Free the Walking Drum (1984) by Louis L'amour

hill, passing close enough for me to see him well-a squat, powerful man with a greasy skin and uncombed hair. He was heavily armed. The second man remained a little longer, then went down to the high road to follow John of Seville.
    The Greek who was my tutor had talked of John. He was a converted Jew who worked with Raymond of Toledo in translating Arab classics into Latin and Castilian. He was a famous scholar and a man of influence.
    My father was a man who respected knowledge, and our home had been a stopping place for travelers. Over the wine at night there had been much good talk of scholars and seekers after truth. My father's interest had been whetted by his travels as well as his occasional contact with the wise men of Alexandria, Rome, Athens, and Moorish Spain.
    My father was dead.
    Hating the thought, I had almost come to accept it. Yet the man who would not believe Kerbouchard was dead had more faith than I. It was his faith against the knowledge of the other, yet did that man actually know Kerbouchard? He had spoken of seeing my father lying dead, and what could I place in the balance against that?
    If he was dead, then I must return to Armorica and crush the Baron de Tournemine by myself, this man who destroyed my home and killed my mother and our retainers, this man must die.
    There was no law to punish him, nor anyone but myself to see him pay for his crimes. I, Mathurin Kerbouchard, who was alone, I would see Tournemine die by my own blade.
    Alone I was, but he who stands alone is often the strongest. By standing alone he becomes stronger and remains strong.
    It was well that I felt so, for I was indeed alone. Trusting in my strong right arm and my wits might all be very well, but I had so much to learn and knew not if either the arm or the wit was sufficient.
    The world into which I had been born was a world in turmoil. With the collapse of the Roman empire, the luxury and elegance of the world died also. Cities fell to ruin; aqueducts went dry, and unprotected fields returned to weeds and eventually to grass. For several hundred years Europe was a dangerous place in which to travel, infested by brigands or the ignorant, half-savage peasantry who slaughtered travelers and appropriated their belongings. Warlike monks raided caravans or demanded tribute from villages. Often they fought with the nobles who were no more than titled brigands such as Tournemine.
    Few men in Christian Europe could read or write, fewer even appreciated the importance of knowledge. The Christian countries had become dark seas of ignorance and superstition with only here and there a light of learning to provide a fitful glow.
    After the deluge of blood and victory that carried the Arabs across Asia and North Africa into Spain and Sicily, there came a flood of enlightenment. From Alexandria came translations of the Greek classics, followed by the music, art, and medical knowledge of the Greeks, the Persians, and the Arabs.
    Persian and Indian scholars found a warm welcome at the courts of the caliphs, and when the Umayyads were succeeded by the Abbasids, Arab civilization entered its golden age.
    In Europe books were few and priceless. Peter de Nemours, Bishop of Paris, on his departure for the Crusades presented to the Abbey St. Victor his "great library," consisting of just eighteen volumes. At the same time the Caliph al-Hakam, in Cordoba, possessed a library of four hundred thousand volumes.
    Within my home, thanks to my father's travels, the atmosphere was different. We were not Christian and so were uninfluenced by the monks, for much of Brittany was still pagan.
    Traveling monks as well as others were always welcome in our home and many a lively discussion took place around our table, so I knew of John of Seville and Raymond of Toledo.
    Now I had seen him, but unless I was mistaken he was about to be robbed, murdered, or both. It was no business of mine, and I would do well to stay out of it, yet I knew I could not.
    The sun was