Extrait
CHAPTER 1
Ancient Heart
The Island of Kos, Greece, 399 BC
He does not want to die. He is not ready. He still wants to breathe the sea air as he arrives at the port each morning and drink wine after a long day's work. He wants to sleep with his wife for many more nights and watch his son become a man.
But Nikias can feel death coming. He cannot walk more than a short distance without needing to stop to catch his breath. On some days it feels as if a massive slab of marble has been laid across his ribs. There is also pain in his arm and neck now. And then, two days ago, while helping to unload a shipment of ivory, he blacked out. If his son had not been there to catch him, he would have plunged right into the Aegean.
It makes him feel old. Granted, he is thirty-nine, and his father and grandfather were dead by this age, both felled by lightning in their chests. But he has always believed that he would outlive them by many more years than this. He will never forget the moment his father died--the way that powerful man gasped for air as he tore at his chest; the panic in his eyes, replaced at the end by a look of terrible emptiness. And then he was gone forever.
After his own collapse, Nikias knew he needed to get help. At his wife's urging, he went to the local doctor. But the old fool had said there was nothing to be done, that his fate was in the hands of the gods. There are other healers nearby, root cutters and magicians and soothsayers, but Nikias has even less faith in them.
Which leaves the temple of Asklepios, the healing god. People speak of the miracles that happen there. But who has time to visit a temple? Nikias's business might be thriving, but that is only because he is always there. Every day seems to bring a new crisis. The pressure on him is immense. And yet something must be done, or else he will soon be joining his father and his grandfather. In the quietest hour of the night, when everyone else is asleep, he can feel the blackness creeping over him.
So he decides to go. The temple is close enough to walk to under normal circumstances, but his weakness means that he must travel by oxcart. His son takes him. It is midday when the temple comes into view, situated on a cypress-strewn hill overlooking the sea. He has seen it before, but only in glimpses. It is larger than he recalls. Its marble glistens majestically in the spring sunlight. His son stops the cart at the bottom of the steep steps leading up to the temple's high wall. A year ago Nikias would have bolted up this hill, but now he must grip the boy's strong arm. By the time he nears the top, he is gasping for air. Sweat coats his skin; his chest has never felt tighter. He feels death within him, spreading through his muscles and bones.
After they knock on the heavy wooden door, Nikias notices a ramshackle encampment that abuts the wall. It is populated by beggars and cripples. A few hobble about on crutches; most sprawl on filthy blankets. A corpse, partially covered with sticks and hay, lies in the nearby weeds. A haggard woman cries over it, switching a cypress branch in a futile attempt to keep flies away. The breeze shifts and Nikias can smell the stench. He cannot tear his eyes away from the body.
And then he realizes that a man is watching him from the encampment. He appears to be Nikias's age. He is different from the others. His clothes are clean; his beard is neatly trimmed. He is in good health; he is certainly no beggar. There is confidence and intelligence in his eyes. An oddly shaped bronze cup hangs from his belt, along with other instruments whose purpose Nikias cannot fathom. The man's scrutiny of Nikias is intense; he looks as if he has something urgent to say. Nikias is tempted to speak with him, but just then the door opens.
It is a goatish old man dressed in a himation, the long embroidered cloak of a senior priest, who stands before him. Still a little breathless, Nikias tells him why he has come. The priest nods sympathetically, then tells Nikias what offering will be required to gain entry. The price is steeper than those steps. But he needs to be cured, so he pays.
After telling Nikias's son to return in two days, the priest ushers the merchant through the gate. The temple grounds cover several terraced acres. As he leads Nikias along a shaded path toward the main temple, the priest describes what will happen. First Nikias will be cleansed with holy water. Then the two of them will make a sacrifice to Asklepios. After this they will pray to the god himself. Finally, Nikias will be led to the place where he will spend the night. If he is blessed, the god will speak to him in his sleep.
