Alamut

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The day after ibn Tahir rode out from Alamut, one of the scouts came racing into the castle and announced that units of the emir Arslan Tash were on the march and approaching quickly. The drums beat and the trumpets sounded. With tremendous speed the men assumed their positions at the battlements. The guard outside the canyon received the order to hold out until the first horsemen appeared on the horizon. Then they were to withdraw, leaving previously prepared obstacles in the canyon behind them as they went.

From then on, scouts returned one after the other almost every hour and reported on the movements of the enemy army. As dawn came on the following day, Hasan and his grand dais came out on the platform of his tower. There they waited for the enemy to appear on the horizon.

“Did you foresee all of this?” Abu Ali asked, casting a wary look at Hasan.

“Everything is taking place as I expected. For every blow I’ve prepared a counterblow.”

“Did you send ibn Tahir to Nehavend, by any chance?”

Buzurg Ummid was shocked by his own boldness.

Hasan furrowed his brow. His eyes sought something out on the horizon, as though he’d not heard the question.

“Everything I’ve done,” he said after a while, “I’ve done for the victory of our common cause.”

The grand dais exchanged brief glances. They had a good idea of the counterblow that Hasan had prepared. They shuddered. And on top of everything, success or failure was dependent on a thousand small coincidences. There had to be something wrong with him, that he relied on his calculations so stubbornly.

“Let’s suppose,” Buzurg Ummid ventured again, “that the emir’s army stays outside of Alamut until winter.”

“You can’t be thinking we’ll die of thirst?” Hasan laughed. “Our defense is sturdy and we have enough provisions to last a year.”

“This army could be replaced by another, and that one by yet another. What then?”

“I really don’t know, old boy. I’m only used to thinking in terms of longer or shorter periods of time.”

“It’s damned tricky,” Abu Ali commented, “that we don’t have a way out on any side.”

“Over the mountains, old boy. I’d herd you all up over the mountains.”

Hasan laughed softly. Then, as if to offer them some consolation, he said, “I don’t give this siege much staying power.”

Then Buzurg Ummid pointed at the flag over the guardhouse outside the canyon. It fluttered and then disappeared.

“The guard is withdrawing,” he said, holding his breath. “The enemy is approaching.”

Soon a whirlwind of horsemen appeared on the horizon, with black flags fluttering in the wind. The riders galloped up the hill where the guardhouse stood. Momentarily, an enormous black Sunni flag unfurled above it.

New units were constantly arriving. The entire plateau outside of the canyon was covered with tents, which began spreading into the surrounding hills as well.

Toward evening, military vehicles with siege equipment and assault ladders came speeding into the camp. There were about a hundred of them. The three commanders watched them from the top of the tower.

“They’re not joking about this,” Abu Ali said.

“A serious victory needs a serious opponent,” Hasan replied.

“They could be finished with their preparations in two or three days,” Buzurg Ummid observed. “Then they’ll attack.”

“They won’t approach us from the canyon,” Abu Ali said. “It’s such a confined space that we’d pick them off one by one before any of them even managed to reach our walls. They’re more likely to occupy the surrounding heights and climb down the rock faces to get at the castle. But that won’t be much of a threat either, as long as we stay on our guard.”

“Their leader would have to be an incredibly inventive strategist,” Hasan observed, “if he plans to take the fortress any other way than by starving us out. But someone like that would be famous throughout the world, not just in Iran, and so far I haven’t heard of anybody like that.”

“Time is their greatest ally,” Buzurg Ummid said.

“Ours is my paradise,” Hasan replied, smiling.

The castle was as busy as a beehive. The two forward towers and the walls around them were thick with soldiers. Winches pulled up rocks and heavy logs. Everywhere there were cauldrons for boiling lead, pitch and oil suspended over simple stone fireplaces. The equipment for pouring the white-hot liquids onto the enemy was set up in short order. Commanders in battle helmets and light chain mail ran from one installation to the next, making sure the equipment was ready. Manuchehr and two aides on horseback oversaw all this activity. An almost horrible feeling came over the men. They knew they were surrounded by a huge army, but no one in the castle could see it. Only the three commanders somewhere on the backmost tower had a view of the entire battlefield.

