foods according to Jewish law.
“Yes, there were swine,” Peter replied. “And many other unclean foods. But when I said, ‘Not so, Lord! For I have never eaten anything common or unclean.’ the voice replied, ‘What God has cleansed you must not call common.’”
“There can be no doubt, then,” Paul cried. “God means for all men to be cleansed through the blood of Christ, even as He made the food clean that was unclean.”
“God did mean that, I am sure,” Peter agreed. “For the same words were repeated three times before the vessel was raised up to heaven. And when I preached to Cornelius and the Gentiles in Caesarea, I found them filled with the Holy Spirit.”
“It is the answer we have been seeking, Barnabas,” Paul cried. “The Lord has truly given us the charge to preach to the Gentiles and bring them to Jesus.”
There was a chorus of agreement, but one voice was lifted in objection. It was the patriarch James, the brother of Jesus. “Are you sure, Peter,” he asked doubtfully, “that the Lord really meant for you to go in with the uncircumcised and to eat unclean foods with them, contrary to the laws of Moses?”
“The Lord God has spoken to us through Peter,” Paul said sharply. “Remember his words, ‘What God has cleansed you must not call common.’” In his annoyance Paul was perhaps more curt than he had intended, Luke realized. But his tone seemed disrespectful toward the brother of Jesus.
“It is something we have never done before,” James still demurred. “Perhaps there is some way we can be sure . . .”
“To compromise would be to defeat the very purpose of Jesus in coming to earth and dying on the cross,” Paul argued hotly. “God has said: ‘Through His name, whoever believes in Him will receive remission of sins.’”
James did not object further, but it was plain that he was not entirely satisfied by Paul’s explanation. Just then the evening meal was brought in, however, and there was no more opportunity to discuss it. Thecla helped to serve the meal and afterward to clean up the dishes and utensils. While the older men talked Luke slipped out into the garden, for he wanted solitude to think.
Paul’s concept of the sinfulness of all men troubled him, for it seemed to give no credit to those who tried to live according to the words of Jesus: “Whatever you want men to do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.” Nor did it seem to agree with what Barnabas had told him Jehovah had said through the prophet Micah many years ago: “What does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” Why should man then be automatically condemned, no matter how well he tried to live, if he did not believe that Jesus was the Son of God?
A shadow appeared on the surface of the pool beside him, and he looked up to see Thecla there, her white stola shining in the moonlight. “I saw you come out, Luke,” she said quietly. “If I am intruding upon your thoughts, send me away.”
“I could imagine no more lovely or welcome an intruder,” he told her, taking her hands. With her he felt his doubts slipping away and a deep sense of peace and a quiet happiness flowing into his soul.
“I saw that you were worried in there tonight,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Perhaps I need the one thing you seem to have, Thecla—faith. Tell me, what is it that you believe about God and about Jesus Christ?”
“I am sure that God is good, and wise, and eternal,” she said thoughtfully. “And that men could be like Him if they could only give up any concern for self and let their spirits rise above the limits of their bodies to some higher place of peace and real happiness. And I believe, too, that God sent His Son Jesus to suffer and die that all men might know the extent of His love for them.”
It was a simple and eloquent profession of faith, and Luke found himself moved strongly by it. “Where is this higher place of peace and happiness? In heaven?”
“In heaven, yes,” she agreed. “Certainly there. But those who live according to the principles of Jesus and who believe that He died for them should be so proud and happy that wherever they live there will always be happiness and peace.”
“Bithynia,” Luke whispered. “Peaceful land.”
“What did you say, Luke?” Thecla asked.
He told her about Bithynia then, describing what he had seen with Silvanus that morning in the glen, with the lacy veil of the fog drifting aside to reveal the fertile valley, the meandering course of the river, the geometric arrangement of green fields and pastures, the stone pattern of the fences, and the cloud-girdled mountain ranges encircling the fertile valleys.
“How beautiful it must be, Luke,” she said softly. “When are you going there?”