Nikias is tempted to ask when he will actually be cured, but he decides to remain quiet for now. They draw near the temple. Its colonnade is made of the highest-quality marble. Healing must be a good business, the merchant thinks. There are also numerous outbuildings. Animals, priests, and visitors gather on the temple steps or wander the shaded pathways. Some of the visitors appear to be seriously ill, though every one of them is attended by priests or slaves. There are no dead bodies in the weeds here.
The priest and Nikias stop first at a small wooden hut that contains a sacred well. A man, another visitor, emerges just as they arrive. He is dressed in a brilliant white robe. His wet hair glistens in the sun; his expression is serene. Nikias is heartened--perhaps there is something to this temple business after all. The priest chants a ritual prayer as they step inside. Flickering lanterns light the hut. The smell of incense is overpowering. Two slaves greet them. As one draws well water, the second takes Nikias's clothes.
That is when he sees the snakes. The room is full of them--writhing, coiled, tongues flicking lazily. The merchant's chest starts to hammer; his throat tightens as if a great fist is clenching it. He hates snakes. He has seen what happens when they strike from amid cargo. He backs toward the door, but the old priest stops him. There is nothing to fear, he claims; the snakes are harmless. They not only keep demons out of the water, their bites can also cure. Nikias agrees to stay, though he secretly resolves that he will leap into that well before he lets himself be bitten.
After Nikias is washed and then dressed in a pure white robe, the priest leads him to a massive stone plinth just outside the temple's main entrance. The altar is adorned with friezes of the gods and inlaid with gold medallions. Bleached animal skulls are scattered around it. Other priests and slaves await them. The priests chant incantations as the slaves lift a bound, writhing goat onto a bloodstained slab beside the altar's smoldering fire. Moving with a butcher's skill, one of the priests slits the creature's throat with a large knife, then expertly dismembers the quivering beast, tossing its thighs and flesh onto the altar fire. They crackle and hiss. The priests whisper among themselves as they examine the steaming entrails.
No one bothers to tell Nikias what has been divined. He is led to the temple, where he is confronted by the great ivory figure of Asklepios staring down from a majestic golden throne. The god is powerfully built, with broad shoulders and a mighty beard. In one hand he grips a staff entwined with snakes. The other rests on the head of a golden dog. Terra- cotta objects surround him, each depicting a body part. Nikias sees an ear, a hand, an eye, a penis. The old priest explains that these are gifts from former penitents, commemorating the healed parts of their bodies. He then commands Nikias to touch the statue to receive the god's healing power. The ivory ankle is cold and lifeless. And the pain and heaviness are still in his chest.
The priest takes him from the temple toward a long, low building. A shocking sight greets him along the shaded pathway: a mangy dog is licking the infected wound on the thigh of a man seated on a stone bench. Two young priests are actually encouraging the animal to go about its filthy business. The old priest explains that dogs are favored by Asklepios almost as much as snakes. The merchant looks back at the animal, which has turned its attention to its own testicles.
They arrive at the long building. This is the abaton, the sacred dormitory where Nikias will spend the night. It is here that Asklepios will visit him in his sleep. He may even cure Nikias then and there, though it is more likely that he will come into Nikias's dreams to tell him how he needs to be treated. This is why he must stay on for a second day, to receive the prescribed treatment. It is very important, the priest explains, that he remember every last detail of his dreams. The key to his cure may be hidden there.
The priest leads Nikias through the door. The first thing that strikes him is the smell, a thick blend of beeswax candles and musky sweat. After his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees several dozen small beds, most of them occupied by motionless figures. And then the floor moves. More snakes-- dozens of them--slithering beneath the beds. Nikias is careful not to step on them as the priest guides him to his bed. A thick fleece, made from the pelts of sacrificed animals, covers it. There is a bucket for his waste, but no drinking water. Nor will there be any food. The body must remain pure for the visitation.
