the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

26
Altaïr stood on a rooftop in Damascus, looking down on his next target.
The smell of burning sickened him. The sight too. Of books being
burned. Altaïr watched them crinkle, blacken and burn, thinking of his
father, who would have been disgusted; Al Mualim, too, when he told
him. To burn books was an affront to the Assassin way. Learning is
knowledge, and knowledge is freedom and power. He knew that. He had
forgotten it, somehow, but he knew it once more.
He stood out of sight on the ledge of the roof overlooking the
courtyard of Jubair’s madrasah in Damascus. Smoke rose towards where
he stood but all of the attention below was focused on the fire, piles of
books, documents and scrolls at its centre. The fire and Jubair al-Hakim,
who stood nearby, barking orders. All were doing his bidding apart from
one, Altaïr noticed. This scholar stood to the side, gazing into the fire,
his expression echoing Altaïr’s thoughts.
Jubair wore leather boots, a black headcloth and a permanent scowl.
Altaïr watched him carefully: he had learned much about him. Jubair
was the chief scholar of Damascus but in name only, for it was a most
unusual scholar who insisted not on spreading learning but on
destroying it. In this pursuit he had enlisted the city’s academics, whose
presence was encouraged by Salah Al’din.
And why were they doing it, collecting then destroying these