An Echo in the Darkness(46)

Satyros drew back from him. “He exists.”

“Why do you think that? Because you lived through a storm and shipwreck? Because a snake bit a man and he didn’t die of it? The Paul you speak of did die, Satyros. On his knees, his head on a block. Tell me, what use is a god who won’t protect his own?”

“I don’t have the answers you seek.”

“No one does. No man, at least. Only God, if he speaks.” He raised his head and called out loudly. “I want to know!”

“You mock him. What if he hears?”

“Let him hear,” he said and then repeated it, “Do you hear?” He called the words out over the sea like a challenge, unaware and uncaring of the curious glances he drew. “I want him to hear, Satyros. I defy him to hear.”

Satyros wished now he had kept his distance from Marcus Valerian. “You risk your life.”

Marcus gave a brittle laugh. “My life, such as it is, means nothing to me. If God chooses to take it, let him. It is empty and meaningless anyway.” He leaned on the side again, body rigid, jaw hard. “But let him face me when he does so.”





8

Alexander entered the courtyard of the Asklepion. Two men with an empty litter hurried past him to the gate and disappeared beyond the walls. Frowning, he leaned forward, assessing the dismal scene before him.

His father had brought him to the Asklepion in Athens when he was a boy, hoping their offerings and a daylong vigil would save Alexander’s younger brother and older sister from fever. It had been dark when he and his father had come, as it was now, with only the flickering torches to cast eerie shadows over the glistening marble of the grand court. The scene he had faced then upon entering the gates had gripped his stomach with an unspeakable anguish. . . .

And now, as he looked at the tragic sight before him, he was filled again with that same anguish—and with an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

More than twenty men and women lay upon the temple steps, ill, suffering, dying. Discarded humanity. Most had been abandoned in the dead of night by uncaring owners, left without even a blanket to cover them. Alexander fought his emotions as he let his eyes scan the forms scattered about him, then he turned to Hadassah.

Her stunned expression stopped him cold, and his heart sank. He had been afraid of her reaction to what she would see and had tried the night before to prepare her.

“My father was a slave,” he had told her, watching her face in the flickering light of the small oil lamp on the table between them. He could see the surprise in her eyes at what he had said, for Alexander had seldom spoken of himself or his past. He only did so now to help her understand what he planned to do.

“He was fortunate enough to have belonged to a kind master, and because he had business acumen, Father was put in charge of his master’s finances. He was given an allotment of money for his own personal investment and managed to earn enough to buy his freedom. As a means of retaining his services, Caius Ancus Herophilus, my grandfather, offered his daughter, Drusilla, in marriage. My father had been in love with my mother for a long time and gladly accepted. When my grandfather died, my father inherited his estate through my mother. They had seven children. . . .”

When he had paused, Hadassah’s eyes had searched his face. He had known she had seen that he was not finished. So she had simply remained silent, waiting.

Alexander had looked at her, his eyes reflecting an age-old pain. “My father and mother had property, money, and prestige. All the advantages one could desire. And yet, with all of that, I am the only child who survived. My brothers and sisters, one by one, died while still small. And all the wealth, all the prayers and offerings at the temples, all the tears on my mother’s face, couldn’t change that.”

“Is that why you decided to become a physician?”

“Partly. I saw my brothers and sisters die of various childhood illnesses and diseases, and I saw the cost to my parents. But it was more than that. It was also what I felt each time my father took me to the Asklepion to beseech the god’s favor. I was helpless in the face of the misery I saw there. There was no evidence of power. Just suffering. And I wanted to do something about it. I’ve learned since that you can’t change very much in this world. I do what I can and try to be content with that.” He had reached out to take her hand then. “Listen to me, Hadassah. You’ll see things tomorrow morning that will turn you inside out. But we can only bring one patient back with us.”

She had nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“I warn you not to have expectations. Whomever we choose has little chance of survival. The slaves you see at the Asklepion are useless to their masters and have been left to die. I’ve failed more times than I’ve succeeded in treating them.”