It is the longest night of Nikias's life. The sacrificial fleece stinks. He is tormented by those around him--their coughs and sighs, their tossing and turning, their farts and belches. Sleep is a long time coming. Minute after minute, hour after hour, he waits for the visitation. But every time he is about to drift off, something disturbs him. Once, he is certain that a snake has slithered over his legs. There is nothing sacred about his thoughts. They are mostly of business. Or of his father's death. Perhaps he is not meant to be cured.
He manages to drift off just before dawn. He dreams that he is lying paralyzed in some weeds. His family has gathered nearby for a feast. There is laughter and music. They cannot see him. He wants to go to them but he cannot move; he wants to call out but he is mute. There is a flash of movement in the weeds--a snake's fanged mouth strikes his breast. He can feel the poison moving through him. His chest seizes like his father's did. He can feel himself falling into nothingness. He is dying.
This jolts him awake. There is an ominous £ding in his chest, and his breathing is so difficult that he feels as if that rancid fleece has been crammed down his throat. And he is more terrified than ever.
Finally the door opens and the morning sun cuts through the fetid air. The old priest quizzes Nikias about his dreams, unable to hide his disappointment as the merchant describes their content. When he is done, the priest goes to speak with his colleagues. As Nikias waits, exhausted and short-tempered, his stomach rumbling, one of the sacred dogs approaches. It is all he can do not to kick its sacred tail.
The priest returns to tell him that his dreams are not satisfactory. No cure can be gleaned from them. Another night's stay in the abaton is required. Before that, more ablutions, more sacrifices, more prayer and fasting. A further offering will also be necessary.
Nikias is no longer able to contain himself.
"I don't understand what any of this has to do with the pain in my chest."
"It is how the gods work. You must have faith."
"But isn't there something you can do? I'm sorry, but I'm a practical man. I see something broken, I fix it."
The old man simply stares at him.
"I do not want to die," Nikias says finally.
The priest tugs at his beard for a moment.
"There is one thing."
"What?"
The priest's eyes flicker toward the dog.
"No," Nikias says.
"Then perhaps a snake . . . "
The priest begs him to stay, but Nikias will not be dissuaded. As he steps through the gate, he remembers that his son is not due to return for another day. He must walk back to town. He wonders if he can make it. The thought of the journey wearies him infinitely. And it is not just the distance.
He knows he will be going home to die.
And then it happens, just as it had at the port. His mouth can no longer draw air; he feels a knot form in his chest. The world begins to spin and then he is falling. The next thing he knows, he is looking at the blue sky. A face appears above him--the man from yesterday, the one with the penetrating eyes.
"Can you stand?"
"I think so."
The man helps him to his feet. His hands are strong.
"So I take it your dreams were unsatisfactory," he says, his tone disdainful.
Nikias nods, wondering who this person is. The man then asks what brought him to the temple. Nikias tells him about the breathlessness, the crushing weight in his chest, his previous collapse.
"I can help you."
"But who are you?"
"A doctor."
"I've been to a doctor," Nikias says.
"There are other treatments. New treatments."
"Such as?"
The doctor glances uneasily at the temple's gateway.
"Accompany me back to town," he says. "I shouldn't stay here too much longer anyway."
"Why not?"
"Come with me and I'll explain everything."
Nikias hesitates. He is not accustomed to putting himself under the control of strangers. But he cannot make the long walk back to town. Besides, something in the doctor's manner inspires trust.
"What will this cost me?"
"Pay what you can afford." The doctor gestures to the people encamped by the weeds. "They pay nothing."
And so Nikias agrees. The doctor helps him down the many steps to his cart. As they ride back to town, Nikias tells him how he feels in more detail. The doctor responds with questions they did not ask at the temple-- questions about Nikias's father and grandfather, about what he eats and how hard he works and how he sleeps.
"What is wrong with me?" Nikias finally asks.
"Here we are," the doctor answers, nodding to a large, clean building on the outskirts of town.
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