Omar Khayyam - a life (24 page)

"Falcons don't seize books," Ayesha observed maliciously. 'They stoop at birds or hares. It's stupid, anyway. If you were a falcon you couldn't think, and if you were a man you couldn't fly." She yawned with ostentation. "Only scribes and priests write . . . such dull things."

Omar stared about the room, full of Ayesha's small treasures. The dish of stuffed dates before him had not been touched. She had waited for him to taste them and she was very fond of fresh stuffed dates.

She lay close to him, her body relaxed, her eyes closed. When Ayesha put on her finest silks and painted her face she looked like some strange bird of paradise, but lying thus unveiled—and unaware of him—he could not help but feel her loveliness.

Bending down, he kissed her lips gently. His kiss was instantly returned, and the girls warm arms twisted about his neck. She had not been asleep or at all distrait, and her eyes flashed triumphantly at the paper with the four lines of writing that had fallen unnoticed to the floor.

"Master," said Jafarak, "the magicians of thy mountains have followed us to Isfahan."

At least, the jester maintained, marvelous things were happening in the streets of the city. He had heard whispering at the mosque gates of nights. The whispers told of a man who had torn down the veil that separated the living from the dead. He had died, he had entered Muhammad's paradise and had returned to earth to tell of it.

"What," Omar asked, "did he find in paradise?"

"Wine flowing from fountains, and carpets spread upon the grass, and dark-eyed houris who intoxicated him with bliss."

"Is there no river in paradise?"

Eagerly, Jafarak shook his head. Often he had pondered what would await him on the other side of the grave. "The ones who heard this dead man speak—they say otherwise. It is no river but a lake under a silver moon."

Curiously he glanced at Omar. Often Ayesha had related to the jester how Omar had seen a vision when he was struggling with the magicians of the mountains, and in that vision there had been just such a lake. But unlike the man who had returned from beyond the grave, Omar had little to say about his vision.

"Ay," he assented, "a lake, and upon that lake a pleasure boat floating as silently as a sleeping swan."

"
Wallahi!
And what more, O master?"

"The awakening on the morrow."

Jafarak sighed. His joints were stiffening, and he felt his years. A longing had come upon him—an unvoiced hope that after the angels of death had stood over him, he might become youthful and strong and erect as other men, within Muhammad's paradise.

"Who has ever come back," Omar mused, "from that long journey?"

"Perhaps, at last, one has come back."

Secretly, Jafarak believed this had happened. Surely Muhammad had promised ever-flowing fountains, and Omar who never lied, had beheld in his vision—Ayesha was quite certain on that point—fountains flowing with wine. So, could he not believe this dead man who also told of the fountains? Jafarak wanted to believe, and he haunted the gate of the great mosque at night, his ears pricked for whispers.

A dervish spoke with him, a lean, tattered dervish who also believed. He confided in Jafarak that he had been present when the dead man appeared to some chosen spirits, and that the dead man would speak again on the coming Friday-eve, after the last prayer, in the house of Ibn Atash in the street behind the Jami Masjid. It seemed to Jafarak that if a dervish would testify to another man's miracle, it must be true.

He told Omar, who glanced at him thoughtfully and said nothing. But excitement gripped him, until he could not resist going to the street back of the great mosque and examining the houses to see which belonged to Ibn Atash. The next night he made his way back again, wondering if he might not by some chance behold the strange traveler.

Instead he noticed a man seated on a horse, watching from the shadows, who hailed him.

"What dost thou, O Jafarak?"

It was Tutush, but a harassed and suspicious Tutush. More miracles than one, the master of the spies related, had been happening in the streets of Isfahan.

For the last months, men had disappeared in steady succession. That, of course, was nothing remarkable. But these had been no common souls or mendicants. Rich merchants, noted visitors, heads of large families—five had vanished without a trace.

They had not been carried off by raiding tribesmen, because they had dropped out of sight within the city walls, and always in the late evening. All the five had been riding, or walking alone—most of them on the way home from the mosque.

Moreover—and here was a strange thing—the five had been the recipients of unusual gifts. By questioning the members of the households, Tutush had discovered that at various times the missing men had awakened from sleep to find two rolls of fresh bread by their heads.

