the Walking Drum (1984) (50 page)

The worshiper will, if water is unavailable, wash his hands with sand or soil, for he must bathe before praying. He will have with him hiskibleh, a small compass to ascertain the direction of Mecca, and histesbeth, or rosary.

The devout Moslem will pray five times a day, his devotions preceded by washing of the face, hands, and feet. Ears that have heard evil are touched with water. Eyes and mouth that have seen or spoken evil are washed. When washing the hands, the Moslem cups the water in his hands and lifts them, allowing the water to run down to his elbows.

It was from this habit of washing our hands before prayer that we physicians adopted the habit of bathing our hands in this manner, as it was the custom to pray before each operation.

After bathing, the worshiper would kneel upon his marked-off space or rug, prostrating himself, touching the rug with his forehead. During the years when Mohammed lived, it was the custom to pray toward Jerusalem, but following his death, the direction of Mecca was adopted. Mats and rugs had been used by various religions since earliest times, so the idea was not new to Arab, Turk, or Persian.

The prayer rugs offered for sale in Tabriz were rectangular rugs with an elaborate border of delicate floral design. At the top of the rug and inside the border was a panel some four inches wide and at least two feet long containing a stylized quotation from the Koran in Arabic. Beneath the panel and outlining the prayer arch was the spandrel with a field of sapphire blue worked with an intricate design.

The Ghiordes prayer arch or niche possessed a high central spire and well-defined shoulders. Two pillars supported the arch on the sides, and from the center of the arch was suspended a representation of the sacred lamp of the temple.

The coloring of the Ghiordes rugs I saw in Tabriz was delicate but beautifully defined. The rug I purchased had just been completed and was woven from silk with a few designs in wool. Had the rug been woven entirely of silk or wool, it would have been perfect, and nothing is perfect but Allah, so the addition of a few designs in other materials indicated the humility of the weaver. The blue, light-green, and yellow were beautiful in the extreme, and when held in different lights the rug possessed a shimmer like a mirage in the desert. The pile of the rug was woven in such a way that the nap lay in the direction of Mecca.

The rugs fascinated me, and I wandered through the bazaars studying the various ideas and motifs expressed in the weaving. The influence of the Chinese was quite obvious in some of the rugs. Contacts with the Chinese had begun long before. For several hundred years ships from Cathay had been coming to the Persian Gulf, and in Constantinople as well as here I had seen bronze articles as well as ceramic from China.

Rugs from Samarkand were displayed in the markets, some worked with a pomegranate design, a Hittite symbol of eternal life and fertility. In others the pine cone was the basic motif, a Chinese symbol of longevity, and the cypress tree, often planted in Moslem cemeteries, was often seen. In ancient times it had been believed that cypress boughs left upon the tombs of the dead would continue to mourn. The cypress had long been sacred in Persia, sacred to the fire worshipers who gave Persia its name, for the tall, slender shape of the cypress symbolized the flame. In Cordoba I had seen many rugs from the East, fabulous in beauty and texture. It was incredible that such rugs could be woven, with hundreds of knots to the square inch. The one I finally decided upon for myself numbered five hundred and forty knots to the square inch, although this was nothing to such palace rugs as the great rug woven for the audience hall at Ctesiphon, representing a garden. Some such rugs numbered two thousand five hundred knots to the square inch, an incredible number.

The garden idea was quite common in Persian rugs, and the word paradise is Persian and means a "walled garden." Khatib found me in the bazaar, worried by my absence, and reminding me of my meeting with the Emir. It was with rugs as with pottery and books. I have been fascinated by the ideas expressed and the symbolism woven into the texture of their work.

An hour after leaving the bazaar I appeared at the palace of the Emir, Mas'ud Khan. Upon a dais at the far end of the audience hall a low table had been spread with all manner of fruit and viands. Scarcely had I been shown into the room than Mas'ud Khan himself appeared, and my expectations were shattered.

