He thought of the half-sol he had spent on the red-dyed whore last night and winced in regret. A half-sol could have bought him a decent breakfast and a tankard of mead in one of the many alehouses that operated in the neighborhood.
He walked steadily, taking an occasional swig from the tepid contents of his waterskin. After a while, the dirt beneath his sandals became cobbles. The buildings transformed from shabby mud brick to sturdy wood, then stone. Another few blocks and he turned a corner and entered the temple district.
A plan had crystallized in Magnes’s mind. He would continue to call himself Tilo and try to get work as an herbalist in one of the temples dedicated to healing, or failing that, he would seek employment as a gardener. It didn’t matter, so long as he could work with growing things.
The Green Brothers were not accepting novices at this time, nor was the Temple of Balnath. The elderly priest who came to the door to politely turn him away suggested that he try the Temple of Eskleipa, over at the east end of the district near the Grand Arena. Magnes sat awhile in the shade of the temple porch, mustering his energy for the hot trudge to come. His mouth ached for a drink of something other than warm water; he thought about retreating from the day’s heat into a nearby tavern, but then he reminded himself of his dwindling finances.
With a weary sigh, he rose to his feet and set off.
Eskleipa was a foreign god, brought up from the far south of the Empire by a wave of immigration from the conquered lands of the Eenui people. His clergy had proven themselves to be skilled healers; worship of the god had become quite popular, especially among poor immigrants and slaves.
The Temple of Eskleipa looked far less grand than the gleaming marble house of Balnath. Magnes walked up to the plain wooden door of the modest brick building and pulled on a rope dangling from the doorjamb. Somewhere within, he heard the tinkling of a bell.
Time passed, and the door remained firmly shut. Magnes hauled on the bell rope a second time and followed that up with a firm rap with the end of his walking stick. A third and fourth try were equally fruitless, and Magnes had decided to give up when, just as he was turning to leave, the door swung open, and a man poked his head out.
“ Yes?”
Magnes blinked in surprise.
He had never before seen a man so old.
“ Are you in need of healing, my son? Well, speak up! I’m hard of hearing!” The old man cupped his hand to his ear and peered up at Magnes owlishly.
“ No, I don’t need healing, Father,” Magnes finally managed to answer. “I’m looking for a position as an herbalist. I was told over at the Temple of Balnath that you might accept me as a novice.”
“ Balnath! Balnath, bah! No Balls-nath, more like. Those quacks wouldn’t know their ears from their arseholes. They think tree lizard dung is a cure for warts! Hah!” The old man cackled with derision. “Well, then, young sir, I guess you’d better come in.”
His skin was as brown as old wood, and it had been many years since his scalp had last sprouted hair, but the old man’s back remained unbent, and the hand that held the door looked untouched by the joint ill. He stood at least a head shorter than Magnes, a twig of a man attired in a gauzy grey garment he had wrapped partly around his waist and draped the rest over his left shoulder. An enormous beak of a nose dominated his oval face.
“ I am Brother Wambo,” the old cleric said as he led the way into the temple.
“ I am Tilo,” Magnes replied, following his host through a receiving chamber and out another door into a courtyard.
The courtyard was an inviting oasis of shade trees and flowering shrubs. A tiled fountain stood at its center, the cheerfully splashing water throwing off myriads of bright reflections. The air, so much cooler here than out on the street, hung thick with the perfume of growing things.
Magnes looked about him and sighed. Already, he could feel the peace of the place begin to seep into his body, relaxing it.
“ Why d’you want to join with us, eh? Wait! I know! ‘Cause the Temple of
“ We’re not nearly so grand as Balnath’s temple, no marble pillars and gold leaf here, oh no. You won’t see any of the high and mighty here, either, young man, none of
“ I…I…” Magnes stammered, then quickly regained his composure. Clearly, his cover story was not going to work, so he decided to take a calculated risk and tell Brother Wambo the truth, or at least part of it.
“ Please, Brother, I need a place. I’m a long way from home and just about out of money. I swear to you that I’ll work hard, and I’ll bring no trouble.”
“ What about trouble finding you, eh?” Wambo cocked his head to one side and regarded Magnes with hard brown eyes.
“ I promise it’s all left very far behind me.”
“ Hmm, well.” Wambo’s expression softened. “We’ve never had a Soldaran nobleman petition to join our ranks before, but there’s a first time for everything. An herbalist, you say?”
“ Yes, I know a lot about plants, both medicinal and food. I can help tend the gardens as well.” For the first time in many days, Magnes could feel himself letting go of some of the terrible burden of sadness he had been carrying since leaving Amsara.
“ Welcome to our order, Tilo,” Wambo said.
“ We’re a small group here, as you will see. So many needy people! We are stretched very thin at times,” said Wambo as he led Magnes to the refectory.
After his arrival earlier, Wambo had shown Magnes to a small chamber furnished with only a woven rope cot and a single chair. A small window looked out onto the courtyard. Wambo had promised that he would have the room all to himself, a small luxury that had pleased Magnes greatly. He had been allowed to rest until sunset, when the evening meal would be served.
“ Sister Melele is our cook. Oh, you’ll learn to enjoy what we eat here, but I must warn you. It can be quite a shock to the timid Soldaran palate.” Wambo grinned impishly, revealing a mouth full of strong white teeth.
The refectory was a long narrow room dominated by a solid wooden trestle table. Several people were already seated when Wambo and Magnes entered. They all regarded Magnes with varying degrees of curiosity.
“ Brothers and sisters, this is Tilo, a young man of conviction who wishes to be one of us,” Wambo announced cheerfully.
“ Welcome, Tilo. Come and sit by me,” a woman said, beckoning Magnes over with a wave of her hand. Magnes obliged, grateful for the overture.
“ My name is Ayesha. I serve as the midwife here.” Magnes could not help but notice Ayesha’s beauty. Fascinated, he caught himself staring at her hair, which had been skillfully arranged into a cascade of impossibly slender braids. Ayesha smiled knowingly, and feeling a little embarrassed by his lapse in manners, Magnes quickly looked away.
“ I also look after the women who become ill after childbirth,” Ayesha said.
“ Then you have a much more harrowing and important job than I do, Ayesha,” Magnes replied, daring to look back at her face and finding gentle amusement in her eyes.
“ All jobs are of equal importance here, Tilo,” she said. “Without a skilled herbalist, I could not offer the poor women who come to us for help many of the most efficacious remedies I know of.” Magnes nodded in understanding.
“ That is Jouma, our chiurgeon,” Wambo said, indicating the middle-aged man to Magnes’s right, “and young Fadili over there, he will be your assistant.” Fadili smiled broadly and waved from his seat across the table. “Zemba and Nyal are medics.” Wambo pointed to a man and a woman seated opposite Magnes, finishing off the introductions.
“ Is everyone in this order from…the south?” Magnes asked, looking around at the people he had chosen to join with. They were all as dark as the wood of the table at which they sat; in contrast, even if Magnes should expose himself to the sun for many hours, he would still be pale when compared to any of them.
“ Not everyone,” said Ayesha with a smile. “Now, we have a Soldaran brother.”