Their faces pale, the novices who were now in the school for fedayeen waited for further orders. Instruction had been temporarily suspended. Suleiman and Yusuf were assigned as their leaders. Over and over, they told them the story of the battle with the Turkish cavalry in all its detail. Their broad gestures encouraged them and filled them with trust. They were already sufficiently trained to offer a picture of exemplary discipline. The greater their fear, the more they longed for the laurels of battle. They were conscious of being an elite unit, and they behaved in accordance with that knowledge.

In the afternoon the order came for them to take up positions on top of the tower where the dovecotes were located. They were armed with bows and spears. A unit of six soldiers who had set up the pitch and oil cauldrons was assigned to them.

After the third prayer the novices brought Suleiman and Yusuf their lunch. They were sitting apart from the others on top of a battlement. Their battle helmets were unfastened at the chin, so they wouldn’t swelter in the humidity. Even so, sweat poured down their faces. Anyone who had seen them six months before would scarcely have recognized the bright youths from then. Their features were hard, almost harsh—testimony to the determination that filled their students—and others—with fear.

“We’ve let ourselves get trapped in the castle like a mouse in its hole,” Suleiman said. “It was different the first time. Hit the enemy on the head with your naked sword! That’s more to my taste.”

“Let’s wait. Maybe Sayyiduna has something really special up his sleeve. Apparently there are more than thirty thousand of the infidels.”

“The numbers don’t make any difference. If he gave me the order now, I’d run out there this minute. Are we going to have to put up with this donothing hell forever?”

“I agree with you completely. Now we could really show the infidel dogs!”

“You know what’s been going through my mind all day? Just don’t tell anyone. I’m going to suggest to Sayyiduna that I sneak into the enemy’s camp and cut down that dog Arslan Tash.”

“He won’t let you. We’ve given our oath and now we have to wait for our orders.”

“Damn this waiting! I’m telling you, it won’t take much for me to lose my mind. Sometimes my head feels strange as it is. Listen. A couple of days ago between the fourth and fifth prayers everything suddenly went bloody before my eyes. I don’t know how it happened, but in a second I was squeezing onto the handle of a dagger. I was on top of the upper wall, and three novices were walking below me. They were talking and coming closer to me. The blood boiled through my veins. I had an irresistible urge to attack them, to stab them, to feel my knife plunging into their guts. They were walking right beneath me. I leapt down right in the middle of them, and they shrieked like frightened women. I raised my dagger and came to at that very instant. I was so exhausted I could barely stay upright. I mustered all of my strength to smile at them. ‘Phew, some heroes you are,’ I said to them. ‘I meant to test your courage, but I see you’re not prepared.’ Then, like some Abdul Malik, I gave them a sermon about how an Ismaili, and especially a feday, has to be constantly on his guard, and how shameful it is for him to let anything scare him. I managed to get out of that fix. But since then I’ve been tormented by a fear of losing my mind and going on a rampage if Sayyiduna doesn’t deliver us soon.”

Yusuf instinctively drew back from him a few inches. He was afraid.

“That pellet of Sayyiduna’s must be to blame,” he said. “He used it to send us to paradise and now we’re constantly tormented by the desire to return.”

“Who wouldn’t give anything to return to paradise once he’s had a taste of it?! O Allah, Allah! Why this endless ordeal?”

Two days passed like this in feverish preparation and ominous silence. The anticipation strained each man’s nerves to the utmost.

From their tower, Hasan and the grand dais observed the enemy’s movements. They could sense they were getting ready for something, but the incline above the canyon blocked their view of whatever it was the enemy was doing. Through Abu Ali, Hasan ordered Obeida to use his scouts to establish contact with the sultan’s army.

Eventually the enemy managed to remove the obstacles from the canyon. From their tower, the three men watched the emir’s men exploring the canyon and studying the surroundings.

Halfa and ibn Vakas were ordered to climb over Alamut’s walls at first light, ford the stream, and then scale the canyon’s cliffs.

Practically the entire garrison of Alamut watched their perilous feat. The old soldiers held their breath as the two fedayeen climbed up the wall opposite. Ibn Vakas was the first to climb. When he reached a secure spot, he dropped a rope and pulled Halfa up. The sun was already high over the mountains as they approached the top. Forked tree trunks jutted out of the earth there. They took hold of them and cautiously climbed the final stretch.

The spectators in Alamut watched them suddenly disappear. The archers drew their bows to defend them should some danger materialize. Agile as monkeys, the climbers descended from one forked trunk to the next. They tied a rope around a mighty trunk and slid down it to the river bed. They forded the stream, and the men pulled them safely up the wall.