Instead of the corpulent emir I expected, round of cheek before and behind, I found myself meeting a lean, hawk-faced man with black penetrating eyes that measured me coldly. This was no idle official, fattening upon the deeds of other men, but a warrior, lean and fierce. He carried the smell of blood and the saddle about him, and I realized I must proceed'with the greatest caution.

"It is an honor to meet a scholar of such great knowledge." He spoke smoothly, then abruptly. "You are truly a physician?"

"Truly," I replied, then added, "and you are truly the Emir?"

Chapter
49

He smiled with genuine humor, albeit a wolfish humor that had more than a hint of the sardonic. "Well said!" He seated himself at a table and handed me a piece of fruit. "I think we shall be friends!"

"A scholar is always a friend to an emir," I said, "or he is not wise enough to deserve the name of scholar!"

"You must forgive my ignorance," Mas'ud Khan said, "but I believed I knew the names of the most eminent scholars. What a pity that I know so little of what you have done!"

Suspicious of me, was he? Suspicious, and therefore dangerous, for this man would act upon what he believed. Was he an Isma'ili? Perhaps an ally and friend to Sinan?

"How could you know of me? I, who am but the least of Allah's servants? My home was Cordoba, and in Cordoba one must be a great scholar indeed to be known. Yet I knew Averroes there, and John of Seville was my friend."

"What did you there? Were you a teacher?"

"A translator of books from Greek and Latin to Arabic, and sometimes from the Persian, also."

"And your plans?" Mas'ud's hard black eyes measured me.

"To study at Jundi Shapur," I said. "I have heard it is the greatest medical school in the world. Is it true the teaching there is in Sanskrit?"

"No more, but it was once so. For more than one thousand years it has been the greatest of schools, although each year it becomes more difficult to maintain the university and the hospital because Baghdad hires its teachers."

"There is a thing you could do for me, Emir. Long since, word came to me of a book of several thousand pages, theAyennamagh. Can this be found?"

"Truly, you are a scholar! How few even know of this book!" Regretfully, he shook his head. "No, it cannot be had. I have never seen a copy, and if such could be found, it would be my head if it left our hands."

Yet his suspicions remained, and artfully, I guided the conversation through talk of medicine, law, and poetry to the art of war. He had not heard of Sun Tzu and was fascinated to learn of his theories, and we passed from that to talk of Vegetius and the Roman legions. "We had them here, you know, and our Parthians defeated them. One captured legion was sold to slavery in China and marched there intact."

Artfully, I guided the talk to libraries and alchemy, knowing that in the fortress at Alamut a great library existed, and Sinan himself was interested in alchemy. Suddenly, without warning he said, "There is a man here from your land. You must meet him."

"His name?"

"Ibn-Haram."

Had he suddenly leaned across and struck me, I could have been no more startled. Yet I believe it did not show in my face.

"Ah, yes. A good man to have for afriend , and a dangerous enemy. I know of him ... he plotted long to seize power in Cordoba, even from Yusuf, his benefactor." He was one man I must not meet, for I had no greater enemy, and he would use all the power he could muster to have me beheaded. Yet what I had said apparently caused Mas'ud Khan to think, for he was silent, musing for a long time.

"Yusuf was his benefactor, you said?" For what it was worth, I would try. "As one scholar to another"-I spoke softly, not to be overheard-"trust him not. He is a man hungry for power, and not to be satisfied with anything less thanall the power."

"Yusuf? He was your friend?"

"He knew nothing of me, and I knew little of him, yet toward the end of my stay I met his son, Abu-Yusuf Ya'kub. We did become friends, very good friends, I believe. We met at the house of Valaba."

"Valaba? Of her I had heard much. She is very beautiful, I think?"

"Very!" I spoke with regret. "Very beautiful, indeed."

"But thin?" He spoke sadly. "I have heard it said."

"Not for my taste, but Turks, I hear, like their women well rounded, on all sides. Is it true?"

