Free Dear and Glorious Physician by Taylor Caldwell

his teeth. He then thought of the tiny bag of herbs given to him by that most unknowable boy, Lucanus, and with shaking fingers he withdrew it from his pouch and extended it with sudden stiffness to Keptah. “Lucanus gave me this, also, and said it must be mixed in hot wine and given to the Lady Rubria.”
     
    He expected new mockery from Keptah, but the physician took the bag with a light and delicate swiftness. He opened it. Immediately the hot little room was pervaded by an intense odor, bitter yet pleasing. Keptah held the bag to his nostrils and closed his eyes and inhaled. “Where, Master, did the boy find these herbs, and how did he choose them?”
     
    “I do not know!” shouted the frantic Diodorus. “In the fields, he said. He did not tell me how he chose them! Gods! Is there no end to this mystery? What does the bag contain?”
     
    Keptah smiled, and carefully closed the bag. “Herbs I have not been able to find myself, though I have searched long and endlessly.” He drew his bony fingers across his mouth, as though to quiet them. He gave the bag to the nurse and commanded that it be mixed in hot wine immediately. He turned silently on his heels, went to the bed, and gazed down at Rubria with the expression one wears when confronted by a miracle.
     
    Diodorus caught the arm of his physician. “The boy, Lucanus, has said he wishes to study medicine and I have promised him — “ He halted, and his fierce eyes narrowed with conjecture and thought, and his frugal mind hurried.
     
    “Yes, Master?” asked Keptah, again the haughty slave parodying humility.
     
    “I promised him that he may study with the Lady Rubria, and that later — later — it might be possible for him to study — ” Diodorus paused, and his ferocious brows drew together. “You shall teach him, Keptah, and if you believe he has the capacity to become a physician, then” — he drew a deep breath and heroically abandoned caution — “I shall send him to Alexandria.”
     
    He expected Keptah to become incredulous and amused. But Keptah bowed his head seriously. “Master, what you have said is ordained.”
     
    “Now what in the name of Hades do you mean by that?” demanded Diodorus, perplexed. “I suppose you are speaking of the Fates again. But have not Aristotle and Socrates spoken of the free choice of men and ridiculed that which is ordained?”
     
    “Many philosophers are not wise in all things,” said the irritating Keptah calmly. “If a man were to live solely by the theories of the philosophers he would not survive, nor would he retain his sanity.” He smiled fully at Diodorus, as a pitying father smiles at an obstinate young son.
     
    The nurse had brought in a silver goblet of hot wine, and Keptah dexterously mixed the herbs in it. The little girl’s moans were softer now, but it was evident she was still in great pain. Keptah gave the goblet to Aurelia, and she held it to Rubria’s lips with a fond smile. The child drank obediently between deep breaths of suffering. Keptah stood by the bed and watched her acutely for long moments.
     
    The moaning came less frequently now, and the child’s eyes grew large with wonder, and quiet. Her head lay upon her mother’s knees, and again Diodorus held her hand. She lifted her head, as if in surprise at the diminishing of anguish, and then she drew one moving breath after another, slow and deep, like sighs.
     
    “Ah, gods,” muttered Diodorus, his eyelids watering with gratitude.
     
    Like a red tide, the flush of fever receded from Rubria’s cheeks and lips, and was replaced by a ghostly pallor. To her parents this was excellent, for they forgot that it was this very pallor which had preceded this last acute illness, and which had, weeks ago, aroused their anxiety. Keptah nodded to himself with somberness.
     
    “The child is sleeping!” cried Aurelia, very gently. And indeed Rubria slept, white as the dead beneath her dusky lengths of hair.
     
    “I shall