Dear and Glorious Physician (41 page)

A deferential hand touched his arm. One of the hall overseers, who had been scanning the stewards for any delinquency, stood beside him.

“Master, you have not found your place?” he murmured.

“No,” said Lucanus, shortly. “I do not know if I have a place.” He hesitated. “I am Lucanus, the son of Diodorus Cyrinus, and I have not been here before.”

The overseer stared at him with horror. He bowed so deeply that his head fell to the level of Lucanus’ knees. Then he said in a trembling voice, “But, Master! You are to seat yourself on the divan of the Augusta!” His voice became terrible, and he cast his eyes on the other overseers, who came hurrying. He said, “Here is the honored guest, and none has escorted him to his place! There will be lashings tomorrow!”

The nearby guests stopped their conversation to stare. Lucanus, flushing, moved backwards, and his feet were engulfed in one of the Persian rugs which covered the white marble floor of the portico. “No,” he said, “it is my fault, no other’s.”

“You were not escorted here, Master?” asked the first overseer, as the others gathered about Lucanus, to his greater embarrassment. Then Lucanus remembered. Plotius had mentioned that he would bring him here himself, but Lucanus had forgotten to wait. He added, hastily, “I had an escort, Plotius of the Praetorians, but I did not wait for him.”

The overseer groaned. His fellows echoed him. They bowed in a body. More and more guests became interested. The overseers surrounded Lucanus like a bodyguard and ceremoniously conducted him to the purple divan. A deep silence fell on the guests as Lucanus seated himself, and every eye fastened itself on him. A garland was placed on his head; a child removed his sandals and anointed his feet. Wine was poured for him. His face was very red, and he sweated. He did not know where to look, but finally glanced at the end of the portico. Plotius was there, trying to frown but succeeding only in looking highly amused. Lucanus took a deep draught of the wine. The silence in the portico, the craning to see him, was unnerving. Now the music rose exuberantly, accompanied by many sweet voices, and the fountains sang to the moon.

The buttocks of Lucanus were swallowed in the softness of the divan. He could not bring himself to recline as the other men were reclining. He did lean an elbow on a cushion, and inwardly cursed Plotius, the guests, himself, Julia, and then Tiberius. He saw himself as a pleb in this gathering, a yokel fresh from the fields. And he was newly angered.

Then a twittering ripple ran along the guests, uttering his name. It was as if a turbulent wind were agitating rows of flowers, for gaudy jewels and rich tints and dark and alabaster complexions and gay tunics and vibrant eyes and lustrous hair mingled in ranks of confused exuberance and excitement under the swaying and prismatic lamps. The men raised themselves on their couches; the women preened, their white teeth sparkling through their red lips as they smiled boldly at Lucanus. His hands tightened about the gem-crusted goblet, and he drank another draught.

“Lucanus!” ran the murmurs and exclamations. “Lucanus, son of Diodorus!”

Then all burst into friendly laughter, and goblets were lifted to him, and the men inclined their heads, and the hands of the women fluttered about their carefully arranged hair in which jewels flashed like raindrops. “Welcome! Greetings!” the guests cried. “Welcome, noble Lucanus!” The young man tried to smile; he was most acutely uncomfortable. Plotius, he saw, was ironically bowing to him also, and then, involuntarily, he laughed. A steward was at his elbow again, filling his goblet. The wine was sweetened, and heady. The moon gleamed down through the clear air, and the stars twinkled above the garden, and the garish lamps swung, and the illuminated fountains threw up light on the statues within them.

Suddenly a trumpet blazed, a single trumpet, and the guests rose with one quick rustle, waiting. Lucanus had some difficulty rising, for the divan was too soft and deep, and he was beginning to feel the wine. Julia, accompanied by Hyacinth and Oris, the athletes, had appeared in the portico.

She was, Lucanus saw with considerable disgust, dressed in the old Cretan style. She was not tall, nor was she short, and her figure was voluptuous, and her flesh very white. Her tight dress, copied after those of the Cretan women, had been woven of gold, and it covered all of her body, including the arms, with the exception of her naked breasts, whose nipples had been tinted scarlet, and the dress flared from her hips downward in pleats embroidered with jewels and painted with the plumes of peacocks. She was proud of her bosom, so flagrantly displayed, for it was snowy, and had a polished sheen, and was faultlessly curved and lifted. Her hair, of a russet color like old wine, had been high and elaborately dressed, and, to carry out her Cretan theme, she had pinned a tiny little hat like a colorful moth blazing with gems on the very top of her rippling curls. The gold cloth of her dress, molded to the hip as if plastered upon her, the radiance of her jewelry, the coruscation of her hat blended together to dazzle the eye, to stun it with magnificence. All the movements were sensual, and calculated, and, to Lucanus at least, vulgar and carnal, and the metallic dress accentuated them.