"A Turk likes a woman with a belly," he said emphatically. "Those Persian women ... bah! They are thin, too thin! Breasts, buttocks, and belly, all fat! That is the way a Turk likes his women! And thighs! She must have thighs!Allah!" He shook his head. "I cannot see what you Moors and Persians see in those women who are thin as herons!

"Would you believe it, ibn-Ibrahim? In the last three Persian towns we took, there was not a single woman taken by force? It was unbelievable! Were it not for the fact that I understand their distaste for thin women, I would believe our army had lost its manhood!"

He filled a glass and pushed it toward me. "Kumiss. If you have not tasted kumiss you have not lived." He refilled his own glass. "It is our custom," he explained, "when capturing a town to treat all captured women to a taste of Turkish victory. It has done much for the generations that follow." Then he scowled. "But if it continues, we shall be fighting our own sons."

"At least you will be assured of a good fight." He glanced at me. "I did not know that scholars were warriors."

"And until I met you, Mas'ud Khan," I said quickly, "I did not know warriors were scholars!" My reply pleased him. He was pleased by the compliment; I, because I had evaded what might have been a trap.

He changed the subject. "You mentioned alchemy? You can make gold?"

My smile was sardonic. "Is it so easy, then, to make gold? Many try ... it is whispered some have succeeded. But other things are more precious than gold. Life, for example, or the means to take life.

"It is true," I added, "that I have delved into the elements of things, into all aspects and combinations of minerals, and I seek when I can the company of others who learn, for who knows when my knowledge combined with theirs might prove the answer? Each man learns a little, but the sum of their knowledge can be great."

Ibn-Haram was here! Would he know me now? Several years had passed, and I had grown older and stronger, yet that and the suffering had changed me but little. Yet I dare not risk it, for if it was revealed that I was not what I claimed, I would be in serious trouble. And ibn-Haram hated me for defeating him in the matter of Aziza.

Decision was mine. I could not afford to remain in Tabriz. "I shall pass on," I said, "I have been too long without means to study and work. I shall go to Jundi Shapur."

The idea appealed to me, for the fame of that great school, particularly in the field of medicine, was everywhere acknowledged. It was logical that I should go there, logical that I should have made this journey to get there. It accounted for my presence here.

How much power ibn-Haram possessed, I did not know. He must have overreached himself in some plot while in Spain and fled that country. Yet he was a deadly enemy who could bring disaster upon me.

Slaves came suddenly into the room, bringing three splendid silk robes, three new outfits of clothing, and a heavy purse of gold. They brought a fine saddle, bridle, and saddlebags. These gifts were magnificent indeed, but any traveling scholar, at almost any town in Islam, could expect the same. Wisdom was revered; whereas in Europe he might be burned as a heretic.

With no word of Alamut, I mounted my horse, and followed by slaves bearing the gifts, I returned to the hospice. Riding away, I glanced back. The eyes of Mas'ud were upon me, cold, measuring, shrewd.

Riding away, I could not throw off a premonition of danger, and my every instinct warned me to not even spend the night, but to take Khatib and fly. Yet that might draw upon me even worse danger, for it would arouse immediate suspicion.

Morning came with a babble of voices as other travelers prepared to leave. Khatib entered, and my resolve was formed on the instant. "Pack," I said. "I shall ride the new saddle, use the new bridle. Let us go at once."

We were fortunate in our time of departure, for a large caravan was leaving at the same time, and we promptly overtook and fell in with them, and riding with them, we conversed.

Among the Franks many believed that Cathay did not exist, yet here I found those who had traveled to Hind, to Cathay, and all the lands that lay between. The region through which we traveled was fertile and prosperous, growing some of the finest pears and pomegranates I had eaten, and there were groves of olives. Stopping beside the way, many hours later, we made a lunch of cheese from Dinavar and pears of the district while seated beneath tamarisk and chinar trees.

Several of the muleteers stopped with us, and as they had shown no inclination to stop until we did, I suspected them of spying. It was a lazy, sunny afternoon with a few scattered puffballs of cloud drifting in the sky. Lying upon the sand, I stared up at the sky and again tried to think out a solution to my problem.