“The enemy has scaled the walls around Alamut and set up catapults for throwing rocks and fire!”

This shout immediately spread throughout the castle.

And indeed! The climbers had barely completed their report when a heavy, spherical rock came flying over the stream and crashed into the base of the cliff beneath Alamut. And soon after there came more, raining down at regular intervals in groups of ten or twenty. Their impact with the strata of rock drowned out the roar of Shah Rud. Some of the projectiles struck the fortress walls. The men standing on them felt the earth shake beneath them. Their faces pale, they waited for the enemy to appear.

Suddenly an enormous boulder came rolling down the opposite wall. It collided first with one outcrop of the cliff and then another, caroming between them in huge bounds and finally crashing into Shah Rud, crushing everything in its path. Then came more, each one tied to heavy logs. The river’s current carried some of them away, while those that landed in the river’s shallows remained. There they gradually accumulated and formed a veritable dam, against which the river’s waters foamed and splashed.

Now the men of Alamut began to notice movement on the heights opposite. They could make out men dragging equipment behind them. Manuchehr gave a command, and a swarm of arrows flew toward them, but the distance was too great for them to inflict any serious damage.

A flaming projectile came soaring toward Alamut and slammed into its walls. Others followed. A swarm of arrows poured down on the besieged castle. One of the soldiers was wounded.

Manuchehr went rushing to where the soldier was.

“Idiots! Don’t expose yourselves to them! Take cover!”

He was gasping loudly with excitement and rage.

Though pale, the soldiers grinned at each other. They were helpless against this way of fighting.

“It’s all just a lot of show,” Manuchehr roared. “It’s a bluff and doesn’t pose the slightest danger.”

But the hail of stones and fiery projectiles had an effect on the men. They knew they had nowhere to retreat to from the castle. Each of them would rather have faced off with the enemy in the open.

“If Sayyiduna would just give the word, I’d scale that wall with my fedayeen and cut down everyone up there,” Abdul Malik said, gritting his teeth in helpless rage.

Yusuf and Suleiman also had their fists clenched in anger. They would have been the first to volunteer for a slaughter like that. But apparently Sayyiduna was strolling around on top of his tower, discussing sacred matters with the grand dais. Suleiman could barely control his impatience anymore.

Abu Ali came to review the situation on the walls and then returned to Hasan.

“The men really are a bit upset,” he said, laughing.

“That’s precisely what Arslan Tash was after,” Hasan replied. “He wanted to make an impression on us, soften us up, frighten us. But if he plans to benefit from this mood, he’d better do it fast. Because in two or three days our soldiers will be so used to this hullabaloo that they’ll be throwing lassos at the missiles for fun.”

“So do you think they’re going to try an assault with ladders soon?”

“No, they’re not going to do that. But they might let us know something that’s weighing down on them.”

At the third prayer the emir’s barrage stopped abruptly. An ominous quiet ensued. The sense in the castle was that the morning’s bombardment had been just the prelude to something greater that was yet to come.

The three men atop the tower were the first to notice the three horsemen who came galloping into the canyon. Soon the adversary came to a halt on the far side of the bridge before Alamut and gave the sign of peace.

“This could be some kind of trick,” an officer said to Manuchehr.

“We won’t lower the bridge until we get the order from the supreme commander,” the commander of the fortress replied.

The order soon came. The iron chains clanked and the three emissaries of the enemy army proudly, if cautiously, rode over the bridge into the castle. Manuchehr welcomed them with impeccable courtesy.

In the meantime, at Hasan’s order the entire army, with the exception of a few essential lookouts atop the walls, assembled with lightning speed on the lower and middle terraces. Here the fedayeen and novices stood on one side, the archers on the other, while on the lower level the light and heavy cavalry stood in perfect formation.

Manuchehr and a contingent of officers escorted the emissaries to the middle terrace. There they came to a halt and waited for further instructions.

“This morning they tried to impress us,” Hasan said. “Now it’s my turn to make an impression on them that will last till judgment day.”

Once again his voice and face were projecting something that gave the grand dais an eerie feeling. There was something mysterious to him, as there had been that night when he sent the fedayeen into the gardens.

“Are you planning to cut them down and set their heads out on stakes?” Abu Ali asked.

