He slipped back into his delirium. Everyone who had been waiting in the antechamber surrounded his bed. They looked at each other, their faces pale.
The patient began to sing. Everyone present knelt down and touched their foreheads to the floor.
“Terrible, terrible,” they murmured.
The sultan lifted himself up on his pillows. He looked around, confused, and tried to get up.
The doctor restrained him. He nodded for the others to leave.
In the antechamber, the emir said, “When he regains consciousness, we have to ask him who he wants to succeed him. There’s still some time. Mohammed is barely four years old, and there’s no way he can rule over the whole empire at a time like this.”
“Let’s wait a while longer,” an old courtier suggested.
The scribe warned, “It wouldn’t be good for the sultana and Taj al-Mulk to gain power.”
“But we mustn’t let the sultan see that we’re anticipating the worst,” one nobleman said.
“The fate of Iran hangs on it,” the emir replied grimly.
“We should bring his sister here. He doesn’t have any other relatives close by.”
“We’re not going to let anyone see him who isn’t already in this building,” the emir said firmly. “No one must find out that the sultan has fallen victim to an Ismaili dagger. If it comes to the worst, we’ll announce that he died of a fever. Because if all of Iran finds out that the sultan, like the grand vizier, has fallen victim to another killer from Alamut, then not only will we all have to answer for it, but the people will be so terrified of these murderers that no one will agree to fight them anymore.”
All that night until morning the sultan’s entourage kept watch over him. His fever steadily rose. The emir tried in vain to raise the question of the succession. Eventually the sultan lost consciousness completely. As dawn came, his death throes began and lasted until second prayers. Then the doctor confirmed that his heart had stopped beating. They all burst out crying in despair. Iran had lost its most powerful ruler.
Baghdad—thriving, dynamic Baghdad, which had been in a festive, happy mood until the previous day—suddenly fell silent and sank into mourning. But news of the sultan’s death hadn’t yet reached the furthest outskirts of the city when the courtiers began fighting over the successor to the throne. Express messengers galloped in all directions with the sad news. The commander of the bodyguard sent his men to see Barkiarok, thinking that he was still campaigning on the border with India, and to the sons of the murdered grand vizier. Mohammed’s supporters sent their men to Isfahan, to see the sultan’s widow and Taj al-Mulk. Obedient princes from Syria and other neighboring provinces who had just gathered in Baghdad to honor the sultan raced home at breakneck speed, hoping to exploit the opportunity to shake themselves free of Iranian rule. The caliph himself, who had just decreed a half year’s mourning for the deceased, was secretly pleased at this turn of events. Now he was free to choose a successor as he pleased, and once again he designated his first-born son. The confidants of all the many kings, princes and grandees sent messengers to their masters with the news.
In Baghdad the intrigues began on the very day of the sultan’s death. Suddenly supporters of every possible pretender to the Iranian throne began to sprout up. Nearly each of the dead sultan’s brothers and sons had his own advocate, all of whom immediately began agitating for their respective candidates and pressuring the poor caliph to lend his support. But with time it became apparent that there were really only two opposing camps: Barkiarok’s and Mohammed’s. Toward the end the sultan had been leaning toward the latter, and this is precisely why the sultana and Taj al-Mulk now had the advantage. All of the many princes and grandees, high officials and religious leaders who had been overshadowed and hampered by the murdered grand vizier’s ruthless and imperious rule now came out in favor of the underaged Mohammed. Soon they managed to win the caliph to their side. The struggle between the two camps grew more and more embittered. Finally, Barkiarok’s supporters began to feel threatened in Baghdad. Some of them hid, while others fled the city. Mohammed’s supporters waited eagerly for news from the sultana and Taj al-Mulk. They kept doing their utmost to pressure the weak caliph into proclaiming their candidate sultan, thus dealing the other side a mortal blow.
Together with the news of the sultan’s death, the units that were gathering around Nehavend and Hamadan and were meant to battle the Ismailis also received an order to abandon their original plan and set out for Isfahan. When they were halfway there, they were met by emissaries of the sultan’s widow. The commanders were given extravagant gifts in her name, and the men were promised double their usual pay if they agreed to support her son. Other messengers set out for Baghdad with promises and priceless gifts to win the caliph to their side so he would proclaim Mohammed as sultan and decree that all of Iran should pray the khutba for him. In the meantime, Barkiarok arrived in Isfahan with part of his forces. He had no idea yet that his father had been murdered in the same fashion as the grand vizier. He came upon a scene of utter confusion. Soldiers were streaming into the city from all sides and proclaiming the underaged Mohammed as sultan.
Barkiarok realized he had arrived several days too late. He tried to offer some resistance to the sultan’s widow and her vizier. But just then the news hit from Baghdad that the caliph had proclaimed Mohammed the new sultan. He quickly assembled the remainder of his forces and hurried with them to Sava, where, as he expected, he found refuge with the emir Tekeshtegin, who had been his friend since earliest boyhood.
Now he had to establish contact with his supporters and all those elements that were unhappy with the new sultan. Five of Nizam’s sons joined him, and he immediately named one of them his vizier. Suddenly he was in command of a sizable army.
Amid the general chaos the sultana and her vizier had thought of everything, with one exception—their erstwhile ally, Hasan. Emir Tekeshtegin and Muzaffar were good neighbors. Barkiarok now worked through Muzaffar to establish contact with the leader of Alamut and the Ismailis.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With the Seljuk realm—until yesterday one of the most powerful empires on earth—now in ruins, and with the sons, brothers, uncles and nephews of the murdered sultan battling each other for the throne, and with no one anywhere in Iran quite clear who was in charge, the institution of the Ismailis stood as firm and unshakable as the rock on which Alamut was built.
The news of the death of Sultan Malik Shah was cause for genuine celebration among Hasan’s supporters. The lands from Rai, Rudbar and Qazvin to Firuz Kuh, Damagan and all the way to Girdkuh and Gonbadan were now safe, and Ismaili messengers, and even whole divisions, could practically stroll from fortress to fortress. A new wave of believers came streaming into Alamut, seeing it as the best guarantee of their religious freedom and well-being. The fortress itself soon became too small for them. Dai Abu Soraka chose the strongest and most capable of them to keep at the castle. He had the rest swear their allegiance, gave them gifts, and—pledging that they would be fully protected by the supreme leader—he let them return to their homes. After nearly a century, practically the whole north of Iran was at last free to venerate Ali in public and to recognize the caliph of Cairo as its spiritual leader.
Hasan’s network of informants was built to an even greater level of perfection than before. He was constantly receiving news about the struggles and battles for the Iranian throne. He learned that the caliph had proclaimed Mohammed as the new sultan and that Barkiarok had returned to Isfahan. He gained a precise sense of how the pillars of Seljuk rule, which he had undermined, were swaying. The dream of his distant youth had been fulfilled.