Alamut

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Over the following days the emir’s army continued to bombard Alamut steadily. The Ismailis grew inured to the crash and rumbling of projectiles against the castle’s walls. Hasan’s prediction turned out to have been right on target. The soldiers posted atop the walls would watch the incoming projectiles and ebulliently evaluate each one of them, laughing and jeering wildly at the bad ones, or loudly exclaiming their admiration for the good ones. None of them were the slightest bit fearful anymore. They used signals to communicate with the enemy. Ibn Vakas, who had taken the late Obeida’s place as leader of the scouts, soon found in these good relations a convenient opportunity to reestablish direct contact with the emir’s army. He sent out one of his own men together with one of the prisoners. The prisoner related that his fellow prisoners back at the castle were doing well and that the Ismailis treated them with respect. The Ismaili asked the emir’s men whether they were interested in trading with Alamut. There was plenty of money in the fortress, and overnight a thriving black market came into being that linked the men on both sides.

The news that ibn Vakas intercepted through this conduit was invaluable for the besieged castle. First of all he learned that the emir’s army no longer amounted to thirty thousand men, but barely half that number. Then, that even those remaining were short of provisions and that, as a result, the men were constantly grumbling and pressing for them to withdraw. Emir Arslan Tash would have liked to send another five thousand men back to Rai or Qazvin, but given the reports of the Ismailis’ fanatical determination and skill, he was afraid of losing his advantage and meeting with the same fate as the commander of his vanguard.

Little more than a week had passed when a messenger came rushing into the emir’s camp and reported the horrific news that some Ismaili had stabbed the grand vizier in the midst of his own army at Nehavend. Arslan Tash was thunderstruck. In an instant his imagination conjured a disguised murderer trying to get at him. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Call Abu Jafar here!” he ordered.

The captain arrived.

“Have you heard?” he asked him worriedly.

“I’ve heard, Excellency. Nizam al-Mulk has been murdered.”

“What was it the master of Alamut said?”

“That he knew something about the grand vizier that Your Excellency would only find out about in six or even twelve days. And that when that happened, Your Excellency should remember him and his message.”

“O Allah, Allah! He knew everything already. It was he who sent the murderer to Nehavend. But what did he mean by saying I should remember him?”

“Nothing good for you, I’m afraid.”

The emir drew one hand across his eyes. Then he leapt toward the entrance like a deer.

“Commander of the guards! Quick! I want you to increase your forces tenfold. No man should ever be without his weapon. Put guards everywhere. Don’t let anyone through, except for my officers and individuals whom I’ve summoned personally!”

Then he rejoined Abu Jafar.

“Assemble the drummers! Get all of the men battle-ready. Anyone who has the slightest contact with Alamut will be beheaded on the spot.”

Even before Abu Jafar had a chance to carry out this order, an officer came dashing into the tent.

“Mutiny! The catapult teams have saddled their horses and mules and fled south. The sergeants who opposed them were beaten and bound.”

Arslan Tash clutched at his head.

“Oh, you dog! You son of a dog! How could you let this happen?”

The officer angrily stared at the ground.

“They’re hungry. They don’t want to fight against a powerful prophet.”

“Well, what do you advise me to do?”

Abu Jafar replied dispassionately. “The grand vizier, the mortal enemy of the Ismailis, is dead. Taj al-Mulk is in power. He’s sympathetic to the master of Alamut.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The men who know how to operate the siege equipment have fled. What purpose is there in continuing to surround Alamut?”

Arslan Tash relaxed visibly. Out of duty, more than for any other reason, he shouted, “So you recommend that I run shamefully?”

“No, Your Excellency. It’s just that the situation has changed significantly with the vizier’s death. We have to wait for orders from the sultan and the new grand vizier.”

“Well, that’s different.”

He called an assembly of the officers. Most of them favored retreat. The men were opposed to fighting the Ismailis.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s strike camp and have the whole army get ready to withdraw in absolute silence.”

The next morning the sun shone down on an empty and desolate plateau. Only the trampled ground and the ashen beds of countless campfires remained as evidence of a huge army’s presence there just the day before.

