recognise it, but he thought he could
identify a certain Turkish dialect. However, the voice was low and the speech was rapid with only a few words emerging like
rocks in a flood. The gist of the discourse escaped him and he wanted to interrupt her and ask her to speak in Persian or
Arabic, or just more slowly, but it was not so easy to address a woman through a curtain. Suddenly another voice took over:
‘My mistress, Terken Khatun, the wife of the Sultan, thanks you for having come to this meeting.’
This time the language was Persian, and the voice was one that Khayyam would recognize in a bazaar on the Day of Judgement.
He was going to shout, but his shout quickly turned into a happy but plaintive murmur:
‘Jahan!’
She pulled aside the edge of the curtain, raised her veil and smiled, but with a gesture prevented him from drawing close
to her.
‘The Sultana,’ she said, ‘is worried about the struggle unfoldingwithin the
diwan
. Disquiet is spreading and blood is going to be spilled. The Sultan himself is very concerned about this and has become irritable.
The harem resounds with his bursts of anger. This situation cannot last. The Sultana knows that you are attempting to do the
impossible and reconcile the two protagonists, and she desires to see you succeed, but such success seems distant.’
Khayyam concurred with a resigned nod of his head. Jahan continued:
‘Things having come so far, Terken Khatun considers that it would be preferable to dismiss the two adversaries and to confer
the vizirate upon a decent man who can calm spirits down. Her spouse, our master, is surrounded, according to her, with schemers,
but he just needs a wise man who is devoid of base ambition, a man of sound judgement and excellent counsel. As the Sultan
holds you in high esteem, she would like to suggest to him that he name you Grand Vizir. Your nomination would relieve the
whole court. Nevertheless, before putting forward such a suggestion, she would like to be assured of your agreement.’
Omar took some time to digest what was being asked of him, but he called out:
‘By God, Jahan! Are you after my downfall? Can you see me commanding the armies of the empire, decapitating people or quelling
a slave revolt? Leave me to my stars!’
‘Listen to me, Omar. I know that you have no desire to conduct affairs of state, your role will be simply to be there! The
decisions will be taken and carried out by others!’
‘In other words, you will be the real Vizir, and your mistress the real Sultan. Isn’t that what you are after?’
‘And how would that upset you? You would have the honours with none of the worries. What better could you wish for?’
Terken Khatun intervened to qualify her proposal. Jahan translated:
‘My mistress says it is because men like you turn away from politics that we are so badly governed. She considers you to have
all the qualities of an excellent vizir.’
‘Tell her that the qualities needed to govern are not those which are needed in order to accede to power. In order to run
thingssmoothly, one must forget oneself and only be interested in others – particularly the most unfortunate; to get into power,
one must be the greediest of men, think only of oneself and be ready to crush one’s closest friends. I, however, will not
crush anyone!’
For the moment, the two women’s projects were at a standstill. Omar refused to bend to their demands. Anyway, it would have
served no use as the confrontation between Nizam and Hassan had become unavoidable.
That same day, the audience hall was a peaceful arena, and the fifteen people there were content to watch in silence. Malikshah
himself, usually so exuberant, was conversing in hushed tones with his chamberlain while idiosyncratically twiddling with
the ends of his moustache. From time to time he shot a glance at the two gladiators. Hassan was standing up, wearing a creased
black robe and a black turban and
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