Free The Assyrian by Nicholas Guild

knelt beside me, placing the
sandals neatly by my sleeping mat. “Master, you must know that one
does not grow rich as a physician by treating the sick. . .”
    The program Kephalos outlined to me was
simplicity itself. “You see, my young lord who knows nothing of the
world, I have what is more than learning—I have the prestige that
comes with great patrons. I am the slave of a royal prince and have
served as physician to the wife of the turtanu himself. With such
credentials, wealthy patients will flock to my door, if only that
they may have the pleasure of speaking of it to their friends and
acquaintances—‘Of course our physician is the clever Ionian
Kephalos, who treats the king’s own family!—and from these I will
take as patients only such women as have nothing to occupy them
except their imaginary illnesses, and of such, let me assure you,
no city has ever known the lack. The rest, those who are truly
sick, I will refer to my Assyrian colleagues, that there should be
no jealousy among them. Thus I will undertake to make us both rich
within the space of a year.”
    He peered at me speculatively, tilting his
head to one side as if he were considering some weighty matter.
    “Because of course, master, I would divide
the profits with you justly. I understand the natural order of
things, and you are entitled to a reasonable return on your
investment. Shall we say, one part in four? My lord is a soldier
and his father is the king, so his needs in days to come will not
be as pressing as mine. One in three, then?”
    “Kephalos. a person needs money to start out
as a physician. Boy that I am. I know as much as that. You will
require a house, and instruments, and drugs. I have no money to
give you, for all that you style me as a royal prince. Where will
you get it?”
    He held his lower lip between his teeth, and
I understood at once there was more to this sudden inspiration than
he had so far been willing to confide to me. I picked up my sword
and balanced the point against his soft throat
    “Kephalos. . .”
    “Master, you need not concern yourself with
these sordid details. Leave all to me, and. . .
    “Kephalos, you have been dicing with the
soldiers again! How much have you robbed them of this time? Tell me
the truth.”
    “Master, I. . . Well, truly I have been lucky
just recently and. . .”
    “And therefore someone has offered yet once
more to cut out your entrails and hang you in them?”
    “To be honest, master, it would be better if
I could take myself off from here for a term—you understand. Shall
we say, then, equal shares?”
    That very night Kephalos removed his
belongings and disappeared into the city.
    When I next saw him, ten days later. I hardly
thought he was the same man, so richly was he dressed. His wool
robe was embroidered in blues and yellow and red. It was a
marvelous transformation. And he had a house and a servant of his
own, and he gave me twelve shekels of silver as my share of his
first fees.
    “It is beyond anything I could have imagined,
master. The fact that I am a foreigner is a great asset, for it
gives me the advantage of novelty—women love novelty above all
things, as you will no doubt discover in time—and the learning of
distant lands is held in high esteem among the merchant classes. We
will prosper greatly, master! I have had the most astonishing
success with a certain aphrodisiac, the recipe for which I happened
upon quite by chance once in Aleppo. I sell it as fast as I can
compound it, although one ought to feel some compassion for the
poor husbands—if that is who they are—for it has a dreadful odor
and lingers upon the tongue for hours. . .”
    I told Kephalos to take back my share of the
profits and invest it for me. I had two reasons for this. One was
that I had no immediate need for money, and the other was a growing
respect for my slave’s cunning. I felt he might indeed make us both
rich, and in the shadowy places in my mind there was some idea