Omar Khayyam - a life (22 page)

"Hast thou ever before beheld a miracle?" Hassan whispered to Omar. "Then watch."

Stooping above the youths he laid his hands on the bowed shoulders. They looked up, startled, into the face of their lord. Their eyes fastened upon his.

Then his voice rang out:

"Lo, your time hath come, and paradise awaits you. I release you. Leap!"

The last word was like the snap of a whip. Three slender figures quivered and jumped to the parapet. Omar saw one face transfigured with eagerness, and one distorted with a growing horror.

Two of the Fidais vanished over the parapet. The third swayed, his eyes closed.

"Thou also," Hassan urged, almost gently.

The third sentry fell rather than leaped into space. Clutching the parapet, Omar watched his dwindling figure spinning after the others—three white balls of fluttering cloth that bounced from the sloping cliff to vanish into the trees hundreds of feet below.

'"You see," Hassan said, his eyes bright, "what obedience is given me. Is even Malikshah obeyed thus?"

"I saw three lives cast away for nothing."

"Nay, for a proof. What are three lives worth in themselves? Before this sun, that is sinking now, rises again, a thousand human maggots will have crawled into oblivion and another thousand will be spawned upon his dunghill that is our world."

With his foot Hassan thrust the discarded spears against the parapet. "Now thou hast seen a little, only a little, of my power. Wilt thou be my companion, and take thy place among the Da'is? Thy work will be in astronomy and mathematics as it is now."

"Here, in Alamut?"

"Nay, in the world. As thou wert before. Ask for what thou wilt—for the girl Zoë, or the Alexandrine books. I promise thee—and my promises do not fail—that the wealth and honor thou hast now is a small matter beside what will come to thee at my hand."

Omar looked down into the darkening valley. "And if I will not?"

"I cannot now send thee back to Nisapur. Until certain events have transpired, thou wilt abide here as thou art. Afterward, if it be thy wish thou mayest depart."

For a moment Omar was silent. "Give me a week," he stipulated, "to make the decision."

"Certainly," Hassan seemed relieved. "At the end of the week I shall await thine answer. Until then, my slaves within the walls are thine to command."

Within his chamber, Omar sighed with relief. It was good to be alone for the first time, and he had learned some surprising things. He was filled with admiration for Hassan's genius, and he wondered how the leader of the new order had found the wealth needed to sustain his following. Hassan had mentioned some articles of trade, and of course Akroenos could draw a profit from a camel dying of the mange; but Hassan must have some other source of wealth that he had not chosen to explain.

A remark of Ghazali, the mystic, flashed through his mind: "Any shrine is better than self worship."2

If human beings were in reality no more than intelligent animals, then Hassan's new order was logically the best that could be expected—a hierarchy of scientific minds directed by a single leader of unquenchable purpose.

"After all," Omar reflected, "Plato's republic would have been a stupid place. A lot of schoolmasters arguing about happiness."

It would not be so bad, to live in Alamut with such a companion as Zoë, in a place that was like an observatory,of all the world. He would not have to dispute with Nizam or Ghazali or his own conscience. And that would be a relief. But he discovered that he did not wish to be the servant of a man like Hassan.

If he served Hassan, he could not get his own work done. And he had barely begun to test his theory, that the earth revolved through space instead of remaining motionless in the center of the universe.

"I do not think Hassan would release me, in any case," he mused. "No, he would not dare, after what I have seen. I would be kept here, a prisoner. That is certain. So I will have to escape, before the week is ended."

After making his decision, he thought regretfully of Zoë's loveliness.

Omar's first concern was with the unknown drug. This strange distortion of his senses and the following visions came not from wine alone—he knew the effects of wine too well, to think that. The thing that tampered with his brain was stronger; it came in the smoke of braziers, and in the cups he drank. He wanted to be rid of it, because he had need of all his faculties.*

It was simple enough to pretend to fall into a rage and command the little black slave never to put a brazier within his room again. But he suspected that if he refused the spiced wine brought to his room the drug would be administered in some other way. The unseen watchers must believe that he was taking the drug daily.