“When my work is done, I suppose.”
“But there is always sickness,” she protested. “Your job would never be finished.”
“Silvanus believed, as Peter seems to do, that God has a special task for me,” he explained.
“Why could your work not be to tell the people of Bithynia about Jesus?”
It could be the answer, he thought. Why had he not thought of it before? And if that were true, he could go on to Bithynia now, as soon as they returned to Antioch. Bithynia! With someone like Thecla beside him! The thought set his pulses racing. The picture would not be complete without her, he realized. That was the meaning of the strange feeling he had experienced when he had first met her, a sense of the rightness of their coming together, as if that, too, were part of some divine plan.
He took her hands and drew her close. She did not resist, as if she, too, understood. “Will you go with me, Thecla?” he asked. “Will you go with me to Bithynia?”
She caught her breath, and he could see the glory suddenly spring into being in her eyes. Then she was clinging to him, laughing and sobbing with joy. “Of course I will go with you, Luke,” she cried. “When I first saw you I knew I would go with you to the very ends of the earth if you wanted me.”
Neither of them heard the door leading from the house into the garden open, but a faint sound, like a man’s exclamation of surprise and displeasure, warned Luke they were no longer alone. He turned in time to see a short, stocky figure momentarily silhouetted in the partly open door as it closed. There was no doubting the identity of the man nor that he must certainly have seen them standing in each other’s arms beside the pool. It was Paul.
VI
In the morning Luke asked John Mark to take him where his medical services would be needed most, and in a few hours they had a small surgery in operation in one of the poorest sections of the city. As soon as word spread that a Greek physician was treating all who came without charge, patients flocked to him from all directions. With Probus to help, Luke worked without stopping through the morning, and when Thecla came at noon, bringing bread and cheese and some dried figs, they took only a few minutes to eat before going on with their work. Thecla stayed awhile to help them, but late in the afternoon she heard that Peter was preaching in the street not far away and went to give him a message from James. Luke and Probus were preparing to close the surgery for the day when a beggar came hopping to them, shouting, “I seek the physician! Where is the physician?”
Seeing that the man did not appear to be ill, Probus said, “Come tomorrow, my friend. The physician has exhausted his supply of medicines.”
“I want no medicine!” the beggar shouted. “The girl needs help!”
“What girl?” Luke asked quickly.
“The beautiful Greek who was working with you here.”
“Thecla!” Luke cried in alarm. “What is it, man? What is wrong?”
“She was distributing alms to the poor, and there was a riot. The Romans are arresting her, and she sent me to tell you.”
Guided by the beggar, Luke and Probus found the location of the riot quickly. A mob of people were milling about, shouting angrily at two Roman soldiers who were guarding Thecla between them with drawn swords. When Luke pushed his way through the crowds to them, Thecla threw herself into his arms, sobbing hysterically.
“What stirred up the crowd so?” Luke asked.
Thecla quickly regained her composure in his arms. “I—I saw some beggars and felt sorry for them,” she told him, “so I opened my purse to give them a coin. It contained all the money we have, and when they saw the gold, the beggars became excited and tried to take it from me. A crowd gathered and the soldiers came; they were going to arrest me for causing a disturbance.”
“I will be responsible for her,” Luke told the soldiers. “May we go now?”
“You will need a guard,” one of the soldiers said. “The sight of gold would drive these beggars to murder. Wait until they disperse and we will accompany you.”
The crowd was slow in scattering, and there was still a considerable press of people about them when trumpets sounded in the street and a voice shouted, “Make way for the king! Make way for King Herod Agrippa!”
Luke felt a sudden dismay. Herod was an unpleasant customer to meet at any time, for one could never predict what he would do. He searched for some way to escape, but the crowd pressed closer about them in the rush to clear the street. Someone tried to snatch Thecla’s purse, and when Probus struck him a little circle of excitement and angry voices again boiled up about them. Into this confusion marched a dozen soldiers guarding the sedan chair in which sat the pudgy king of the Jews. His eyes darted over the crowd and he shouted angrily, “Disperse this rabble, guards! How dare they impede the passage of the king!”
