Samarkand pdfdrive com

CHAPTER 16
The man with the bulging eyes went back to his life of wandering. A tireless
missionary, he criss-crossed the Muslim East – Balkh, Merv, Kashgar and
Samarkand – always preaching, arguing, converting and organizing. He never
left a town or a village until he had designated a representative whom he left
surrounded by a circle of followers, Shiites who were tired of waiting and
submitting, Persian or Arab Sunnites exasperated by Turkish domination, young
men in a state of agitation, or believers in search of rigour. Hassan’s army was
growing every day. Its members were called ‘Batinites’, the people of the secret,
and they were treated as heretics or atheists. The 
ulema
pronounced anathema
after anathema upon them: ‘Woe betide him who joins them, woe betide him
who eats at their table, woe betide him who joins them through marriage, it is as
legitimate to spill their blood as to water one’s garden.’
The pitch mounted and violence did not remain long restricted to words. In
the town of Savah, the preacher of a mosque denounced certain people, who, at
the time of prayer, were assembling away from the other Muslims. He invited
the police to deal ruthlessly with them and eighteen heretics were arrested. A
few days later, the man who had denounced them was found stabbed. Nizam al-
Mulk ordered the punishment to set an example: an Ismaili carpenter was
accused of murder. He was tortured and crucified. Then his body was dragged
through the alleys of the bazaar.
A chronicler considered that: ‘That preacher was the Ismailis’ first victim and
that carpenter was their first martyr.’ He added that their first great victory was
won near the city of Kain, south of Nishapur. A caravan was arriving from
Kirman, consisting of more than six hundred merchants and pilgrims as well as

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an important cargo of antimony. A half-day from Kain, masked and armed men
barred their way. The senior man of the caravan thought that they were bandits
and wanted to negotiate a ransom as he was used to doing. That, however, was
not what they were after. The travellers were led toward a fortified village where
they were held for several days, preached to and invited to convert. Some
accepted and others were released but most of them were ultimately massacred.
However, the kidnapping of a caravan was soon going to seem a very minor
affair in the huge, but underhand, test of strength which was building up.
Killings and counter-killings followed each other. No town, province or route
was spared and the peace of the Seljuk empire started to crumble.
That was when the memorable crisis in Samarkand broke out. A chronicler
attested categorically that ‘the 
qadi
Abu Taher was at the basis of the events’.
However, things were not quite so simple.
It is true that one November afternoon Khayyam’s former protector arrived
unexpectedly in Isfahan with wives and luggage, reeling off curses and oaths.
Once through the gate of Tirah, he had taken himself to his friend, who lodged
him, happy at last to have an occasion to show him his gratitude. Customary
expressions of emotion were quickly disposed of. Abu Taher, on the edge of
tears, asked:
‘I must speak to Nizam al-Mulk as soon as possible.’
Khayyam had never seen the 
qadi
in such a state. He tried to reassure him:
‘We are going to see the Vizir tonight. Is it so serious?’
‘I have had to flee Samarkand.’
He could not go on. His voice was stifled and his tears flowed. He had aged
since their last meeting. His skin was withered, his beard was white and only his
bushy eyebrows retained their black hue. Omar uttered some words of
consolation. The 
qadi
pulled himself together, straightened his turban and then
declared:
‘Do you remember the man who was nicknamed “Scar-Face?”’
‘How could I forget that he debated my own death in front of my eyes?’
‘You remember how he lost his temper at the slightest suspicion of a smell of
heresy? Well, three years ago he joined the Ismailis and today he is proclaiming
their errors with the same zeal with which he used to defend the True Faith.
Hundreds and thousands of citizens are following him. He is master of the street
and imposes his law on the merchants in the bazaar. On several occasions I have
been to see the Khan. You knew Nasr Khan and his sudden outbursts of anger