So he protested that the goblets brought to his room at noon and at night were not sufficient; he would like a jar of the precious liquid always beside him. A great jar was brought him—Hassan must have wished that during this week he should partake freely of the drug—and one cup of it convinced Omar that it had the same stupefying effect as the draughts given him at first.

"And now," he assured the jar, "every night the valley shall drink of thee."

When it became dark, while the black slave was out of the room, Omar filled the bowl from the jar and poured the drugged wine out the embrasure without tasting it. But he found, when he tried to sleep, that he craved his accustomed draught.

It was hard to lie there athirst and smell the fragrance of the jar beside him. Once he got up and went to it, only to throw himself back on his sleeping quilt, his limbs quivering with the effort.

The next night, although he felt the same desire, he made no motion to touch the jar, and by the fourth night he was sleeping normally without thought of it, except to wonder anew at its power over a human body.

Meanwhile under pretense of making observations of the sky, he had examined the wall of Alamut along the circuit of its ramparts, without finding any point where it would be possible to climb down. In stories he had read often enough of gifted captives who wove ropes of women's hair or shredded blankets and slid over such walls, but it seemed to him that it was easier to tell such tales than to act them.

Several times he ventured down into the subterranean passages only to be turned back by the armed guards at the door of the fire temple. These guards had nothing to say, because they were mutes. And he satisfied himself that no weapons were kept within the castle—only the giant negroes and the Fidais who manned the walls and gates went armed, and they took their weapons away with them when relieved.

He could not make his way to the quarters of the Fidais. And as for winning over one of the guards, he might as well have entered into conversation with tigers. Besides, they were always posted in groups of three or seven.

"The logic of it is," he mused, "that if I can't go over or under the walls I must go through them. And the only way through is by one of the gates."

The great entrance gate was closed at night. A lantern glowed above it and seven Fidais sat there on watch. Only once did Omar see a man go out at night, by the small postern across the courtyard. This man was a tall Da'i and he showed a writing to the three guards, who unlocked the postern for him.

When Omar left his chamber after nightfall, he knew that watchers in the corridor followed him. Escape by night was impossible.

"Then it must be by day, and from the main gate," he assured himself. (The postern was locked shut from sunrise to sunset.)

After that Omar took to dozing on a roof pavilion from which he could watch the gate most of the day. He saw nothing that offered the slightest encouragement. No horses, and no men from outside were allowed within the gate; when villagers brought up stores they left them there for the Fidais to carry in. At times armed groups of Fidais emerged from underground and passed out the gate. In the same way others came in. More seldom a Da'i or two would enter or leave—they were always being sent on missions from Alamut, and returning to report. Hassan did not appear at all.

Yet the master of Alamut passed through the gate daily, unnoticed. Omar would never have suspected him, if he had not been scrutinizing every passerby.

For three days, a little after noon when the glare and the heat were greatest, he observed that the same tall Da'i who had left the postern the first night went out the main gate alone. After a half hour he returned and crossed the courtyard to disappear within the castle. This regularity stirred Omar's interest—as well as a certain familiarity in his walk. When Omar saw his hand lifted to open the inner door, he recognized Hassan in the dress of a Da'i. Hassan kept his eyes lowered and his hands—except for that one moment—in his sleeves, and his face had become that of a Chinese. Even the stoop of his shoulders and his knot of shining black hair proclaimed him Chinese. But he could not alter his hand, and he had not troubled to alter his walk, and Omar had a flawless memory for such things.

"But why does he disguise himself to leave his own gate?" he wondered. "And why does he go forth at the same hour?"

The answers occurred to him at once. The Rafiks had related that the master of the mountain came and went unseen. Evidently Hassan liked to impress his followers with his magical powers. Then Hassan himself had let slip the fact that his messenger pigeons were kept at the village—since he did not wish the men of Alamut to know how he received and sent messages. So he left secretly every afternoon to visit the pigeon-cote in the village.

