Dear and Glorious Physician Read Online Free

Diodorus, surrounded by his officers, had watched the fruits of Syria, honey, olives and olive oil, wool, and many other things, being loaded by slaves on a Roman ship. Though it was December, and the feast of the Saturnalia was approaching, the sun had been unseasonably hot, the air wet with humidity, the greasy waters glittering as if covered by lighted fat. The shouts of the overseers had been exceptionally irritable, and the cracking of whips had snapped unceasingly against the wall of damp air. But the slaves, sweating profusely, were sluggish. Suddenly, with an impatient curse, Diodorus had left the table on the docks where Aeneas was meticulously recording the bales and the barrels, and had himself seized a particularly large box on his shoulder as easily as if it had been a small lamb. He had strode up the plank of the ship and hurled the box with swift precision on the other boxes. Then he had stood there, smiling happily.
     
    The officers gaped; Aeneas looked delicately aside; the soldiers stared, the overseers and the slaves were petrified. But Diodorus had flexed his muscles and breathed deeply, and had said: “Eh! But that is good for a man’s soul!”
     
    Aeneas, the Greek, shared with all Greeks a contempt and detestation of manual labor, and he was shocked to the heart. He and the others were even more shocked when Diodorus shouted to the slaves, “Are you men or sickly worms? This must all be loaded before sunset or you will work by torches in the dark. Come then, let us move like men with a purpose and have done with it!” Again he had bent and seized a barrel and rolled it up the plank, and his muscles strained in his shoulders and legs and arms. It was obvious that he was enjoying himself. The slaves, spurred by whips, hurried back to work and, inspired by Diodorus, quickened their movements. He began to sing hoarsely in a rollicking rhythm, and the slaves laughed and sang with him. Long before sunset the ship was loaded. Not a single officer had assisted, and not even a foot soldier, for Diodorus had indicated, with a contemptuous glare, that he repudiated their assistance.
     
    Then Diodorus stood among his officers and wiped himself with a kerchief one of them offered him, and he grinned at the ship. The captain approached him with awed respect, and Diodorus shouted, “Tell the effete lady-men in Rome that Diodorus Cyrinus, son of Priscus, himself helped to load this ship! Tell them, as they perfume themselves with nard and attar of roses and listen to the lutes and dip nightingale tongues in honey, that today you have seen a Roman work as Romans once worked, and as they must work again if Rome is to survive and not die forever among vases and flowers and singing-girls and wine and elegance.”
     
    Then he had turned to his officers — who were blushing in shame for him — and had cursed loudly and had shouted again, “Where are your scars and your calluses, your muscles, and your brown shoulders, you exquisites? Do you know what war is, and labor, and the strength of bodies which live sparely and with fortitude? To Hades with you all! By Mercury, you are less men than these poor slaves!”
     
    This was unpardonable. The slaves snickered among themselves, and the faces of the Roman officers had darkened ominously. But they dared not reply. Diodorus was quite capable of slapping an impudent face openly; he had done it often enough, even before foot soldiers and slaves.
     
    Diodorus, unfortunately, was not done. He wrathfully surveyed his men, and continued, “Cincinnatus left his plow to save Rome, and he did not halt even to wash his stained hands or put his sandals on his soil-dusted feet. But not one of you would leave the arms of a Syrian whore to save the life of a man, or to uphold, in your jurisdiction, a law of Rome.”
     
    He had swung away from them then, and had pounded back on the docks to his horse, and had galloped off home to the suburbs. He left his chariot behind to be