The Cole Trilogy: The Physician, Shaman, and Matters of Choice (55 page)

Next morning they came to a small village and learned it was Nardiz and that they had entered the district of Anshan.

The villagers treated them respectfully when
Hakim
Fadil announced they were physicians from Ispahan, sent by Al
ā
Shah to help those afflicted by the plague.

“We do not have the pestilence,
Hakim,
” the head of the village said thankfully. “Although rumors have reached us of death and suffering in Sh
ī
r
ā
z.”

Now they traveled expectantly, but they passed village after village and saw healthy people. In a mountain valley at Naksh-i-Rustam, they came to great rock-hewn tombs, the burial place of four generations of Persian kings. Here, overlooking their windswept valley, Darius the Great, Xerxes, Ataxerxes, and Darius II had lain for fifteen hundred years during which
wars, pestilences, and conquerors had come and faded into nothingness. While the four Muslims paused for Second Prayer, Rob and Mirdin stood before one of the tombs in wonder as they read the inscription:

I AM XERXES THE GREAT KING, THE KING OF KINGS,
THE KING OF COUNTRIES OF MANY RACES,
THE KING OF THE GREAT UNIVERSE, THE SON OF DARIUS THE KING,
THE ACHAEMENIAN.

They rode past a great ruined place of broken fluted columns and strewn stone. Karim told Rob it was Persepolis, destroyed by Alexander the Great nine hundred years before the birth of the Prophet (may God bless him and greet him!).

A short distance from the ancient remains of the town they came to a farm. It was quiet save for the bleating of a few sheep grazing beyond the house, a pleasant sound that carried cleanly through the sunlit air. A shepherd seated beneath a tree appeared to be watching them, and when they rode up to him they saw he was dead.

The
hakim
just sat his horse like the rest of them, staring at the body. When Fadil failed to take the lead, Rob dismounted and examined the man, whose flesh was blue and already hard and stiff. He had been dead too long for his staring eyes to be closed, and an animal had been gnawing at his legs and had eaten away his right hand. The front of his tunic was black with blood. When Rob took his knife and cut open the garment he could find no sign of plague but there was a stab wound over the heart, large enough to have been made by a sword.

“Search,” Rob said.

The house proved to be deserted. In the field beyond, they found the remains of several hundred slaughtered sheep, many of the bones already picked clean by wolves. All about, the field was greatly trampled, and it was apparent that an army had stopped there long enough to kill the shepherd and take meat.

Fadil, his eyes glassy, didn’t give a direction or an order.

Rob lay the body on its side and they mounded it over with stones and large rocks to preserve the rest of it from the beasts, then they were glad to ride from that place.

Eventually they came to a fine estate, a sumptuous house surrounded by cultivated fields. It too appeared deserted, but they dismounted.

After Karim had knocked loudly and long, a peephole in the center of the door was opened and an eye stared out at them.

“Begone.”

“We are a medical party from Ispahan, bound for Sh
ī
r
ā
z,” Karim said.

“I am Ishmael the Merchant. I can tell you few remain alive in Sh
ī
r
ā
z. Seven weeks ago, an army of Seljuk Turkomen came to Anshan. Most of us fled before the Seljuks, taking women, children, and animals within the Sh
ī
r
ā
z walls. The Seljuks beleaguered us. The Death already had broken out among them and they gave up the siege within a few days. But before they departed they sent the bodies of two of their plague-dead soldiers over the walls by catapult, into the crowded town. As soon as they were gone, we hastened to take the two corpses outside the wall and burn them, but it was too late, and the Death appeared among us.”

Now
Hakim
Fadil found his tongue. “Is it a fearsome pestilence?”

“No worse can be imagined,” said the voice behind the door. “Some persons appear to be immune to the disease, as was I, thanks be to Allah (whose mercy abounds!). But most who were within the walls are dead or dying.”

“What of the physicians of Sh
ī
r
ā
z?” Rob asked.

“There were in the town two barber-surgeons and four physicians, all other leeches having fled as soon as the Seljuks departed. Both barbers and two of the physicians labored among the people until they too were dead, and quickly. One leech was down with the disease and only a single physician remained to care for the afflicted when I abandoned the city myself, not two days since.”

“Then it appears that we are badly needed in Sh
ī
r
ā
z,” Karim said.

“I have a large clean house,” the man said, “stocked with ample supplies of food and wine, vinegar and lime, and a plentiful store of hemp plant to chase away troubles. I would open this house to you, for it is my protection to let in healers. In but a little while, when the pestilence has run its course, we can enter Sh
ī
r
ā
z to our mutual profit. Who will join my safety?”

There was a silence.

“I,” Fadil said hoarsely.

“Do not do this,
Hakim,
” Rob said.

“You are our leader and our only physician,” Karim said.

Fadil didn’t appear to hear them. “I shall come inside, merchant.”

“I shall come inside too,” Abbas Sefi said.

Both men slid from their horses. There was the sound of a heavy bar being eased slowly free. They glimpsed a pale, bearded face as the door opened only far enough to allow the two men to slip inside, then it was slammed again and barred.

Those outside stood like men adrift on the open sea. Karim looked at
Rob. “Perhaps they are right,” he muttered. Mirdin said nothing, his face troubled and uncertain. The youth Ali was about to weep again.

“The Plague Book,” Rob said, remembering that Fadil carried it in a large purse he wore on a strap around his neck. He went to the door and hammered on it.

“Go away,” Fadil said. He sounded terrified; doubtless he feared to open the door lest they fall on him.

“Hear me, you shitepoke,” Rob said, seized by fury. “If we are not given Ibn Sina’s Plague Book, wood and brush will be gathered and piled high against the walls of this house. And I will delight in setting it afire, you false physician.”

