Amin Maalouf - Samarkand

The night before the feast, this night when every wish is granted, was a night of agony, tears and prayers spent by thousands of families in the precarious shelter of mosques, and the mausoleums of saints.

In the citadel, there was now a stormy discussion raging between the Seljuk brothers. Tchagri shouted that his men had not been paid for months, and that they had only agreed to fight because they had been promised a free hand in this opulent city, that they were on the verge of revolt and that he, Tchagri, could no longer hold them back.

Tughrul spoke another language:

‘We are only at the start of our conquests. There are so many cities to take, Isfahjan, Shiraz, Ray, Tabriz and others further on. If we pillage Nishapur after it has surrendered, after all our promises, no other gate will open for us, no other garrison will show any weakness.’

‘How will we be able to conquer all those cities of which you are dreaming if we lose our army and our men abandon us? The most loyal are already complaining and threatening.’

The two brothers were surrounded by their lieutenants and the elders of the clan who unanimously confirmed Tchagri’s words. Encouraged by this, he rose and decided to bring things to a conclusion:

‘We have spoken too much. I am going to tell my men to do as they wish with the city. If you wish to restrain your men, do so. To each of us his own troops.’

Caught on the horns of a dilemma, he did not move. Suddenly he sprang away from them and grabbed a dagger.

Tchagri, for his part, had also unsheathed his sword. No one knew whether to intervene or, as was the custom, let the Seljuk brothers settle their difference with blood, when Tughrul called out:

‘Brother, I cannot force you to obey me. I cannot restrain your men, but if you set them on the city I will plant this dagger in my heart.’

As he said that he clutched the handle of the dagger with both hands and pointed the blade down toward his chest. His brother hesitated little, but walked toward him with his arms open and gave him a long embrace, promising not to go against his will. Nishapur was saved, but it would never forget the Great Fear of Ramadan.

‘That is how the Seljuks are,’ Khayyam observed. ‘Uneducated looters and enlightened sovereigns who are capable of great meanness and sublime gestures. Tughrul Beg above all had the temperament of an empire builder. I was three years old when he took Isfahan and ten years old when he conquered Baghdad, imposing himself as the protector of the Caliph and wheedling out of him the title of ‘Sultan, King of the East and West’ and at seventy marrying the Prince of the Believers’ very own daughter.’

Omar recounted in a tone of admiration, perhaps with even a touch of solemnity, but Jahan let out a very irreverent laugh. He was offended and gave her a sharp look, unable to understand this sudden hilarity. She excused herself and explained:

‘When you mentioned the marriage, I remembered what they told me in the harem.’

Omar vaguely remembered the episode whose every detail Jahan had greedily retained.

When he received the message from Tughrul demanding the hand of his daughter Sayyida, the Caliph had become wild with rage. The emissary of the Sultan had hardly withdrawn before he exploded:

‘This Turk who has just stepped out from his yurt! This Turk whose fathers in the very recent past were still worshipping some idol or another and who painted pigs’ snouts on their standards! How dare he demand in marriage the daughter of the Prince of the Believers, descendant of the most noble lineage?’

If he was trembling so violently in all his august limbs it was because he knew that he could not deflect the claim. After months of hesitation and two messages of appeal, he ended up by formulating a reply. One of his old counsellors was charged with conveying it and he left for the city of Ray, whose ruins are still visible in the area of Teheran. Tughrul’s court was there.

The Caliph’s emissary was first of all received by the Vizir who confronted him with these words:

‘The Sultan’s patience is running out and he is harassing me. I am happy that you at last have arrived with a reply.’

‘You will be less happy when you hear it: the Prince of Believers begs you to excuse him for not being able to accede to the demand which has been put to him.’

The Vizir did not seem particularly concerned. He continued to finger his jade worry-beads.

‘And so,’ he said, ‘you are going to walk down this corridor and go through that tall doorway and announce to the master of Iraq, Fars, Khorassan and Azerbaijan, to the conqueror of Asia, the sword who defends the true Religion, to the protector of the Abbassid throne: “No, the Caliph will not give you his daughter!” Very well. This guard will show you the way.’

The latter presented himself and the emissary arose to follow him, when the Vizir added innocuously:

‘I assume, wise man that you are, that you have paid your debts, shared out your fortune among your sons and married off all your daughters!’

The emissary sat back down, suddenly exhausted.

‘What do you advise me to do?’

‘Did the Caliph give you no other directive, no other way of settling affairs?’

‘He told me that if there was really no way of escaping from this marriage, he wished for three hundred thousand gold dinars as compensation.’

‘There we have already a better way of proceeding. However, I do not think it is reasonable for him to ask for compensation after all that the Sultan has done for the Caliph, after he had brought him back to the city whence the Shiites had chased him, after he had restored to him his wealth and his territory. We could reach the same result without offending Tughrul Beg. You will tell him that the Caliph offers him his daughter’s hand, and I, for my part, will make use of the moment of intense satisfaction to suggest that he gives a gift of dinars commensurate to such a personage.’

That was what happened. The Sultan, in a state of excitement, put together a great convoy comprising the Vizir, several princes, dozens of officers and dignitaries, and aged female relatives with hundreds of guards and slaves who carried to Baghdad for him presents of great value — camphor, myrrh, brocade and boxes full of gems as well as a hundred thousand pieces of gold.

The Caliph held an audience for the principal members of the delegation and exchanged polite but amorphous greetings. Then, during his talk with the Sultan’s Vizir, he told him bluntly that the marriage did not have his consent and that if they tried to coerce him he would leave Baghdad.

‘If that is the stance of the Prince of Believers, why did he propose an arrangement in dinars?’

‘I could not simply turn him down with a single “no”. I hoped that the Sultan would understand by my attitude that he could not obtain such a sacrifice from me. I can tell you that no other Sultans, be they Turks or Persians, have ever demanded such a thing from a Caliph. I must defend my honour!’

‘Several months ago, when I felt that your response might be negative, I tried to prepare the Sultan. I explained to him that no one before him had ever dared to formulate such a request, that it was untraditional and that people would be surprised. I could never dare to repeat what he replied to me.’

‘Speak. Fear not!’

‘May the Prince of Believers excuse me, for those words can never cross my lips.’

The Caliph lost his patience.

‘Speak, I order you. Hide nothing!’

‘The Sultan started by insulting me and accusing me of siding with the Prince of Believers against him … He threatened to have me put in irons …’

The Vizir stuttered deliberately.