Samarkand (16 page)

The truth is different. According to texts which have come down to us from Alamut, Hassan liked to call his disciples
Assassiyun
, meaning people who are faithful to the
Assass
, the ‘foundation’ of the faith. This is the word, misunderstood by foreign travellers, which seemed similar to hashish.

Hassan Sabbah indeed had a passion for plants and he had a miraculous knowledge of their curative, sedative or stimulative
characteristics. He himself grew all sorts of herbs and looked after his adepts when they were ill, knowing what potions to
prescribe for them to revive their constitution. Thus we know of one of his recipes which was intended to stimulate his disciples’
minds and render them more adept at their studies. It was a mixture of honey, pounded nuts and coriander and was considered
a very agreeable medicine. However, we must go by the evidence, in spite of the tenacity and allure of tradition: the Assassins
had no drug other than straightforward faith, which was constantly reinforced by the intense instruction, the most efficient
organization and the strictest apportionment of tasks.

At the top of the hierarchy sat Hassan, the Grand Master, the Supreme Preacher, the possessor of all the secrets. He was surrounded
by a handful of missionaries, the
da’is
amongst whom there
were three commissioners; one for eastern Persia, Khorassan and Kuhistan and Transoxania; one for western Persia and Iraq
and one Syria. Immediately under them were the companions, the
rafiks
, the cadres of the movement. After receiving adequate instruction, they were entitled to command a fortress and to lead the
organization at the city or province level. The brightest would one day be missionaries.

Lower down the hierarchy were the
lassek
, literally those who were attached to the organization. They were the rank and file believers, with no particular predisposition
to studies or violent action. They included many shepherds from the Alamut region and a number of women and old men.

Then came the
mujibs
, the ‘answerers’, who were in fact the novices. They received some preliminary teaching and then, according to their capability,
they were directed toward deeper studies in order to become companions, toward the body of the believers or toward the category
which symbolized in the eyes of the Muslims of the time the real power of Hassan Sabbah, the class of the
fida’is
, ‘those who sacrifice themselves’. The Grand Master chose them from among the disciples who had huge reserves of faith, skill
and endurance, but little aptitude for study. He never sent to his death a man who could become a missionary.

The training of a
fida’i
was a delicate task to which Hassan devoted himself with a passion. The
fida’i
would learn how to keep his dagger hidden, how to unsheathe it with stealth and plunge it into the victim’s heart, or into
his neck if he was wearing a coat of mail; how to handle homing pigeons, and memorize codes to be used for rapid and secret
communication with Alamut; sometimes the
fida’i
would have to learn a dialect or regional accent, or how to infiltrate a foreign environment and be part of it for weeks
or months, lulling all distrust while awaiting the most propitious moment to strike; he would learn how to stalk his prey
like a hunter, making a careful study of his behaviour, his clothing, his habits and at what time he went out and returned;
sometimes, when the victim was an exceptionally well-protected personage, he would have to find a means to be employed by
him, to get near to him and form a bond with some of his circle. It was told that in order to execute
one of their victims, two
fida’is
lived for two months in a Christian convent, passing themselves off as monks. Such a remarkable talent for disguise and dissimulation
could in no way have gone hand in hand with the use of hashish! Most importantly, the disciple had to acquire the necessary
faith to confront death and a faith in a paradise which the martyr would earn at the very moment when his life was taken from
him by the raging crowd.

No one could stand up to Hassan Sabbah. He had succeeded in building up the most feared killing machine in history. Nonetheless,
another arose, at the bloody turn-of-the-century – that of the Nizamiya, which out of loyalty to the assassinated Vizir, went
on to sow death with different methods which were perhaps more insidious, certainly less spectacular but whose effects were
to be no less devastating.

While the crowd was attacking the remains of the Assassin, five officers gathered around the still warm body of Nizam. They
were in tears and stretched out their right hands as they mouthed in unison: ‘Rest in peace, master. None of your enemies
will live!’

