Dear and Glorious Physician by Taylor Caldwell Read Free Book Online Page B

and said was subjective. Aristotle is the true father of logic. The absolute particular was the only particular which he acknowledged. He was completely objective.” Diodorus mused, scowling for a moment. “Plato was a paradox; demanding precision, he finally foundered in the sea of his generalities. It is interesting to remember that Aristotle was once a soldier, and a soldier knows there are absolutes, such as discipline, honor, obedience, patriotism, and respect for authority.”
     
    “Certainly there are absolutes,” murmured Aeneas complaisantly. What, in the name of the gods, was an ‘absolute’?
     
    Diodorus’ ferocious eyes twinkled almost gently at his freedman. He yawned, drank his wine to the last drop. “It is also interesting to remember that Aristotle belonged to the medical fraternity of Asclepiads. That brings me again to Lucanus. I believe he will be a philosopher as well as a physician. Do you not deny him access to your precious manuscripts, Aeneas.”
     
    Aeneas forgot himself for a moment and said with pride, “He already has access to them. I teach him myself, Master.”
     
    “Good.” Diodorus stretched and stood up, and Aeneas bounded to his feet. God preserve the boy from his father’s fogged teachings, thought Diodorus. He bade Aeneas a pleasant farewell, then went on his lonely way back to his house, through the moonlight, which had turned white and sharp. He began to brood on his frustrations. His heart ached, and he remembered Iris. Even if he desired to behave like the foul swine of modern Rome, he knew it was beyond him. Iris, a former slave, the wife of a freedman, would not dare to deny him. If she still remembered him with love, he could not violate that love. Too, she was a virtuous matron. She had looked at him tonight with misted eyes, and she had smiled at him as she could not possibly smile at her husband. He thought of the handmaiden of his mother with reverent tenderness, which was something so far different from his love for Aurelia that he could not accuse himself of licentiousness even in thought. He compared Iris with Diana, the inviolate, the eternally pure.
     
    He looked at the moon and, in his deep simplicity, he implored the goddess to protect this Greek woman whom he had loved, and whom he still loved. Some comfort came to him.
     
    He did not remember the boy, Lucanus, until he entered his house to find Aurelia unusually anxious. The little Rubria had awakened, and was moaning in her pain, and was asking for her father.
     

Chapter Three
     
    Together, hand in hand, they ascended the staircase and entered the child’s room. Two lamps burned in the small spare chamber, and increased the stagnant heat. Diodorus choked, almost suffocated after the cool night air he had encountered outside. There was a strange stench here; he looked at the little window high on the white wall, on which grotesque shadows were dancing as the slave house physician, Keptah, and the nurse hovered about the bed. The silken curtains had been drawn heavily across the window, and Diodorus marched instantly to it and roughly pulled the curtains aside. “Pfui!” he exclaimed. “It is enough to smother the child! And what is that foulness I smell?”
     
    Aurelia’s ripe cheeks paled. As an obedient matron, she rarely upbraided her husband, especially not in the presence of slaves. She only said, “Diodorus, the night air is dangerous at this time of the year. I ordered the window closed.”
     
    But Diodorus was breathing deeply of the fresh coolness. He took the curtains and fanned them, thus wafting a breeze into the room. “If the child is not already smothered this should revive her,” he said. He motioned to the nurse to continue the fanning, and she scuttled to obey him, her eyes big with alarm.
     
    Diodorus came to the bed. Rubria smiled up at him from her pillows. But it was a painful smile, and she moved her dark head restlessly, holding out her little hand to her father.