To the Fidais and laymen outside he appeared to be one of the Da'is, while to the Da'is—Omar smiled as he glanced around. At this hour they were asleep or at work in the lower regions. If they happened to catch a glimpse of Hassan they probably took him for some new member from the outer world.

Omar who had drawn charts of half-seen stars could deduce another fact from Hassan's proceeding. The Fidais could not know all the Da'is, by face and voice.

"The chance of escape," he concluded, "is through the gate in the dress of a Da'i, in Hassan's footsteps."

After noon the next day he set about getting such a dress. Rukn ud Din had asked him more than once about the wine of paradise, and Omar remembered how eagerly Rukn ud Din had grasped a bowl of the drugged wine during the sword dance—and how Hassan had said that the scientists were not permitted the delights of paradise. He asked Rukn ud Din to come to his chamber, and he closed the door carefully upon them.

He did not need to pretend eagerness as he poured wine from the new jar into the bowl. Raising it to his lips, he smiled at the little philosopher.

"The wine of paradise!"

Rukn ud Din came hastily to the jar, his eyes intent.

"Is——is it the same?"

Omar held out the bowl to him. "Try, if it be not the same."

With a glance at the door Rukn ud Din sipped of it and sighed with almost painful relief. In a moment the bowl was empty, and color had come into his plump cheeks. Reluctantly, he surrendered the bowl.

"There is more, if it pleases thee," Omar observed carelessly.

By the time the third bowl was half empty, the little man lay stretched on the quilt, his eyes half closed. And he talked without ceasing, his words beginning to wander. Omar, sitting by him, asked quietly, as if they had been discussing it for some time:

"The gold Hassan hath, and the power, whence cometh it?"

"By fear. By fear of the dagger that strikes, and the dagger that strikes not. He hath taught us that men fear the unknown more than the known. Likewise, he hath the secret——"

Rukn ud Din raised himself to his elbow, and seeing the bowl, seized it and emptied it. "Allah be praised!" he muttered and sank into stupefied sleep, breathing heavily.

In a few minutes Omar had discarded his own outer garments, and had clad himself in the red satin khalat, the low felt boots and the square velvet cap pulled from Rukn ud Din's unconscious form. The coat was somewhat small, but the loose sleeves and the wide skirts looked well enough.

A glance from the embrasure showed Omar that it was not yet midafternoon. Probably Hassan had returned from the village.

Throwing the voluminous khalats of the erstwhile Bokharan horse dealer over Rukn ud Din, for the benefit of anyone who might look in the door, Omar folded his arms in his sleeves and stepped out into the corridor. In the distance he could hear voices, but no one approached the corridor.

Running silently, Omar gained the door into the courtyard. Through this he walked without haste, his head lowered as if in meditation. His skull felt strange without the accustomed turban. The glare of the limestone courtyard dazzled his eyes.

A pair of slaves passed him, carrying jars. Ahead of him the gate was empty, except for the guards. Omar's pulse quickened as he drew nearer.

The leader of the Fidais, who had a sword in his girdle, looked toward him casually. No one stirred, or showed any concern. Heat, reflected from the wall, quivered in the air. Four more steps would take him into the gate, Omar thought. One . . . two . . . three . . . four———

"The word of the day, what is it?" the leader of the guards asked irritably, and added, "master?"

Omar caught his breath. He had heard nothing and he had thought nothing of a password. Yet it would not do to hesitate.

"I cannot recall it. Our lord himself hath sent me——" and he searched his memory for a possible reason—"to the village . . . with a message for the pigeons."

He felt beneath the satin robe and drew from his own girdle the unmistakable silver tube of Hassan's pigeon post. "See, it is here, and I must not delay."

The guards in the shadow glanced up curiously, and their captain looked puzzled. He was a man trained to use weapons, not his wits. Quickly Omar thrust the tube into his hand. "Do thou keep it, while I hasten to the house of the pigeons, and bring back a carrier. But take care of the message, or the anger of the master will fall upon thee."

