Yet again the qadi easily fell into the role of conciliator. He avoided contradicting Nasr, profiting of the slightest glimmer of an improvement of his humour to buoy up his spirits. He waited until the difficult moments were over, and when the sovereign returned to his throne and Abu Taher had seen him finally settle himself firmly against a soft cushion, he undertook a subtle and imperceptible resumption of control which Omar watched with relief. Upon a sign from the qadi the chamberlain summoned a young slave-girl to pick up the robes which were abandoned on the ground like corpses after a battle. Instantly, the atmosphere became less stifling, people discreetly stretched their limbs and some chanced to whisper a few words into the nearest ear.
Then, striding towards the space in the centre of the room, the qadi positioned himself in front of the monarch, lowered his head and said nothing. The manoeuvre was so well-executed that after a long silence, when Nasr finally declared, with a strength tinged with fatigue, ‘Go and tell all the ulema of this city to come at dawn to prostrate themselves at my feet. The head which is not bowed will be cut off. Let no one attempt to flee, for no land can give shelter from my anger,’ everyone understood that the storm had passed and that a resolution was in sight. The clerics had only to make amends and the monarch would forego taking harsh measures.
The next day, when Omar again accompanied the qadi to the court, the atmosphere was hardly recognizable. Nasr was on his throne, a type of raised platform covered with a dark carpet, next to which a slave was holding up a plate of crystallized rose petals. The sovereign would choose one, place it on his tongue, let it melt against his palate, before nonchalantly holding his hand out to another slave who sprinkled perfumed water on his fingers and wiped them attentively. The ritual was repeated twenty or thirty times, while the delegations filed past. They represented the districts of the city, notably Asfizar, Panjkhin, Zagrimach, Maturid, the bazaar corporations, the trade guilds of coppersmiths, papermakers, silkworm breeders and water-carriers, as well as the protected communities: Jews, Parsees and Nestorian Christians.
They all began by kissing the ground. They then raised themselves up, and made another bow which they held until the monarch signalled them to rise. Their spokesman uttered a few phrases and they went out backwards, it actually being forbidden to turn one’s back to the sovereign before leaving the room. A curious practice. Was it introduced by a monarch over-keen on respect, or by a particularly distrustful visitor?
Then the religious dignitaries came, awaited with curiosity but also with apprehension. There were more than a score of them. Abu Taher had had no difficulty convincing them to come. Since they had shown their feelings to ample extent, to persevere in that path would be to ask for martyrdom which none of them desired.
Now they too presented themselves in front of the throne, each bending as low as his age and joints would allow him, awaiting the sign from the prince to rise. But the sign did not come. Ten minutes went by and even the youngest of them could not remain in such an uncomfortable pose indefinitely. What could they do? To rise without having been authorised would be to expose themselves to condemnation by the monarch. One after another they fell on their knees, a pose which was just as respectful but less exhausting. Only when the last kneecap had touched the ground did the sovereign make the sign that they might get up and leave with no further ado. No one was surprised by the turn of events. That was the price to pay. Such is the order of affairs of the kingdom.
Turkish officers and groups of notables then approached, as well as some dihkans, headmen from neighbouring villages. According to his rank, each kissed the foot or shoulder of the sovereign. Then a poet came forward to recite a pompous eulogy to the glory of the monarch who very quickly looked ostensibly bored. With a gesture he interrupted the poet, made a sign to the chamberlain to lean over and gave the order which he was to transmit. ‘Our master wishes the poets assembled here to know that he is tired of hearing the same themes repeated, he wishes to be compared neither to a lion nor an eagle, and even less to the sun. Let those who have nothing else to say depart.’
CHAPTER 5
The chamberlain’s words were followed by murmurs, clucking and a general din from the twenty-odd poets who had been awaiting their turn. Some of them even took two steps backward before quietly slipping away. Only a woman stepped out of the ranks and approached with a steady tread. Quizzed by Omar’s glance, the qadi whispered, ‘A poetess from Bukhara. She has herself called Jahan, meaning the vast world. She is a fickle young widow.’
His tone was that of rebuke, but Omar’s interest was only heightened and he could not turn his gaze away. Jahan had already raised the bottom of her veil, revealing lips without make-up. She recited a pleasantly worked poem in which, strangely, the Khan’s name was not mentioned one single time. Praise was given to the River Soghd which dispenses its bounty to Samarkand and then to Bukhara before losing itself in the desert since there is no sea worthy of receiving its waters.
‘You have spoken well. Let your mouth be filled with gold,’ said Nasr, pronouncing his usual phrase.
The poetess lent over a huge platter of golden dinars and started putting the coins into her mouth one by one as the audience counted them aloud. When Jahan hiccupped and almost choked, the whole court, with the monarch at the fore, let out a laugh. The chamberlain signalled to the poetess to return to her place. They had counted forty-six dinars.
Khayyam alone did not laugh. With his eyes fixed on Jahan, he tried to work out what emotion he felt toward her. Her poetry was so pure, her eloquence so dignified, her gait so courageous, but here she was stuffing her mouth with yellow metal and being subjected to this humiliating reward. Before pulling her veil back down, she lifted it a little more and cast a glance which Omar noticed, inhaled and tried to hold on to. It was a moment too fleet to be detected by the crowd but an eternity for the lover. Time has two faces, Khayyam said to himself. It has two dimensions, its length is measured by the rhythm of the sun but its depth by the rhythm of passion.
This sublime moment between them was interrupted by the qadi tapping Khayyam’s arm and bringing him back to himself. Too late, the woman had gone. There were only veils left.
Abu Taher wanted to present his friend to the Khan. He uttered the formula, ‘Your august roof today shelters the greatest intellect of Khorassan, Omar Khayyam, for whom the plants hold no secrets and the stars no mystery.’
It was not serendipity that made the qadi note medicine and astrology out of all the disciplines in which Omar excelled, as they were always in favour with princes; the former to try and preserve their health and life, and the latter to preserve their fortune.
The prince’s expression cheered up and he said that he was honoured. However, not being in a mood to engage in intellectual conversation and apparently mistaking the visitor’s intentions, he chose to reiterate his favourite formula, ‘Let his mouth be filled with gold!’
Omar was taken aback and suppressed a retch. Abu Taher noticed this and was worried.
Fearing lest a refusal offend the sovereign, he gave his friend an insistent and serious look and pushed him forward by the shoulder but to no avail. Khayyam had already made his decision.