Saturnalia(70)

“I am most grateful.”

Narcissus called in a pair of muscular assistants and they bore off the unfortunate Marcus Celsius. No mention was made of fees, such things being forbidden. But physicians, like politicians, have their own ways of arranging favor for favor.

“Now, Senator,” Narcissus said, “how may I be of service?”

“Your former patron, Ariston of Lycia, attended my kinsman, the consul Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer, in his final illness. Did you accompany him on that occasion?”

He nodded gravely. “I did. He was a most distinguished man. His passing was a great misfortune to Rome.”

“Indeed. Did Ariston remark at the time upon, oh … any irregularities in the manner of Celer’s passing?”

“No, in fact he stated rather emphatically that the symptoms were those common to death from natural, internal disorders such as attend a great many common deaths. This time, he declared, the only unusual circumstance was the seemingly robust health enjoyed by the deceased.”

“You said ‘seemingly robust health,’ “I pointed out. “May I know why you qualify it thus?”

“Well, first of all, he was dead. This alone means that he was not as healthy as he had seemed.”

“Clearly, unless said good health was terminated by an outside agent. Poisoning has been freely conjectured.”

Narcissus nodded, a puzzled expression on his fine, serious features. “I know. It made me wonder why Ariston never told the widow or the close relatives about Celer’s previous visits.”

My scalp prickled. “Previous visits?”

“Yes. I said nothing at the time because that would have been in violation of the confidentiality that must always exist between physician and patient. But since both Celer and Ariston have passed on, I see no reason why I should withhold evidence that should lay to rest these rumors of poison.”

“None indeed,” I said encouragingly. “Please, do go on.”

“Well, you see, the distinguished consul came here about a month before the termination of his period in office, needing urgently to confer with my patron.”

“Wait,” I said, “he came here?”

“Oh, yes. Ordinarily, of course, a physician is summoned to attend upon so prominent a client. But in this instance, the consul called after dark, dressed as an ordinary citizen. Truly, this is not a terribly uncommon occurrence. You must understand,” he glanced back and forth between Asklepiodes and myself, “that the confidentiality I mentioned sometimes calls for clandestine meetings between physician and patient.”

“To be sure,” I affirmed. More than once I had called upon Asklepiodes to patch me up after some extra-legal encounters.

“So it was in this instance. The consul had been suffering severe pains in the chest and abdomen. He was a strong and soldierly man and was able to conceal this infirmity from even his closest companions. Apparently even his wife was unaware of it.”

“Not a difficult bit of deception considering how much they saw of each other,” I commented.

“And you must understand why he did not want his condition to become known?”

I nodded, much becoming clear. “Exactly. He had been given the proconsular command everyone has been drooling over for the last year or two: Gaul. He couldn’t afford to appear unfit for the command.”

“It was not the first time a man of great public importance came to Ariston for confidential treatment of a condition potentially injurious to a career, rather as women often resort to the clandestine treatment of a saga for the well-known condition so injurious to marriage.”

“And did Ariston provide a satisfactory treatment for the consul’s condition?” Asklepiodes asked.

“As you know, Master Asklepiodes, the symptoms evinced in this case are the classic signs preceding death from apoplexy, although men may suffer them for many years before the inevitable happens. However, Ariston provided a medication sufficient to suppress the painful symptoms.”

“I see,” Asklepiodes said, apparently full of professional interest. “Do you know what the contents of this prescription might have been?”

Narcissus frowned slightly. “No, Ariston insisted that I was not yet advanced enough in my studies to entrust with that particular formula.” That flicker of disloyalty told me why Narcissus was willing to discuss Ariston’s questionable behavior. “I do know that each time Celer was given a supply sufficient to last for a matter of weeks.”

“He had some on hand at the time of the first visit?” I asked.

“Yes. I heard him instruct the consul to take it each morning. Celer said that he would mix it with his morning pulsum.”