Elisa’s hand moved protectively to her stomach. She would give birth soon, but she knew it would not be in Antioch. “Mathai, we must leave. We all must leave.” She pleaded to her parents.
Her mother shook her head. “We are too old, Elisa. Our place is here.”
Elisa’s eyes welled with tears. She would spend the next several days begging and pleading for her parents to come with them. She also knew that, in the end, they would not. Only her desperation to save the child in her womb would make her consider leaving them behind.
Mathai sat brooding. “But where would we go?” he asked helplessly. “Our lives are here. Our family, my work…”
“We must leave. For the baby,” Elisa said with conviction.
“But where will we go?” Mathai repeated.
“To Gundeshapur,” his father-in-law said in his commanding voice. “I will write to the academy with your introduction.”
Mathai looked at him in astonishment, and long-buried ambitions began to stir inside him. He had heard of opportunities arising in Gundeshapur, the glittering jewel of the Sassanid Empire. But never in his life had he thought he would make the journey. Now Elisa’s father was willing to write to the academy there on his behalf. The Academy of Athens had lost its funding from the emperor, triggering a great exodus—not only from Antioch, but also from Edessa and Athens—to Gundeshapur.
Only the brightest scholars and doctors were granted tenure. Gundeshapur boasted a medical training center, a hospital, an observatory, a library, and its own translation house. Built by the hands of Roman prisoners of the Persian dynasty—many of whom were skilled architects, masons, and artists—Gundeshapur’s buildings supposedly rivaled those in Rome and Antioch in their magnificence. To work there would be anyone’s dream.
Mathai watched Elisa’s father pen the letter. “Thank you,” Mathai said, his voice choked with gratitude. Elisa’s father looked up at Mathai with sharp eyes and pointed to his daughter. “I do this for her.”
Mathai nodded earnestly. “I’ll work hard. I’ll give our child the best life.”
Elisa swallowed the lump in her throat and took her husband’s hand. She already knew he would.
***
They left before the week’s end. Elisa looked back at her city for the last time. She prayed to God once more for her vision to be wrong.
She and Mathai journeyed east, then south. They stopped at Aleppo and Rusafa before continuing the long stretch down the Euphrates to Dura-Europos. Elisa rode on their horse while Mathai led the donkey with all their possessions.
The Zagros Mountains loomed in the distance and Mathai calculated they would reach Gundeshapur in three days’ time. Elisa was growing weaker and weaker; today she had not said a word at all. Mathai feared she could not keep riding.
Their horse carried her gently, as if he understood her fragile state. The baby would come soon. Mathai tried to convince her they should stay in one of the passing towns until the child was born, but she insisted they keep going. His position at the academy was not guaranteed, and the longer they delayed, the more tenuous it became. He was not the only physician to come from the west seeking work.
Elisa let out a small moan and Mathai stopped the horse. He hurried to give her water. “Drink, Elisa. Drink.” He held up the leather bag but she did not take it.
Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance. Then her body went limp and she listed toward him, tumbling off the horse.
As Mathai rushed to break her fall, the horse startled, poised to run. “Easy, Zaman,” Mathai said gently. “Help me now.”
Zaman remained still but neighed with agitation. Mathai held Elisa in his arms and tried to think of what he should do.
He laid her on the ground and led the horse and donkey to a nearby tree. Then he went looking for branches to construct a makeshift litter, which he covered with one of their blankets. He laid Elisa on top and tied the litter to the horse. Only a few hours of daylight remained, so they had no choice but to continue on.
They traveled for two more days, barely stopping to rest. Only when he knew Elisa was asleep did Mathai show his fear. Her vision had forced them to flee Antioch, and he struggled to suppress the thought that his wife and child would not survive the journey.
***
When they finally arrived in Gundeshapur, Mathai closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.
They wandered through a residential district and Mathai tried to get his bearings. He assumed the medical school would be south, near the city center, but he wasn’t sure they could travel any farther at this point. Elisa had begun to whimper in pain hours before, and now she could barely stifle her screams. They would not have time to seek lodging from the academy before the birth.
Mathai placed a cloth in Elisa’s mouth for her to bite on, in the hope it might distract her from the pain. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, pleading. Mathai swallowed and squeezed her hand. “We have made it to the city. I will find help,” he assured her; though he wasn’t sure how.
He led Zaman and the donkey down the street. From the looks of the houses, they were clearly in a wealthy district. The architecture of the city felt foreign, from the colonnaded porticoes and square towers, to the pointed archways and trapezoid doorways.
He passed an old woman on the side of the road selling fresh yogurt and asked if any physicians lived in the nearby houses.
The woman only spoke Pahlavi, but she saw Elisa’s distress and pointed to the villa farthest down the street, the one that looked like a palace. Mathai thought he understood.
