Malikshah was still hesitant about taking this step when something happened to push him into it. Nizam had named his own grandson governor of the city of Merv. This conceited adolescent held too much store by his grandfather’s omnipotence, and had gone so far as to insult an old Turkish emir in public. The emir then came in tears to complain to Malikshah, who beside himself with rage had the following letter written to Nizam there and then: ‘If you are my aide, you must obey me and forbid your relatives to malign my men; if you deem yourself my equal, my associate in power, I will make the necessary decisions.’
Nizam sent back his response to the message, which had been conveyed by a delegation of the empire’s high dignitaries: Tell the Sultan, if he was not aware of it until now, that I am indeed his associate and that without me he would never have been able to build up his power! Has he forgotten that it was I who took charge of his affairs upon his father’s death, that it was I who eliminated the other aspirants and crushed all rebels? That it is thanks to me that he is obeyed and respected to the ends of the earth? Yes, go and tell him that the fate of his head is tied to that of my inkwell!’
The emissaries were dumbfounded. How could a man as wise as Nizam al-Mulk address the Sultan with words which would cause his downfall, and without doubt his death? Could his arrogance have gone over into madness?
That day, only one man knew with precision how to explain such determination and that was Khayyam. For weeks Nizam had been complaining to him of dreadful pains which had been keeping him awake at night and preventing him from concentrating on his work by day. After examining him, probing his body with his fingers and questioning him, Omar diagnosed a phlegmonic tumour which would not leave him long to live.
It was a truly unpleasant night when Khayyam had to announce to his friend his true condition.
‘How much time do I have left to live?’
‘A few months.’
‘Will I go on suffering?’
‘I could prescribe you opium to reduce the suffering, but you will feel constantly dizzy and unable to work any more.’
‘Will I not be able to write?’
‘Nor hold a long conversation.’
‘Then I prefer to suffer.’
Between one retort and the next there were long moments of silence and suffering contained with dignity.
‘Are you afraid of the hereafter, Khayyam?’
‘Why should one be afraid? After death there is either nothing or forgiveness.’
‘And the evil that I have wrought?’
‘However great your faults, God’s mercy is greater.’
Nizam seemed somewhat reassured.
‘I have also done good. I have built mosques and schools and have fought against heresy.’
As Khayyam did not contradict him, he went on:
‘Will I be remembered in a hundred years’ time, in a thousand years’?’
‘There is no knowing.’
Nizam stared at him hard with distrust, and then continued:
‘Was it not you who said one day: “Life is like a fire. Flames which the passer-by forgets. Ashes which the wind scatters. A man lived.” Do you think that will be the fate of Nizam al-Mulk?’
He gasped for breath. Omar had still not said anything.
‘Your friend Hassan Sabbah has gone throughout the country broadcasting that I am no more than a vile servant of the Turks. Do you think that is what they will say about me tomorrow, that they will make me into the scourge of the Aryans? Will they have forgotten that I was the only person to have stood up to sultans for thirty years and to have imposed my will upon them? What else could I do after their armies’ victory? But you are not saying anything.’
He had a vacant look about him.
‘Seventy-four years. Seventy-four years which have passed before my eyes. So much deceit, so many regrets and so many things I would have experienced differently!’
His eyes were half-closed, his lips contorted:
‘Woe betide you, Khayyam! You are to blame for Hassan Sabbah being able to perpetrate his misdeeds.’
Omar had wanted to reply: ‘How much you and Hassan have in common! If you are seduced by a cause such as building an empire or preparing for the reign of the Imam, you do not think twice about killing in order to make your scheme triumph. In my opinion, any cause which involves killing no longer attracts me. It becomes unattractive to me, it becomes sordid and debased, no matter how beautiful it may have been. No cause can be just when it allies itself to death.’ He wanted to shout it out, but he got the better of himself and remained silent. He had decided to allow his friend to slide peacefully toward his fate.
In spite of this trying night, Nizam ended up by resigning himself to his fate. He became used to the idea of not existing any more. However, from one day to the next he turned aside from affairs of state and determined that he ought to devote what time remained to him to completing a book, Siyasset-Nameh, the Treatise of Government. This was a remarkable work, the Muslim world’s equivalent of Machiavelli’s The Prince, which was to appear in the West four centuries later with one crucial difference. The Prince is the work of a man disappointed by politics and thwarted from having any power while the Siyasset-Nameh is the fruit of the irreplaceable experience of an empire builder.
Thus, at the very moment when Hassan Sabbah had just conquered the unassailable sanctuary of which he had long dreamt, the empire’s strongman was concerned only with his own place in History. He preferred words of truth over pleasantries and was prepared to defy the Sultan to the very end. It could be said that he wanted a spectacular death, a death that befitted him.
He was to obtain it.
When Malikshah received the delegation which had come from meeting Nizam, he could not believe what he was told.
‘Did he really say that he was my associate, my equal?’
When the emissaries dolefully confirmed this, the Sultan let his anger come pouring out. He spoke of having his tutor impaled, dismembered alive or crucified on the battlements of the citadel. Then he rushed off to announce to Terken Khatun that he had finally decided to discharge Nizam al-Mulk from all his duties and that he wished to see his death. It only remained to work out how he could be executed without provoking any reaction from the numerous regiments who were still loyal to him. However, Terken and Jahan had their own idea: since Hassan also wanted to see Nizam’s death, why not facilitate the matter for him, while leaving Malikshah free from suspicion?’
An army corps was thus sent out to Alamut, under the command of a man loyal to the Sultan. The ostensible objective was to lay siege to the Ismailis’ fortress but in reality it was a smoke-screen so that negotiations could take place without rousing suspicions and the course of events was planned down to the very details. The Sultan would lure Nizam to Nahavand, a city equidistant from Isfahan and Alamut. Once there, the Assassins would take over.
Texts from the time report that Hassan Sabbah gathered his men together and addressed them as follows: ‘Which man amongst you will rid this country of the evil Nizam al-Mulk?’ A man named Arrani placed his hand on his chest as a sign of acceptance, the master of Alamut charged him with the mission and added: ‘The murder of this demon is the gateway to happiness.’
During this period Nizam stayed shut up in his residence. Those who had previously visited his diwan had deserted him upon learning of his disgrace, and only Khayyam and officers of the nizamiya guard frequented his residence. He spent most of his time at his desk. He scribbled away furiously and sometimes asked Omar to read it over.