Chapter 142: On the Road to Aleppo (7)

When people speak of Damascus, they naturally think first of its finely forged swords with elegant swirling patterns, which the Saracens carried across the entire Arabian Peninsula, bringing both beauty and terror to their enemies—but if that were all, how could Damascus be called “the Garden of Heaven, the Paradise on Earth”?

Yet beyond these cold blades, Damascus possessed another exceedingly precious and celebrated specialty—brocade. Poets once said that the brocade of Damascus captured the postures of beasts’ souls, the shimmer of birds’ feathers, and the fragrance of blooming roses.

On Damascus brocade, every color in the world could be seen; when touched, it gently brushed the palm like rippling water, and wearing it was to drape oneself in clouds and radiant light—only God’s representative, not any earthly monarch, could don such a garment.

To purchase these dazzling brocades, you could offer only gold. Even so, when a piece of brocade of perfect, flawless weave was completed, its price was no longer mere coins of gold or silver, but something more valuable: the Sultan’s notice, a courtesan’s smile, or even a life.

But would you call it the most precious thing in Damascus? No—it was not. The most precious thing in Damascus was only one: knowledge.

Humanity’s thirst for knowledge was endless, yet sometimes fate sent crude fools to interrupt this pursuit—specifically, the barbarian cleansing of the Roman Empire, where the most glorious culture retreated before the basest desires; learned men were no longer respected, everything spoke through sword and blade, and people’s extremism and ensuing persecution grew ever fiercer.

When Christians seized Alexandria, the death of the ancient Greek female scholar Hypatia could almost be seen as the final tolling bell for the great Mediterranean civilization—afterward, the people of Europe entered an age of utter darkness, and the Church truly became the sole voice.

They monopolized scripture and the right to interpret it, forbidding people to think, analyze, or debate. As their scriptures described the ideal faithful: creatures as docile and foolish as lambs, who should hold no thought beyond obedience, and who must Wuchang offer their own and their children’s wool, milk, and flesh to the Church.

Yet after centuries of the Church’s absolute rule, not only the common people but even nobles and monarchs felt the suffocation and despair brought by this colossal force; they struggled to break free, yet could not see the path ahead. Imagine a knight who needed his chaplain to sign his name—how could he possibly shatter the Church’s all-encompassing net?

Thus, enlightened souls united, seeking knowledge beyond the Church. But such knowledge—especially medicine—could be found only outside the Church’s sphere of influence, and that sphere lay in the lands of the infidels.

It could be said that the Saracens’ inheritance of the vast libraries left by ancient Greece and Rome was a matter of chance.

Saracen culture emerged late, for only in the seventh century did the Saracens, united by faith, emerge from the Arabian Peninsula to build a vast empire; in their expansion, they absorbed foreign cultures like a parched desert, ravenously thirsty.

Whether the culture was Greek, Persian, or Frankish, they cared not at all.

As their scholars said, the most beautiful adornment of humanity is knowledge. Though they had once been ignorant shepherds, even lacking their own language and script, as the saying went, they draped themselves in every precious thing they could gather, transforming it into their own radiant glory.

Greek classical philosophy, geometry, Byzantine bureaucracy and systems, Christian doctrine, Roman law, Egyptian alchemy, Persian literature and art, Indian mathematics and astronomy—all of these were absorbed. Yes, the prototype of the numerals we know as Arabic originated in India, but it was Saracen merchants who spread them far and wide, hence we call them Arabic numerals.

Moreover, in distant China, they found craftsmen willing to travel a thousand miles to Samarkand to make paper for them. With ample paper, scholars in the ninth century, encouraged by the Caliph, began translating the texts of Egypt, Persia, Greece, and Rome—their payment was gold: the weight of the translated manuscripts determined the weight of gold they received.

Moreover, whether Caliph or Sultan, every ruler delighted in building numerous schools and libraries during their reign; they even enacted a law: if a man funded the construction of a library or school, the official position tied to it would remain his even after he left the army or court.

Since the Abbasid dynasty, the court and army had been filled with Mamluks—slave officials and soldiers. By law, they were others’ property and could not own assets; once they retired from their posts, their fates were typically tragic and desolate. But since this law was enacted, these men of slave origin, if they funded libraries or schools, would have a place to live in the future.

Even today, women actively participate in such endeavors; the elementary school visited by Cesar and Geoffrey was funded by a merchant’s daughter, though it still had to be attached to a mosque.

It had a spacious, bright courtyard with covered walkways and halls; students usually studied and learned in the courtyard, entering the halls only during rain or strong winds. There were no desks or chairs; students and teachers sat on the floor, and here they also prayed.

The teacher noticed them—he was a typical Saracen with high nose and deep-set eyes; from the script on his wooden board and the slate tablets in the students’ hands, he was teaching them the Saracen language.

Unlike the curriculum Cesar studied at the Castle of the Holy Cross with the Prince, the Saracens placed greater emphasis on the practical application of knowledge.

