“…It has become clear to me that al-Muntasir is set on killing me; so kill him.”
Bāghir replied, “How can we kill him while al-Mutawakkil is still alive? He will hold you to account for it.”
“What, then, is your counsel?”
“We begin with him.”
“Woe to you! Would you really do that?”
“Yes.”
“Then follow right behind me; if I kill him, well and good. If I do not, kill me and say, ‘He meant to kill his master.’”
So the plot was carried through, and al-Mutawakkil was killed.
Al-Buḥturī relates: We were assembled in al-Mutawakkil’s court when someone spoke of an Indian sword. He sent to Yemen, and it was bought for ten thousand dinars; he was delighted with it.
He said to al-Fath, “Find me a young man to whom I may entrust this sword; he is to stay with me at all times.”
Bāghir came forward, and al-Fath ibn Khāqān said, “This man is famed for courage and valor.” The Caliph gave him the sword and increased his allowance.
The sword had scarcely been unsheathed for a single night before Bāghir (1) struck him with it. On that last night of al-Mutawakkil I witnessed astonishing things: I saw him denounce arrogance and disavow it.
Then he prostrated, rubbed his face in the dust, scattered earth upon his head, and said, “I am but a slave.” I regarded it as an evil portent for him.
He sat down; the wine had taken hold of him, and a melody that pleased him was sung. He wept, and I again took his tears as a bad omen.
While we were thus engaged, Qabīḥa sent him a robe of honor—a red silk tunic and a silk mantle. He put them on, moved about in the mantle, and it tore. He folded it up and said, “Take it away to serve as my shroud.”
I exclaimed, “We belong to Allah—by Allah, the appointed term has ended.”
Al-Mutawakkil became exceedingly drunk, and some of the night had passed when Bāghir arrived with ten masked men, their swords glinting. They burst in upon us and made straight for al-Mutawakkil. Bāghir and another mounted the couch, and al-Fath shouted, “Woe to you—your master!”
The pages, courtiers, and boon-companions scattered, but al-Fath remained. I never saw anyone with greater resolution. He continued to fend them off. Then I heard al-Mutawakkil’s cry as Bāghir brought the same sword down on his shoulder, cleaving him to the waist. Another assailant ripped al-Fath open with his sword, the blade coming out his back, yet he stood firm, unmoved. Then he was cast