"How could bread appear in that fashion by a rich man's couch?" Tutush demanded, in exasperation. "Ay, bread fresh-baked, as if carried that night from the oven?"

Jafarak shook his head. Such matters were unwonted, but surely Allah had caused them to be. They were not a miracle, like the one the dervish had beheld.

"Behold," grumbled Tutush—they were moving away from the mosque at a foot pace—"three of the five were last seen in the Jami Masjid. So must I watch all the gates, and post my men upon the roofs. What can we see? Have we eyes to pierce the dark? The friends of the men who are lost have made great wailing and calamity at Court, and the governor——but what dost thou i' the alley yonder every night?"

"I wait for a friend who has promised to pay a debt. Nay, perhaps the five men went away secretly."

"Then where did they go? The guards upon the roads have not seen them. Moreover they were rich
'arif
, not runagate thieves. When did rich men with full money sacks ever go off alone with nothing in their hands?"

Jafarak was glad that the stout master of the spies had stopped questioning him. "Perhaps if they were all wealthy, they were carried off by lawless men to be held for a ransom."

Tutush grunted, fingering the beads of his rosary. "They call thee fool, but I have known wise men who had less sense. Nay, it was not for ransom, because no demand hath come to the families of the five. Yet—
Allah kerim
—someone may come to ask for gold. The blame is upon my head in either case."

"May thy search be fortunate."

Jafarak left the master of the spies, and hesitated for a moment. He did not relish being watched by Tutush's servants; still he wanted to return to the alley, on the chance of meeting the dervish and hearing some more talk of the coming miracle. So he hurried off toward the mosque, deciding to look in at the gate first.

By then it was the third hour of the night and the last prayer had been finished. In the glow of the lantern above the arched entrance he saw only a pair of mullahs and a spearman who leaned drowsily on his weapon. A blind man was tapping with his staff in the shadows, and when Jafarak came abreast him, he turned with a supplication.

"
Ai
, wilt show mercy to the afflicted, and aid one who hath no eyes, to his door?"

"Ay, so," assented Jafarak. "Where is thy house?"

"It is behind the mosque." The blind man took the cripple's arm and went ahead at a faster pace. "The third door on the left hand, just beyond the well. 'Tis a little way, yet a stone's throw is a league for one without eyes.
Ai
, me!"

"The third house to the left," repeated Jafarak, with sudden interest. "Is it not the place of Ibn Atash?"

The blind man turned toward him, as if to peer into his face. "Ibn Atash? What knowest thou of him, O friend of the afflicted?"

"I—I seek him."

"Ah, many seek him." The stick of the blind man tap-tapped on the hard clay, as they rounded the corner of the mosque and entered the narrow street. Jafarak heard the drip of the fountain, and searched out the third door in the darkness. Perhaps, if the blind man knew the secret of the house, he might learn something from him.

"Ay, the door." The blind man felt of it and tapped rapidly with his stick, until the door creaked back. "Come in with me," he whispered, "O friend of the night, and rest."

Leaning his weight on Jafarak's arm, he stepped forward. Something moved beside them, and a hand clutched the jester's throat. A flame of agony ran through Jafarak, and he fell forward into utter darkness.

Ayesha stirred in her sleep and woke. Her keen senses had given warning of something unwonted close at hand telling of danger. Outstretched on the carpet with Omar beside her upon the roof, she listened without moving.

Then she heard again the slight sound that had roused her—bare feet moving over the tiles. A third person was breathing deep so close to her that her nerves tingled. Paper scraped gently, and a strange smell crept into her nostrils. The girl screamed and sprang up, as a deer leaps from its sleeping place.

As she did so, she saw a dark outline against the stars. The bare feet pattered away, and Omar, climbing to his feet, was able to catch sight of a man slipping away toward the stair. With a shout, he followed.

But in the darkness of the courtyard below he lost track of the intruder. Drowsy servants came clamoring from their lairs, and lights were struck. The invader had vanished, although Ishak, who had slept upon the ground by the closed gate, swore by the ninety and nine holy names that the gate had not been opened.

"Look, my lord," Ayesha called down from the roof, "at what is here."

