The Story of the Greek King and the Physician Douban

In the ancient city of Constantinople, during an age when learning flourished throughout the Byzantine Empire, there ruled a Greek king named Yunan who was beloved by his people for his justice and wisdom. King Yunan was a patron of scholars and physicians, filling his court with the most learned men of his time. His palace library contained manuscripts from Alexandria, Baghdad, and Cordoba, and his court was a place where knowledge was treasured above gold.

However, despite all his wealth and wisdom, King Yunan suffered from a terrible affliction that had resisted every attempt at cure. His body was covered with a form of leprosy that caused his skin to appear white and scaly, and which grew progressively worse despite the efforts of every physician in his kingdom.

The king’s condition was not only a source of personal suffering but also a matter of state concern. Ancient beliefs held that a ruler’s physical health reflected divine favor, and Yunan’s illness had begun to affect his authority and his people’s confidence in his reign.

“My lord,” said the king’s chief minister during one of their private councils, “the people whisper that your illness is a sign of divine displeasure. Our enemies use it to question your right to rule. We must find a cure, not only for your sake but for the kingdom’s.”

King Yunan had indeed consulted every physician, healer, and wise man in his realm. Greek doctors trained in the medical traditions of Galen, Arab physicians who brought the latest discoveries from the hospitals of Baghdad, Jewish healers with their ancient remedies, and even traveling mystics who claimed to possess supernatural cures—all had failed to provide relief.

“I have tried every remedy known to man,” the king replied wearily, looking at his reflection in a polished bronze mirror that showed his deteriorating condition. “Perhaps this is indeed Allah’s will, and I must accept my fate.”

It was at this lowest point in the king’s struggle with his illness that a stranger arrived at the palace gates. This was Douban, a physician who had traveled from the distant lands of Persia, bringing with him knowledge from the great medical schools of the East.

Douban was a remarkable man whose appearance immediately commanded respect. Though not young, he carried himself with the dignity of one who had spent his life in the pursuit of healing. His beard was silver-white, his eyes held the kindness of someone who had devoted his life to alleviating suffering, and his hands bore the careful precision of a master of his craft.

“Your Majesty,” Douban said when he was granted an audience, his voice carrying the authority of long experience, “I have traveled many lands and studied under the greatest healers of my time. I have heard of your affliction, and I believe I may be able to offer you what others could not.”

King Yunan had heard such claims many times before, but something in Douban’s manner was different from the boastful confidence of charlatans or the desperate promises of those seeking royal favor. The physician spoke with quiet certainty, as if he possessed knowledge rather than mere hope.

“What makes you different from the scores of physicians who have already failed?” the king asked, though not unkindly.

“Your Majesty, most healers treat the symptoms of disease, applying ointments to the skin or administering potions to the body. But your condition requires a different approach—one that addresses the fundamental balance of humors within your body while avoiding the dangers of internal medicines that might poison rather than heal.”

Douban went on to explain a revolutionary treatment he had developed based on his studies of ancient Persian texts combined with innovations from Arab medical science. Rather than requiring the king to ingest potentially harmful substances, his cure would work through the skin, using a specially crafted implement that would allow healing substances to penetrate directly to the source of the disease.

“I will create for you a polo mallet,” Douban explained, “carved from special wood and treated with medicines in such a way that simply grasping it and playing will introduce the cure into your system through the palms of your hands. The exercise itself will help distribute the healing properties throughout your body.”

King Yunan was intrigued despite his skepticism. The treatment seemed both innovative and safe—if it failed, at least it would not leave him worse off than before.

Douban spent three days preparing his remedy. He selected a piece of wood from a specific type of tree known for its healing properties, carved it with precise geometric patterns that would maximize the surface area touching the king’s hands, and then soaked it in a complex mixture of medicinal substances that he had spent years perfecting.

The polo mallet that emerged from this process was a work of art as much as medicine. Its handle was covered with intricate carvings that were pleasing to look at while serving the practical purpose of ensuring maximum contact with the king’s palms. The weight and balance were perfect for the game, making the treatment a pleasure rather than a burden.

“Your Majesty,” Douban said when he presented the mallet, “play polo with this implement for one hour each day. Hold it firmly, allowing the carved surfaces to press against your palms. Within a week, you will begin to see improvement. Within a month, you will be completely cured.”

The treatment began immediately. King Yunan found that the mallet felt warm in his hands, as if the medicines within were already beginning their work. The polo games, which had once been merely recreation, now became a form of therapy that the king actually looked forward to.

To the amazement of everyone in the court, Douban’s prediction proved accurate. Within three days, the king’s skin began to show improvement. The scaly, diseased patches started to fade, and healthy skin began to appear beneath. Within a week, the improvement was dramatic enough that courtiers began to whisper of a miracle.

By the end of the month, King Yunan’s skin was completely clear and healthy. Not only had the leprosy disappeared entirely, but the king appeared younger and more vigorous than he had in years. The cure was so complete and remarkable that news of it spread throughout the kingdom and beyond.

“Douban,” the king said when the physician was summoned for a final examination, “you have given me back not only my health but my throne and my hope. Name any reward you desire, and it shall be yours.”

The physician bowed humbly. “Your Majesty, your recovery is reward enough for me. I ask only to be allowed to continue serving in your court, perhaps establishing a school of medicine where the healing arts can be taught and advanced.”

King Yunan was so grateful that he showered Douban with honors far beyond what the physician had requested. He made him his personal physician, granted him a palace of his own, provided him with servants and wealth, and invited him to sit at the royal table. Douban became not just a court physician but a trusted advisor and friend.

However, the physician’s rapid rise to favor stirred jealousy among some of the established courtiers. Chief among these was the king’s vizier, a man named Dandan who had served the court for many years and had grown accustomed to being the king’s primary counselor.

Vizier Dandan watched with growing resentment as the king consulted Douban on matters that went far beyond medicine. The physician’s wisdom and learning made him valuable for discussions of science, philosophy, and even matters of state. Worse, from the vizier’s perspective, the king clearly enjoyed Douban’s company more than that of his traditional advisors.

“This foreign physician has bewitched our king,” Dandan muttered to his allies among the courtiers. “How else could a stranger gain such influence so quickly? Mark my words, he is a threat to the natural order of this court.”

Dandan’s jealousy eventually consumed his judgment. He began to devise a plan to turn the king against Douban, using the very success of the cure as his weapon.

One morning, the vizier requested a private audience with King Yunan. “My lord,” he began carefully, “I come to you with a heavy heart, for I must speak of a matter that troubles me greatly.”

“Speak freely, Dandan. Your counsel has always been valuable to me.”

“Your Majesty, I fear that your gratitude to the physician Douban may have blinded you to certain… dangers.”

The king frowned. “What dangers? The man saved my life and has served faithfully since.”

“Consider, my lord: this man appeared from nowhere, claimed powers that no other physician possessed, and accomplished what seemed impossible. How do we know his methods were truly medical rather than… supernatural?”

“Are you suggesting that Douban used sorcery? That is absurd. The cure was gradual and natural, exactly as he predicted.”

But Dandan pressed on with his poisonous insinuations. “My king, think carefully. A man who can cure with such power might also be able to harm with equal ability. If he could remove your disease through touch, might he not also be able to inflict disease the same way? You trust him completely now—you eat food he might prepare, drink beverages he recommends, handle objects he has touched.”

Despite himself, King Yunan found these words troubling. “But what possible motive could he have to harm me? I have given him everything he could desire.”

“Perhaps,” the vizier said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “he serves another master. Perhaps he was sent here by your enemies to gain your trust first, then strike when you are most vulnerable. Consider: he could poison you gradually, in ways that would never be detected, making your death appear natural while he remains above suspicion.”

The seeds of doubt, once planted in the king’s mind, began to grow. In the days that followed, he found himself watching Douban more carefully, analyzing every gesture and recommendation for signs of hidden malice. The physician’s very competence and wisdom began to seem suspicious rather than admirable.

Dandan continued his campaign of subtle poisoning, dropping hints and raising questions designed to transform the king’s gratitude into paranoia. “Notice, my lord, how he always has ready answers for every question. Is such knowledge natural, or does it suggest supernatural assistance? And observe how easily he gained your complete trust—is this not exactly what a skilled deceiver would accomplish?”

Finally, King Yunan’s suspicion reached a breaking point. He summoned Douban to a private meeting, his mind now filled with the vizier’s toxic suggestions.

“Douban,” the king said, his voice cold and formal, “I have reason to believe that you pose a threat to my safety and my kingdom.”

The physician looked at him in complete bewilderment. “Your Majesty, I do not understand. How have I given offense? What threat could I possibly pose?”

