The servant had come in and placed some bowls on the carpet. Hassan started a prayer which he broke off when she left the room.
‘I spent two years in Cairo. There were several dozens of us at the missionary school, but only a handful of us were destined to be active outside Fatimid territory.’
He avoided giving out too many details. It is known however, from various sources, that courses were held in two different places: the principles of the faith were revealed by the ulema in the university of Al-Azhar, and missionary propaganda was taught within the Caliphal palace. It was the chief missionary himself, a high ranking official of the Fatimid court, who revealed to the students the methods of persuasion, the art of developing a line of argument and of addressing reason instead of aiming for the heart. It was also he who made them memorise the secret code they had to use in their communications. At the end of every session, the students came to kneel before the chief missionary who passed over their heads a document bearing the signature of the Imam. Then another, shorter, session would be held for the women.
‘In Egypt I received all the instruction I needed.’
‘Did you not tell me, one day, that you already knew everything at the age of seventeen?’ Khayyam said mockingly.
‘By the age of seventeen I had accumulated information, then I learnt how to believe. In Cairo I learnt how to convert.’
‘What do you say to those whom you are trying to convert?’
‘I tell them that faith is nothing without a master to teach it. When we proclaim: “There is no God but God,” we immediately add “And Mohammed is his Messenger.” Why? Because it would make no sense to state that there is only one God if we do not quote the source, that is to say the name of the man who brought us this truth. But this man, this Messenger, this Prophet, has been dead a long time and how can we know that he existed and that he spoke as was reported. I, who like you have read Plato and Aristotle, need proof.’
‘What sort of proof? Can one find proof for those things?’
‘For you Sunnites there is effectively no proof. You think that Mohammed died without appointing an heir, that he just left the Muslims to their own devices to be governed by the strongest and wiliest. That is absurd. We think that the Messenger of God named a successor as a depository for his secrets: the Imam Ali, his son-in-law, his cousin and almost his brother. In his turn, Ali designated a successor. The line of legitimate Imams was thus perpetuated, and through them, the proof of the message of Mohammed and of the existence of a single God was passed down.’
‘I cannot see, in what you say, how you differ from other Shiites.’
‘The difference between my faith and that of my parents is great. They always taught me that we must submit patiently to the power of our enemies while waiting for the hidden Imam to return and establish the rule of justice on earth and reward the true believers. My own conviction is that we must act immediately to prepare by any means for the advent of our Imam in this country. I am the Precursor, he who will smooth the way in preparation for the Mahdi. You surely are aware that the Prophet spoke of me?’
‘Of you, Hassan son of Ali Sabbah, native of Qom?’
‘Did he not say: ‘A man will come from Qom. He will call upon the people to follow the straight path. Men will gather around him, like spearheads. Tempestuous winds will not be able to scatter them, nor will they tire of war or become weakened but they will rely upon God.”’
‘I do not know that quote even though I have read the certified collections of tradition.’
‘You have read the collections which you want. The Shiites have other collections.’
‘And they speak of you?’
‘Soon you will have no doubt about it.’
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 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: