XIX
"Are there any great collections of books in Trebizond?" Fra Tomasso leaned forward intently, and his belly, swathed in the white linen robe of his order, pushed the small black writing desk toward Daoud.
Fra Tomasso's dialect was easy for Daoud to understand. It was the same as Lorenzo's, since the friar came from southern Italy. It was the dialect Daoud had learned in Egypt.
But in another sense, conversing with d'Aquino was not at all easy. His body tense, Daoud sat on the edge of his chair, alert for any question that might be meant to trap him. And at the same time, he burned for a chance to persuade the stout Dominican to oppose the Tartar alliance. He was both hunted and hunter today.
"Yes, Father. The basileus of Trebizond—the emperor—has the biggest library, with the monks of Mount Gelesias not far behind. Several of the great families have large collections of very old manuscripts. I am afraid I cannot tell you what is in any of those libraries. I know more about spices and silks than I do about books. Is there a particular book you are interested in?"
Daoud, relieved, watched the round face glow as the Dominican seemed to relish the possibilities. It would never have done to admit it to Ugolini, but Daoud was not without fear. He realized that a slip might lead to his arrest and torture, the end of his mission, and, finally, death. His head had begun to ache from the effort of posing and answering all questions with care.
But now he sensed a way of reaching d'Aquino. More than anything else, the man would want books—books that would help him write more books of his own. Perhaps his huge physical appetite was but a reflection of his hunger for knowledge.
"Ah, Messer David." He smiled, and Daoud realized that his mouth was not small—it only looked small because of the round cheeks on either side of it. "There is one book I have heard of that I would give everything I possess—if I possessed anything—to own. You are familiar with the philosopher, Aristotle?"
Daoud nodded. How wise it had been of Baibars, he thought, to command him to spend months with a mullah from Andalus who was versed in the philosophies of the Christians and of their Greek and Roman predecessors. Daoud had even read works by Aristotle in Arabic.
"Much of my work, like that of my colleagues, is based on the writings of Aristotle," d'Aquino went on. "He has been called the Master of Those Who Know. I call him the philosopher. His thought encompassed every subject under the sun—and the sun itself, I believe. The ancient writers refer to a book by Aristotle called in Latin De Caelestiis, Of the Heavens. In it the philosopher writes about the movement of heavenly bodies, the sun, the stars, and the planets, and their relations with one another. That book disappeared during the long wars that led to the downfall of the Roman Empire. Every time I meet a traveler from some distant part of the world, I ask him about De Caelestiis."
"Does it tell how the planets rule men's fates?" Daoud asked.
"That is a ridiculous, irrational, and superstitious notion." Fra Tomasso waved the suggestion away with a stubby-fingered hand. Daoud felt a cold wave of terror. Had he said something that gave him away?
But Fra Tomasso, leaning back in his squeaking chair, seemed unperturbed. And Daoud remembered that Ugolini studied the influence of the stars on human lives. So it could not be such an un-Christian belief.
The Dominican pointed over his shoulder to the window of his cell, a large rectangle cut in the curving whitewashed wall. This was one of the few rooms Daoud had entered in Italy that was not covered with idolatrous or obscene paintings, and he liked its austerity. Except, of course, for the ubiquitous figure of Jesus the Messiah, crucified, hanging opposite the window. Daoud tried to avoid looking at the crucifixes because they reminded him of his childhood, but they were everywhere in Orvieto.
"Aristotle reasoned about the relations of the heavenly bodies to one another," Fra Tomasso said. "One account of the De Caelestiis declares that he believed that the sun does not move."
"But we see it move," Daoud said, surprised.
"We think we see it move." D'Aquino smiled. "But have you ever stood on the deck of a galley as it was pulling away from the quay and had the feeling that the quay was moving while the ship was standing still? Well then, what if the earth is moving, just like a ship on whose deck we stand, while the sun remains fixed?"
Daoud thought about the vast and solid earth and the daily journey of the sun like a bright lamp across the sky. It was self-evident which one of them moved. But he sensed that Fra Tomasso was in love with this idea. He had best not argue too strenuously against it.
"Ingenious," he said.
Ridiculous, he thought to himself. This man dismisses astrology and approves greater absurdities.
"I myself suspected that the sun might be stationary while the earth moves long before I learned that Aristotle might also believe so." Fra Tomasso waved a hand toward the window again. His cell was the top floor of one of the towers fortifying the Dominican chapter house, an anthill of constant, mysterious activity. D'Aquino's window overlooked the north side of Orvieto's wall. There was no covering on the window, and the shutters were open to let in the cool mountain air. Daoud gazed upon the rolling hills, bright green in the sunlight, beyond Orvieto's battlements. This was a lovely country, he thought. Back in Egypt the hills would be brown this time of year.
"Look how much light and heat we get from the sun," Fra Tomasso went on. "Yet, the sun appears small—I can hide it with my thumb."
Your thumb could hide four or five suns.
"Perhaps it is small," Daoud said.
"If it is as big as it must be to produce such light and heat, it must be very far away—thousands of leagues—to appear so small. But if it is that far away, it must be bigger still, for its heat and light to travel such a distance. The bigger it is, the farther away it must be—the farther away it is, the bigger it must be. Do you follow? There must be a strict rule of proportion."
Daoud told himself to ignore this nonsense and concentrate on the important thing—that Fra Tomasso badly wanted a book by this pagan philosopher Aristotle. That book might be the means of winning Fra Tomasso. Not that he could be crudely bribed, but certainly such a present would favorably dispose him to what Daoud had to say.
And he saw another way to make the point he had come to make.
