Amin Maalouf - Samarkand

For example, to several provincial governors she wrote letters worded as follows: ‘I am a widow with the care of a minor who needs a father to guide his steps and to steer the empire in his name. Who better than you could fill this role? Come as quickly as possible at the head of your troops, lift the siege and you will enter Isfahan triumphant, I shall marry you and you will wield complete power.’ The argument carried weight and emirs rushed from Azerbaijan as from Syria, and even though they did not manage to break the siege on the capital they did provide long months of respite for the Sultana.

Terken also re-established contact with Hassan Sabbah. ‘Did I not promise you Nizam al-Mulk’s head? I offered it to you. Today I am offering you Isfahan, the capital of the empire. I know that you have many men in this city. Why do they live in the shadows? Tell them to show themselves and they will obtain gold and arms and will be able to preach in the open.’ In fact, after so many years of persecution, hundreds of Ismailis revealed themselves. The number of conversions increased and in certain quarters they formed armed militias on behalf of the Sultana.

However, Terken’s last ruse was probably the most ingenious and the most audacious: emirs from her entourage presented themselves one day at the enemy camp, announcing to Barkiyaruk that they had decided to abandon the Sultana, that their troops were on the verge of revolt and that, if he would agree to accompany them and infiltrate the city with them, they could give the signal for an uprising: Terken and her son would be massacred, and Barkiyaruk would be able to establish himself firmly on the throne. The year was 1094, the pretender was thirteen years old and the proposition took him in — to win control of the city in person when his emirs had been besieging it for over a year! He jumped at the chance. The following night, he slipped out of his camp unbeknown to his men, presented himself with Terken’s emissaries at the gate of Kahab, which opened for him as if by magic. He walked in decisively, surrounded by an escort which was a little too jolly for his taste, but whose mood he ascribed to the unmitigated success of his exploit. If the men laughed too loud, he ordered them to calm down and they responded respectfully before bursting out laughing even more.

Alas — when he started to suspect their cheerfulness, it was too late. They pinned him down, bound his hands and feet, gagged and blindfolded him and led him amid much scoffing to the gate of the harem. The chief eunuch, woken from his sleep, ran off to warn Terken of their arrival. It was up to her to decide the fate of her own son’s rival — whether she should have him strangled or just blinded. The eunuch had disappeared in the long dark corridor when suddenly shouts, cries and sobs broke out. Intrigued and worried, the officers, who could not hold back from penetrating the forbidden zone, came upon a talkative old servant: Terken Khatun had just been discovered dead in her bed with the instrument of the crime at her side — a large soft cushion with which she had been smothered. A eunuch with sturdy arms had disappeared and a servant-girl remembered that he had been introduced into the harem some years earlier upon Nizam al-Mulk’s recommendation.

What a strange dilemma for Terken’s followers: their Sultana was dead, but their principal adversary was at their mercy; their capital was surrounded but the very person laying the siege was now their prisoner. What should they do with him? Jahan had taken over Terken’s place as guardian of the child-Sultan, and it was to her that the discussion was brought so that she might settle it. Until then she had shown herself to be extremely resourceful, but her mistress’s death had shaken the ground under her feet. To whom could she turn, whom could she consult if not Omar!

Omar arrived to find her seated on Terken’s divan at the foot of the drawn curtain with her head lowered and her tresses spread carelessly over her shoulders. The Sultan was next to her, dressed all in silk with a turban on his little head. He was sitting on his cushion; his face was red and spotty, and his eyes half-closed. He looked bored.

Omar went up to Jahan. He took her hand tenderly, stroked her face with his palm and whispered:

‘I have just been told about Terken Khatun. You have done well to call me to your side.’

When he caressed her hair, Jahan pushed him away.

‘If I have summoned you, it is not so that you can console me, but to consult you on a serious matter.’

Omar took a step backwards, crossed his arms and listened.

‘Barkiyaruk had been caught in a trap and is a prisoner in the palace. The men are divided over the fate that should be meted out to him. Some demand his death, notably those who set the trap. They want to be certain of never having to answer to him for their actions. Others prefer to come to an understanding with him, place him on the throne and win his favours hoping that he will forget his misadventure. Still others have suggested keeping him hostage in order to negotiate with the besiegers. Which path do you advise me to follow?’

‘You snatched me away from my books to ask me that?’

Jahan stood up. She was furious.

‘Does the matter not appear sufficiently serious? My life depends on it. The fate of thousands of people, this city and this empire may depend on your decision. Yet you, Omar Khayyam, you do not wish to be disturbed for such a trifle!’

He went towards the door, and just as he was about to open it he came back over to Jahan.

‘I am consulted after the crime has been committed. What do you want me to tell your friends now? If I counsel them to release the youth, how could I guarantee that he will not wish to slit their throats tomorrow? If I counsel them to keep him as a hostage, or to kill him, I become their accomplice. Leave me out of these quarrels, Jahan, and you too should leave yourself out.’

He looked at her with compassion.

‘One son of a Turkish Sultan replaces another son, a Vizir dismisses a Vizir. By God, Jahan, how can you spend the best years of your life in this cage of wild animals? Let them rip each other’s throats out, kill and die. Will the sun be any less bright or wine any less smooth?’

‘Lower your voice, Omar. You are frightening the child. And we can be overheard in the adjoining rooms.’

Omar persevered:

‘Did you not call me to ask my opinion? Well I shall not beat around the bush: leave this room, abandon this palace, do not look back, do not say goodbye, do not even collect your belongings. Come, give me your hand and let us go home. You will compose your poems and I shall observe my stars. Every evening you will come and curl up naked next to me. Wine with the aroma of musk will make us sing and the world will cease to exist for us. We shall cross it without seeing or hearing it. Neither its mud nor its blood will cleave to the soles of our feet.’

Jahan’s eyes were misty.

‘If I could return to that age of innocence, do you think that I would hesitate? However, it is too late, I have gone too far. If Nizam al-Mulk’s men take Isfahan tomorrow they will not spare me. I am on their list of outlaws.’

‘I was Nizam’s best friend and I shall protect you. They will not come into my house to make off with my wife.’

‘Open your eyes, Omar. You do not know these men. They think only of vengeance. Yesterday they rebuked you for having saved Hassan Sabbah’s head. Tomorrow they will reproach you for having hidden Jahan and they will kill you at the same time as me.’

‘So we will stay together at home, and if my fate is to die with you, I will resign myself to it.’

She straightened herself up.

‘I will not resign myself! I am here in this palace, surrounded by troops who are faithful to me, in a city which is now mine and I shall fight to the end. If I die, it will be as a Sultana.’