Tamerlane

by Justin Marozzi

  Great feasts were announced daily, to which Clavijo and his entourage were invariably invited. On 8 October they made their way to a banquet given by the once famously beautiful princess Khan-zada, ‘now some forty years of age … fair of complexion and fat’. She was the widow of Temur’s cherished first-born Jahangir, later remarried to Miranshah, from whom she had fled in 1399 at the time of his erratic and bullying behaviour while governor of Sultaniya. All around her were jars of wine and a drink called busa, mares’ milk sweetened with sugar. A group of musicians were accompanying a chorus of singers. One by one the royal women were presented with goblets brimming with wine, each one downed in one or two draughts. Occasionally one of the male servers was invited to drink a bumper, after which he would turn the cup upside down ‘to show his dame that not a drop had been left in the bottom’, and would then ‘boast of his feats of drinking and of how much wine he could put away, at which the ladies would laugh merrily’. This was another occasion at which Clavijo’s teetotal habits aroused a certain interest and disapproval. Temur’s chief wife, Saray Mulk-khanum, also present at the banquet, ‘commanded that we the ambassadors should come forward, when with her own hand she offered us the wine cup and persisted in the attempt to make me Ruy Gonzalez drink of the same, but I would not, though scarcely could she be brought to believe and understand that I never did drink wine’. Such behaviour would not have been welcomed. It was considered disrespectful towards one’s host not to finish a cup of wine. Not even to taste it would have been judged the height of eccentricity or bad manners. Either way, it would have done little to endear the Spaniards to their royal hosts.

  Notwithstanding the abstemious Europeans, the revels continued. ‘Now when this drinking of theirs had gone on for some considerable time, many of the men present sitting before the Princess were beginning to show signs of being in their cups, and some indeed were already dead drunk. This state forsooth they deem a sign of manliness and at none of their feasts do they consider hilarity is attained unless many guests are properly in drink.’ Clavijo derived more pleasure from the food, ‘an abundance of roast mutton and horse-flesh, with various meat stews’. There were dishes of rice, vegetables, sugar breads and cakes.

  As part of the celebrations for one of his grandsons’ weddings Temur gave orders that all the tradesmen of Samarkand should leave the city and set up their stalls among the horde. Merchants, jewellers, cooks, butchers, bakers, tailors and cobblers hurried to the meadows, where they were told to arrange exhibitions of their trades and crafts. Once they had arrived, none was allowed to leave without the emperor’s permission.

  It was not all joyful feasting and carousing, however. At the busiest points on the plain, Temur ordered great gallows to be built. ‘He let it be known that whereas he intended to gratify and give enjoyment to all the common folk at his festival, he also intended to give a warning and example of those who had offended him and done evil deeds, and he would proceed to the public execution of the criminals.’

  The first to swing was the governor of Samarkand, appointed to administer the city seven years earlier during the emperor’s campaigns in India and Asia Minor. Clavijo described him as the greatest official in the entire empire. Reports had reached Temur that this man had abused his position and oppressed the people. He was summarily judged and strung up. ‘This act of high justice condemning so great a personage to death made all men tremble,’ the envoy wrote, ‘and notably he had been one in whom his Highness had placed much confidence.’ A friend who attempted to intercede on the governor’s behalf was also hanged. Another would-be intermediary, possibly one of Temur’s nephews, offered a substantial ransom to save the official. As soon as the emperor had received payment, he ordered the unfortunate man to be tortured until he disclosed where the rest of his fortune lay. Then he was ‘hung on the gallows by the feet head downwards till he died’.

  A number of other officials were executed, together with various merchants judged to have been overcharging for their goods. Such grim spectacles, however, formed only a small part of the Kani-gil festival. Though they served as a warning to all that no one was above the law, and that the law was Temur, they were eclipsed by the riotous round of parties and entertainments, banquets, dancing, revelling and singing, to which there seemed no end.