Like the “apprenticeship system” common among Christian knights, Saracen children began education at age six and continued until fourteen, during which they studied scripture, language, and ethics.

But at fourteen, they began to specialize.

In Christian lands and societies, the fate of common people was nearly fixed; one could often deduce a man’s father, grandfather, even great-grandfather’s trade from his name and surname—carpenter, baker, hunter…

These occupational names later became common surnames. A carpenter’s son could only become a carpenter; a blacksmith’s son must only forge iron; if he strayed from this path—whether out of interest or desire for wealth—he would be questioned.

Of course, one could ask one’s father to send him as an apprentice to a trade of interest; but even if the harsh apprenticeship system allowed it, countless children died during the long, often brutal years of training; even if he finally learned a meager skill, he had to wait until thirty or forty to leave his master and work for himself.

Yet considering the average lifespan in the medieval period, especially among the poor, this period was undeniably brief.

The Saracens were different. After fourteen, their children could choose their field of interest—reading, craftsmanship, literature, medicine, mathematics… Even Saracen clerics—known as “scholars”—were not deliberately barred from advancement; yet reaching that level required long, arduous effort and innate talent. Those who guided a tribe or city as “scholars” had to receive the Prophet’s “revelation.”

“Is that a girl?” Geoffrey asked in surprise—here, students were around eight or nine years old, and those veiled were girls, at least one-third of the total.

Among Christians, women rarely received systematic education; their instruction came from older women or their mothers, teaching only farming, sewing, cooking, and household duties. Noblewomen might add poetry, dance, or music, but overall, they were expected to entertain their husbands or other men.

But according to Heraclius, Saracen noblewomen could study theology and mathematics, astronomy and geography; their knowledge could surpass even true scholars, yet they faced no retaliation or intimidation—people instead held them in high esteem. Once, a gifted noblewoman was even called a “scholar”—though this title was merely honorific; she could not enter a mosque to receive “revelation,” for no woman could.

The scholar saw them, and also the guide sent by Kamal—both were well-known figures in Damascus; he immediately rose to greet them.

But when he saw Cesar dressed as a Saracen, even this usually composed old man was momentarily startled.

Saracen aesthetics differed from Christian ones, yet sometimes the difference was negligible; the scholar even glanced at their guide, wondering if he had brought a woman disguised as a man into the school. Though the school accepted young female students, an adult woman should not be publicly exposed—especially dressed as a man, which Allah forbade.

Fortunately, before he could ask, he noticed Cesar’s Adam’s apple; he involuntarily shook his head, marveling that Allah was indeed omnipotent.

Yet Cesar’s identity still puzzled him; by his height and shoulder width, Cesar was clearly an adult, but a careful observer would notice he still retained a childlike innocence and had no beard.

Among the Saracens, a man, upon reaching adulthood, must grow a beard—he could trim it short or keep it neat, but he must have one; otherwise, he was seen not as a man, but as a boy.

His gaze then fell on Geoffrey, and he furrowed his brow slightly; this man, too, lacked a beard—he must be a Christian.

“Master Kamal ordered me to show them around the city,” the guide promptly reminded him; Kamal held a unique status in their hearts. At least this scholar showed no defiance—he nodded. “But what is there to see in a school? We have over a hundred schools,” he said proudly, “where our children learn everything Allah wishes them to know.”

“I see—it is the most beautiful sight in this world,” Cesar said sincerely; it even reminded him of schools from another world.

He looked around; the children were curiously studying these unexpected guests. They were all eight or nine years old, at the age of greatest curiosity and bluntness. Had their teacher not been a stern scholar, they would have already whispered and exchanged glances.

“I won’t disturb your lesson,” Cesar said politely. “But I wish to visit the library.”

The library was connected to the school. Passing through the courtyard and hall, they entered the building behind and saw patrolling guards, scholars chatting in small groups or lost in thought. The scene was nearly identical to that of a later-era library.

The library even had librarians; though the Saracens had learned papermaking, books remained exceedingly precious. Some books could not be taken out of the library, and even reading required qualification—non-scholars had no right to touch them.

“What would you like to see?” the librarian asked, for Kamal had already informed him that Cesar had “purified” the Sultan; thus he treated Cesar with unusual kindness.

“I wish to see books on medicine,” Cesar lowered his eyes. “Specifically on leprosy.”

The guide hesitated—he too was a “scholar” and knew how rare such books were. Indeed, they were refused; yet the librarian pointed them to a path: “I recall that the scholar Al-Razi once copied every medical text from the House of Wisdom. If you can persuade him to allow you to read or borrow them…”

“Do you know where Al-Razi is now?”

“You must be in a hurry,” the librarian glanced at the sky—it was nearly dusk. “For the past few days, he has been at Layla’s ‘Ornate Pavilion’—he’s courting her, but has not succeeded.”

(End of Chapter)