CHAPTER FIFTEEN

That evening, Thameron was absent from evening prayers and supper. He did not wish to deliberately provoke his masters. However, he had returned to Ibro’s tavern to make certain that Assia had done as he had insisted. He told himself that he did this because he wanted the best for her; he was acting as a heart and a hand and an eye for her, as the prophet did for him. Yet to his disappointment, Assia admitted to Thameron that she had stopped to see her father, a retired seaman, while on her way to a physician; and her father, learning that she had money, had taken half the gold Thameron had given her. That left her without enough to take care of herself, for Ibro expected to be paid.

Upset with her, Thameron nevertheless fought to contain his anger. But before he was able to talk further with Assia, Ibro himself intruded and demanded that the priest either pay him for the woman’s time or be on his way. Thameron, promising to visit Assia again, left to walk the nightfallen streets with a heavy heart.

The day that had begun with such promise so ended with severe frustrations. Thameron was reprimanded when he re­turned to the temple. Hapad, the brother who slept on the cot next to his, a young man whom Thameron considered a friend, whispered to him in the darkness, “They are disap­pointed in you.”

“They are always disappointed in me.”

“I mean this, Thameron. I heard talk at supper tonight. Muthulis knows your name, and he’s losing patience. He may confine you for a week.”

Thameron didn’t answer, but the threat found a home in his heart. He wondered why it was so difficult for him to do good when all he wished was to do good. He lay awake in the darkness trying to decipher how he managed to behave so regrettably and, at long last, fell asleep.

* * * *

Muthulis, Chief Priest of the Temple of Bithitu in Erusabad and Head of the Synod of Masters and Priests, was an offi­cious man who believed that human error—especially error stemming from enthusiasm—was more a matter of self-awareness than it was an act of outright defiance. He was, by nature, a sympathetic but cautious man. Forty-five years of service in the political back ways of the temple had taught him that strong convictions are sometimes difficult animals to leash. Thameron erred; Thameron was young and headstrong. It was splendid to have strong personalities in the church, so long as they used their strengths in the proper direction. Muthulis remembered himself as a young man.

Thameron was ushered into the chief priest’s private office and left there, standing before this stern, grandfatherly official who, from behind his desk, fixed Thameron with dark gray eyes.

Thameron stood still, respectful in the silence of Muthulis’s grand, lavishly decorated office.

The long moments passed.

Muthulis’s eyes did not waver.

At last, when Thameron had begun to perspire and his imagination was threatening to lead him down angry avenues, Muthulis lowered his hands from his chin, spread his fingers on his desk, and asked in a grave tone, “Do you know why you have been brought here?’’

Thameron cleared his throat. “I—I think so, sir.”

“You think so?” The tone reduced Thameron to the status of a dullard. Quietly, Muthulis rose and stood behind his desk. “Why, then, do you think you have been brought here, Thameron?’’

They are disappointed in you. They are always disappointed in me. But before the stern and grave Muthulis, he was able only to mutter, “I know that I—I returned late last night.”

Muthulis frowned.

“And—some other times, too. I returned…late.”

Muthulis sighed strongly. “We operate this temple on a sched­ule,” he told Thameron, “and we appreciate it when our young priests are respectful enough to do as we ask them. Our regulations are quite lenient toward our recruits, as I think you know. But don’t you think it rather odd that I would require your presence here simply because you were late in returning to your cot for a few evenings?”

Thameron felt himself coloring.

Muthulis walked around to the front of his desk and clasped his hands before him. “Let us be honest with each other, Thameron. You know as well as I that you deliberately do things that are outside the recommendations we set for our young priests. You have been reminded of this; you have been reprimanded. Now you have been brought before me. What would you have me do with you?”

Thameron was confused. “Sir, I don’t quite understand.” When he saw Muthulis’s reaction to his comment, however, he asked, “Do you mean—that I spend my time in the city?”

“Thameron, you spend your time in the city with the waste of humanity.”

The words struck hard. “The—? Sir, the waste of humanity?”

“Why do you do it?”

“Your worship, to help them!”

“Our doors are open to them. Must you spend all of your time with them?”

“My Lord Muthulis—with all due respect—I have yet to see many beggars and prostitutes enter our temple to stand in prayer beside our bankers and our aristocrats! Our Prophet Bithitu, in his day, himself sought to win such souls to the true light. In point of fact, he expressly phrased many of his lessons in words to reach such people. It is not my intention to—”

“Thameron.”

“Sir?”

“You are not Bithitu. And the world has changed greatly since the days of Bithitu, hasn’t it?”

Thameron felt extremely awkward. “Lord Muthulis, I don’t pretend to be Bithitu! I merely follow the method he himself used when he brought the Word of the Light to the people.”

Muthulis raised a hand. “I understand what you’re saying, Thameron. I do. You have eagerness in you, and I appreciate that. You see some come to worship with us, and you see others who do not. You wish to educate those who do not, and these are the lesser of society.”

“Lord Muthulis, that is exactly what I wish to do.”

“This I understand. But when I tell you that the church has established certain ways to accomplish this, and that you are ignoring these methods by serving us in your own way, you bring yourself into conflict with some basic pro­scriptions. I don’t think you wish to do that, do you?”

“My lord, all I wish to do—”

“Is serve your prophet. This I know. But you must realize that the prophet is served by his church. I am his church, and you are his church. Those who fall outside our church, either through ignorance or blasphemy or apostasy, will be dealt with—their souls gained, or their souls punished—according to the words of the prophet and the scriptures of this church. You are a priest. Do you not wish to be a priest?”

