Yet while there might be little to disagree with or provoke rebellion in the rule of the Caliphs, there was at the same time little charm. Little mystery. Under er-Rahman, less and less inquiry permitted. The surgery of Cordova would have been the wonder of the world if the world had known it, as would the discoveries of bin-Firnas, or the great work of al-Khwarizmi the mathematician, his Hisab al-Jabr wa’l Mugabala, or “Book of the bringing of unknowns to knowns.” But few did know of it, eagerly though its practical aspects might be seized by traders and bankers. The Wisdom House of Baghdad had been closed thirty years before by those who asserted there was no wisdom outside the Koran, and the Koran was to be memorized, not considered. To some, the intellectuals, the ceasing of inquiry was a pain. To others, the unpersecuted but taxed remnant of the Christians, every call from the muezzin was an offense. To most, religion mattered little. But if by any chance some restrictions might be eased, decision in the court of the cadis might relax from the strict interpretation of the Koran and of the desert asceticism that had created it—well, let the learned dispute over whether Allah or the Koran were more or equally eternal if they would. Peace, good governance, and a fair distribution of water through the irrigation channels were what they most demanded.
“I do not think Ghaniya will do,” said bin-Firnas one day to his cousin bin-Maymun. “He is half a Berber after all.”
“I do not think there is a pure-bred child of the Quraysh left to us,” replied his cousin.
“My pupil Mu’atiyah might have done,” ventured the philosopher. “He was of high birth, and easily guided by me, if by no other.”
“Too late,” replied the cavalryman. “We of the army of the Caliph-that-was accused him before the Cadi of bearing false witness. The fathers of many of those he sent to the impaling-poles brought their voices to the court. He was fortunate. Because he had been your pupil the Cadi adjudged him only to the leather carpet and the sword, not to the pole or the stoning-ground. He fought with the guards and died raging, without dignity.”
Bin-Firnas sighed, less at the young man’s death than at the failure of what had been promised. “Who then?” he asked after a decent pause. “We cannot just pick one of the provincial governors, all the others would rebel immediately.”
Ishaq, Keeper of the Scrolls, drank from the cool water which was the greatest of refreshments in this, the tail-end of the scorching Spanish summer, and spoke into the thoughtful silence.
“It seems to me that there is no great need for a hasty decision. The Roman Emperor has turned away from our borders, having found his foolish relic of the Nazarenes, or so I hear. We do not need a single ruler. Why do we not send to Baghdad, and ask the descendant of Abdullah to send us a viceroy?”
“It would take forever!” said bin-Maymun. “Forever to send the message and longer for them to come to a decision. Nor would the governors accept whoever the Abbasid Caliph sent to us.”
“But during that time provisional arrangements might be put in place,” suggested Ishaq. “Rule by a Council. A Council of the Wise. Strictly temporary, of course. Still, during that temporary state institutions could be set up whose value would be so great that no later Caliph could overthrow them. A House of Surgeons. A House of Mathematics.”
“A Tower of Astronomers,” proposed bin-Firnas, “equipped with far-seers with larger and better lenses for study of the stars.”
“A new system of water-works, running down from the mountain springs to the coast,” put in bin-Maymun. “The landowners would pay for that—if they were certain that all would pay and all would share.”
“A library,” said Ishaq. “One which contained the works of the Greeks as well as of the hadith. Translated into Arabic for all to read. Or into Latin as well. If any doubted our aim, we could say that we wished to convert the Rumi to our faith with sound arguments as well as by the sword. And our cousins the Jews as well.”