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  They both fell silent. Galen looked at nothing in particular; Lucius looked at Galen. Men’s faces are not that hard to read, Marcus had once told him. It’s a matter of observing, truly observing, really looking at people, not past them or through them.

  “Are you very homesick?”

  “Yes!” Galen’s expression was suddenly so melancholy that Lucius gave him a friendly touch on the shoulder.

  “But here you are in Rome, my good fellow, safe and sound, and making a success of yourself, if what I hear is true. No other city on earth can compare to Rome. How could anyone ever wish to leave?”

  “You’ve traveled, then?”

  “More when I was younger than in recent years. Mostly on business, looking to find skilled artisans or to purchase special marbles. A number of times to Greece and Asia, also to Egypt. But no other city I’ve seen can compare—” He stopped when he saw that a slave had appeared at the door. “Yes?”

  “You said to tell you when an hour had passed, Dominus.”

  * * *

  Paulina joined them in the garden, and led the way to Pinaria’s room.

  The girl seemed in slightly better spirits than before. Galen took her pulse, then waited a while and took it again. He did this a number of times, and during the intervals managed to coax her into some mild conversation, asking about her friends and her favorite activities, both in and out of the home. All this banal talk seemed rather pointless to Lucius. Was Galen there to diagnose the girl, or to get to know her?

  “So, the same tutor who taught your uncle Kaeso comes to the house to teach you Latin and Greek?” said Galen. “He must be rather old.”

  “No older than Father, I imagine,” said Pinaria.

  Lucius scoffed. “Daughter! He’s twenty years older than me, at least.”

  Pinaria shrugged while Galen took her pulse. All this repeated pulse-taking seemed rather pointless to Lucius, as well, but he had seen other physicians do the same. They claimed to be able to read various signs and omens into the strength or weakness of the heartbeats, and their regular or irregular rhythm.

  “Do you like your Greek and Latin lessons?” asked Galen.

  “They’re all right … I suppose.”

  “Your Greek is excellent. Better than my Latin!”

  Pinaria made no response.

  “She prefers her singing lessons,” said Paulina.

  “Is that so?”

  Lucius nodded. “Pinaria is an excellent singer. By far the best in the family.”

  “Does she have a tutor for that as well?”

  “Oh, yes. A lovely eunuch from Phrygia,” said Paulina.

  “Demetrius, he’s called,” said Lucius with a laugh. Like most Romans, he found eunuchs both exotic and a bit ridiculous. They were more common than ever in Rome, but the further east one traveled, the more frequently one encountered them.

  “He’s lovely,” said Paulina, casting a disapproving glance at her husband. “He’s able to sing ever so high, higher than some of the girls. And an excellent teacher. The lessons move from house to house. It’s a way for the girls to visit each other’s homes and to meet friends from suitable families.”

  And to see and be seen by suitors, thought Galen. It was the same in Pergamum and Alexandria. All the so-called best families moved and married within social circles exclusive to themselves, and kept a very close watch on their daughters.

  “Pinaria is often invited to sing in the girls’ chorus at festivals,” said Paulina. “Unless she gets better, she’ll miss the Hilaria.”

  “You talk about me as if I’m not even here!” said Pinaria. Her voice shook and she abruptly seemed on the verge of tears.

  Galen smiled and reached again for her wrist. “You Romans have a very full calendar of religious holidays. All these rituals and processions and pageants—something to celebrate almost every day, in some part of the city or other. Many of your festivals remind me of the ones I grew up with in Pergamum, or saw in Alexandria, but others must be unique to Rome, I think, linked to gods and stories and customs I’m only beginning to learn about.”

  “Pinaria has another tutor who instructs her in the significance and history of all the festivals,” said Lucius. “He comes twice a month, to talk about the days ahead. Not a Greek, of course, but a local instructor, a priest at the Temple of the Deified Julius. He’s rather young, but seems very knowledgeable. We might also ask him to teach Gaius, when the boy is old enough for instruction.”

  “Has Pinaria kept up with her lessons?”

