An Echo in the Darkness(27)

He pulled his thoughts back to Celsus. “Perhaps this wet heat isn’t good for you,” he said, handing the towel to him.

Celsus took it and dabbed his face with it. “Did you learn how to treat this fever while you studied in Rome?”

“The master there prescribed rest, massage, and dietary controls, but without complete success. The fevers continued to recur.” He hesitated. “It seemed to me in reviewing the case histories I’ve kept that the fevers were always worse when the patient was tired and in poor physical condition. I’ve had a few patients come to my booth, and I’ve advised all three of them to build their strength between the attacks. As soon as you’re able, go on a barleyman diet and exercise regimen.”

“You mean train like a gladiator?” Celsus said with a mirthless laugh.

“Not exactly,” Alexander said, not taking offense. “Clearly the purges and emetics Phlegon prescribed have only served to sap your strength.”

“They were meant to purify my body.”

“So, now you’ve been purified. You need to build up your strength.”

“I don’t know who to believe anymore, Alexander. Vitruvius has his points. Maybe I don’t revere the gods enough and they’re punishing me. Phlegon says it’s a matter of balance. And now you’re telling me something else.” Celsus sighed and put his head in his hands. “All I do know is when I feel like this, all I want to do is die and have done with it.”

Alexander put his hand on Celsus’ shoulder. “Come on back to my booth with me and rest a while before you head back.”

They left the calidarium. Alexander dove into the frigidarium and cooled down while Celsus bypassed it and went to dry off and dress in the changing room. When Alexander left the pool, he signaled to Vitruvius that he was leaving. Vitruvius gave a slight wave and stretched out on one of the tables for a massage.

Celsus was silent as they walked the short distance from the public baths to the booth where Alexander daily practiced medicine. A heavy wooden screen had been set across the front. Hanging from the screen was a small sign saying the physician would not return until late in the afternoon. Two soldiers walked by and nodded to Alexander as he pushed aside one section of the screen, letting Celsus enter ahead of him before closing it after them.

A small oil lamp was lit and sitting on a worktable in the corner at the back. “Well,” Alexander said, watching Celsus take in his surroundings. “What do you think of it?”

Sitting on a stool, Celsus pulled his cape around him more snugly as he looked around the dimly lit interior. Compared to the facilities Phlegon had, it was rude and small, almost primitive. The floor was packed dirt rather than marble. Yet, despite the crudeness of the hide awning and mortared walls, it was surprisingly well equipped for a young physician only just setting up practice.

A narrow examining bench and privacy screen were set against the west wall, and every square inch of space looked to be efficiently used. A small counter sat against the back wall. On it were pestle and mortar, fine balances, scales and weights, and marble palettes for rolling pills. Shelves above the counter displayed bottles, small amphoras, glass phials, squat jars, and dropper juglets, each meticulously labeled and categorized as astringent, caustic, cleanser, erodent, and emollient. Neatly arranged in shelves on the opposite wall were various tools of their trade: scoops, spoons, spatulas, blades, forceps, hooks, probes, scalpels, speculums, and cautery.

Picking up a scalpel, Celsus studied it.

“From the Alpine province of Noricum,” Alexander said proudly.

“Phlegon claims they make the best steeled surgical instruments,” Celsus remarked, putting the tool back carefully.

“And cost a veritable fortune,” Alexander said grimly, adding fuel to the red coals in the brazier.

“How long have you had this booth?” Celsus said, setting a stool closer to the warmth.

“Two months,” Alexander said. “Before that, I spent most of my time tending my one and only patient.”

“I heard the rumors,” Celsus admitted. “A slave girl, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. A Christian who’d been tossed to the lions.”

“Did you heal her?”

Alexander hesitated. “Not exactly, but she is healed.”

Celsus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I didn’t have the skills to prevent infection. The wounds in her right leg festered. An amputation was necessary, but when I prepared her, I saw the wounds were clear. She said Jesus healed her.”

Celsus shook his head, glancing around again. “A pity you forfeited your position with Phlegon in order to save someone who doesn’t even appreciate your sacrifice.”