The members of the royal guard began to beat about them with their swords, unmindful of how many heads they cracked, while Herod sat up in his chair and laughed in glee when the heavy blades brought blood and howls of pain. Suddenly he spied Thecla with Luke and Probus, huddled against the wall of a building to escape notice. “Hold!” the king cried. When the tumult subsided a little he shouted, “Luke, the physician! What are you doing in this crowd?”
Luke tried to answer, but the hubbub drowned out his voice. “Bring me those two men and the girl,” Herod ordered the guard. Seeing that they were to be taken to the royal presence whether they wished it or not, Luke guided Thecla through the crowd until they stood beside Herod’s chair. The king leaned out and stared at Thecla with open admiration. “What a lovely thing,” he exclaimed. “Who are you, child?” His small eyes darted over her lovely young body greedily.
“I am Thecla of Iconium,” she said with quiet dignity. “The daughter of Glaucus. We are on a pilgrimage to your city.”
“She is a Greek,” Luke reminded Herod pointedly. “And a Roman citizen.”
The king seemed to be in high good humor today. “Our girls could do well to copy your dress and appearance, my dear. You must visit my court.” He turned to Luke. “I sent a message to you a few hours ago, Physician. I would have you bleed me this evening as you suggested.”
“I have been treating the sick here in the Lower City and received no message,” Luke explained. “But I shall be glad to wait upon you when I have escorted Thecla to her lodging.”
Herod smirked. “Is your lodging in the same place?”
Luke took an angry step toward the fat tyrant, but Probus’s warning hand on his arm stopped him. Controlling his anger, Luke said, “Thecla and I are betrothed. We plan soon to be wed.”
Agrippa lifted his eyebrows. “Then this is a festive occasion. Bring your betrothed and we will have a supper in your honor tonight after you have finished the blood drawing. I see that you carry your tools with you, so we can all go on to the palace now.”
Luke wanted to object, for he instinctively distrusted the king. But he could see the wisdom of n
ot stirring up the uncertain temper of Herod Agrippa. “As you wish,” he said, bowing to his better judgment.
Since it was only a short distance to the palace, they walked in the van of Herod’s chair. “Keep him in a good humor, Luke,” Probus warned in a whisper. “He could clap us into a dungeon tonight and we would never be heard from again.”
“I don’t like the way he looked at Thecla,” Luke protested.
“Nor I. But stirring him up will only make it worse.”
“Probus is right, Luke,” Thecla agreed. “I am not afraid so long as you are with me.”
As Herod was being lifted from the sedan chair at the gate, Agabus, the prophet, appeared from the shadows. Luke was surprised at the fear in Herod’s eyes and the way he backed away from the old man’s bony admonishing finger. “Beware thy sins, O king!” Agabus thundered. “The people cry out for bread and sickness gnaws their vitals because their ruler is evil. The Lord will cast thee out and the worms shall eat thy body.”
Herod giggled nervously. “Behold the voice of my sins,” he said. “I let him live so that none may say I have no conscience. See how healthy Agabus is under the dirt. I shall not die so long as my conscience lives by my gate.”
The bloodletting did not take long. Herod lay down on a couch in his apartment, and while Probus squeezed his arm to distend the veins, Luke plunged a small scalpel-lancet through skin and blood-vessel wall to release a spurt of dark, impounded blood. Agrippa turned a little pale when the stream spattered into the goblet Luke held to catch it, but by the time the vessel was full he was so much relieved that the wheeze had disappeared and he laughed and joked while Probus applied the bandage.
“The relief will be only temporary,” Luke warned the king, “unless you restrict your diet and abhor wine.”
Herod shrugged. “You can always remove the excess blood. Perhaps I shall make you my personal physician, Luke. Then the lovely Thecla could grace my court always.”
The Road to Bithynia: A Novel of Luke, the Beloved Physician Page 21