  During his wide-eyed wanderings, Clavijo was able to meet the most senior members of the imperial family. Prince Pir Mohammed, who had not seen his grandfather Temur for seven years, according to Clavijo, had been called back from Afghanistan to attend the celebrations. He was ‘a young man of about twenty-two years of age, swarthy and yellow of skin and he had no beard’. After the death of Mohammed Sultan he had been appointed Temur’s heir, and now appeared in all his youthful majesty, ‘sumptuously attired as is the Tatar custom, wearing a robe of blue Zaytuni silk embroidered in gold circles, like small wheels, which back and front covered his chest and shoulders and passed down the material of his sleeves. On his head he wore a hat garnished with many great pearls and precious stones, and on the top was displayed a fine clear balas ruby. The people whom we found in attendance on him all paid him the utmost deference.’ When the Spaniards were ushered into his presence, the prince was watching a wrestling match.

  Clavijo also left us a detailed portrait of Temur’s chief wife, Saray Mulk-khanum, or the Great Khanum, as he called her. He observed her during another feast to which Temur had invited the Spaniards, and apart from her ability to down large quantities of wine, it was her dress which most fascinated him. She wore an outer robe of red silk embroidered with gold, complete with a flowing train carried by fifteen ladies-in-waiting. One senses Clavijo struggling somewhat when it comes to describing her make-up and headwear: ‘The Khanum’s face appeared to be entirely covered with white lead or some such cosmetic, and the effect was to make it look as though she were wearing a paper mask. This cosmetic it is their custom for the women to smear on their faces both summer and winter to keep off the sun when they go out.’

  Her face was further protected by a thin white veil, though it was the rest of the head-dress, an elaborate creation ‘very like the crest of a helmet, such as we men wear in jousting in the tiltyard’, that particularly interested the envoy. Made of red fabric, its border was draped over the queen’s shoulders.

  In the back part this crest was very lofty and it was ornamented with many great round pearls all of good orient, also with precious stones such as balas rubies and turquoises, the same very finely set. The hem of this head-covering showed gold thread embroidery, and set round it she wore a very beautiful garland of pure gold ornamented with great pearls and gems. Further the summit of this crest just described was erected upon a framework which displayed three large balas rubies each about two finger breadths across, and these were clear in colour and glittered in the light, while over all rose a long white plume to the height of an ell, its feathers hanging down so that some almost hid the face coming to below the eyes. This plume was braced together by gold wire, while at the summit appeared a white knot of feathers garnished with pearls and precious stones.

  As she walked the head-dress waved backwards and forwards. Her hair, long, loose and black, ‘the colour they most esteem’, hung over her shoulders. Numerous ladies-in-waiting walked alongside her to support the head-dress. In all, Clavijo estimated there were three hundred attendants. In addition, a man held a graceful parasol of silk over her to protect her from the sun. The grand procession was completed by a large body of eunuchs who marched in front of their queen. In this stately fashion she made her way to a dais beside, and slightly behind, her husband the emperor.

  One by one Temur’s wives came into the pavilion, each one observing to the letter the strict hierarchy which prevailed, taking her place on a slightly lower dais than her predecessor. Clavijo counted eight in total. The latest addition to the imperial household was a lady called Jawhar-agha, ‘which in their tongue signifies the Queen of Hearts’. The emperor’s desires appeared to be as strong as ever.
He had married her only a month previously.

  One day, the Spaniards were invited to Saray Mulk-khanum’s enclosure. This was the apotheosis of luxury and extravagance. It was also a vivid example of how plundered treasures were put to new use. In this case the enclosure was entered through ‘double doors covered with plates of silver gilt ornamented with patterns in blue enamel work, having insets that were finely made in gold plate. All this was so beautifully wrought that evidently neither in Tartary nor indeed in our western land of Spain’ could such superlative craftsmanship have been achieved. Clavijo was correct. These outstanding doors were the gates of Brusa, taken after Temur’s rout of Bayazid in 1402. On one door was an image of St Peter, on the other St Paul. Inside the tent, covered with red silk and ‘adorned with rows of silver gilt spangles running from the top to the bottom of the walls’, were more treasures. First there was a cabinet of solid gold, ornamented with enamel and encrusted with jewels and pearls. Nearby was a small table, also of solid gold, with a large slab of translucent jade set into its surface. But one piece stood out above all others, and once again Clavijo spared no detail.