“I’d have to be very stupid to do anything like that,” Hasan replied. “The emir’s army would be overcome with such a fury that they’d lose any vestige of fear they might have. But it’s that sense of fear that we have to magnify if we’re going to come out of this the victors.”

“The army is assembled and the emissaries are waiting,” Buzurg Ummid said, looking out over the battlements.

“Let them wait. They tried to soften us up with their bombardment, so we’ll soften them up with anticipation.”

The emissary of Arslan Tash, the cavalry captain Abu Jafar, was standing midway between the fedayeen and the archers. He rested one hand lightly on the handle of his saber and looked at the enemy army with feigned indifference and disdain. His two escorts stood tall to each side of him. They held on firmly to the hafts of their sabers, looking fiercely and grimly to all sides. All three of them summoned great self-mastery to subdue their growing impatience and fear for their fate.

Manuchehr and the officers stood some ten paces away from them. He looked provocatively at the emissaries, now and then exchanging a few whispered words with his aides-de-camp and stealing glances up in the direction of the supreme command.

But no sign of any decision was coming from there, as though Hasan had forgotten that the whole army and three enemy emissaries were waiting down here for his nod.

The sun bore down mercilessly on the men and the animals. Yet no one showed the least sign of impatience. They watched indifferently as the enemy messengers began to show signs of unease.

Finally Abu Jafar grew tired of the long wait. He turned to Manuchehr and asked him with mock courtesy, “Is it your custom to leave your visitors waiting outside in the baking sun?”

“We have just one custom here, and that’s to obey the orders of our supreme commander.”

“Then I have no choice but to report this delay to His Excellency, my master Arslan Tash, as part of your master’s answer.”

“As your lordship wishes.”

They fell silent again. Furious, Abu Jafar kept looking up at the sky, wiping the sweat from his face. He began to grow uncertain. Why had they put him in the midst of their army? What was this waiting about? What did their supreme commander have in store for him? His imagination got the best of him, and he was again plagued with fear.

Meanwhile, the commanders had put on their ceremonial white robes. They pulled billowing white coats on over their shoulders. They left the building, accompanied by bodyguards.

This would be the first time Hasan had appeared before his believers since he had seized Alamut. He knew what this would mean for them. Despite himself, he was also feeling agitated.

A trumpet announced his approach. All eyes turned toward the upper terrace. Three men appeared there dressed in dazzling white and surrounded by half-naked, black, mace-bearing guards. The men held their breath. One of the three was unfamiliar. They guessed it was Sayyiduna.

Yusuf and Suleiman’s eyes widened.

“Sayyiduna!” they whispered.

The word spread from man to man.

Sayyiduna had appeared! Something extraordinary was going to happen. The unease that had seized the men passed to the animals too. They started and became impatient.

The three emissaries also sensed the unusual tension. When they caught sight of the three commanders in their ceremonial clothing, they instinctively stood at attention. The blood drained from their faces.

Hasan and his entourage reached the edge of the upper level. It was unusually silent. The only sound was the muffled roar of Shah Rud, the perpetual companion of all life at Alamut.

Hasan raised his arm as a sign that he was about to speak. Then, in a clear voice, he asked Abu Jafar, “Who are you, stranger? And what have you come to Alamut for?”

“Sir! I am Captain Abu Jafar, son of Abu Bakr. I come on the orders of my master, His Excellency the emir Arslan Tash, who has been sent by His Majesty, the Glory and Grace of the state, the omnipotent sultan Malik Shah, to wrest back from you the fortress of Alamut, which you seized by dishonest means. His Majesty views you as his subject. He orders you to turn the castle over to his general, the emir Arslan Tash, within three days. My master guarantees safe passage for you and your men… However, if you do not fulfill this order, His Excellency will view you as an enemy of the state. My master will pursue you relentlessly until he utterly destroys you. For the grand vizier himself, His Excellency Nizam al-Mulk, is approaching Alamut with a great army, and he will show no mercy toward the Ismailis. This is what my master has commanded me to tell you.”

At these final threats his voice shook slightly.

Hasan jeered at him. In his response he mocked the other’s solemn delivery.

“Abu Jafar, son of Abu Bakr! Tell your master, His Excellency the emir Arslan Tash, this: Alamut is well prepared to receive him. However, we are in no way his enemies. Still, if he keeps clattering around these parts with his weapons, the same thing could happen to him as happened to the commander of his vanguard. His head will be stuck on a stake and planted on that tower over there.”