"It may be, Your Reverence, that the book you want has been lost forever. When I spoke of the destruction of Baghdad the other day, I should have mentioned that the Tartars burned there a library rivaled only by the great library of Alexandria in its prime."
His flesh turned cold. That was a mistake. In his zeal he had momentarily forgotten that it was Christians who had destroyed the library of Alexandria. As the story was often told in Egypt, when the Muslim warriors took Alexandria from the Christians, they found that most of what had once been the world's greatest collection of books had been used to fuel the fires that warmed the public baths.
But, to Daoud's relief, Fra Tomasso only shut his eyes and shook his head, his cheeks quivering gently like a bowl of frumenty. "God forgive the Tartars."
"God will certainly not forgive us, Fra Tomasso, if we help the Tartars to destroy Damascus and Cairo. Or Trebizond and Constantinople."
The Dominican opened his eyes wide. "Constantinople?"
"In the Far East they have taken greater cities and conquered much larger empires."
Fra Tomasso crossed himself. "But it is God's will, even as Augustine tells us, that cities be destroyed and empires rise and fall. The Tartars may be the builders of a Christian empire that embraces the whole world."
God forbid it! Daoud was becoming exasperated with the fat Dominican's "perhapses" and "maybes." Perhaps the earth moves and the sun stands still. Maybe the Tartars are God's means of making the whole world Christian.
He warned himself not to let his anger show. This might seem to be a pleasant conversation, but actually he was tiptoeing around the edge of a pit of quicksand.
Still, if this clever, restless mind could be recruited to work against the alliance, how persuasive it would be. Daoud had already noticed that most of the leaders of Christendom listened when d'Aquino spoke. But Daoud dared not argue against the belief that God decided the fate of nations. He recalled a teaching of his Sufi master, Sheikh Saadi. He framed it in his mind to offer to d'Aquino.
"Your Reverence, truly we must accept as the will of God that which has happened. But to think we can guess what God wills for the future is sinful pride. We can be guided only by the knowledge of right and wrong He has implanted in us."
D'Aquino let his folded hands rest on the great sphere of his belly. His blue eyes gazed off at a point somewhere behind Daoud, whose muscles tightened as he waited for the friar to speak. He watched through the open window as a flock of crows circled in the deep-blue sky. They chose a direction and dwindled to a cloud of black dots over the green hills.
Daoud realized he had been holding his breath. He let it out just as the last crow disappeared.
"That is well stated," said Fra Tomasso. "I can find no objection to that."
Elated, Daoud pressed on. "And it follows that if we think the Tartar destruction of civilization is wrong, we must fight against it." He hoped he did not sound too eager. D'Aquino would surely be suspicious if he saw how badly Daoud wanted his cooperation.
"I will have to consider that," said Fra Tomasso judiciously. "But perhaps we could teach the Tartars the value of civilization. If we made allies of them, we could make it a condition that they not destroy any more of the great cities of the Muslim world. Indeed, our missionaries will be among them. They can point out what should be saved."
Daoud's breathing quickened as rage rumbled up inside him. It sounded exactly as if Fra Tomasso meant that the Tartars could slaughter all the people of Islam as long as they left the libraries intact. Using the Hashishiyya technique called "the Face of Steel within the Mask of Clay," he walled off his anger.
He would not contradict Fra Tomasso's last idea. He would try instead to make the beginning of a bargain.
"Those libraries of Trebizond you asked me about," Daoud said. "I am sure there are many books in them that exist nowhere else in the world. Perhaps even the book you mentioned, that rare book of Aristotle. Would you write down its name for me, Fra Tomasso? I will inquire about it in my next report to my trading partners."
The Dominican leaned forward until most of his belly disappeared below the horizon of his desk. In that position he was able to pull the desk closer and search it for a blank slip of parchment. He dipped his quill ceremoniously in his inkpot, wrote briefly, then carefully poured fine white sand from a jar to absorb the excess ink. Daoud rose to take the parchment from him.
Now, if only such a book exists somewhere in the lands where Baibars's power runs. And if only the weather on the Middle Sea allows us to get the book here quickly. And if only it has the effect on Fra Tomasso that I want.
So many ifs. Far too many. The outcome of a battle would be easier to predict. For the thousandth time Daoud wished he were leading troops in the field rather than intriguing in the chambers of enemy leaders.
"I understand it will be possible to meet the two Tartars when the Contessa di Monaldeschi gives a reception in their honor next week," said Daoud. "Will Your Reverence be attending?"
Fra Tomasso nodded. "But I also intend to talk with them privately as I have with you." Daoud tensed inwardly as he heard that. "It will be interesting, though, to see how they comport themselves in a gathering," the Dominican went on. "Yes, I shall come to the contessa's. And you?"
"As Cardinal Ugolini's guest," said Daoud with modesty. "And what of the execution of the heretic who threatened the ambassadors in the cathedral? Will Your Reverence witness that? I understand it should be a most edifying spectacle." He folded Fra Tomasso's bit of parchment and thrust it into the pouch at his belt.
Fra Tomasso shook his head. "The good of the community demands that we make an example of the poor creature. He refuses to admit his errors. Still, I cannot stand to see a fellow human being suffer. I will not be there."
So, thought Daoud contemptuously, the fat Dominican was one of those who could justify the shedding of blood but could not stand to see it shed. And in the same way, d'Aquino might decide to be for war or for peace and never see the consequences of his decision. Daoud might wish to lead troops in battle, but he reminded himself that it was in studios like this, where men of influence thought and read and argued, that the real war was being fought.