In a moment the drawing of the bar was heard again. The door opened and the book was thrown out to fall in the dust at their feet.

Rob picked it up and mounted. His fury didn’t last as he rode away, for part of him yearned to be with Fadil and Abbas Sefi in the merchant’s safe place.

He traveled a long time before he could bring himself to turn in the saddle. Mirdin Askari and Karim Harun were far back, but coming after him. The youth, Ali Rashid, brought up the rear, leading Fadil’s packhorse and Abbas Sefi’s mule.

44

THE DEATH

The trail traversed a marshy plain almost in a straight line and then became tortuous in a rocky chain of bare mountains that they crossed for two days. Finally descending toward Sh
ī
r
ā
z on the third morning, they saw smoke from afar. As they drew near, they came upon men burning bodies outside the wall. Beyond Sh
ī
r
ā
z they could see the slopes of its famous gorge, Teng-i-Allahu Akbar, or Pass of God Is Most Great. Rob noticed dozens of large black birds soaring above the pass and knew that at last they had found the pestilence.

No sentry was at the gate when they passed into the city.

“Were the Seljuks inside the walls, then?” Karim said, for Sh
ī
r
ā
z had a raped look. It was a pleasantly arranged city of pink stone, with many gardens, but everywhere raw stumps marked where once large trees had given shade and green majesty, and even the rosebushes of the gardens had been taken to feed the funeral pyres.

Dreamlike, they rode down empty streets.

At last they spied a man with a stumbling gait, but when they hailed him and moved to approach, he fled behind some houses.

Soon they found another pedestrian, and this time they boxed him in with their horses when he tried to run away, and Rob J. drew his sword.

“Answer and we do you no harm. Where are the physicians?”

The man was terrified. He held before his mouth and nose a small packet, probably of aromatic herbs. “The
kelonter’s
,” he gasped, pointing down the street.

On the way they passed a charnel wagon. Its two burly collectors, their faces more heavily veiled than if they’d been women, stopped to pick up the small body of a child from where it had been left at the side of the street. There were three adult cadavers, one male and two female, in the wagon.

At the municipal offices, they presented themselves as the medical party from Ispahan and were stared at with astonishment by a tough man with
a military look and an old man, enfeebled; both had the slack faces and staring eyes of long sleeplessness.

“I am Dehbid Hafiz, the
kelonter
of Sh
ī
r
ā
z,” the younger man told them. “And this is
Hakim
Isfari Sanjar, our last physician.”

“Why are your streets empty?” Karim said.

“We were fourteen thousand souls,” Hafiz said. “With the coming of the Seljuks, an additional four thousand scurried behind the protection of our wall. After the outbreak of the Death, one-third of all those in Sh
ī
r
ā
z fled the city, including,” he said bitterly, “every rich man and the entire government, content to leave their
kelonter
and his soldiers to guard their property. Nearly six thousand have died. Those who are not yet stricken cower inside their homes and pray to Allah (merciful is He!) that they may remain so.”

“How do you treat them,
Hakim?”
Karim asked.

“Nothing avails against the Death,” the old doctor said. “A physician may hope only to bring some small comfort to the dying.”

“We are not yet physicians,” Rob said, “but medical apprentices sent to you by our master Ibn Sina, and we shall do your bidding.”

“I give you no bidding, you shall do as you may,”
Hakim
Isfari Sanjar said roughly. He waved his hand. “I give you only advice. If you would stay alive as I have, each morning with your breakfast you must eat a piece of toast soaked in vinegar of wine, and each time you speak with any person, you must first take a drink of wine,” he said, and Rob J. realized that what he had mistaken for the infirmity of old age was instead an advanced state of drunkenness.

Records of the Ispahan Medical Party.

If this compendium is found after our deaths, generous reward will be realized upon its delivery to Abu Ali at-Husain ibn Abdullah ibn Sina, Chief Physician of the
maristan,
Ispahan. Inscribed on the 19th Day of the Month of Rabia I, in the 413th Year After the Hegira.

We have been in Sh
ī
r
ā
z four days during which 243 have died. The pestilence begins as a mild fever followed by headache, sometimes severe. The fever becomes extremely high just before the appearance of a lesion in the groin, in an armpit, or behind an ear, commonly called a bubo. There is mention in the Plague Book of such buboes, which
Hakim
Ibn al-Khat
ī
b of Andalusia said were inspired by the Devil and always in the shape of a serpent. Those observed here are not serpent-shaped but round and full, like the
lesion of a tumor. They may be as large as a plum, but most are the size of a lentil. Often there is vomiting of blood, which always means death is imminent. Most victims die within two days of the appearance of a bubo. Some few are fortunate in that the bubo suppurates. When this occurs it is as if an evil humor passes from the patient, who may then recover.

(signed)

Jesse ben Benjamin Clerk

They found an established pesthouse in the jail, the prisoners having been freed. It was packed with the dead, the dying, and the newly afflicted, so many it was impossible to comfort any. The air was filled with groans and cries, and heavy with the stench of bloody vomit, unwashed bodies, and human waste.

After conferring with the other three clerks, Rob went to the
kelonter
and requested the use of the Citadel, in which soldiers had been housed. This granted, he went from patient to patient in the jail, assessing them, holding their hands.

The message that flowed into his own hands was generally dreadful: the cup of life turned into a sieve.

Those close to death were moved to the Citadel. Since this was a large percentage of the victims, those not yet moribund could be nursed in a cleaner and less crowded place.

It was Persian winter, cold nights, warm afternoons. The peaks of the mountains were dazzling with snow and in the mornings the clerks needed their sheepskin coats. Above the gorge, black vultures soared in growing numbers.