Abu Jafar’s face flushed red. He came forward a step and reached for his sword.

“You dare shame my master? Impostor! Egyptian hireling! Do you know there are thirty thousand of us outside this castle?”

The Ismailis who heard this answer started rattling their weapons. A wave of indignation spread through their ranks.

Hasan remained totally cool and asked, “Is it the custom among the sultan’s men to offend foreign leaders?”

“No. Our custom is to take an eye for an eye.”

“You said something about there being thirty thousand men outside the castle. Tell me, have these men come to catch butterflies or to hear the new prophet?”

“If the Ismailis are butterflies, then they’ve come to catch butterflies. If there’s some new prophet close by here, it’s news to me.”

“So you haven’t heard anything about Hasan ibn Sabbah, the master of heaven and earth? Whom Allah has given the power to open the gates of paradise to the living?”

“I’ve heard about some Hasan ibn Sabbah who is an infidel leader. If my senses don’t deceive me, I’m standing in front of him now. But I don’t know anything about his being master of heaven and earth, or about Allah giving him that kind of power.”

Hasan sought out Suleiman and Yusuf with his eyes. He called to them. They left their positions within the ranks and went toward the steps that led to the upper terrace. He asked them, “Can the two of you swear by all the prophets and martyrs that you have been in paradise, alive, whole, and fully conscious?”

“We can, Sayyiduna.”

“Swear it.”

They so swore, clearly and distinctly.

Abu Jafar was tempted to laugh. But such firm faith and sincere conviction showed in their voices that a shiver went down his spine. He looked at his two aides and could tell from their faces they were happy not to be in his shoes. Clearly he had let things take a wrong turn. Now he spoke with much less firmness than before.

“Sir, I haven’t come here to engage in religious disputes with you. I have brought you the order of His Excellency, my master the emir Arslan Tash, and I await your response.”

“Why are you being evasive, friend? Don’t you care whether you’re fighting for a true prophet or not?”

“I’m not fighting for any prophet. I simply serve His Majesty.”

“Those are exactly the words of the men who fought in the service of other rulers against the Prophet. Which is why they met with destruction.”

Abu Jafar stubbornly looked at the ground. He remained silent.

Hasan turned toward Yusuf and Suleiman. They stood as if bolted to the foot of the steps, gazing at him with gleaming eyes. He descended partway down the steps toward them, reached inside his cloak, and pulled out a bracelet.

“Do you recognize this bracelet, Suleiman?”

Suleiman went as white as a sheet. Froth gathered at the corners of his mouth. In a voice quavering with mindless bliss, he murmured, “I do, master.”

“Go and return it to its owner.”

Suleiman’s knees went weak. Hasan reached inside his cloak again. This time he brought forth a pellet, which he handed Suleiman.

“Swallow it,” he ordered.

Then he turned to Yusuf.

“Would you be happy, Yusuf, if I sent you along with Suleiman?”

“Oh… Sayyiduna.”

Yusuf’s eyes shone with happiness. Hasan handed him a pellet too.

The emir’s emissaries watched this scene with growing trepidation. Soon they noticed both youths getting a remote, absent look in their eyes, as though they were looking at a completely foreign world that was invisible to the others.

Abu Jafar asked timidly, “What does all this mean, sir?”

“You’ll see. I’m telling you, open your eyes. Because what is about to happen has never before happened in the history of mankind.”

Then he solemnly straightened up and spoke in a deep voice.

“Yusuf! Zuleika is waiting for you in paradise. Do you see that tower? Run to the top of it and jump off. You’ll fall into her embrace.”

Yusuf’s face shone with happiness. From the moment he swallowed the pellet, he was at peace again as he had not been for a long time. A marvelous, blissful peace. Everything was exactly as it had been when he and his two friends had originally set out for paradise. As soon as he registered Hasan’s command, he turned on his heels and raced toward the tower with the dovecotes.

Then, amidst a tomblike silence, Hasan turned to face Suleiman.

“Do you have your dagger with you, Suleiman?”

“Here it is, Sayyiduna.”

The three emissaries instinctively reached for their sabers. But Hasan shook his head and smiled at them.

“Take the bracelet! Thrust the dagger into your heart, and in just a moment you’ll be able to return it to its owner.”

Suleiman clutched with wild joy at the bracelet. He held it to his chest, while with the other hand he plunged the dagger into his heart. Still radiant with happiness, with a sigh of relief he collapsed to the ground at the foot of the steps.

The three emissaries and everyone else who was standing close by froze in horror.

Pale and with a tired smile, Hasan pointed toward the body.

“Go take a close look,” he told the emissaries.

After some hesitation, they obeyed. The dagger was planted up to the hilt in the youth’s body. A thin stream of blood soaked his white clothing. Even in death his face was still radiant with bliss.

Abu Jafar drew his hand across his eyes.

“O all-merciful Allah!” he moaned.

Hasan nodded to a eunuch to spread a coat over the body. Then he turned and pointed toward the tower.

“Look up there!”

Out of breath, Yusuf had just then reached the top of the tower. His heart was pounding in his chest. Dumbfounded, the guards on the tower platform remained motionless. He raced up onto the battlements. Below he saw a sea of palaces, towers and cupolas, all in the most vivid colors.

“I’m an eagle. At last, I’m an eagle again,” he whispered.

He waved his arms and actually felt that he’d grown wings. With a powerful leap he soared into the abyss.

His heavy body crashed to the ground with a dull thud.

The horses standing nearby neighed wildly and backed off. They jostled with each other and caused disorder in the ranks. Their riders had a hard time calming them down.

“Go on over and have a look at the body,” Hasan told the emissaries.

“We’ve seen enough,” Abu Jafar replied. His voice was still as faint as before.

“Well then, Abu Jafar. Report what you’ve seen here as my response to your master. And be sure to tell him this: though your army may number thirty thousand men, no two of them are the equal of these. As for the threat of the grand vizier, tell him I know something very important about him that he’ll only find out six or possibly even twelve days from now. When that happens, make sure he remembers me and my message… Farewell!”

He ordered the emissaries’ horses brought out. Abu Jafar and his aides bowed low. Hasan dismissed the assembled troops. His guards carried off the bodies. Then, with his entourage, he returned to his tower.

Overwhelmed by this horrible spectacle, the men returned to their duties. For quite a while no one found words to express his thoughts and feelings. Only gradually did the Ismailis’ tongues loosen.

“It’s true! Sayyiduna is master over life and death for his subjects. He has the power to send whomever he wants to paradise.”

“If he ordered you, would you stab yourself?”

“I’d do it.”

Their eyes gleamed feverishly with a horrible fear and a passion to prove themselves to Sayyiduna, to the other Ismailis and the whole world.

“Did you see how their emissaries went pale? How timid Abu Jafar suddenly got?”

“There isn’t a ruler who’s a match for Sayyiduna.”

“Did you hear him refer to himself as the new prophet?”

“Didn’t we know that already?”

“But in that case how can he serve the Egyptian caliph?”

“Maybe it’s the other way around.”

The fedayeen instinctively gathered in their usual place atop the wall. They stared at each other, pale-faced, none of them daring to speak first.

Finally Obeida broke the silence.

“Suleiman and Yusuf are lost to us now,” he said. “We’ll never see them in this world again.”

Naim’s eyes teared up.

“Do you know that for sure?”

“Didn’t you see the eunuchs carry their bodies away?”

“Are they in paradise now?”

Obeida gave a cautious smirk.

“They sure seemed to be convinced of it.”

“And you aren’t?” ibn Vakas asked.

“Sayyiduna said so. I can’t doubt it.”

“It would be a crime to doubt,” Jafar added seriously.

“It feels like everything is empty now that we’ve lost them,” ibn Vakas said disconsolately. “First ibn Tahir left us, and now them.”

“What’s happened to ibn Tahir? What’s keeping him? Is he in paradise now too?” Naim asked.

“Only Allah and Sayyiduna can say,” ibn Vakas replied.

“It would be so good to see him again,” Naim said.

“I’m afraid he’s taken the same path as his traveling companions,” Obeida suggested.

“The strangest thing, Your Excellency,” Captain Abu Jafar told the emir Arslan Tash on returning from Alamut to camp, “is not that the youths carried out their master’s order so quickly. After all, what other choice did they have with such a cruel commander? What amazed us most—horrified us, even—was the unthinking joy with which they leapt at death. If Your Excellency could have seen how blissfully their eyes shone when he announced they would be going straight to paradise when they died! Not even the shadow of a doubt could have troubled their hearts. Their faith that they would return to the paradise they had already been in once before must have been more solid than the cliffs beneath Alamut. My aides can confirm all of this for you.”

Lost in thought, the emir Arslan Tash paced back and forth inside his tent. He was a tall, handsome man. It was evident from his carefully groomed appearance that he loved the joys of life and its comforts. His features expressed concern. He wasn’t the slightest bit pleased with Hasan’s answer. One after the other, he looked each of his three emissaries in the eye. He asked them, “Are you sure you weren’t the victims of some trick?”

“We’re positive,” Abu Jafar replied. “Suleiman stabbed himself barely five or six paces away from us. And all of Alamut saw Yusuf jump from the parapets.”

Arslan Tash shook his head.

“I just can’t believe it. I’ve heard of sorcerers in India who appear to make miraculous things happen. They throw a rope up in the air, for instance, and the rope remains suspended. Then the sorcerer’s assistant starts climbing up the rope. When he’s climbed up quite high, the sorcerer gives a command. The rope drops and the assistant comes crashing to the ground. The sorcerer sets a basket over the corpse. He recites a few prayers and then, when he lifts the cover, the assistant pokes his head out, hale, hardy and smiling. The whole episode turns out to have been an illusion.”

“There was no such sorcery at Alamut. The knife was buried up to its hilt in Suleiman’s heart. His clothing was spattered with blood.”

The emir fell silent again and pondered. All of this seemed more than mysterious to him.

Then he spoke.

“Whatever the case, I order you to keep as silent as a tomb about everything you saw and heard at Alamut. The men could resist or mutiny if they found out what kind of enemy they’re facing. The grand vizier is on the march, and he’s not going to be amused if we fail to carry out his orders.”

Abu Jafar’s aides exchanged worried glances. On their way here they had described their audience at Alamut to several colleagues.

The emir didn’t notice their exchange of glances. He was pacing around the tent, preoccupied.

“What on earth could the Ismaili commander have meant when he hinted that he knew something about the grand vizier that I would only learn about in six or even twelve days?”

“I’ve told Your Excellency everything he said,” Abu Jafar replied.

“Most likely he just meant to scare me. What could he know about the grand vizier that I myself don’t know? That he’s en route to Isfahan? That he’s planning to move on Alamut after that?”

He swung his arm in frustration.

“Just my luck to get the dubious honor of taming these infidels! What kind of honest opponent is this? He hides in fortresses, avoids open battle, poisons ignorant minds with strange fairy tales and turns them into dangerous fools. How am I supposed to get my hands on that?”

“All right, then. You’re dismissed!” he said a short time later. “I’ll take your report into consideration. Just keep it quiet.”

The emissaries bowed and left.

The emir dropped onto some soft pillows, poured himself a full cup of wine, and drank it down in one draught. His face brightened. He clapped. Two beautiful young slave girls came out from behind a curtain. They sat down next to him and embraced him. Soon Alamut and its cruel master were forgotten.

By contrast, his men were all the more animatedly discussing the experience of the three emissaries at Alamut. The news had swept through the entire camp like a cyclone. When Abu Jafar and his aides came back out of the emir’s tent, his friends showered him with questions. He raised a finger to his lips and whispered that the emir had given them strict orders to keep as silent as a tomb about everything. This meant that the officers retired to a separate tent, put a guard out front, and then spent hours discussing in depth everything the emissaries had been able to say.

The enlisted men discussed the Alamut events in their own way.

“The master of Alamut could be a true prophet. He started with only a handful of men, just like Mohammed. Now there are thousands fighting in his ranks.”

“The Ismailis are adherents of the party of Ali. Weren’t our fathers too? Why should we fight with men who remain faithful to the teachings of their fathers and ours?”

“The Prophet wasn’t as powerful as the master of Alamut. Sure, he could travel to paradise. But could he also send others there, alive?”

“They said that both of the youths who killed themselves in our emissaries’ presence had already been in paradise. Otherwise, how could they have gone to their deaths so enthusiastically?”

“As long as I’ve lived, I’ve never heard of anything like this. Does it make any sense for us to fight such a powerful prophet?”

“You’d think the Ismailis were Turks or Chinese for the sultan to declare war on them. They’re Iranians like us, and good Muslims.”

“The grand vizier wants to get back in the sultan’s good graces. That’s why he’s sent us to attack Alamut, so he can look important and needed. We’ve seen this kind of business before. We weren’t born yesterday.”

“It’s a lucky thing that our emir is such a smart man. He isn’t in any hurry. When it gets cold, we’ll just leave for our winter quarters in the south.”

“Of course, it would be stupid for us to fight with an enemy that nobody hates.”

Wordlessly, the grand dais accompanied Hasan to his chambers. The supreme commander was clearly exhausted. He tossed the white coat off his shoulders and lay down on the pillows.

The grand dais remained standing.

“Do you know who I miss having here today?” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Omar Khayyam.”

“Why him of all people?”

“I can’t say exactly. I’d just like to talk to him.”

“Is your conscience bothering you?”

Buzurg Ummid gave him a penetrating look.

Hasan instinctively rose. He looked inquisitively at the grand dais. He didn’t answer the question.

“Do you know that on that night when you went to the gardens where the youths were, I suggested to Abu Ali that we kill you and throw you off the tower into Shah Rud?”

Hasan instinctively grabbed the handle of his saber.

“Yes, I suspected something. Why didn’t you carry out your plan?”

Buzurg Ummid shrugged his shoulders. Abu Ali could only stare at him, dumbstruck.

“Until now I regretted not carrying it out.”

“You see? That’s probably why I started missing Omar Khayyam so much. But don’t think it’s because I’m afraid. I just wish I could have a good talk with somebody.”

“Go ahead, speak. We’ll listen.”

“Let me ask you a question. Is a child’s delight in his colorful playthings real joy?”

“What’s the point of these digressions again, ibn Sabbah?” Buzurg Ummid said with obvious annoyance. “Just tell us straight out what you were planning to say.”

“You said you’d listen to me.”

Hasan’s voice was once again hard and determined.

“My intention was not to justify my actions. I only wanted to explain them to you. Obviously, a child’s delight in his colorful toys is just as genuinely felt as a grown man’s pleasure in money or women. Viewed from the perspective of any individual, every pleasure that he feels is a real, genuine pleasure. Each of us is happy in his own way. So if the prospect of dying means happiness for someone, he’ll delight in death just as much as another delights in money or a woman. There are no regrets after death.”

“Better a live dog than a dead king,” Abu Ali muttered.

“Dog or king, they’ll both have to die. Better to go as a king.”

“Since you’ve assumed that power, you can say that you rule over life and death,” Buzurg Ummid said. “But I’d rather be a dog in the road than die like your two fedayeen did.”

“You haven’t understood me,” Hasan replied. “Has anyone prescribed that sort of death for you? Your situation is infinitely remote from theirs. What was the summit of happiness for them would fill you with sheer horror. And can you be sure that whatever is the ultimate happiness for you wouldn’t be sheer terror for somebody else, or viewed from a different perspective? None of us can have an overview of our actions from all perspectives. That was the exclusive province of an all-seeing god. So grant me that everyone is happy in his own way!”

“But you intentionally deceived the fedayeen! Where did you get the right to treat people who are devoted to you like this?”

“I take that right from the knowledge that the supreme Ismaili motto is right.”

“And you can speak of an all-seeing god practically in the same breath?”

At this, Hasan straightened up. He seemed to grow by a full head.

“Yes, I did speak of some all-seeing god. Neither Jehovah, nor the Christian God, nor Allah could have created the world we live in. A world in which nothing is superfluous, in which the sun shines just as gently on the tiger and the lamb, the elephant and the fly, the scorpion and the butterfly, the serpent and the dove, the rabbit and the lion, the blossom and the oak, the beggar and the king. Where both the just and the unjust, the strong and the weak, the smart and the stupid fall victim to disease. Where happiness and pain are blindly strewn to the four winds. And where the same ending awaits all living beings—death. Don’t you see? That’s the god whose prophet I am.”

The grand dais instinctively stepped several paces back. So that was the core of this strange man, that was the “madness,” that burning conviction that had unerringly led him to the point where he now stood? So he secretly really did see himself as a prophet? And all his philosophizing was just a decoy for the minds of doubters? And maybe for himself as well? So that in his faith he was closer in spirit to his fedayeen than to the Ismaili leaders?

“So you believe in a god?” Buzurg Ummid asked in an almost timid voice.

“As I have said.”

An enormous abyss opened up between them.

The grand dais bowed in parting.

“Carry out your duties. You are my successors.”

He smiled at them in farewell, as a father smiles at his children.

Once they were out in the corridor, Abu Ali exclaimed, “What material for Firdausi!”