  Paulina shook her head. “She hasn’t been well enough.”

  “Then we must do something to make you better,” said Galen “Think how pleased your parents will be when you are well enough to sing again.”

  Pinaria turned her face away. “I can’t talk any more. What use is talking? What use is singing? I just want to be left alone. I wish I could die!” She yanked her wrist from Galen’s grasp and buried her face in a pillow.

  * * *

  Back in the garden, Galen asked Lucius what other physicians had seen the girl already, and what they had prescribed. One had administered alternating cold and hot compresses on her belly and forehead, another had given her a foul-smelling herbal concoction, and the third had suggested she drink warm milk directly from a goat’s udder, or if at all possible, from a lactating woman’s nipple.

  “You didn’t try that last remedy, did you?”

  “No. But only because Pinaria absolutely refused.”

  “Good for her! Living milk can be a powerful remedy, but not in Pinaria’s case.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Nothing, at the moment.”

  “No medicine? No procedure?”

  “Sometimes watching and waiting is more prudent. I suspect I already have an idea of the problem.”

  “Was it her pulse? What did it tell you? What’s to be done?”

  “First, cease giving her any medicines previously prescribed. Keep her here in the house. Offer her simple food, and even if she refuses to eat, make sure she drinks a bit of water several times a day.”

  “That’s what we’ve been doing!”

  “Then continue. I shall visit again tomorrow. If I can arrange things to my liking, I think I may be able to pronounce a firm diagnosis at that time.”

  “You physicians, always so mysterious! Can’t you tell me now what you think is the problem?”

  “Absolutely not. Until he is ready to speak authoritatively, the wise physician keeps his mouth shut. That is the first thing one learns in the study of medicine.”

  * * *

  The next day, Galen arrived in the late afternoon. He looked in on the patient, who showed no improvement. If anything, Pinaria was weaker and paler than the day before, having eaten nothing in the meantime and having slept only fitfully.

  Lucius and Paulina anxiously watched him take Pinaria’s pulse. “Is her heartbeat weaker today?” asked Paulina. “Is it failing?”

  “It’s the rhythm and consistency of the pulse that I feel for, not the strength of each heartbeat. Do you think, Pinaria, that you might be up for a visitor?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t feel like talking.”

  “Not even to your best friend? I think you told me yesterday that would be Cornelia, who lives quite nearby.”

  “I…” Pinaria seemed uncertain, perhaps confused. She furrowed her brows.

  “Are you in pain, daughter?” asked Paulina.

  To Lucius, it looked more as if Pinaria was frightened. But of what?

  “Come, Pinaria, a visit from your best friend might cheer you up,” said Galen. “I’ve already arranged for her to come.”

  “When?” Pinaria shrank back.

  “Why, at any moment. Indeed, I suspect this boy has come to announce her.”

  “Yes?” said Lucius, turning to the young slave.

  “A visitor, Dominus, for your daughter. Young Cornelia.”

  “Perhaps we should send her away,” said Paulina. “
Pinaria seems unwell—”

  “No, no,” said Galen. “I must insist that Pinaria rouse herself and come to the garden. Isn’t that where you usually meet your friends? You told me so yesterday, when we had that lovely chat.”

  “But she’s too weak,” protested her mother.

  “She can hold her father’s arm, and lean on him if she needs to.”

  “Come, Pinaria, we must do as the physician says.” Lucius saw no sense in the visit, but he had agreed to follow Galen’s advice. He helped Pinaria from the bed. Her long-sleeved sleeping gown would be adequate for such a visit, he decided. Under normal circumstances, Pinaria herself would have insisted on changing into something prettier and more colorful. It was an indication of her weakness that she didn’t insist on doing so. How frail the child seemed, and how thin! But her hand holding his arm was strong enough. Indeed, her fingers clenched him so hard he winced.

  Cornelia was waiting in the garden, along with a slave, an older woman who had been her nursemaid and was now her chaperone. No Roman girl of Pinaria’s class went anywhere without such a companion to keep an eye out for any male who might draw too close. Cornelia was warmly greeted by Pinaria’s parents, but no one spoke to the chaperone, or even acknowledged her. Like most slaves, she was essentially invisible unless she had cause to speak.

