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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] escaped. By now half ofSpain was searching for me or aware of my disappearance. Too often had death brushed me closely. I had faced it in theCastleofOthman and again on the sheer face of the cliff. Now each moment of life was a moment stolen from eternity. I wished to live, and tonight Akim planned for me to die. Sharasa could be trouble, yet a woman worth having must be fought for, or stolen. Akim returned to the room putting a fresh bottle on the table. "More wine?" Cheerfully, I reached around the bottle to the flagon Sharasa had brought Page 85 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html earlier. He liked it none at all, but said nothing. The others came in then, and Sharasa returned. Despite their animosity they were hungry for news, so I told them of Córdoba and Yusuf's plans to rid the country of banditry. The various governments of Moorish Spain had been until this time unanimously tolerant, accepting Christians and Jews alike and allowing them to practice their religion. Visigoths who owned land were permitted to keep it, paying only a small tax. The Almohads, mostly Berbers fromNorth Africa , a strong white people long resident there, were a strict, fanatical lot, and Moorish Spain was changing under their control. Yet there continued to flower there a brilliant society alive with creativity. Only in the Athens of Pericles, theAlexandria of a few centuries later, the Gupta period inIndia , or that great Tamil renaissance from 300 B.C. to A.D. 300 had there been such a period as now existed in Moorish Spain. The Arab mind, deprived of any but casual contact with the world of art and intellect until after the time of Mohammed, was an infinitely curious and acquisitive mind, and the Arabs fell upon knowledge, the science and skills of the Persians and the Central Asiatics, as rapaciously as they had fallen on their enemies with the sword. Under the caliphs of Islam, scholars were honored as never in the world's history except, possibly, for some periods inChina . This was true inBaghdad andDamascus , inTashkent and Timbuctoo, inShiraz ,Samarkand , and Córdoba. Yet now, in this lonely valley in the hills ofSpain , I came for the first time to really appreciate the power of the spoken word. So far the sword had been my weapon, and I had not learned that wit and wisdom are keys to open any door, win the heart of any woman. There is power in the word whether written or spoken, for words can create images for those who have not themselves seen. Carried away, for when was a Celt not eloquent? I spoke ofCadiz , ofSeville and Córdoba. I spoke of the crowded streets, the bazaars, the women, the clothing, the weapons. I spoke of sword dancers and jugglers, of the magic of color, lights, and beauty. The candles smoked and the hours drew on, but all sat spellbound. And I? I was the captive of my audience, yet not eager to escape, knowing that with every word I made myself more secure, and with every word doors opened wider. Of the Court of Oranges I told them, of parks hung with bronze lanterns, and I wove with my words a tapestry that all could see. I told them of the Great Mosque with its twenty-one archways decorated with terracotta mosaics in red and yellow, of doors covered with burnished brass, of the fourteen hundred columns that support the roof of the mosque. I spoke of lattices of alabaster, of marble walls, and how during the month of Ramadan the entire mosque was illuminated by twenty thousand lights. Returning to the Court of Oranges, I spoke of the hot still days, the sound of falling water in the fountains, the shuffling feet of the worshipers, the scent of jasmine, rose, and orange blossoms. Of travelers from foreign lands, of pomegranate, apricot, of vines and palms ... ah, what did I not tell them? A listener who hung on my every word, his eyes glowing with excitement, was Alan. This one, I thought, is worth saving. He has the soul of a poet, imagination, and intelligence, for such as these is the world made. Page 86 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html "I am tired," I said at last. "I have ridden long this day." Turning to Sharasa, I said, "Will you show me where I am to sleep?" Akim scowled. "Alan will show you." He paused. "No need for you to ride on. Stay a few days." The big young man sneered. "You come with fine talk, but you come in rags." I smiled at him. "Do not get into a sweat, my big-chested friend. When the time comes, you will get your whipping. Do not beg for it beforehand." A moment I paused. "If you wish to know, I have but lately escaped from prison." I named the castle. "I have enemies, and they seek me now. My enemies are your enemies also, for I have told you of Yusuf and his seeking of all who lurk in the mountains." Turning to Akim, I suggested, "Put out a guard and choose a place in the hills to which you can escape. I warn you. They intend to sweep the hills, and they will find you. Hide what is of value and your flocks." It was a concession from Akim that he suggested I stay on, and I learned then that many a victory is easier won with words than a sword and the results are better. "I shall stay, Akim, and you shall tell me stories of your wars. I venture you will have stories worth the telling." "That I have." That he was pleased was obvious. "It will be good to talk to another soldier." Alan came with a candle, and I followed him. In Moorish homes a room was rarely set aside for sleeping. One slept wherever one might be, yet Alan showed me to a room where there was privacy, and brought me water with which to bathe. When I followed him from the main room, I caught the expression in the eyes of the bastard of the Visigoth, if such he was, and that expression was not pleasant. That was one victory that must be won with a sword. Sharasa stood in the doorway as I passed, her head tilted back against the doorjamb, looking at me from under lowered lashes. And that was a victory that must be won with other weapons. 18 AFTER TWO DAYS nothing had been resolved except some of the wrinkles in my belly. Sharasa was just as elusive and just as attractive, but surprisingly, Akim and I had become friends. The stories he had to tell were of war and bloodshed, of risk and riot, of scaling walls and single combat. Akim, unwittingly, was teaching me much of war, and not knowing what might lie before me, I was eager to learn. He had fought for and against both Goth and Moor, surviving many a bitter battle in the breaches of city walls, in house-to-house combat, and of fighting in the streets. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |