It isn’t every day one gets to interview the Lord of Mordor. At the Dark Tower there are thorough security checks. I wait for 40 minutes in an outer office bustling with visitors of all kinds. The well-groomed orkish secretary smiles at me from time to time.

“I’m sure he won’t keep you much longer,” she says.

As if on cue the door opens and a black-hooded Nazgûl sweeps out, followed by a little posse of underlings. The secretary ushers me in.

He is taller than I expected and dressed in black robes. His agelessness is often remarked upon and I wonder what his secret is. He invites me to sit opposite him in what I believe is a genuine 28th century Lórien armchair. An elderly warg is curled up by his feet. While he summons refreshments, I look around at the fine hangings, the shelves of ancient books and a table covered in maps. There is a dark crystal globe on a stand and he notices me looking at it.

“Something I picked up in Linhir market,” he said. “I’m a terrible hoarder of old junk.”

A young dark-skinned woman comes in. Sauron introduces her as his press officer.

“It’s unusual to find a southerner or a woman in such a senior position,” I comment.

“Mordor is an equal opportunities employer,” she tells me.

Sauron nods vigorously. “Unlike our neighbours, of course. The current international situation isn’t really about Mordor and its interests. It’s about the rights of the oppressed races of Middle Earth. There is incredible racism in the dominant nations of this continent. Even in the pages of your newspaper orcs and southerners are routinely referred to as stinking, swarthy, slant-eyed, violent – “

“Classic racist characterisations,” I offer.

“Precisely. Imagine the outcry if elves were described in that sort of language.”

“You have been accused of elvophobia yourself,” I point out.

“Absurd. For many years I worked very closely with elves. Some of my best friends are elves. My quarrel is not with elves or humans, but their undemocratic leaders.”

“Like the Lord of Rivendell?”

“Or the Lady of Lórien. Or the King of the Wood-elves. The Steward of Gondor. I mean, who elected these people?”

He himself was chosen in a “free and fair ballot” by the inhabitants of Mordor. I decide not to mention the absence of other candidates. Instead I turn to the issue of torture in his prisons.

“Listen,” he says. “The policy of the Mordor government is that torture is absolutely forbidden. What are permitted are certain enhanced interrogation techniques, such as long-time standing and water-boarding.”

But are these really acceptable in the 31st century?

“Look at other states. Gondor, for instance. We always hear about its glories, its splendid buildings, its brave warriors, but never a word about its prisons. Would you like to see the inside of one? And what happens to orcs unfortunate enough to be detained by elves?”

“They are never heard of again.”

“Quite. This is typical anti-Mordorian hypocrisy.”

I try asking about his early life, but he is not interested in the past, “unlike the nobles of Gondor, who continually retell the sagas of their rather more illustrious forbears.” He says he is concerned with the modern world, “the here and now.”

The warg wakes up at this and Sauron scratches its head.

I ask whether war between Gondor and Mordor is inevitable.

“If Gondor stops interfering in our affairs and starts adopting the reforms we have proposed, no. But if it continues to threaten our borders and conspire with other enemies of Mordor, we may be forced to intervene.”

What about his personal life? Is he married? I note he isn’t wearing a ring. He looks at his hands and frowns.

“No, these days I’m married to my work. I don’t have time for a private life. Perhaps when I retire…”

But what does he do to relax?

“Oh, you know, reading, a spot of gardening. My hobby used to be metalwork, but I no longer have the time. I do enjoy the odd game of golf. We’ve got a frightfully difficult course by Mount Doom. Some of the Nazgûl play. The Lord of Morgul was runner-up in the Mordor Open last year.”

The press officer intervenes. “And you’re writing a book,” she prompts.

“Ah yes, my book.” He suddenly looks boyish, enthusiastic. “It’s my political philosophy in a nutshell. I haven’t thought of a title yet. My staff call it Sauron’s Little Dark Book, but I think we’ll need something snappier, if it’s going to sell. But I hardly ever find time to work on it.”

At this point his secretary puts her head round the door and tells him the Harad ambassador is waiting.

“No rest for the wicked,” Sauron says. He stands up and shakes my hand.

One last question, I say. How would he like to be remembered? He thinks for a moment.

“As someone who tried to make a difference.”