When the lights were carried up, Omar found two objects beside his sleeping quilt. A dagger without a sheath, and a roll of fresh baked bread still odorous from the oven. Nothing of the kind had been there when he went to sleep, and he understood that the intruder must have risked his life to lay them there; or perhaps one of his own household had done it. Ayesha was quite sure the knife had not been dropped on the tiles; it had been placed beside his head, with care.

He examined the weapon and found it to be a
khanjur
, with a curved blade of fine gray steel. He had seen such knives before, in the girdles of the Fidais at Alamut, and he laid it down thoughtfully.

"But what does it mean?" demanded Ayesha, who was angry because she had been badly frightened. "That, and the bread?"

"One gives life," put in Ishak importantly, "the other death. Surely, it is a sign."

"Verily," Ayesha retorted, "if our lives had depended upon thy watching, O Keeper of the Gate of Snores, we would have been in our shrouds long before.
Ai-wah!
Thou art never asleep when visitors come with silver for thy hand, but when thieves come in the darkness—where art thou then?"

"Look!" exclaimed Ishak. "Here is a paper, and there is a writing on it."

Bending down, he handed a small square of rice paper to Omar, who held it close to a lanthorn. The writing was Persian—a single line without signature. "There is need," he read aloud, "thy tongue . . . between . . . thy teeth."

"Keep thy tongue between thy teeth," nodded Ishak sagely. "How true is the warning, O master. Without doubt 'twas meant for Ayesha—see the dagger is as pointed as her tongue. Better that she should bake bread and hold her peace."

But Omar knew the warning was meant for him. And it came, he felt certain, from Alamut, if not from Hassan himself. The paper was the same used by the messenger pigeons of the Lord of the Mountains, and who else would send a missive unsigned? Yet, in Isfahan, Omar had put Alamut out of his mind, and had told no one what he had seen among the Seveners. He wondered why Hassan had sent the bread, and the knife.

Soon after daybreak he learned the explanation. One of Tutush's spies came to the house and salaamed with long-winded greeting.

"What is it?" Omar asked impatiently.

"Who knoweth where his grave is dug? O Shadow of the Sultan, behold, at the first light we, who patrol the streets without ceasing, found one of thy household slain in the gutter. Lo, we have brought him."

Descending into the courtyard, he led Omar to a stretcher in the shade, beside which several of his followers squatted. The form on the stretcher was covered with a cotton sheet.

With a steady hand, Omar drew aside the sheet—and staggered back, choking down the nausea that rose inside him.

The body was Jafarak's, the face almost black, and the throat slit beneath the chin. Through this slit Jafarak's tongue had been pulled, until it must have been torn from all but its roots.

"Alas, Magnificence," sighed the street guard, "I have never seen one slain like this before. Yet he was old and misshapen."

Omar replaced the sheet and drew a long breath. But he remembered that the agent could not be blamed for this. "Thou art Tutush's man? Then send thy master to me, swiftly."

So rapidly did Tutush appear, that he must have been waiting for his men around the corner. Without a word the Tentmaker led the chief of the spies to a corner where they could not be overheard. Tutush wiped his cheek with his turban end, and clicked his rosary nervously—he had not forgotten how this same Jafarak had drawn Omar's wrath upon his head years before. Covertly he studied the face of his host, and drew no encouragement therefrom.

But Omar was thinking only of the slain Jafarak. With the death of the faithful jester the last tie that linked him with the carefree days of Rahim had been severed.

"Who would have done that?" he demanded. "He had no enemy—ah, God, he was harmless as a child."

Tutush almost touched the floor in a salaam. "By your Excellency's leave—'tis indeed a mystery of the blackest. By the beard of Ali, he talked with me that evening near the Jami Masjid, and I warned him—may Allah do more to me if I lie—against wandering in the streets. Nay, I escorted him to a safe place—" as he pleaded, real misery crept into his words, because Tutush feared the wrath of Omar more than fire or sword—"and left him unharmed. I swear by——"

"Where did you find him?"

"It was one of my men, in a street near the river, far from the mosque. He was not slain there because no blood stained the dirt. Will your Excellency hear me, when I swear by Hassan and Hussayn, the blessed martyrs——"