  Pinaria sat on a bench in the shade. Galen sat beside her, so that he could continue to take her pulse from time to time. Pinaria murmured a few words of welcome to Cornelia, who seemed flustered at first to see her friend in such a state, and then launched into a nervous, one-sided conversation, gossiping about mutual friends. When she seemed to run dry, there was an awkward silence until Galen spoke up.

  “When I spoke to you earlier and asked you to visit Pinaria today, you mentioned an activity you have in common. Something about singing in a chorus.”

  “Oh, yes! Oh, Pinaria, we’ve missed you so much at singing lessons. We shall never be able to go on at the Hilaria without you! Demetrius says you have the best and strongest voice of any of the girls.”

  “Demetrius?” Pinaria whispered the name and looked up.

  “Is that his name, the eunuch who teaches the girls’ chorus?” asked Galen in a seemingly casual way as he again took Pinaria’s pulse.

  “You know it is,” said Cornelia. “You asked me to invite him, as well.”

  “And did you?”

  “He’s waiting in the vestibule. Oh, but it was to be a surprise! Now I’ve spoiled it.”

  “I think not,” said Galen quietly. “Pinaria looks quite surprised.”

  “And so are her parents!” said Lucius, his voice stern. “You made no mention of this—inviting a grown man to visit my daughter, and in her nightdress.”

  “But he’s only a eunuch, husband.” Paulina was watching her daughter’s expression and trying to make sense of it. When had her daughter become such a puzzle to her?

  “Very well,” said Lucius. The physician’s intrusion into Pinaria’s social life seemed pointless, but he could see no harm in it. He nodded to a nearby slave. “Show the fellow in.”

  A few moments later, Demetrius stepped into view. Galen judged him to be younger than himself, closer to Pinaria’s age, though a eunuch’s age could be hard to tell at a glance; they often looked younger than their years. Demetrius had the smooth, olive complexion of a Levantine, and no beard to speak of, though his eyebrows were thick and dark. He must have been a very pretty boy, Galen thought, for he was quite attractive in the indeterminate way of eunuchs, no longer a man but not a woman, either. A scientific treatise on the physiognomy and physiology of eunuchs would make an interesting study, he thought, even as the gentle pressure of his fingertips upon Pinaria’s wrist confirmed exactly what he suspected.

  Should any doubt remain, it vanished entirely when Pinaria released a loud sigh and suddenly lost consciousness, her head falling forward and her limp body crumpling on the bench. Her father darted forward to catch her.

  “My diagnosis is now complete,” announced Galen, releasing Pinaria’s wrist, crossing his arms and flashing a satisfied grin, much to the consternation of the Pinarii and their guests.

  * * *

  “I needed that!” said Lucius, putting down his silver goblet and wiping a bit of wine from the corner of his mouth. “Again,” he said to the slave who stood by. The boy promptly refilled the goblet.

  Lucius gestured to the half-full goblet in Galen’s hand, but Galen shook his head. He was enjoying the familiar elation that came from not only producing a correct diagnosis, but doing so in a dramatic manner. The second rule of medicine, as one of his mentors had told him, was to remember that an unheralded and unheeded diagnosis was worse than no diagnosis at all. You are always on a stage of sorts, expected to perform miracles, or at least to produce a spectacle. Do not let the audience down! The glow of pleasure that resulted from a correct and dramatic diagnosis was more intense and pleasurable than any intoxication that could be attained from mere wine.

  They were again in Lucius’s study, surrounded by scrolls and hanging bronze lamps that were already lit, as the afternoon light was beginning to fade. The rich could afford the best and most sweet-smelling oil for burning, Galen thought.

  Besides the slave, it was only the two of them in the room. In his acute embarrassment, Lucius had sent Pinaria’s guests away, then carried his swooning daughter to her room, where her mother had watched over her until it came time to put little Gaius to bed.

