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Death of a King
The king lay in his bed with trembling chills. Attending physicians labored grimly. Cool towels applied to his feverish forehead one after another.
A nurse held a spoon of cool water to his parched lips. The king was unable to open his mouth to receive the liquid. His face grimaced in pain. Moans, deep and terrible, emit from his diseased body. Foul odors saturated the room. Those attending him wore damp cloths over their mouths. It did little to help.
"Is there nothing we can do?" asked one physician.
"Nothing," responded another. "The king is dying. Each hour he grows weaker." Herod opened his eyes. One eye stared off into space. The other pupil rolled out of control into the corner of its socket exhibiting virulent red veins. Breathing labored and gasping. He tried to speak, but the words were lost in aching moans. His eyes closed tight, his jaw clamped as if warding off the agony. His body convulsed and then relaxed.
"He cannot last much longer."
"Doesn't anyone know what is wrong with him?" The physicians were frustrated, confused. They had never seen this disease, or whatever it was, before.
"His bowels are dead."
"What?"
"His bowels are dead and rotting inside him." The voice came from the shadows of the room. It was a young voice but authoritative, educated.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Lucian, physician to the family of Seth. My name is not important, but I can tell you his bowels are dead. I have seen this before."
"But you are a doctor, then?"
"Of course, I am a doctor. Look." The young man strode to the bedside and pulled the coverings back from the king. He lifted the king's skirt to expose his abdomen and genitals.
"How can you dare so expose the king of the Jews." This from one of the elders.
The young man looked with contempt at the priest. "You fools concern yourselves with the king's modesty when the man will be dead in a few hours." He turned back to the attending physicians. "Look at his abdomen." It was bloated, distended, gaseous. "For reasons we do not understand, the blood to his intestines has stopped. They have died and are decomposing within him." The clarity of the diagnosis and the young man's demeanor persuaded the other physicians. The priests were incredulous.
"How can one so young know . . ?"
"What can we do to save his life?" asked an attending physician.
"Nothing. He will die soon and there is nothing we or anyone else can do to prevent it."
"You blaspheme the king?"
Ignoring the priest, the young physician continued, "If you surgically incise his abdomen, you might relieve his suffering."
"Cut his belly open?"
"Of course." The young man reached for a small leather case. Untying its strings, it opened to what appeared to be medical instruments. From these he selected a small, sharp scalpel. "Observe," he remarked clinically.
"Stop him!" shouted the priest.
No one moved. Again the doctor, ignoring the priest, deftly inserted the instrument just deep enough to penetrate the abdomen wall. In less than an instant, he had made an incision the entire breadth of the king's body. Gases escaped and the bloating receded. The king, unable to feel the pain of the blade for the pain within his body, sighed in blessed relief. The stench was unbearable.
The doctor toweled his hands of blood and remarked,"Give him heavy portions of wine mixed with myrrh. And cover the windows," he ordered. "Flies. The king will be dead by morning." Abruptly, he turned and left the room. Incredibly, Herod the Great rested comfortably.
The attending physicians looked at one another, stunned. The priests were helpless.
"Who was that?"
"He said his name was . . . Lucian." (Luke)
* * * * *
The young doctor was wrong. Herod lived three more days before he succumbed. That night, everyone left the king in peace except for the slaves. Sitting by the bed in waning candlelight, the slave awoke to the sound of intermittent buzzing. No one had remembered to close the windows. Since the slave had not heard the young physician, he did not do so. It was not long before Herod's exposed intestines were covered with flies. This condition continued for hours through the next day before someone thought to cover the patient's stomach.
Two day's later, just before the king breathed his last, he awoke screaming. His mouth covered with foaming, bubbling spittle, his words incoherent, his eyes glazed with fear and approaching death, he could not stop screaming. One of the physicians thought to examine the incision. Perhaps, he thought, it was encrusted, causing additional pain. He removed the coverings and the loose-fitting bandage. The stench staggered him. He turned his head in futile attempt to reach fresh air. Turning again to attend the monarch, he viewed the wound for the first time in almost three days. Instantly gagging, he vomited. The king's belly was crawling with maggots. Herod the Great died in his physician's vomit, worms writhing in putrescent tissue.
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