laughed the plump master of the spies, "I would not care a whit what came to pass after I was laid among the lizards."
But he reported to Nizam that the six astronomers were ready, with their loins girded up and their wits whetted down to a sword's edge. Nizam thereupon arranged a little drama for the benefit of his lord the Sultan, the week before the autumn equinox—when Omar had told him they planned to begin observations.
That day Malikshah the Sultan was persuaded to visit the tower after his return from a gazelle hunt. By mid-afternoon the observatory looked like a pleasure pavilion, with carpets spread throughout the new garden and trays of sweetmeats and sherbet set out beneath the trees.
Thither came a deputation of professors from the academy, with Master Ali the Algebraist—all in court robes—and a group of silent mullahs from the mosque who kept apart from the others. Nizam welcomed these mullahs with all ceremony—and seated them nearest the silk-covered dais reserved for Malikshah, because they were members of the all-powerful religious Council and they brought with them no sympathy for scientific innovations. He whispered to Omar to be careful to stand behind them, and not to speak before them.
Omar had no desire to say anything. He felt like a spectator at another's party, and he was glad when the salutations ceased and all eyes turned toward a cavalcade of horsemen coming up the slope from the river.
Malikshah handed his hunting spear to a slave and dismounted at the gate before the anxious servants could spread a carpet for him. He was dusty and in high good humor after his long ride, but Omar thought that the young Sultan felt no real pleasure in meeting Nizam and the oldest of the mullahs. Malikshah's pale face was poised upon a corded neck; he moved with an animal's grace. He did not lift his hands or raise his voice when he spoke.
When Nizam led Omar forward to kneel before him, he looked intently at the young astronomer. "That is the man," he said in his low voice.
"The servant," Omar murmured the expected phrase, "of the Lord of the World."
"At a serai on the Khorasan road thou didst come to me, prophesying what was to be—although those about me had filled my ears with lying words. I have not forgotten. I will not forget. What wilt thou have, now, from my hand?"
For a moment the two contemplated each other—the warrior still isolated in his thoughts from the crowded world of Islam, still the child of the remote Kha Khan who had ruled an empire of cattle and men up there beyond the Roof of the World—and the scholar who still lived in his imagination. Malikshah was twenty years of age, Omar twenty-two.
"I ask to be taken into the service of the King."
"It is done." Malikshah smiled. "Now show me what thou hast made, here."
He was pleased with the lofty gnomon, and he studied the other instruments curiously. When the aged Mai'mun, rendered awkward by the throng and the presence of his king, tried to explain the great celestial globe, Malikshah turned to Omar and bade him explain. He liked the clear words of the young astronomer.
The chief of the mullahs, exasperated by the attention shown to the scientific instruments, came forward to assert his dignity.
"Give heed!" he cried. "It is written, 'Bend not in adoration to the sun or the moon, but bend in adoration before God who created them both, if ye would serve Him!'"
A murmur of assent from the mullahs greeted the words of the Koran.
"Also," said Omar at once, "it is written, 'Among his signs are the night and the day, and the sun and the moon. Unless the signs be made clear, how shall we receive them?' "
Malikshah said nothing. His grandsires, pagan Turks and barbaric, had been converted to Islam, and Malikshah was as devout as the fanatical Nizam. He took farewell ceremoniously of the oldest mullah, but he summoned Omar to his stirrup when he had mounted his horse.
"The Minister hath besought me," he remarked, "to grant thee
But he reported to Nizam that the six astronomers were ready, with their loins girded up and their wits whetted down to a sword's edge. Nizam thereupon arranged a little drama for the benefit of his lord the Sultan, the week before the autumn equinox—when Omar had told him they planned to begin observations.
That day Malikshah the Sultan was persuaded to visit the tower after his return from a gazelle hunt. By mid-afternoon the observatory looked like a pleasure pavilion, with carpets spread throughout the new garden and trays of sweetmeats and sherbet set out beneath the trees.
Thither came a deputation of professors from the academy, with Master Ali the Algebraist—all in court robes—and a group of silent mullahs from the mosque who kept apart from the others. Nizam welcomed these mullahs with all ceremony—and seated them nearest the silk-covered dais reserved for Malikshah, because they were members of the all-powerful religious Council and they brought with them no sympathy for scientific innovations. He whispered to Omar to be careful to stand behind them, and not to speak before them.
Omar had no desire to say anything. He felt like a spectator at another's party, and he was glad when the salutations ceased and all eyes turned toward a cavalcade of horsemen coming up the slope from the river.
Malikshah handed his hunting spear to a slave and dismounted at the gate before the anxious servants could spread a carpet for him. He was dusty and in high good humor after his long ride, but Omar thought that the young Sultan felt no real pleasure in meeting Nizam and the oldest of the mullahs. Malikshah's pale face was poised upon a corded neck; he moved with an animal's grace. He did not lift his hands or raise his voice when he spoke.
When Nizam led Omar forward to kneel before him, he looked intently at the young astronomer. "That is the man," he said in his low voice.
"The servant," Omar murmured the expected phrase, "of the Lord of the World."
"At a serai on the Khorasan road thou didst come to me, prophesying what was to be—although those about me had filled my ears with lying words. I have not forgotten. I will not forget. What wilt thou have, now, from my hand?"
For a moment the two contemplated each other—the warrior still isolated in his thoughts from the crowded world of Islam, still the child of the remote Kha Khan who had ruled an empire of cattle and men up there beyond the Roof of the World—and the scholar who still lived in his imagination. Malikshah was twenty years of age, Omar twenty-two.
"I ask to be taken into the service of the King."
"It is done." Malikshah smiled. "Now show me what thou hast made, here."
He was pleased with the lofty gnomon, and he studied the other instruments curiously. When the aged Mai'mun, rendered awkward by the throng and the presence of his king, tried to explain the great celestial globe, Malikshah turned to Omar and bade him explain. He liked the clear words of the young astronomer.
The chief of the mullahs, exasperated by the attention shown to the scientific instruments, came forward to assert his dignity.
"Give heed!" he cried. "It is written, 'Bend not in adoration to the sun or the moon, but bend in adoration before God who created them both, if ye would serve Him!'"
A murmur of assent from the mullahs greeted the words of the Koran.
"Also," said Omar at once, "it is written, 'Among his signs are the night and the day, and the sun and the moon. Unless the signs be made clear, how shall we receive them?' "
Malikshah said nothing. His grandsires, pagan Turks and barbaric, had been converted to Islam, and Malikshah was as devout as the fanatical Nizam. He took farewell ceremoniously of the oldest mullah, but he summoned Omar to his stirrup when he had mounted his horse.
"The Minister hath besought me," he remarked, "to grant thee
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