Terror struck him. It can be accomplished without a priest’s robes. He felt two different voices moving within him at once.

“Thameron, do you not wish to—”

“I am a priest!” he nearly shouted. “My lord—sir—I am a priest, you conferred that honor upon me, my status—”

“Then do honor to your robes, as you are a priest. Follow the rules and guidelines we have set down, Thameron, as you are a priest.”

Prolonged silence filled the office.

Thameron was thoroughly confused. “My lord, may I ask a question?”

“Certainly, Thameron.”

“If—Lord Muthulis, if the words of Bithitu say one thing, but if the laws of the church say another thing, if both set down principles—”

“Thameron—”

“—that we are to follow, then which am I to follow?”

“Thameron.” Now there was an edge to Muthulis’s voice. “You are a priest of this church. You are to behave accord­ing to the regulations set down for priests of this church.”

“But if there is an apparent hypocrisy—”

“That is enough! You do not decide what is policy and what is not policy for this church! You entered into an agreement with this church when you took your vows and received your robes and rings. Did you not do that?”

“Yes, your worship, I did so.”

“Then meet those obligations! Do not presume to be Bithitu! Do not presume to know the ways of the church when you are not even familiar with the ways of a priest! Am I understood?”

“My Lord Muthulis—”

“Am I understood, Thameron?”

“Yes.”

“You are being placed on probation, and you will be monitored. You are not to spend any more time with the rabble of this city. We have set up commissions and prayer groups to help the indigent and the disadvantaged of Erusabad. Join one of them! But do not go into the city yourself to take money from the wealthy to give to cutthroats! Do not go into the city to spend your time with prostitutes! And do not stray from the temple grounds without first reporting to one of your mas­ters your business for leaving! Is that understood?”

“Yes—yes, Lord Muthulis.”

“Then you may go. Now. And hereafter, Thameron, as you wear your priest’s garments, see yourself as a priest and believe yourself to be a priest of this church. Is that understood?”

Thameron stared at him. Stared in mute astonishment.

“Is it? Is that understood?”

* * * *

“Do you realize what he said to me?” Thameron asked Hapad.

They were sitting on one of the benches that lined a wide avenue not far from the temple. As they spoke, passers-by occasionally dropped coins onto the bricks at their feet.

Hapad retrieved the money and said, “I tried to warn you.”

“But he’s a hypocrite!” Thameron said. “The church is built on men, not on the Word of Light!”

His friend chuckled. “For someone so intelligent,” Hapad commented, “sometimes you’re very naive, Thameron. Look you.” He pointed.

Across the street, a trio of mendicants sat on the ground, their backs to the wall of a building. From time to time, they listlessly lifted their hands, holding out empty palms to passers-by.

“You are a priest,” Hapad reminded Thameron. “You’re not a beggar. You have a cot to sleep on, you have food when you want it, you have friends, you have—”

“I have a knot in my soul. Hapad, those beggars, whatever condition they’re in, may be closer to Bithitu in their poverty than Muthulis is with all his wealth!”

“I understand what you’re saying, yes. But, Thameron, if you look for perfection, you’ll always be disappointed. At least on earth. The Word of Bithitu must be shared. The Church is the best way to do that. Perhaps some things are wrong with it, but those things can be changed.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Even if they can’t be changed, then isn’t more good being done than harm? Don’t the important things the Church does count for more than any mistakes it makes?”

Thameron shook his head. “No. He told me—Muthulis as much as said that if I don’t follow the Church, then I’m not following Bithitu. That’s a lie. Bithitu came before the Church.”

“Perhaps he was becoming upset. Knowing your personali­ty, you drove him to it,” Hapad smiled.

“I’m not wrong,” Thameron insisted.

“Nor is the Church, my friend. But you’re not completely right, either,”

Thameron lifted a fist to his chin, settling into a brooding posture.

“Thameron, do you see the dome of the temple?”

“Yes.”

He did not look to see it, but that wasn’t necessary. The dome was the tallest in Erusabad; it towered far above them and, with its gold facing, glowed all day long, every day, in the brilliant sunlight, with eye-hurting intensity.

“The temple,” Hapad argued, “is bigger than we are and can see farther than we can, and more clearly. I think of the Church in that way. Perhaps it can’t see everything—only Bithitu and the gods can do that—but it’s stronger than we are, taller than we are, it’s survived longer than we will, and it can see—”

”There’s a way,” Thameron interrupted him.

“What?”

“There is a way.”

“A way for what? To do what?”

“Muthulis told me to join one of the city groups of priests if it was so important to me to serve there. Hapad, it won’t work! I’ve spent months in the city; the people there trust me, they know me. If I become like other priests, all that work is lost, and the people won’t listen any longer.”

“What do you mean, there’s a way?”

“A special dispensation. The Church grants—”

“Oh, Thameron!”

“The Church grants them. You know they do! If a priest drafts a proposal and shows just cause—”

“Thameron, they’ll never allow you to do that!”

“They have to listen to me!” he shot back, volatile and strong willed. “If I request a hearing for a special dispensation, the metropolitan must hear me!”

Hapad let out a heavy breath. “That’s true, but—”

“I’ll draft the proposal, and Andoparas will hear me. They cannot refuse! I’ll build an argument that will make sense even to Muthulis. And when they see the sense of what I’m doing, they will allow me to do what’s best!”

What is best, my friend, or only what you want to do? Hapad shook his head and stared at the high golden dome of the all-seeing temple.

He wondered what Bithitu or the gods must be thinking if they were looking down now at him and his obstreperous friend.