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which subsided just as quickly, his fits of violence or prodigality, may God save
his soul. I mention his name in every prayer. Today power is in the hands of his
nephew, Ahmed, a smooth-chinned young man who is irresolute and
unpredictable. I never know how to approach him. On many occasions I have
complained to him about the machinations of the heretics. I have explained to
him the dangers of the situation but he was distracted and bored and only half
listened to me. Seeing that he had not taken any decision to act, I gathered the
commanders of the militia as well as several officials whose loyalty I had
acquired and requested them to place the Ismailis’ meetings under surveillance.
Three trusty men took it in turn to follow Scar-Face, my aim being to present to
the Khan a detailed report in order to open his eyes to their activities, until my
men informed me that the chief of the heretics had arrived in Samarkand.’
‘Hassan Sabbah?’
‘In person. My men had positioned themselves at both ends of Abdack Street,
in the district of Ghatfar, where an Ismaili meeting was being held. When
Sabbah came out, disguised as a Sufi, they jumped him, placed a sack over his
head and brought him to me.
‘Immediately I led him to the palace to announce news of his capture to the
sovereign. Then, for the first time, he appeared interested and asked to see the
man. Except that when Sabbah was brought before him, he ordered his cords to
be untied and for them to be left alone together. In vain I tried to warn him
against this dangerous heretic, recalling the misdeeds of which he was guilty, but
to no avail. He wanted, he claimed, to convince the man to return to the straight
path. Their conversation went on and on. From time to time one of his courtiers
would half-open the door, but the two men were still talking. At first dawn they
were both seen suddenly prostrating themselves in prayer, murmuring the same
words. The counsellors jostled with each other to try and observe them.’
After taking a mouthful of orgeat syrup, Abu Taher uttered a formula of
gratitude before carrying on:
‘Going by the evidence, it was certain that the master of Samarkand, the
sovereign of Transoxania and heir to the dynasty of the Black Khans had gone
over to the heresy. Naturally he avoided proclaiming this fact and continued to
affect attachment to the True Faith, but nothing was the same any more. The
Prince’s counsellors were replaced by Ismailis. The chiefs of the militia, who
had effected Sabbah’s capture, died brutally one after another. My own guard
was replaced by Scar-Face’s men. What choice did I have left except to leave
with the first pilgrim caravan and to come and make the situation known to those

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who carry the sword of Islam, Nizam al-Mulk and Malikshah.’
That evening Khayyam took Abu Taher to the Vizir. He introduced him and
then left them to talk in private. As Nizam listened reverently to his visitor his
face took on a worried expression. When the 
qadi
stopped speaking, he spoke
up:
‘Do you know who is really responsible for Samarkand’s misfortunes, and
for all of ours too? It is the man who brought you here!’
‘Omar Khayyam?’
‘Who else? It was 
khawaja
Omar who interceded for Hassan Sabbah on the
day I could have obtained his death. He prevented us from killing him. Can he
now prevent him from killing us?’
The 
qadi
did not know what to say. Nizam sighed. A short embarrassed
silence ensued.
‘What do you suggest doing?’
It was Nizam who was asking the question. Abu Taher already had his idea
formulated and he spoke it in the tones of a solemn proclamation:
‘It is time for the Seljuk flag to fly over Samarkand.’
The Vizir’s face lit up and then darkened again.
‘Your words are worth their weight in gold. I have been telling the Sultan for
years that the empire should extend to Transoxania and that cities as prestigious
and prosperous as Samarkand and Bukhara cannot remain outside the realm of
our authority, but it was wasted effort. Malikshah would not listen.’
‘The Khan’s army, mind you, is greatly weakened. Its emirs are no longer
paid and its forts are falling into ruin.’
‘We are aware of that.’
‘Is Malikshah afraid of undergoing the same fate as his father Alp Arslan if,
as his father did, he crosses the river?’
‘Not at all.’
The 
qadi
asked no more questions, but awaited further elucidation.
‘The Sultan is afraid neither of the river nor of the enemy army,’ stated
Nizam. ‘He is afraid of a woman!’
‘Terken Khatun?’
‘She has sworn that, if Malikshah crosses the river, she will ban him from her
couch and transform her harem into Gehenna. Let us not forget that Samarkand
is her city. Nasr Khan was her brother and Ahmed Khan is her nephew. It is to
her family that Transoxania belongs. If the kingdom built up by her ancestors
were to collapse she would lose the position she occupies amongst the palace

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women and the chances of her son one day succeeding Malikshah would be
compromised.’
‘But her son is only two years old!’
‘Precisely. The younger he is, the more his mother must fight to keep his
trump cards.’
‘If I have understood correctly,’ concluded the 
qadi
, ‘the Sultan will never
agree to take Samarkand.’
‘I have not said that, but we must make him change his mind and it will not
be easy to find more persuasive arms than those of Khatun.’
The 
qadi
blushed. He smiled politely, without letting himself be deflected
from his mission.
‘Would it not suffice for me to repeat to the Sultan what I have just told you
and to inform him of the plot hatched by Hassan Sabbah?’
‘No,’ Nizam replied drily.
For a moment he was too absorbed to argue. He was formulating a plan. His
visitor waited for him to make up his mind.
‘Now,’ the Vizir pronounced with authority, ‘you will go tomorrow morning
and present yourself at the door of the Sultan’s harem and ask to see the chief of
the eunuchs. You will tell him that you have come from Samarkand and that you
wish to convey news of her family to Terken Khatun. As you are the