The guests applauded wildly at this vision of scintillating light. She paused at a little distance to acknowledge the accolade, and Lucanus saw her face, first in profile then full. The profile, he saw, had a certain cool aloofness, reminding him of a statue of Pallas Athene, but when she turned her countenance it was broad, imperious, and hardened, and more than a trifle coarse. Her skin was excellent, and its fine wrinkles had been skillfully hidden under layers of rosy powder and paint; her strange eyes were like lapis lazuli between stiff black lashes sprinkled with gold dust; her mouth, with its full and pouting lower lip, gleamed with red ointment. She had a short, somewhat wide nose, with haughtily distended nostrils. She gave an impression at once cruel and sentimental, proud and tawdry, arrogant yet too familiar. To Lucanus she had a kind of barbaric fierceness, and he thought of the cold and prudish Tiberius who was her husband, and of the old soldier, Augustus Caesar, Gaius Octavius, who had been her father. He tried not to look at the wanton display of her breasts, which embarrassed him.

Hyacinth and Oris, familiarly touching her elbows, conducted her towards her imperial divan, and for the first time she looked at Lucanus. Her lips parted in a seductive smile, arch and welcoming, and it was a charming smile, like a girl’s. He bowed to her, and kept his head bowed as she gracefully seated herself with a metallic whisper, and he was almost overpowered by her musky perfume. Then he was frightened, seeing that it was her will that Hyacinth and Oris, who had scowled at recognizing him, had been seated together at her right hand, and Lucanus was to sit at her left.

“Greetings, noble Lucanus,” she said to the young man. She had the husky masculine voice of the low-bred woman, for all she was of a great family.

“Greetings, Augusta,” he murmured in reply, and helplessly allowed himself to be swallowed by the divan again. The guests seated themselves with the sound of a small wind, and the music became higher and wilder, and the singers sang a song of adulation to a goddess. Julia was in a pleasant mood. She was often dangerously bored and discontented, but tonight she was exhilarated. Hyacinth and Oris, in rosy tunics fastened with golden belts, sulked, and glared at Lucanus, which amused the Empress. The guests, believing the young Greek to be the new favorite, as he, unknown to himself, truly was, smiled at him winningly and with eagerness. But Julia, as yet, save for her welcome, ignored him.

Instead, she tormented Hyacinth and Oris with special smiles, special light caresses on cheek and neck with her jeweled hand, special murmurings.

Now a horde of servants entered the portico, bearing steaming dishes and trays filled with grapes and figs and olives and other delicacies. Golden plates were placed before the guests, the goblets refilled. At each plate the servants laid golden knives, spoons of varied shapes, and toothpicks, and little bowls of warm scented water, and embroidered napkins. Curiosity overcame Lucanus’ uneasiness. He studied the first course, momentarily deaf to the rise of clamorous voices and the music and Julia. A huge silver tray with indentations was filled with tiny dormice, broiled in oil and honey and dusted with poppy seeds. Other trays held spiced eggs, kidneys simmered in oil, little smoked fish, goose liver over which had been poured a pungent sauce, and boiled heads of calves. The servants milled about the guests, offering fresh napkins after fingers had been dipped into the bowls to cleanse them of oil and sauces, and refilling goblets with honeyed wine, and proffering bread in curious shapes, and very hot.

Never had Lucanus seen such a profusion of food. Naively, he thought this the whole feast. He shuddered at the dormice, ate a little of the liver, and a piece of cheese. The wine was beginning to give him a distorted view of the table, too brilliant, too colorful, too intense with light. His discomfort at being so close to Julia, whose breast was becoming intrusive, increased. His ears rang with voices, laughter, and music, and his head throbbed. To cool his fevered mouth he ate a pomegranate, a few dates, a handful of grapes. They did not abate his fever, and he found himself gulping the snow-chilled wine again.