  “You’re sure she’ll suffer no lasting effects?” Lucius asked.

  “People faint all the time, for all sorts of reasons. In your daughter’s case, as you saw, she regained consciousness quickly—”

  “And then began to weep, uncontrollably. I never heard such caterwauling!”

  “Because her secret was out. The tears were part of the purging that can now take place, rebalancing the humors in her body, which had been thrown thoroughly out of balance by the strain of her illicit passion.”

  “Don’t call it that!”

  “Her covert infatuation, then. I think we can be certain there was never any physical contact between the two of them, nor any misconduct by the eunuch, though some are in fact capable of performing the sexual act. Like many a girl her age, Pinaria became obsessed with the most attractive person whom she happened to see on a regular basis—”

  “A eunuch! What could be more absurd?” Lucius shook his head. “At least it wasn’t some other man’s slave with his testicles intact. By Hercules, a determined and lustful slave can get around even the most vigilant chaperone. That sort of scandal happens more often than people care to admit, and it always ends very badly for everyone concerned—the girl, the slave, and the chaperone.”

  And any baby that might result, thought Galen grimly. “There, you see—the situation could be much worse, and is certainly not as bad as you seem to think. You should be proud of your daughter, actually. By steadfastly declining to act on her desire, or even to speak of it, she turned that festering passion into suffering, insomnia, and the loss of all other appetites. Now that the boil has been lanced, she can begin to recover. It was in no way her fault. Eros is notoriously reckless. Those little arrows of his can wreak havoc even in the best families.”

  “Should we have married her off before this? She is thirteen,” said Lucius. The calming glow of the wine loosened his tongue.

  “You might consider doing so sooner rather than later. In the meantime, perhaps you can send her away from the city for a while, to stay with relatives, or—”

  “And let her out of my sight? I don’t think so!” Lucius drained his goblet and raised a finger, not even glancing at the slave who promptly refilled it. “But how did you guess?”

  “I assure you, I never guess when making a diagnosis. Her pulse alerted me. Yesterday, when she and I appeared to be having a causal talk about nothing in particular, I paid close attention to her pulse. Whenever there was any mention of the upcoming festival where she was to sing, or of her
singing lessons, her pulse raced against my fingertips. I thought she might suffer from stage fright. Some people become physically ill at the very thought of performing in public. But then the eunuch was mentioned, and her reaction became even more pronounced. I could only be certain…”—and produce the most dramatic effect, he thought, but did not say—“… by observing an encounter between the two of them. You witnessed the result. I treated a similar case, in Alexandria. There, it was a lovesick wife smitten by a famous dancer, a man she’d never even met, only seen on the stage. Any time the dancer’s name was mentioned—”

  “A dancer? Numa’s balls, that would be even worse than a slave!”

  “Yet another reason you should be happy things worked out as they did.”

  “Ha! Another reason to pay you a very fat fee?”

  “Not at all. I’ve never asked for payment from a patient, rich or poor. I never will. The properties in Pergamum left to me by my father produce an income more than adequate for my needs.”

  “Where did his fortune come from?”

  “My father was a very successful architect and builder. He added the new wing to the library at Pergamum, which is second only to Alexandria.”

  “Ah!” Lucius nodded thoughtfully. “We have that in common. My father was not only an artist, but also a builder. And my grandfather on my mother’s side was rather famous in that department. Perhaps you’ve heard of Apollodorus of Damascus.”

  “Of course! More than famous, I think; legendary. The great architect so revered by Hadrian, until…” He almost said it aloud: until Hadrian put him to death.

  There was an awkward silence. Lucius cleared his throat. “No fee at all, then?”

  “I ask only that you speak favorably of me to your friends.”

  “Ha! I can hardly do that! I have no intention of mentioning anything about this business, to anybody.”

  “I understand. I will be discreet, as well. Still, the day may come when you have a chance to do me some other favor.”

  “I certainly will.” Lucius sighed and shook his head. “My dear daughter, a secret victim of lovesickness. Why did I not see it myself?”