Amin Maalouf - Samarkand

A light-haired servant came in and bowed. He was carrying two goblets of iced rose-syrup on an engraved silver tray. Omar took one. As he raised it his lips felt its icy steam and he decided to sip it slowly. Nizam finished his off in one gulp and continued:

‘Your presence here gladdens and honours me!’

Khayyam wanted to reply to this rush of amiability, but Nizam stopped him with a gesture.

‘Do not think that I am trying to flatter you. I am so powerful that I need only sing the praises of the Creator. However, you see, khawajeh Omar, as far-flung, as populated or as opulent as an empire may be, there is always a shortage of men. In appearance what a lot of creatures, how teeming the streets are, what dense crowds! But when I chance to look upon the deployment of my army, or a mosque at prayer time, a bazaar or even my diwan , I have to ask myself: if I were to demand some wisdom, knowledge, loyalty or integrity from these men, would I not, at the mention of each quality, see the throng thin out, then melt and disappear? I find myself alone, khawajeh Omar, desperately alone. My diwan is empty, as is my palace. This town and this empire are empty. I always feel that I have to clap with one hand behind my back. I am not content with sending for men like you to come from Samarkand, I myself am ready to go on foot to Samarkand to fetch them.’

Omar murmured a confused ‘God forbid!’, but the Vizir did not stop.

‘Those are my dreams and my worries. I could speak to you of them for days and nights, but I want to listen to you. I am impatient to know if this dream moves you in some way, if you are ready to take your rightful place at my side.’

‘Your projects are exhilarating and I am honoured by your faith in me.’

‘What do you require in order to work with me? Tell me frankly, the way I have spoken to you. You will obtain everything you desire. Do not be timorous, and do not let my moment of rash prodigality pass by.’

He laughed. Khayyam managed to cover his utter confusion with a weak smile.

‘My only desire is to be able to carry on my humble works sheltered from need. My greed goes no further than having something to drink, clothing on my back and shelter for the night.’

‘By way of shelter, I offer you one of Isfahan’s most beautiful houses. I myself resided there while this palace was being built. It will be yours, with its gardens, orchards, carpets, servants and maidservants. For your expenses, I am allotting you a pension of ten thousand royal dinars. As long as I am alive it will be paid to you at the beginning of every year. Is it sufficient?’

‘That is more than I need. I shall not know what to do with such a great sum.’

Khayyam was being sincere, but this irritated Nizam.

‘When you have bought all the books, had all the jars of wine filled and all your mistresses covered with jewels, you will distribute alms to the poor, finance the Mecca caravan and build a mosque in your name!’

Realizing that his detachment and the modesty of his demands had displeased his host, Omar made bold:

‘I have always wanted to construct an observatory with a large stone sextant, an astrolabe and various instruments. I would like to measure the exact length of the solar year.’

‘Granted! By next week funds will be allotted to you for that end. You will choose the site and your observatory will be erected within a few months. But, tell me, is there nothing else that would give you pleasure?’

‘By God, I want nothing more. Your generosity overwhelms me.’

‘Then perhaps I, in my turn, might formulate a demand for you?’

‘After what you have just granted me, I will be only too glad to be able to show you a small part of my immense gratitude.’

Nizam did not hesitate.

‘I know that you are discreet and little inclined to gossip. I know that you are wise, just, impartial and in a position to discern the truth from the false in everything. I know that you are trustworthy: I would like to charge you with the most delicate commission of all.’

Omar waited for the worst, and indeed it was the worst which was in store for him.

‘I name you sahib-khabar,’

‘Sahib-khabar , me! The head spy?’

‘Head of the Empire’s information. Do not respond in haste, it is not a question of spying on good people or infiltrating the homes of believers, but of looking after the peace for everyone. In a state, the least coercion or injustice must be brought to the attention of the sovereign and quelled in an exemplary fashion, whoever the guilty party may be. We can only learn if some qadi or provincial governor is exploiting his office to enrich himself at the expense of the weak by means of our spies, since the victims do not always dare to complain!’

‘These spies could still be bought off by the qadis , the governors or the emirs, or become their accomplices!’

‘Your role, the role of the sahib-khabar , is precisely to find incorruptible men for these assignments.’

‘If these incorruptible men exist, would it not be simpler to appoint them governors or qadis!’

It was a naïve observation, but to Nizam’s ears it sounded mocking. He became impatient and arose:

‘I have no wish to debate the issue. I have told you what I am offering you and what I expect of you. Go and think over my proposal. Weigh up the arguments on both sides calmly and return tomorrow with your response.’

That day Khayyam was no longer capable of reflecting, weighing up or evaluating. After leaving the diwan , he disappeared into the narrowest alley of the bazaar, meandered past men and beasts and made his way under the stucco vaults between mounds of spices. At each step the alley became a little darker and the crowd seemed to be moving sluggishly and speaking in murmurs. Merchants and customers were masked actors and sleepwalking dancers. Omar groped his way along, now to the left, now to the right, afraid of falling down or fainting. Suddenly he came upon a small square which was flooded with light, a clearing in the jungle. The harsh sun beat down on him. He straightened up and breathed. What was happening to him? He was being offered a paradise which was shackled to a hell. How could he say yes, how could he say no. How could he face the Grand Vizir or leave town with any dignity? To his right, a tavern door was half open. He pushed it and went down a few steps strewn with sand and came out into a dimly lit room with a low ceiling. The floor was damp earth, the benches looked unsteady and the tables unwashed. He ordered a dry wine from Qom. It was brought to him in a chipped jar. He breathed it in for a long while with shut eyes.

The blessed time of my youth passes by ,

I pour out the wine of my oblivion .

Bitter it is, and thus it pleases me .

For this bitterness is the zest of my life .

Suddenly, however, an idea occurred to him. He doubtless had had to come to this sordid den to find it; the idea had been waiting for him there, on that table, at the third mouthful of the fourth goblet. He settled his bill, left a generous baksheesh and resurfaced. Night had fallen, the square was already empty, with every alley of the bazaar closed off by a heavy portal and Omar had to make a detour to get back to his caravansary.

Hassan was already asleep, his face severe and pained, as Khayyam tiptoed into his room. Omar contemplated him for a long while. A thousand questions ran through his mind, but he brushed them aside without trying to find answers. His decision was taken and it was irrevocable.

There is a legend common in the books. It speaks of three friends, three Persians who marked, each in his own fashion, the beginnings of our millenium: Omar Khayym who observed the world, Nizam al-Mulk who governed it and Hassan Sabbah who terrorized it. They are said to have studied together at Nishapur, which cannot be correct since Nizam was thirty years older than Omar and Hassan carried on his studies at Rayy, and perhaps a little in his native town of Qom, but certainly not at Nishapur.