truce between the two dynasties which had been sealed by matrimonial alliances: Malikshah the oldest son of the Sultan had
obtained the hand of Terken Khatun, sister of Nasr Khan; the Khan himself had married the daughter of Alp Arslan.
However, no one was fooled by these arrangements. Ever since he had learnt of his brother-in-law’s victory over the Christians,
the master of Samarkand had been fearing the worst for his city. He was not wrong and events started to move apace.
Two hundred thousand Seljuk cavalrymen were preparing to cross ‘the river’, which at that time was named the Jayhun, which
the ancients had called the Oxus and which was later to become the Amu Darya. It took twenty days until the last soldier had
crossed it on a tottery pontoon bridge.
The throne room at Samarkand was often full, but as quiet as the house of a deceased person. The Khan himself seemed subdued
by the ordeal and had neither fits of temper nor outbursts of shouting. His courtiers seemed overwhelmed. His haughtiness
reassured them even if they were victim to it. His calmness unsettled them and they felt that he had resigned himself to his
fate. They judged him to be a defeated man and gave thought to their own safety. Should they flee now, wait around or pray?
Twice a day the Khan would arise followed by his retinue and would go off to inspect a mulberry patch or be acclaimed by his
soldiers or the populace. During one of these rounds some young townspeople attempted to approach the monarch. Held at a distance
by the guards, they yelled out that they were ready to fight alongside the soldiers and to die in defence of the city, the
Khan and the dynasty. Far from rejoicing at their initiative, the sovereign was irritated, broke off his visit to retrace
his steps and ordered the soldiers to disperse them roughly.
When he was back in the palace, he addressed his soldiers:
‘When my grandfather, may God preserve in us the memory of his wisdom, wished to capture the city of Balkh, the inhabitants
took up arms in the absence of their sovereign and killed a large number of our soldiers, forcing our army to retreat. My
grandfather then wrote a letter to Mahmoud, the master of Balkh, in which he rebuked him: ‘I most ardently desire our troops
to clash, may God grant victory to whom he wishes, but where will we end up if the common people start meddling in our quarrels?’
Mahmoud sided with him and punished his subjects, forbidding them to carry arms. He fined them great amounts of gold to make
up for the destruction the clashes had caused. What was true for the people of Balkh was even more so for those of Samarkand
who are by nature rebellious.I would rather betake myself to Alp Arslan alone and unarmed than owe my safety to the citizenry.’
The officers all fell in with his view. They promised to repress any popular zeal, renewed their oaths of allegiance and swore
to fight like wounded wildcats. These were not just words. The Transoxanian troops were no less brave than those of the Seljuks.
Alp Arslan had only the advantage of numbers and age. Not his age, that is, but that of his dynasty. He belonged to the second
generation which was still animated by the ambition of empire-builders. Nasr was the fifth of his line and much more desirous
of enjoying his acquisitions than of expansion.
During this whole period of agitation, Khayyam wanted to stay well away from the city. Naturally he could not refrain from
putting in a brief appearance at court or at the
qadi’s
palace from time to time without seeming to desert them in their ordeal. However, most often he would stay shut up in his
belvedere, immersed in his works or in his secret book whose pages he was furiously blackening as if the war only existed
in the detached wisdom which was inspired in him.
Only Jahan brought him back to the reality of the drama happening around them. Every evening she would bring him the latest
news
obtained the hand of Terken Khatun, sister of Nasr Khan; the Khan himself had married the daughter of Alp Arslan.
However, no one was fooled by these arrangements. Ever since he had learnt of his brother-in-law’s victory over the Christians,
the master of Samarkand had been fearing the worst for his city. He was not wrong and events started to move apace.
Two hundred thousand Seljuk cavalrymen were preparing to cross ‘the river’, which at that time was named the Jayhun, which
the ancients had called the Oxus and which was later to become the Amu Darya. It took twenty days until the last soldier had
crossed it on a tottery pontoon bridge.
The throne room at Samarkand was often full, but as quiet as the house of a deceased person. The Khan himself seemed subdued
by the ordeal and had neither fits of temper nor outbursts of shouting. His courtiers seemed overwhelmed. His haughtiness
reassured them even if they were victim to it. His calmness unsettled them and they felt that he had resigned himself to his
fate. They judged him to be a defeated man and gave thought to their own safety. Should they flee now, wait around or pray?
Twice a day the Khan would arise followed by his retinue and would go off to inspect a mulberry patch or be acclaimed by his
soldiers or the populace. During one of these rounds some young townspeople attempted to approach the monarch. Held at a distance
by the guards, they yelled out that they were ready to fight alongside the soldiers and to die in defence of the city, the
Khan and the dynasty. Far from rejoicing at their initiative, the sovereign was irritated, broke off his visit to retrace
his steps and ordered the soldiers to disperse them roughly.
When he was back in the palace, he addressed his soldiers:
‘When my grandfather, may God preserve in us the memory of his wisdom, wished to capture the city of Balkh, the inhabitants
took up arms in the absence of their sovereign and killed a large number of our soldiers, forcing our army to retreat. My
grandfather then wrote a letter to Mahmoud, the master of Balkh, in which he rebuked him: ‘I most ardently desire our troops
to clash, may God grant victory to whom he wishes, but where will we end up if the common people start meddling in our quarrels?’
Mahmoud sided with him and punished his subjects, forbidding them to carry arms. He fined them great amounts of gold to make
up for the destruction the clashes had caused. What was true for the people of Balkh was even more so for those of Samarkand
who are by nature rebellious.I would rather betake myself to Alp Arslan alone and unarmed than owe my safety to the citizenry.’
The officers all fell in with his view. They promised to repress any popular zeal, renewed their oaths of allegiance and swore
to fight like wounded wildcats. These were not just words. The Transoxanian troops were no less brave than those of the Seljuks.
Alp Arslan had only the advantage of numbers and age. Not his age, that is, but that of his dynasty. He belonged to the second
generation which was still animated by the ambition of empire-builders. Nasr was the fifth of his line and much more desirous
of enjoying his acquisitions than of expansion.
During this whole period of agitation, Khayyam wanted to stay well away from the city. Naturally he could not refrain from
putting in a brief appearance at court or at the
qadi’s
palace from time to time without seeming to desert them in their ordeal. However, most often he would stay shut up in his
belvedere, immersed in his works or in his secret book whose pages he was furiously blackening as if the war only existed
in the detached wisdom which was inspired in him.
Only Jahan brought him back to the reality of the drama happening around them. Every evening she would bring him the latest
news
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