But where would they begin? The list of outlaws was long, but Nazam’s orders were clear. The five men almost had no need to
consult each other. They muttered a name and stretched out their hands anew. Then they kneeled down and together raised up
the body which had been emaciated by illness but was now weighed down by death, and carried it in a cortege to his quarters.
The women had already assembled to wail and the sight of the cadaver renewed their ululations, arousing the ire of one of
the officers: ‘Do not cry while he is still unavenged!’ The women were afraid and broke off their crying to look at the man
who was already making his way off. Then they started up their noisy lamentations again.

The Sultan arrived. He had been with Terken when the first cries reached him. A eunuch who had been sent out for the news
came back trembling. ‘It’s Nizam al-Mulk, master! A killer jumped on him. He has given you the rest of his life!’ The Sultan
and Sultana exchanged a glance and then Malikshah arose. He put on his long cloak of
karakul
, patted his face in front of his spouse’s mirror and
then ran off to see the deceased, feigning surprise and a state of the gravest affliction.

The women stepped aside to allow him to approach the body of his
ata
. He leant over, uttered a prayer and some appropriate phrases before returning to Terken for some discrete celebrations.

How curiously Malikshah behaved. One would have thought that he would have profited from his tutor’s disappearance to take
complete control over the affairs of his empire, but not so. He was so happy at finally being rid of the man who checked his
passions, that he frolicked – and there can be no other word for it. Every meeting was cancelled as a matter of course, as
was every reception for an ambassador and the Sultan’s days were given over to polo and hunting while his nights were spent
in bouts of drinking.

Yet more serious was the fact that upon his arrival in Baghdad he had sent a message to the Caliph, saying: ‘I intend to make
this city my winter capital. The Prince of Believers must decamp post haste and find another residence.’ The successor of
the Prophet, whose ancestors had been living in Baghdad for three and a half centuries, requested a month’s grace in order
to put his affairs in order.

Terken was worried by this frivolity which was little worthy of a thirty-seven-year-old sovereign who was master of half of
the world, but her Malikshah was what he was so she let him fool around and took the opportunity this gave her to establish
her own authority. It was to her that emirs and dignitaries had recourse and it was her trusted men who replaced Nizam’s acolytes.
Between trips and drunken binges the Sultan gave his agreement.

On 18 November 1092 Malikshah was in the north of Baghdad hunting wild ass in a woody and swampy area. Only one of his previous
twelve arrows had missed its target. His companions were singing his praises and none of them dreamed of matching his feats.
The trip had made him hungry – a feeling he expressed in oaths. The slaves set to it. There were a dozen of them brought along
to dismember, skewer and gut the wild beasts which were to be roasted in a clearing. The meatiest leg was for the sovereign
who took hold
of it and ripped it to pieces hungrily while treating himself liberally to some fermented liquor. From time to time he munched
on fruit preserved in vinegar which was his favourite dish and huge vessels of which were carried everywhere Malikshah went
by his cook so that he would never have to do without.

Suddenly he was beset with violent stomach cramps. Malikshah screamed in pain and his companions trembled. He threw down his
goblet and spat out what he had in his mouth. He was bent double, he threw up everything he had eaten, became delirious and
then fainted. Around him dozens of courtiers, soldiers and servants trembled as they watched him with disbelief. No one would
ever know whose hand slipped the poison into his liquor, or was it in the vinegar, or the game? Nonetheless everyone made
their calculations: thirty-five days had passed since Nizam’s death. He had said ‘less than forty’ and his avengers were on
time.

Terken Khatun was in the royal camp, an hour away from the scene of the drama. The Sultan was carried in to her inanimate
but still alive. She hurriedly sent away all onlookers, keeping by her only Jahan and two or three other trusted courtiers
as well as the court doctor who was holding Malikshah’s hand.

‘Might the master recover?’ the Chinese woman inquired.

‘His pulse is weakening. God has blown on the candle and it is flickering before going out. Our only hope is prayer.’

‘If such is the will of the Almighty, then listen to what I am going to say.’

This was not the tone of a widow-to-be, but of the mistress of an empire.

‘No one outside this yurt must know that the Sultan is no longer with us. Merely say that he is recovering slowly, that he
needs to rest and that no one may see him.’