There came a pause in the feasting. Servants removed soiled dishes and tableware, and replaced napkins again. No one, as yet, had spoken to Lucanus. The guests were waiting for Julia to speak to him first, and they would catch, in her voice, an intonation as to the status of the favorite and how he should be addressed and treated. But Julia was half reclining now against the body of Hyacinth. The other women, too, had abandoned their chairs, which had been deftly removed by servants, and reclined on the couches nearest them, their bodies wantonly pressed to the flesh of the men. Faces flushed; garlands slipped on heads; the laughter rose to a raucous pitch. Here and there men had snatched the tunics from the shoulders and the breasts of a few young women and were kissing them ardently. Lucanus, though a physician, was freshly uncomfortable and embarrassed. So this was what the emancipation of Roman women had led to, this vulgar and unabashed wantonness, this witless shrieking, this half-drunken quarreling, this contentious chatter of business, gossip and politics, this effrontery, this noisy insistence! He thought of Aurelia and his mother, Iris, skilled in household duties, gentleness, the care of children, the cherishing of husbands. They might have known little of Virgil or Homer, nor could they have discussed military campaigns or legal suits of prominence in the public courts, as these women had done earlier, but they could bring peace and joy to a home, and honor, and their children and their husbands revered them, and divorce and adultery were unknown. Lucanus mused. Did a nation decline and decay when women won dominance and when no doors of law, business, or politics were closed to them, or did the dominance of women merely indicate that a nation was decaying?

Lucanus thought of the sweet young Rubria, and the shy and lovely Sara bas Elazar. It suddenly seemed incredible to him that they had existed in this age at all. All at once he longed for Sara with a desperate passion, and he forgot his vows. His hands clenched on his knees as he listened to the women at the table. Though the portico was open and the lighted gardens merged with it, the air within the columns was polluted with scents and hot sweat. Suddenly Julia’s sibilant thigh moved against his stealthily, though she affected to be engrossed in conversation with others.

Lucanus became rigid with a new access of intense disgust, loathing, and shame. This woman was the Augusta, Julia, Empress of the world, wife of Tiberius, and her voice, her gestures, her provocative motions under the narrow golden dress were the characteristics of a harlot, a dissolute woman of the streets. The thigh pressed his more insistently, and he could not move. She was lying half in profile to him; her voluptuous breasts bulged, the scarlet nipples pointing, the metallic fabric of the dress outlining every flaunting curve and indentation of her body, including the umbilicus. The musky scent of her had a carrion overtone to the young man.

The clash of cymbals announced another course in the feast, and the slaves entered triumphantly bearing aloft a huge silver platter on which lay a great living fish, iridescent of scales, and flopping desperately in its last agonies. Lucanus, horrified, could see its starting eyes, now filming, and the lash of its rainbow tail. Ceremoniously the fish was carried about among the applauding guests, who examined the poor creature with drunken exclamations. In the meantime other servants set up a copper cauldron steaming with aromatic water in the center of the U of the tables, and the chief cook appeared with a small serving table covered with embroidered white muslin. The fish bearers brought the frantically struggling fish to him, and he caught it in his vast hands and thrust it into the pot. Immediately the water swirled, and the odor of spices and herbs mixed with volumes of steam.

The cook, with the help of two servants who acted in a ceremonious manner, finally withdrew the fish and laid it on a waiting wooden block, where it was prepared for the table. The fragrance of it now mingled with all the other odors; the flesh was pink and juicy. It was served in a little pool of piquant sauce of mingled wine and cloves and garlic and the juice of lemons. Lucanus looked at his portion and could not eat it. All at once he was nauseated. He ate another piece of cheese, some lettuce and carrots and leeks, a few olives and grapes, a piece of bread, and he drank another goblet of wine.

Julia, in order to enjoy the fish, raised herself on her elbow and inclined her body crosswise on the couch. This removed her thigh. For the first time she spoke to Lucanus in conversation, and with another of her charming smiles. “You do not like the fish, Lucanus?” she asked, and now, for some peculiar reason, her voice was not so objectionable to the young Greek, whose head was swimming curiously.

Her breast was against his shoulder now, and his eye could not help straying to it, and he thought, Though she is not young, she has considerable beauty, if no shame. He murmured, “I come from an austere family, and luxuries are unknown to me.”

She smiled, and a deep pink dimple appeared at the corner of her red mouth. She lifted her plucked and gold-dusted eyebrows quizzically. “We must remedy the austerity,” she said. She touched his cheek lightly with the back of her soft hand, then pinched it. The word ran quickly, even among the drunken diners. Julia had made her favors known. From this time on this handsome young Greek would be a formidable power in the palace, and some of the senators, less drunk than the others, meditated briefly. Hyacinth and Oris flushed, exchanged glances, then gave Lucanus a look of the deepest hatred, which he ignored. The two athletes fell to brooding.

Perhaps the musicians and the singers had moved closer, in the background, to the tables, for Lucanus could hear them with a strong and sudden clarity. A woman with a rich and eloquent voice began to sing.

“Thou dost ask me why I weep, my maid.

Now hark, while I tell thee why.

I weep for a corpse that is barely laid,

And the light in a vanished eye.

For lips I loved and no longer love:

For these do I groan and sigh.

“Better it is to love in vain