Healer

1

“Master,” said Sergius, “people say the old man has the power to heal.”

Decimus didn’t raise his head from his pillow. “And you think I need healing, do you, Sergius?”

The sun was still low, but already it warmed the air in the peristyle in which the old man lay. The green and blue mosaic floor was alive with tiny shadows cast by the edges of the tiles. Jacob, Decimus’ secretary, stood at his side, waiting, tablet and stylus in hand.

“Master,” said Sergius, “the best physicians in the city are at a loss. You must heal if you can. It’s your duty.”

“Every man has his appointed hour,” said Decimus, “and every life comes to a close, sooner or later, mine sooner than later, it would seem.”

“But surely,” said Jacob, “not sooner than it should.”

“No man’s duty is to live,” said Decimus, “only to live well if one can.”

“Perhaps, my Lord,” said Jacob, “you should send Sergius to fetch the old man in the desert. After all, what is there to lose but a few days travel?”

“You both seem determined to keep me here in this decadent world, and in pain,” said Decimus. “Even my wife is less concerned about my health than you two.”

“Master,” said Sergius, “your son…”

Jacob stepped forward. “What Sergius means to say, my Lord, is that your son still has much to learn about running a large estate, and about the political life of the province, and even more about the Emperor’s Court. There is much you must teach him yet.”

“What my son hasn’t learned about those things by now,” said Decimus, “he is unlikely ever to learn, I’m afraid.”

“Many are those who depend on you,” said Sergius. “Please, Master, let me fetch the healer from the desert. Or at least ask him to help.”

“There is the matter,” said Jacob, “of calling upon a Christian for help. They aren’t in favour at the moment, and all indications are that they are about to fall even lower in the court’s estimation.”

Decimus coughed a deep resonant cough and brought himself up on one elbow. “The Christians who dwell in the desert are harmless. The Emperor merely envies them. He knows the people respect them, even admire them, without fearing them. The ones who haunt the Court and the city are a different matter, I’ll grant you that.”

“Of course,” said Jacob, “the decision is yours.”

Decimus turned to Sergius. “If nothing else, the desert air will be good for your health.”

Sergius nodded and headed toward the stables. Decimus called after him. “Donkey. Horses are too fragile for that sort of travel. Borrow a donkey from one of the farmers for your baggage, and walk.”

“He’ll also be less conspicuous,” said Jacob.

“And mind the bandits,” said Decimus in as loud a voice as he could muster. “They’re getting bolder.”

Neither knew whether Sergius had heard them.

2

Sergius travelled west from the city. The first two days were windy and dusty. Sergius had a scarf over his face to keep the grit out of his throat and his teeth. He moved in the early mornings and the early evenings.

On the third day, he led his donkey down into the valley of the desert dwellers. He’d been traveling since before dawn. The sun had already warmed the reddish rocky ground.

A few huts dotted the valley floor. Sergius and his donkey stepped over a thin stream, no more than a rivulet. An old man sat in the shadow of his hovel, taking palm leaves from a pile next to him, and weaving them into a basket.

When Sergius and his donkey approached, the old man looked up from his labour. He took a clay cup hanging at his belt and dipped it into a large pot sitting next to him. He brought it up, filled with water, and without a word, offered it to Sergius.

Sergius uncovered his face and drank the water. He took a bundle from one of his saddle baskets and unwrapped it. He offered the old man some dried figs. The old man took them into both hands, bowed his head, and lay them on a palm leaf on the ground.

“Father,” said Sergius, “I am looking for a man called Psoter. Can you tell me where to find him.”

The old man smiled a toothless smile. “Why do you seek my Brother Psoter, traveller?”

“People in the city say he is a holy man,” said Sergius. “They say he is a healer.”

“Are you sick,” asked the old man.

“No,” said Sergius. “My Master is ill. He’s dying.”

“You seek to help another,” said the old man. “Then perhaps I can help you. But only the Lord can help your master.”

“They say Brother Psoter has healed many,” said Sergius.

“It is true that many have been healed,” said the old man, “but by his own account, Brother Psoter is a mere messenger.”

“I would like to speak with him,” said Sergius.

The old man returned to his work. “He lives in the hill behind me. He stays in a shelter under a rocky overhang. There is a narrow path that leads up there. Your donkey will know the way.”

“Thank you, Father,” said Sergius.

“Go to the stream before you go up,” said the old man. Get some water for Brother Psoter. He never comes down. No one has been up there for a few days now. Perhaps he is dead already from want of water. The Lord only knows. Psoter only drinks the water he gets from his few visitors. Sometimes they bring him some pieces of bread.”

“I have bread for him,” said Sergius, “and figs, and a few olives.”

“He won’t take your bread,” said the old man. “Much less your figs and olives. He takes food from the people he knows, and then only reluctantly. Keep your master’s food for those who need it. There are many.”

3

The donkey knew the way. It led Sergius, slowly and steadily, up a treacherous path around the hill, full of sharp edges and hidden pitfalls. At the end of the day, they reached a broad flat that faced the setting sun. Brother Psoter was sitting on the rocky ground, looking at the reddening dusty haze on the horizon.

Sergius approached the immobile old man. He poured water into a shallow cup and laid it on the ground in front of the old man. “Father, my Master needs your help.”

Psoter’s eyes remained on the horizon. “Your Master needs no help.”

“He’s ill,” said Sergius.

“We have but one Master,” said the old man. “Even the donkey has no other Master than Him, and he needs no help from the likes of me. And neither does the man you mistakenly call your master. I’ve heard of his predicament. The Lord will provide him with all he needs.”

“You know him,” said Sergius.

“Everyone knows Decimus Junius Modestus,” said Psoter, “even the hermits of the desert. And everyone knows when he needs help. The donkey told me everything while you were babbling incoherently just now.”

“My Bishop in the city says you’re a great healer,” said Sergius, “that you have helped many. I implore you, Father, please help Decimus.”

Psoter inhaled the dust in the darkening desert air, and he coughed. “Your Bishop is a greater fool than I am a healer. He should be here with us, yet he dwells in the city. He eats like ten men, and he sins like twenty. He sends you here, away from himself, to save an unbeliever, instead of shepherding you into the desert as he should.”

“Decimus is not one of us,” said Sergius, “but he is a good man. He has sheltered many of us.”

“As good a man as can be,” said Psoter. “And he would still watch you be put to the sword when the Emperor’s men seek you out. It’s not his fault. He’ll be saved, like all the others, eventually. That’s not his fault either. But not now, not in this world. I can do nothing for him, and neither can you.”

“The Lord works through you, Father,” said Sergius, “many have seen it. Many have witnessed in the city.”

“I can do nothing for him,” said Psoter, “and neither can anyone else. He is with the Lord already.” He extended a bony hand toward the horizon. “Those birds over there know it. Even the donkey knows it.”

Psoter picked up the cup with both hands, took a small sip, and offered the rest to the donkey, who lapped it up noisily.

“It’s too late for you to go back now,” said Psoter. “The sun is below the horizon. You can stay here. There’s the sky above us, and the shelter of the rocks when we need it. There is nothing now for you in the city. Shed your burdens. Tomorrow, you can go back to the stream. There are brothers there who will welcome you. They’ll help you resist temptation.”

Sergius looked up at the first stars in the clear desert sky. He took the saddle baskets of the donkey and put them on the ground near the rock shelter. He sat down next to the old man and contemplated the fading glow on the horizon.