What a fleeting and bloody epic was that of Terken Khatun. Even before Malikshah’s heart had ceased beating, she demanded
her handful of faithful courtiers to swear loyalty to Sultan Mahmoud, whose age was four years and a few months. Then she
sent a messenger to the Caliph to announce the death of her spouse and
to ask him to confirm her son’s succession; in exchange the Prince of Believers would no longer have cause for concern in
his capital and his name would be glorified in the sermons of mosques throughout the empire.

When the Sultan’s court set off again for Isfahan, Malikshah had been dead for some days but the Chinese woman continued to
keep the news from the troops. The cadaver was laid out on a large chariot pulled by six horses and covered by a tent. However,
the charade could not last indefinitely for a corpse which has not been embalmed can not linger amongst the living without
its decomposition betraying its presence. Terken chose to be rid of it and thus Malikshah, ‘the revered Sultan, the great
Shahinshah, the King of the Orient and the Occident, the Pillar of Islam and of the Muslims, the Pride of the World and of
the Religion, the Father of Conquests, the Steadfast Support of the Caliph of God’, was hastily interred by night at the side
of the road in a place which no one has ever been able to find. ‘Never,’ said the chroniclers, ‘has there been told of such
a powerful sovereign dying without anyone to pray or weep over his corpse.’

News of the Sultan’s disappearance finally got out, but Terken had no trouble justifying her actions: her first concern had
been to hide the news from the enemy since the army and the court were far from the capital. In fact the Chinese woman had
won the time she needed to place her son on the throne and to take up the reins of power herself.

The chronicles of the time make no mistake. When speaking of the imperial troops, they henceforth say ‘the armies of Terken
Khatun’. When speaking of Isfahan, they point out that it is Terken’s capital city. As for the name of the child-Sultan, it
would be as good as forgotten, and he would only be remembered as the ‘son of the Chinese woman’.

The officers of the Nizamiya were nevertheless opposed to the Sultana. Terken Khatun was second on their list of outlaws,
just after Malikshah, to whose eldest son, Barkiyaruk aged eleven, they gave their support. They surrounded him, advised him
and led him off to battle. The first skirmishes left them with the advantage and the Sultana had to fall back on Isfahan which
was soon under siege.
Terken, however, was not a woman to admit defeat and to defend herself she was willing to use tricks which would long be famous.

For example, to several provincial governors she wrote letters worded as follows: ‘I am a widow with the care of a minor who
needs a father to guide his steps and to steer the empire in his name. Who better than you could fill this role? Come as quickly
as possible at the head of your troops, lift the siege and you will enter Isfahan triumphant, I shall marry you and you will
wield complete power.’ The argument carried weight and emirs rushed from Azerbaijan as from Syria, and even though they did
not manage to break the siege on the capital they did provide long months of respite for the Sultana.

Terken also re-established contact with Hassan Sabbah. ‘Did I not promise you Nizam al-Mulk’s head? I offered it to you. Today
I am offering you Isfahan, the capital of the empire. I know that you have many men in this city. Why do they live in the
shadows? Tell them to show themselves and they will obtain gold and arms and will be able to preach in the open.’ In fact,
after so many years of persecution, hundreds of Ismailis revealed themselves. The number of conversions increased and in certain
quarters they formed armed militias on behalf of the Sultana.

However, Terken’s last ruse was probably the most ingenious and the most audacious: emirs from her entourage presented themselves
one day at the enemy camp, announcing to Barkiyaruk that they had decided to abandon the Sultana, that their troops were on
the verge of revolt and that, if he would agree to accompany them and infiltrate the city with them, they could give the signal
for an uprising: Terken and her son would be massacred, and Barkiyaruk would be able to establish himself firmly on the throne.
The year was 1094, the pretender was thirteen years old and the proposition took him in – to win control of the city in person
when his emirs had been besieging it for over a year! He jumped at the chance. The following night, he slipped out of his
camp unbeknown to his men, presented himself with Terken’s emissaries at the gate of Kahab, which opened for him as if by
magic. He walked in decisively, surrounded by an escort which was a little too jolly for his taste, but whose mood he ascribed
to the unmitigated success of his
exploit. If the men laughed too loud, he ordered them to calm down and they responded respectfully before bursting out laughing
even more.