The warrior grasped the tube gingerly, at loss for words.
"Y'allah!"
he muttered. "Be quick!"

Omar hastened down the path, leaving the guards clustered about the surety for his return, and as he had promised, he wasted no time. Of the village itself he had caught only glimpses from the castle wall—enough to know that horses were kept there, and that caravans came and went by several roads. Inwardly he prayed that he would not meet Akroenos or any one who knew his face.

Passing through hayricks and manure heaps he made for the pigeon house, beneath the circling birds. Only peasants and strange tribesmen sat in the shade along the street. To the first man within the courtyard of the house, Omar cried:

"Two pigeons in a cage, swiftly."

"Ah. Is it pigeons of Alamut the lord seeks, or——"

"What else? 'Tis the command of the
Shaikh al jebal
."

The man looked startled, either because Hassan was not in the habit of sending for pigeons, or because the name itself frightened him. He lumbered off toward the rows of wicker cages.

"And a saddled horse from the stable. A good horse," Omar called after him urgently. "Send another man."

It was hard to pace idly back and forth, while the keeper of the pigeons shouted to the street at large that a red lord from the
kal'eh
demanded a fine, swift-paced steed from the stables at once, or calamity would come upon their heads. Drowsy men came to stare in at the courtyard gate, until the keeper ran up to Omar with a small wicker cage and a rope to tie it to the saddle.

"Here it is as the noble lord commands. See, one feather is clipped square on the inner wing, and also a circle in red ink is here on the tail. By those tokens these pigeons will be told from others, if the lord——"

But a rearing horse was led up then, and Omar cut short all talk by mounting it. He leaned down, picked up the pigeon cage, and—judging that those on the service of Hassan rendered no thanks for aid—tightened his rein and trotted out of the courtyard.

In the main street of the village he turned to the right, away from the river. Akroenos had brought him up the river road, and he remembered the guards posted there. Where the other roads went, he did not know, but they all led away from Alamut, and the only thing he wanted was to put as much distance as possible between himself and Hassan before dark.

Turning into a track marked by the pads of caravan camels, he found himself descending a narrow valley. In a nest of boulders, men rose suddenly with lifted spears. But after looking intently at his robe and the horse he bestrode, they sat down again with a shouted greeting:

"Khoda hafiz!"

"God be with you!" cried Omar.

Once he was out of sight of the outpost, he lashed his horse into a gallop, leaping rocks and swerving among giant pine trees. Suddenly he burst out laughing.

In that message tube held for him at the gate of Alamut there lay the written words that he had found there in the first place.
"Omar the Tentmaker is upon the road to Ray."

At dusk, on a lathered, limping horse, he left the last foothills behind him and came out into the plain. There was light enough to see the white ribbon of a road where the trail ended, and beside it a broken-down tomb, by the lighted huts of a farm.

Dismounting by the first fire, he asked for the elder of the farm and demanded a fresh horse. "I ride upon the service of the
Shaikh al jebal
" he said, suspecting that these people at the end of the mountain road would have served Hassan's men before now.

"The one," the old peasant asked, "who is above?"

"Ay, in Alamut."

After whispering together the peasants went away from the fire, leading Omar's horse. Out of the shadows came a small girl and seated herself by the pigeon cage when she was sure the strange man did not notice her. She put her finger into the cage and touched the birds' wings.

Omar sat with his head in his hands, too weary to think of food. He had got away from Alamut, but he was not hopeful that he could escape the reach of Hassan's servitors.

"How," asked a child's voice, "did you make them go into this wicker house?"

When Omar looked at her, she drew back in fright. Still, she did not want to leave the pigeons. "I see them," she whispered, "flying up there, high in the air. Sometimes they sit in the trees but when I come they go away." And her voice drooped miserably.

"They eat grain in the fields, but they will not wait to play with me," she announced after a while.

"Would you like them," Omar asked suddenly, "to come down and walk around your feet here?"