They met Quentin’s stooped old teacher where he stood waiting for them at the gate of his courtyard. His face beamed when he saw the two young men striding up. “Hello! Hello, my friends!” cried Yeseph, running out to meet them. “I have been waiting for you. You are the first to arrive. I was hoping that would be the case. I wanted to talk to you both.”

He drew them into the shady courtyard and led them to stone benches under a spreading tree. The yard was spotless and furnished as nicely as any garden could be whose owner loved plants and flowering things.

“Sit down, please. Sit. Omani!” Yeseph clapped his hands when his guests had seated themselves beneath the tree. A slim young girl appeared with a tray of wooden goblets and a stone carafe. She floated forward with an easy grace and laid the tray at Yeseph’s elbow where he sat. “You may pour, bright one,” he said gently.

The girl poured and served the beverages around. She turned to leave and Yeseph called after her, “See that the meal is prepared when the others arrive, it will not be long now, I think.” She bowed and retreated into the house, smiling all the while.

The Curatak did not have servants. But often young girls or boys would attach themselves to the households of older Curatak leaders or craftsmen to serve and learn at their hand, until they decided what they wished to do with their lives. In that way those who needed the assistance of a servant did not lack, and young people found useful occupation until they could enter the adult world.

Yeseph watched the girl disappear into his darkened doorway a little wistfully. Quentin noticed his look and commented, “She’s a very able helper, Yeseph. You are blessed.”

“Yes, and I am sorry to lose her.”

“Why would you lose her?”

“Why not? She is nearly eighteen. She wishes to be married soon. Next summer perhaps. She and Rulan, a former pupil of mine. He is a good young man, very intelligent. It will be a good match. But I will lose a wonderful cook and companion. I feel she is my own daughter.”