none of it. If you wish to sharpen your rhetorical skills, pick a topic other than religion — or go to my brother Gregory. Case closed.'
In an effort to distract him from such distasteful studies, and to focus him on the more worldly miracles of the One True God, I once invited him to attend one of my clandestine autopsies, which he accepted with eager relish, somewhat to my surprise. Our research subjects were normally collected on a rather irregular basis, whenever I or my fellow students were fortunate to hear of the death of an indigent somewhere in the city. Only rarely were we able to acquire a cadaver in appropriate condition for research, for our quest at all times involved a race against not only the city's other medical schools, of which there were a considerable number, but against the Church. You and I have discussed this before, Brother, how the Christian presbyters are scandalized at what they view as the medical schools' desecration of the dead. As for myself, I feel that there could not possibly be anything more holy than to advance man's medical knowledge and reason, which must serve as the basis for true and lasting faith, in order to better serve the living. Julian was shocked and then delighted at the whiff of illicitness about the whole affair.
On this occasion, fortunately, I was able to spare him the mad dash through the city upon hearing of an indigent death, and the clandestine walk back, skulking through alleys carrying the cadaver as best we could wrapped in rags and sheets, to avoid contact with sharp-eyed priests and other observers not favorable to the cause of science. Athens had at this time just emerged from the grip of a cholera epidemic, and for the first and only time of which I was aware, the small cellar of my medical school was well stocked with appropriate subjects for examination. Six or seven, in fact, had been acquired over the past several days alone, laid in hastily assembled pine boxes. In a somewhat careless effort at preservation, we strove to maintain a constant temperature in the boxes by packing the bodies tightly with wood shavings and sawdust swept up from the floor of the joinery next door, in exchange for which the carpenter jokingly made us promise not to collect his body should we ever come across it in the streets.
As Julian and I, along with several others, arrived at the door of the school that night at the agreed-upon time, I swore him to secrecy, and briefly described for him the procedure he was about to witness, so that he would not be needlessly shocked and repelled. Our assignment this evening was to verify the observation made three centuries ago by the physician Apion, that the human body contains a delicate nerve that starts from the left ring finger and travels to the heart. It is for this reason, he claimed, that it is most appropriate to favor that finger above all others when wearing a wedding ring, in view of the close relationship between it and the principal organ.
One or two of my colleagues, however, expressed hesitation at allowing an outsider such as Julian to view our work. Pharon, a tall, thin young pagan from Alexandria who claimed proud descent from a long line of Egyptian priests and who therefore was most skilled in the preservation of the dead, was particularly vocal in his objections. I explained who our guest was.
'Pharon — he's not just a friend; he's the cousin of the Emperor. If he understands and approves of our work, he could be of assistance to us in the future.'
The Egyptian peered down his long, aristocratic nose at Julian, blinking at him skeptically. 'I don't care if he's the sun god Ra. It's not right for him to view the procedure.'
I was annoyed at Pharon's blatant disrespect, but when I glanced over at Julian he did not seem dismayed in the slightest. After several moments of hurried negotiations and argument in the middle of the street, the Egyptian finally shrugged grudgingly. 'Very well,' he said, 'but, Caesarius — our safety is on your head.'
I assured him I took full responsibility, and then unlocked the door.
We entered and felt our way down the stairs in darkness, assisted only slightly by the diffused light of the half-moon shining weakly through a high, narrow window. A lantern would not be lit until the very last moment, to avoid detection from curious passersby, and then would be snuffed as soon as the hasty procedure had been completed.
By the unwritten rules of our group, at those times when we were blessed with more than one cadaver for study, students were required to first use the older one, by which I mean the one that had been stored the longest in the cellar, to prevent its going to waste. I was dismayed to be reminded by one of my students that this meant that, despite our recent fruitful harvest from the city streets, we were obliged to perform our examinations on a fellow who had died a good eight days earlier. Although the cellar was cool, and he had been carefully packed in sawdust, nevertheless I did not relish the anticipation of the cadaver's odor and physical condition, and I warned Julian of what was to come.
Drawing the sealed box out from its shelf and carefully laying it on the examining table in the dim light, a strong stench of decay seeped through some crack in the planks. I forged on, nevertheless, though when I encountered difficulty prying the nails out of the lid, I called for Julian to uncover the ember we had brought sealed inside a small ceramic jar, and to light up a tallow for light. There was a pause as he fumbled to open the container in the dark, and then Pharon shouted, 'Stop!' in a panic, nearly causing the rest of us to jump out of our skins. After fearful shushing all around as we listened carefully for footsteps outside our door, I turned to Pharon in annoyance.
'What the hell was that for?'
'Don't light the candle,' he said. 'Open the box and let the gas dissipate first.'
'Gas?' Julian asked nervously. 'Caesarius, I thought you said he was dead.'
'Gas from the wood shavings, you dolt,' rejoined Pharon with a hiss. 'Organic material creates gas as it decays. Even ignorant Alemanni peasants know that — that's why they store grain in vented barns. You'll smell the gas when you open the box. The body stored with it also produces humors from the same process. The combination of the two could be dangerous.'
I scoffed at this. 'That's absurd! Julian, light the candle.'
'Wait!' Pharon hissed again, this time with increasing urgency. His large eyes shone brightly, in eerie contrast with the darkness of his skin and the shadows of the room. 'I once thought as you did, Caesarius, until last year, when I opened a casket the same way, and held a candle close to view the body. There was a burst of flame and a noise like a loud puff of wind, and it blew the candle out completely. I was blinded for a moment, and when I was able to relight the candle and look in the box again, I found that the flash had singed all the hair off the man's body. At least it made it easier to dissect him. Unfortunately, it did the same to my face. For three weeks I was mistaken for a Syrian eunuch. Believe me, it's better to let the gas dissipate.'
I could hear stifled snickers breaking out from around the table and I stood stiffly, wondering whether to let this outrageous tale pass unremarked. By this time, unfortunately, Julian had had enough. His eyes wide and gleaming in the dim light, he begged my pardon and pleaded to be released back to the street. I consented, and he slipped out quietly the way he had come, stifling his nausea at the overpowering smell. Although that occasion gave rise to great merriment among my colleagues for many weeks afterward, it was also, I believe, the source of the great esteem, and possibly fear, that Julian held of the physician's skills and knowledge.
Would that you held me in the same respect as did he, Brother.
III
Julian stayed in Athens less than a year. When in midsummer he was unexpectedly summoned by the Emperor to attend him at his residence at Milan, the command was anything but welcome. The day Julian received it, he wandered out of his apartments in a daze. It was only with great difficulty that I was able to find him hours later, lying prostrate in the semidarkness in the Parthenon before the enormous statue of Athena, mumbling unintelligibly.
'Caesarius,' he said hoarsely, sitting up with a start and looking around when I touched his shoulder. 'What are you doing here?'
I looked into his face for signs of illness, but seeing none I relaxed.
'Gregory said you wandered out of the house looking like a poleaxed ox. I've been looking all over for you, friend — but this was the last place I'd have thought to find you.' I looked suspiciously up at Athena, then smiled and thumped his shoulder cheerfully. 'Julian, it's Milan! The imperial court! If Constantius truly had evil designs he wouldn't be recalling you. What can be so bad as all that?'
Julian's face reddened in anger. 'He's a madman! He killed my father and brother — and yet he asks me to
