Roderick did not like me, but the other young man was interested. He ordered wine for us, coffee for himself. “You are a scholar, yet you have been a man of the sea. It is a rare combination.”
“There is knowledge at sea to be found nowhere else. Lately, I have been reading accounts of many voyages, but so much is left out. The sea has an enduring knowledge passed from father to son for generations.
“It is our custom in sailing from our land to the great fishing grounds in the west to sail to Eire, the green island beyond England. From there it is but five or six days with a fair wind to Iceland, and but two days, perhaps three, to the Greenland. From there it is another five days or less to the fishing grounds.
“Our fishermen and those of Eire learned of these lands by watching the flight of birds, for when birds which nest only upon land fly off over the ocean, there must be land beyond. Where they flew, land must lie waiting, so fishermen followed a flock as long as it could be seen, then another flock until it was lost to sight, by then they could see mountain peaks on the far land.
“Over the years our people have found many lands, and the monks from Eire, seeking a hermitage, were often there before us. Such men already lived in the Iceland before the first Vikings came. The Vikings speak of it in their own sagas.
“Explorers and discoverers are often those who draw attention to what simple people have been doing for years. I doubt if any land has ever been found where some hunter, fisherman, or trader had not been before.”
“Such men would not have the courage for such adventure!” Roderick said.
“Who speaks of courage? Or adventure? The men of whom I speak have time for neither. They fish for fish to eat or sell.”
The big young man agreed. “Mas’udi speaks of this in his geography. The seafarers go and return while the geographer sits in his study and tries to shape the earth and its lands according to a theory of his own.”
Valaba was saying nothing, toying with her wine glass and listening. The big young man puzzled me. He had the hands and shoulders of a peasant and the face of a thinker—if such a face there is. It was the face, at least, of a thoughtful man.
His clothing was rich, and the one jewel he wore was a magnificent ruby, yet I could not place him. He was no scholar as such, nor did he have the appearance of a soldier.
We talked long, of the writings of al-Bakri, of Hind, and of Cathay. Over the wine glasses the conversation moved and sparkled over many topics and half the globe. Valaba suggested, “You must come to my house tomorrow. We are having many guests, and ibn-Quzman will sing.”
Ibn-Quzman, a wandering minstrel, had taken the zajal, a popular form used by troubadours, and given it real distinction. He had become the delight of Córdoba as well as Toledo, Seville, and Malaga. Naturally, I knew of him, yet I had never expected to hear him sing.
Even now I dared not. At such a gathering there would be spies who might report my presence to ibn-Haram or to Prince Ahmed.
“O Light of the World!” I said. “I would choose to spend my life within the sound of your voice, but if I came to your house at such a time, that life would be short, indeed.”
The big young man smiled. “Come,” he said, “I want very much to speak with you again, and you need not fear arrest. You have my word.”
He arose, and Valaba and Roderick moved with him. “Do come,” she said, “and have no fears.”
They left, and excited by the afternoon, I walked slowly back along the streets. Who was the friendly young man, scarcely older than myself, who accompanied Valaba? Safia heard my story. “Mathurin, you are indeed fortunate. The young man with the big hands? He had a strong, rugged face? A wide smile?”
“He did.”
“It is Ya’kub, the eldest son of Yusuf himself, and his favorite.”
Abu-Yusuf Ya’kub was much talked of in Córdoba. Between himself and his father there was a rare understanding all too uncommon between Moslem rulers and their sons. Yusuf knew Ya’kub had no ambition to rule before his time, or at all, for that matter.
Extremely able, educated in the business of government, Ya’kub preferred to assist his father and remain free of the sharp focus of public attention. Safia seated herself and poured coffee. “But Valaba!” she exclaimed. “First, the bride of Prince Ahmed, and now Valaba, the most beautiful woman in Córdoba! I should be surprised, but I am not. After all, you are extremely handsome.”
“I scarcely know her.”
“She knew you well enough to see that your horse awaited you in the guard’s stable.”
“What? You cannot know what you are saying! She could have had nothing to do with that!”
“Nevertheless, it was she. It was her gold with which your guard gambled at the end of the corridor so he might not hear or see what happened in your cell.
“She could do no more. Had you escaped in any other way the guards would have lost their heads. Not that I would mention it. Such things are better accepted and remembered than talked about. It could do her harm.”
“She has power in Córdoba.”
“Yes”—Safia was bitter—”and so had I, upon a time, but power is a breath on the wind and soon lost.” She put her hand on mine. It was the first time she had ever touched me. “Mathurin, do not fail me. I have nowhere else to turn.”
“I have no answer but to say I shall not fail you.” Pausing, I said, “You have never told me what it is you do.”
“Whatever it is will soon be at an end. Believe me, I could not do less than I have done.”
Fear was upon her, it flowed in her veins, shadowed her eyes. That she was engaged in some intrigue was obvious, and that she had sources of information was obvious. More than that I did not know.
It was midnight when I left, for she feared to be alone. I left by a small gate in the garden wall, for I now had a place to live close by the horses. Holding to the deepest shadows, I went along the small alleyway to the street. I hesitated before emerging.
Nothing.
The air was tight with danger, nor did I like to know there were enemies at whom I could not strike because they were unknown to me. And still, I had no weapon but my dagger. Drawing it from the scabbard, I glanced at the blade.
A Berber soldier saw it and laughed. “It is a toy!” he sneered. “Stained only with milk!”
“The milk left no stain,” I said, smiling, “but come to me, and we will see if a dog’s blood will stain it.”
The sneer left his face. “It was but a jest. Who would die for a jest?”
“You could.” I held the blade in my hand, waiting.
“You are crazy!” He walked away down the street, glancing over his shoulder at me.
So I sheathed my blade in its scabbard rather than his belly and walked homeward, smelling the jasmine and thinking that no doubt he was right.
A man would be crazy to risk dying in a world where there was jasmine.
To say nothing of Aziza, Sharasa, and Valaba.
22
The major consideration of the world of the twelfth century after Christ was Islam, and so it had been for more than five hundred years. Never before had a single idea created, in terms of conquest and culture, an impact such as the religion given to the world by Mohammed, the camel driver of Mecca.
Christianity, the other great moving force of my time, had in a thousand years won to its teachings only a few lands in western Europe. On the other hand, in the space of one hundred years following the death of Mohammed in 632, the Arabs had carried the sword of Islam from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean, holding at one time most of Spain, part of southern France, the isle of Sicily, all of North Africa and Egypt, all of Arabia, the Holy Land, Armenia, Persia, Afghanistan, and almost a third of India. The empire of the Arabs was larger than that of Alexander the Great or of Rome.
They came with the sword, but they retained the best of what they discovered. Much that we know of Arab science was born from the minds of Jews, Persians, Greeks, various Central Asiatic peoples, and the Berbers, but it flowered under Arab protection, impelled by Arab enthusiasm.