“You possess knowledge and abilities that go far beyond normal medicine. Such power could be used for harm as easily as for healing. I cannot allow such a threat to remain in my court.”

Douban’s shock was complete and genuine. “My lord, the knowledge I possess comes from years of study and practice. I have devoted my life to healing, not harming. How can you believe that I would ever wish you ill after you have shown me such kindness and honor?”

But the king’s mind was made up. The seeds of suspicion had grown into certainty, fed by fear and the vizier’s manipulations. “Your very skill proves my point. If you can cure so miraculously, you can surely kill just as easily. I cannot take the risk.”

“Your Majesty,” Douban pleaded, “test me in any way you choose. Let other physicians examine my methods. Consult with scholars about my knowledge. But do not condemn me based on suspicion alone.”

The king, however, had convinced himself that swift action was necessary to prevent whatever plot he imagined Douban was hatching. “The decision is made. You will be executed tomorrow at dawn.”

That night, Douban sat in his cell, not angry but deeply saddened by the turn of events. He had genuinely loved and respected King Yunan, and the betrayal cut deeper than the threat to his own life.

As the sun rose, Douban was brought before the king for the final time. The court was assembled, including Vizier Dandan, who watched the proceedings with barely concealed satisfaction.

“Before you carry out this unjust sentence,” Douban said calmly, “I wish to give you a final gift—a book that contains the most precious medical knowledge I have acquired in my lifetime. Perhaps future physicians in your service will benefit from it.”

He handed the king a beautiful volume bound in fine leather, its pages filled with elegant script and detailed diagrams.

“Thank you,” King Yunan said, accepting the book. “Your knowledge should not be lost, even if… even if you cannot be trusted to use it yourself.”

The execution was carried out, and Douban died with dignity, maintaining his innocence to the end.

King Yunan returned to his palace with the physician’s book, eager to examine the medical secrets it contained. As he opened it and began to read, he found that many of the pages seemed to be stuck together. He licked his finger to help separate them, as was common practice when handling delicate manuscripts.

Page after page, he continued reading and occasionally moistening his finger to turn the stuck pages. The knowledge contained in the book was indeed remarkable, and the king found himself both fascinated and regretful that he had lost such a learned advisor.

However, after about an hour of reading, King Yunan began to feel strange. His vision became blurred, his hands began to shake, and a burning sensation spread through his body.

With growing horror, he realized what had happened. The pages of the book had been treated with a poison that was absorbed through the skin when moistened with saliva. Douban, even in death, had proven the very point the king had refused to believe during his life—that a skilled physician could indeed kill as easily as cure.

But this was not, as the king had feared, the action of a traitor or enemy agent. It was the final lesson from a teacher to a student who had refused to learn. Douban had demonstrated that trust, once given and received, should not be cast aside based on fear and suspicion.

As the poison took its course, King Yunan understood too late the terrible mistake he had made. He had destroyed a man who had shown him nothing but loyalty and skill, based on the paranoid suggestions of a jealous advisor.

With his dying breath, King Yunan called for Vizier Dandan. “You,” he gasped, “you poisoned my mind against an innocent man. Your jealousy has destroyed us both.”

The story of King Yunan and the physician Douban spread throughout the lands as a cautionary tale about the dangers of ingratitude, the poison of jealousy, and the tragedy that results when fear conquers wisdom. It served as a warning to rulers about the importance of distinguishing between loyal advisors and those who would manipulate through suspicion and envy.

In the years that followed, when courtiers were tempted to undermine rivals through whispered insinuations, the story of Douban was often recalled as a reminder that the destruction of trust and loyalty ultimately destroys not just the innocent, but those who allow themselves to be guided by suspicion rather than justice.

The tale became particularly popular among physicians and healers, who saw in Douban a reflection of their own challenges—the difficulty of being trusted with the power to heal, the vulnerability that comes from possessing knowledge that others might fear, and the responsibility that comes with the ability to help or harm.

And in the medical schools that eventually arose in the region, students were taught not only the technical aspects of healing, but also the ethical principles that Douban had embodied: that the power to heal is a sacred trust, that knowledge should be used for the benefit of all, and that true physicians must be prepared to suffer for their principles rather than compromise their integrity.

The story served as both inspiration and warning—inspiration to use knowledge and skill in service of others, and warning about the tragic consequences that can result when fear and jealousy are allowed to triumph over gratitude and wisdom.