him lying dead. It was said that his mount had thrown him (1).

He was carried to Rayy and buried there; he had been governor over Damghan and the neighboring districts.

The prestige of the sultan Alp Arslan now soared. His name was proclaimed from the pulpits of Iraq, Persia, and Khurasan; nations submitted to him, and the populace loved him—especially after he broke the enemy. The Byzantine tyrant Romanus assembled an army the like of which had never been heard of—nearly two hundred thousand fighting men drawn from Byzantines, Franks, Georgians, and others—and advanced until he reached Manzikert (2). The sultan was then at Khoy (3), having returned from Syria, with fifteen thousand cavalry, while the rest of his forces were posted on the frontiers. He resolved to engage, saying, “I shall meet them—and Allah is sufficient for me. If I survive, well and good; if not, my son Malikshah is my heir.”

He set out, and Yazkuh (4) confronted the enemy and routed them; their vanguard was captured, and the sultan cut off the prisoner’s nose.

When the two armies met—unbelief and faith facing each other, like two mountains colliding—the sultan asked for a truce. Romanus replied, “No truce unless you surrender Rayy.” The sultan’s zeal blazed. His imam said, “You are fighting for a religion that Allah has promised to support; perhaps this victory will be written in your name. Confront them at the time of the zenith—it is Friday.”

He answered, “At that very moment the preachers will be on the pulpits, supplicating for the warriors.”

They prayed; the sultan wept, supplicated, and the soldiers responded with ‘Āmīn.’ He prostrated, rubbed his face in the dust, and declared, “O emirs, whoever wishes may withdraw, for there is no sultan here.”

He grasped his horse’s tail with his own hand, donned white garments, applied the burial perfume, and launched with his army a resolute charge,