  Standing and set beside this table, was to be noticed a golden tree that simulated an oak, and its trunk was as thick as a man’s leg, while above the branches spread to right and to left, bearing leaves like oak leaves. This tree reached to the height of a man, and below it was made as though its roots grew from a great dish that lay there. The fruit of this tree consisted in vast numbers of balas rubies, emeralds, turquoises, sapphires and common rubies with many great round pearls of wonderful orient and beauty. These were set all over the tree while numerous little birds, made of gold enamel in many colours, were to be seen perching on the branches. Of these some with their wings open seemed ready to fly and some with closed wings seemed as though they had just alighted on the twigs from flight, while some appeared about to eat of the fruits of the tree and were pecking with their bills at the rubies, turquoises and other gems or at the pearls which grew from the branches.

  Gaping at the profusion of precious stones, Clavijo asked where the balas rubies were mined. The king of Badakhshan, a territory in northern Afghanistan ten days’ march from Samarkand, in whose territories the gems were found, was on hand to answer.

  He replied graciously and told us that close to the capital city of Badakhshan was a mountain where the mines were situated. Here, day by day men go and seek and break into the rocks on that mountainside to find these precious stones. When the vein is discovered where they lie, this vein is carefully followed, and when the jewel is reached it must be cut out little by little with chisels until all the matrix has been removed. Then, grinding the gem on millstones, it would be further polished. We were told also that by order of Temur a strong guard had been established at the mines to see to it that his Highness’s rights were respected.

  Lapis lazuli and sapphires, meanwhile, came from an area slightly further south.*

  Among all this finery the young royal couples were married in celebrations which mingled Islamic law with Mongol tradition. They were given the most gorgeous robes of honour, then dressed and undressed nine times, the most auspicious number according to custom. Earlier Clavijo had watched servers place silver trenchers piled high with comfits and cakes as gifts to Temur from two of his most senior lords, ‘laid down nine by nine, such being the custom when any gift is offered to his Highness’. While the young couples changed from one robe to another, attendants showered them with precious stones, rubies, pearls, gold and silver. Camel and mule trains filed through the joyous crowds, bearing more gifts for the newlyweds.

  The bacchanalian festivities roared on. By day, musicians, acrobats, gymnasts, tight-rope walkers and clowns entertained the noble crowds. Richly decorated elephants raced horses and chased men. A giraffe, a long-legged gift from the Egyptian ambassador, loped about to everyone’s astonishment. Such beasts were even more exotic than the elephants. By night, Temur and his amirs, the princes and the princesses, the great warriors and the elders of the Barlas clan, sat before enormous trenchers piled high with roast horse-meat and mutton, vegetables and fruit, cakes and sweetmeats, carousing into the early hours. With the feasting over, there were other appetites to be satisfied, and here too there was no restraint. Temur had announced a suspension of the strict rules and conventions that governed society. Free rein was to be given to all pleasures.

  ‘This is the time of feasting, pleasure and rejoicing,’ Yazdi had the emperor proclaiming. ‘Let no one complain of or reprimand another. Let not the rich encroach upon the poor, or the powerful upon the weak. Let no one ask another, Why have you done this? After this declaration everyone gave himself up to those pleasures he was most fond of, during the feast: and whatever was done passed unobserved.’ Arabshah, who disapproved of ‘those foul and base things’, recorded how all rushed to take advantage of this imperial declaration in favour of free love. Here his usually tumultuous prose tilted towards the phallic. ‘Every suitor hastened to his desire and every lover met his beloved, without anyone harassing another or dealing proudly with inferior, whether in the army or among citizens … nor was the sword drawn except the sword of contemplation; nor the spear brandished except the lances of love that bent by embrace.’

  Such pleasures, of course, had to come to an end. For Clavijo and his party the celebrations ended abruptly, and in disappointment. On 3 November, after several days waiting unsuccessfully for a final audience with Temur, the envoys were instructed to return to Spain. ‘On receiving this message we immediately made our protest, urging that as yet his Highness had not granted us our dismissal nor had he given any answer to the message we had brought him from our lord the king of Castile, we said we could not and would not leave.’

