In the spring of the year 542 seven people within the city of Constantinople fell ill to a strange ailment. A sudden fever brought them to their respective beds. Their bodies began to swell. Over the course of a few hours portions of the skin ballooned up forming pustules that broke open and sent sticky pus over each victim. Within the day they were dead. Shocked family members quickly buried the bodies.

The next day several hundred suffered the same fate. A young boy showed up at the servant’s entrance to Belisarius’ house asking for Marus. When questioned he explained that his father had developed a fever during the night and with the recent deaths in the city he was sent to get a remedy. Marus recognized him as the son of a local merchant and prepared a satchel of herbs to place around the sick man’s neck. He also instructed the boy to tell his father to place a cool, wet cloth on the forehead to pull out the heat of fever.

A second messenger arrived with a similar message for Marus. He prepared another satchel and gave the same instructions. That afternoon three more arrived with the same purpose. The city was getting sick.

Marus had not given much thought to the first description of fever, but as more people arrived to ask his help he began to wonder if a pestilence were invading the city. The next to arrive was a young girl of only a eight or nine years. She tearfully told Marus that her mother was sick but they were poor and could not afford a doctor. Marus recognized her as the daughter of a barmaid in a tavern he frequented. He grabbed a leather pouch and stuffed in some herbs he often used for a fever and followed the girl to her home. 

He was horrified to find the barmaid screaming incoherently, her body writhing in pain. Her face contorted with large swollen sores. As he drew near one of the sores erupted sending a putrid white liquid dripping down her face and further soiling her filthy dress. Closer inspection revealed bulges forming in the woman’s armpits and behind her ears. The young girl began to cry and implored Marus to save her mother.

Marus had rendered aid on the battlefield for many years. He had stopped the bleeding of many a soldier, knew how to apply a tourniquet, had herbs to quell a fever and could attach a stout stick to a limb with a broken bone. He had comforted soldiers who received wounds beyond his skill, telling them they would die with honor and would bring peace to the area by their noble deeds. It did not matter if they were high in command or lowly foot soldiers, Marus honored them all.

But he had never seen anything like the spectacle before him now. The woman screamed in agony and tore at her clothes. She looked uncomprehendingly at her crying daughter. Finally, she fell back on the blood soaked bed and was silent. The silence of the dead. The daughter then filled the air with the screams of the living and grief for her mother, for she realized her mother’s fate. She lunged forward to embrace her mother’s corpse. Marus grabbed her before she could. “No!” he yelled. The child instead wrapped her arms around Marus. He lifted her up and whispered, “I am sorry. I knew your mother and will miss her. Many people will miss her lovely smile.”

The child cried even harder and wrapped her arms around Marus’ neck and laid her head on his shoulder as she sobbed. Marus carried her out of the apartment only to find curious onlookers peeking in the doorway. He motioned them all back and told them not to enter. There was sickness in the house.

“Yes, we know,” one woman replied. “It is also in my house. Are you not the physician from the palace? Please, come and attend to my husband. A fever grows in him also.”

“I am not the palace physician, only the humble cook to Belisarius.”

At the mention of Belisarius, the woman again implored, “Ah, yes. Belisarius’ cook. I hear you save many soldiers on the battlefield and serve wonderful meals to the officers. Your skill with herbs is renowned. Perhaps you have an herb that can save my husband.”

Marus almost smiled at her praise, but caught himself in time to not appear callous. The woman held out her arms to take the crying girl while motioning with her eyes to a doorway close by. Marus nodded and handed the girl into her arms and followed them into another poor apartment.

The woman’s husband was sitting on a chair, bending over and holding his head. He looked up at Marus and said, “I do not feel well. My skin begins to burn.”

The child had slowed her tears as she also assessed the situation. Marus looked at her and said, “Go to the well and get fresh water. Enough to fill a bucket.” To the woman he said, “Prepare a cook fire. I will treat your husband.”

Several of the curious were still milling about outside the apartment, looking in at the unfolding drama as the cook for the famous Belisarius prepared to help a neighbor.

When the girl returned Marus took the bucket and poured half in a basin and half in a cook pot. He put the cook pot on the rapidly heating fire. He instructed the man to recline on the bed and relax. He took a small bit of cloth from the pouch attached to his waist, spread it out on the table and carefully sprinkled a small amount of dried lavender upon it. He folded the cloth so that the lavender was safely inside and dipped it in the basin of water. He placed the cloth on the man’s forehead and was pleased to hear a sigh of relief come from the man as he relaxed.

Marus again shuffled through his pouch of herbs and this time pulled out a small amount of dried moringa.  He stepped over to the woman who was throwing more wood on the fire under the cook pot attempting to make it boil all the faster. He handed the herb to her.

“When the water boils add these herbs and take the pot off the fire. Let the herbs seep for a few moments until the water is fully infused. There will be a mild, pleasant aroma.”

The woman nodded.

“Let the tea cool. Give your husband a cup full about every four hours. Re-boil the water each time and let it cool.”

The woman nodded.

“I will return tomorrow to see how he is. He needs rest.”

“Yes,” the woman said.

“And keep the cool cloth on his forehead. Dip it in the basin and wring it out. Try to keep the herbs inside.”

“Thank you.”

Marus gathered his herbs and attached the pouch to his belt. He headed toward the door. The young girl followed and grabbed his cloak. He turned and looked at her. “I am sorry. I can not take you with me. I have no way to care for you.”

Tears again formed in her eyes.

The woman looked up and said. “Come here, Sophia. You can stay with me. I will care for you.”

Although it is a common name, Marus started with the hearing of his love’s name. He stopped and looked at the girl. This time he really saw her. She was of a similar complexion and hair color to his love of long ago. A miniature Sophia. He softened. There was the danger of tears forming his eyes. He stopped himself and said “I will return tomorrow.” Too late he noticed Sophia staring at him. Had she seen the almost-tears?

Marus stepped out into the street where a small crowd of neighbors had gathered. “What illness has befallen us?” one man asked.

“I know not. It is unlike anything I have seen.”

“Will the man survive?” asked another.

“Alas, I know not. We can only wait and see.”

“God is angry. He sends his wrath,” someone in the crowd said.

Marus looked around to see several people nodding at this comment. He thought of another day long ago when similar comments were made.

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