prostrated themselves at the feet of Malikshah who acknowledged them with a condescending
nod of the head. Then a number of the notables left the group to make their way toward Nizam. The Vizir was impassive. His
colleagues were bustling around him but he looked at them and listened to them without reacting. He should not be thought
of as a master of the palace who shouted out his orders. If his influence was ubiquitous, it was because he worked like a
puppeteer, who with a discreet touch impressed on others the movements which he desired. His silences were proverbial. It
was not rare for a visitor to spend an hour in his presence without any words being exchanged other than the phrases of greeting
and parting. He was not visited for his conversation, but so that allegiances could be renewed, suspicions dispelled and oblivion
avoided.
Twelve people from the Samarkand delegation had obtained the privilege of shaking the hand which held the rudder of the empire.
Omar followed close behind the
qadi
Abu Taher who muttered a formula. Nizam nodded and kept his hand in the
qadi’s
for a few seconds, thereby honouring him. When it was Omar’s turn, the Vizir leant over to his ear and murmured:
‘On this day next year, be at Isfahan and we shall speak.’
Khayyam was not certain that he had heard correctly and he felt a little off-balance. The personage intimidated him, the ceremonies
impressed him, the chaos intoxicated him and the wails of the mourners were deafening him. He could no longer trust his senses.
He wanted some confirmation that he had heard correctly but he was already being swept along by the flow of people. The Vizir
was looking elsewhere and had started to nod his head in silence again.
On his way back, Khayyam could not stop mulling over the incident. Was he the only one to whom the Vizir had uttered those
words? Had he not confused him for someone else, and why was the meeting so distant, both in terms of time and space?
He decided to take the matter up with the
qadi
. Since he hadbeen just in front of him, he must have heard, felt, seen or guessed something. Abu Taher let him recount the scene, before
admitting mischievously:
‘I noticed that the Vizir whispered some words to you. I did not hear them, but I can assure you that he did not mistake you
for anyone else. Did you see all the people around him. Their job is to obtain information on the composition of each delegation
and to whisper him the name and position of those approaching him. They asked me your name, assured themselves that you were
the Khayyam of Nishapur, the intellectual and the astrologer. There was no confusion over your identity. Anyway, the only
confusion with Nizam al-Mulk is that which he deems fit to create.’
The way was flat and stony. To the right in the distance lay a line of high mountains, the foothills of Pamir. Khayyam and
Abu Taher rode along side by side with their mounts brushing against each other.
‘What can he want of me?’
‘In order to find out, you will have to wait a year. Until that time, I advise you not to bog yourself down in conjecture.
The wait is too long and you will exhaust yourself. Above all, do not mention this to a soul!’
‘Do I usually prattle?’
The tone was that of reproach, but the
qadi
did not allow himself to be flustered:
‘I wish to be clear: do not mention this to that woman!’
Omar should have suspected that Jahan’s repeated visits could not have gone unnoticed. Abu Taher continued:
‘At your first meeting the guards came to inform me. I concocted a complicated story to justify her visits. I ordered them
not to see her and forbade them to wake you up every morning. Have not the slightest doubt, that pavilion is your house, I
want you to know that today and tomorrow. However, I have to speak to you about that woman.’
Omar was embarrassed. He did not appreciate at all the way his friend said ‘that woman’ and he had no
nod of the head. Then a number of the notables left the group to make their way toward Nizam. The Vizir was impassive. His
colleagues were bustling around him but he looked at them and listened to them without reacting. He should not be thought
of as a master of the palace who shouted out his orders. If his influence was ubiquitous, it was because he worked like a
puppeteer, who with a discreet touch impressed on others the movements which he desired. His silences were proverbial. It
was not rare for a visitor to spend an hour in his presence without any words being exchanged other than the phrases of greeting
and parting. He was not visited for his conversation, but so that allegiances could be renewed, suspicions dispelled and oblivion
avoided.
Twelve people from the Samarkand delegation had obtained the privilege of shaking the hand which held the rudder of the empire.
Omar followed close behind the
qadi
Abu Taher who muttered a formula. Nizam nodded and kept his hand in the
qadi’s
for a few seconds, thereby honouring him. When it was Omar’s turn, the Vizir leant over to his ear and murmured:
‘On this day next year, be at Isfahan and we shall speak.’
Khayyam was not certain that he had heard correctly and he felt a little off-balance. The personage intimidated him, the ceremonies
impressed him, the chaos intoxicated him and the wails of the mourners were deafening him. He could no longer trust his senses.
He wanted some confirmation that he had heard correctly but he was already being swept along by the flow of people. The Vizir
was looking elsewhere and had started to nod his head in silence again.
On his way back, Khayyam could not stop mulling over the incident. Was he the only one to whom the Vizir had uttered those
words? Had he not confused him for someone else, and why was the meeting so distant, both in terms of time and space?
He decided to take the matter up with the
qadi
. Since he hadbeen just in front of him, he must have heard, felt, seen or guessed something. Abu Taher let him recount the scene, before
admitting mischievously:
‘I noticed that the Vizir whispered some words to you. I did not hear them, but I can assure you that he did not mistake you
for anyone else. Did you see all the people around him. Their job is to obtain information on the composition of each delegation
and to whisper him the name and position of those approaching him. They asked me your name, assured themselves that you were
the Khayyam of Nishapur, the intellectual and the astrologer. There was no confusion over your identity. Anyway, the only
confusion with Nizam al-Mulk is that which he deems fit to create.’
The way was flat and stony. To the right in the distance lay a line of high mountains, the foothills of Pamir. Khayyam and
Abu Taher rode along side by side with their mounts brushing against each other.
‘What can he want of me?’
‘In order to find out, you will have to wait a year. Until that time, I advise you not to bog yourself down in conjecture.
The wait is too long and you will exhaust yourself. Above all, do not mention this to a soul!’
‘Do I usually prattle?’
The tone was that of reproach, but the
qadi
did not allow himself to be flustered:
‘I wish to be clear: do not mention this to that woman!’
Omar should have suspected that Jahan’s repeated visits could not have gone unnoticed. Abu Taher continued:
‘At your first meeting the guards came to inform me. I concocted a complicated story to justify her visits. I ordered them
not to see her and forbade them to wake you up every morning. Have not the slightest doubt, that pavilion is your house, I
want you to know that today and tomorrow. However, I have to speak to you about that woman.’
Omar was embarrassed. He did not appreciate at all the way his friend said ‘that woman’ and he had no
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