  The Spaniards’ arguments were dismissed. The emperor’s health had declined alarmingly, and he was in no position to receive them.

  His Highness was in a very weak state, having already lost all power of speech, and he might be at the very point of death according to what the physicians prognosticated. They plainly said that this haste in thus dealing with us and our mission was necessary from the fact that Temur appeared to be dying, for our own sakes we must be off and away before the news of his death was made public, and above all before that news reached the provinces through which on our journey we should have to pass.

  They were to travel in the company of the ambassador from Egypt. For a fortnight, however, the Spaniards lingered, terrified of returning to Castile empty-handed after such a long embassy. They protested to the end, but to no avail. On 21 November they made their final departure from Samarkand.*

  The two months of abandoning all cares, indulging all pleasures and satisfying all desires drew to a close. Clavijo’s dismissal marked the end of the Kani-gil celebrations. The bright light he had shone on them faded into an autumnal blur. A decree came from the great Lord Temur. All the laws against improper and immodest behaviour, suspended for the festivities, applied as before. There was to be no more unlicensed hedonism and debauchery. The foreign ambassadors were dismissed. The empire was now on a war footing.

  While the disconsolate Spaniards returned west, and the Tatar army made ready for war in the east, the feasting of autumn gave way to the sober chill of winter. As an observer and chronicler of those momentous days among the meadows of Samarkand, Clavijo is unrivalled. He was alternately astonished, enraptured, overawed, nervous and disapproving, and these feelings, and many more besides, inform his prose and make it by far the liveliest and most compelling account. But as winter descended and Temur made his final arrangements for the most dangerous war of his life, there is no one to match the furious, thundering style of Ibn Arabshah.

  Soon [winter] with his storm-winds roared and raised over the world the tents of his clouds which went to and fro, and with his roaring shoulders trembled and all reptiles for fear of that cold fled to the depths of their Gehenna, fires ceased to blaze and subsided, lakes froze, leaves shaken fell from the branches and r
unning rivers fell headlong from a height to lower places, lions hid in their dens and gazelles sheltered in their lairs. The world fled to God the Averter because of the winter’s prodigious vehemence; the face of the earth grew pale for fear of it, the cheeks of gardens and the graceful figures of the woods became dusty, all their beauty and vigour departed and the sprout of the earth dried up to be scattered by the winds.

  The weddings, womanising and wassails were over. Already they seemed to belong to another era. Samarkand, summoning the courage born of many years’ experience, prepared to say farewell to her aged, ailing emperor. The hordes would march east.

  * * *

  * It is probably fair to say that Ambassador An, unlike his captor Temur, did not have a great gift for timing. Like many people who undergo unusual adventures, he wrote a book about them. Any hopes he might have entertained of his memoirs becoming a Chinese bestseller, however, were cruelly dashed. His collected poems, On Curious Things Seen on a Journey to the West, were not released during his lifetime. The volume was eventually published in the seventeenth century.

  * ‘Fou-ma’ referred to Temur’s title of Gurgan, son-in-law of Qazan, the last Chaghatay khan of Mawarannahr, through his marriage to Saray Mulk-khanum, his Great Queen.

  * An allusion to the vase of Jamsheed, the first king of Persia. Tradition has it that the turquoise vessel was unearthed from the ruins of Persepolis, the city he was said to have founded. His name means ‘vase of the sun’ in Farsi.

  † It is hardly surprising that the court chronicles have little to say on the less than glorious subject of Temur’s relations with Peking. As the French historian Edgard Blochet, writing in 1910, put it: ‘Tous les historiens officiels des Timourides, sauf Abd er Razzak el-Samarkandi, qui ne voulait se plier à aucune complaisance pour ses souverains, ont fait le silence le plus absolu sur ces rapports de la terre d’Iran et du Céleste Empire, dans l’espérance que la postérité n’en retrouverait jamais l’humiliant souvenir.’