“See to it that everything goes as it should from now on!”
He went to the waterfront, where Adi was waiting for him in the boat.
“Back to the castle!” he ordered.
“I want you to strangle the one in the middle garden,”
he told the eunuchs, “once you’re
alone with him. Search him and bring me everything you find on him. Then bury him
alongside the other two from this morning at the far end of the gardens, at the foot of the
mountains. Send the pair from the other two gardens up to me.”
Stern and gloomy, he had himself hoisted up into his tower.
Once at the top, he gave the
sign that the time had come to leave the gardens. He was glad that neither Abu Ali nor
Buzurg Ummid was with him. What did he have left to talk about with them? He would have
to leave the world an explanation and apology for his actions. For the faithful, he would need
to write a compilation
of his philosophy, simply and in metaphors. To his heirs he would
need to reveal the final mysteries. There was a great deal of work still ahead of him. But life
was short and he was already old.
Exhausted to death, he returned to his room. He collapsed onto his bed and tried to go to
sleep, but he couldn’t. By day he was afraid of nothing. Now he saw Suleiman’s face, down to
the tiniest details. Yes, he had seemed to be happy. And yet, in the
next instant the life was
extinguished within him. Great God! What a horrible experiment!
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Now he saw ibn Tahir riding toward Nehavend,
obsessed with a single thought. Yes, that’s where his mortal enemy was staying. His “opposite
principle,” the grand vizier Nizam al-Mulk, that brilliant and illustrious mind who professed
everything that mankind saw as great and good. And yet, somewhere beneath it all there was
a huge lie in him. He bowed down to mankind and its beliefs against
the better convictions
that Hasan knew he had. He had won the hearts of the masses and become powerful. He had
achieved this through kindness, through generosity, and through more than a few concessions
to precious human desires. Was there even room for another who was equal to him? Nizam
al-Mulk had beat him at everything. He was more than ten years his senior.
What option did
he have, but to resort to the “opposite path”?
He, smiling, I, grim. He the forgiving one, I the
unyielding. He the gentle one, I the terrifying one. And yet he knew that the vizier was also
capable of being ruthless and merciless. Even more than he.
If I can force him to yield, I’ll be
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