Ibn Vakas’s sources had immediately let him know about the death of the grand vizier.

“An Ismaili has murdered the grand vizier right in the middle of his own camp! The sultan’s army outside of Alamut is disintegrating!”

The news traveled through the entire fortress in an instant. Ibn Vakas reported the news to Abu Ali, who went looking for Buzurg Ummid.

“Ibn Tahir has carried the order out. Nizam al-Mulk is dead!”

They both went to see Hasan and let him know.

From the moment the supreme commander learned that Miriam had slashed her wrists in her bath, he had withdrawn even farther into himself. His machine may have worked according to his plan, but in the process its claws were also devouring people for whom it wasn’t meant. One victim led to another, which led to yet another. He could feel that it was no longer entirely under his control, that it was reaching past and above him, and that it was beginning to destroy people who were dear to him and whom he needed.

Here he was now, alone and frightening even to his own people. He perceived Miriam’s suicide as the loss of the last person to whom he could reveal his true self. If only he had Omar Khayyam with him now! What would he have made of his actions? He wouldn’t have approved of them, for sure, but he would have understood them. And that’s what he needed most of all.

The grand dais entered his chambers. From the solemnity of their behavior he could tell they were bringing him important news.

“The emir’s army is running high-tail. Your Ismaili has killed the grand vizier.”

Hasan shuddered. The first of the threesome that had once pledged to their mutual cause was no more. The road was clear now.

“At last,” he whispered. “The death of that devil is the beginning of good fortune.”

The three of them remained silent for a time. Then he asked, “Have you heard what happened to the one who did it?”

Buzurg Ummid shrugged.

“We haven’t heard. What other possibility could there be, but one?”

Hasan looked them in the eyes, trying to read their thoughts. Abu Ali’s face showed loyalty and trust. Buzurg Ummid’s expressed approval verging on admiration.

He relaxed.

“Tell the Ismailis that from this day forward they’re to revere ibn Tahir as our most illustrious martyr. In addition to his name, they should also mention Suleiman’s and Yusuf’s in their prayers. This is my order. From here on, our path leads relentlessly upwards. All of the besieged castles will be liberated. Send a messenger to Gonbadan immediately. Husein Alkeini must be avenged. As soon as Kizil Sarik retreats from the fortress, have them send a caravan with my son in it here to Alamut.”

He dismissed them and went to the top of his tower, where he watched the emir’s forces retreating.

The next morning messengers were dispatched at a gallop to all the Ismaili fortresses. Ibn Vakas’s assignment was to reestablish contact with Rudbar.

As the day began to incline toward evening, a breathless Abu Ali came running in to see the supreme commander.

“Something incredible has happened,” he said when he was still a long way off. “Ibn Tahir has returned to the castle.”

The night after his attack on the grand vizier was the most horrible night in ibn Tahir’s life. Beaten and battered, his arms and legs bound, he lay chained to the tent’s middle pole. Desperate thoughts gnawed at him. He thought he could hear the mocking guffaws of the old man of Alamut. How could he have been so blinded that he didn’t see through the deception from the very start? Allah, Allah! How could he have ever guessed that a religious leader, whose devoted followers all thought he served justice and truth, could be such a vile fraud! Such a cold-blooded, calculating cheat! And that Miriam, that creature of angelic beauty, could be his helper, ten times more despicable than he, because she exploited love for her vile purposes. How limitlessly he despised her now!

The night dragged on to infinity. The excruciating pain refused to pass and sleep refused to come. Was Miriam that horrible old man’s lover? Did the two of them laugh at his childish gullibility together? He, ibn Tahir, had written poems to her. He had dreamed about her, longed for her, expired for her. And all that time that vile old man had probably been using her as his plaything, slaking his lust on her, glutting himself on wine and her charms, while those who believed in him, who revered and loved him, got sent to their deaths. Allah, Allah, what a horrible revelation this was!

But how had all this been possible? Was there no one above us to punish such a crime? No one to set limits on such revolting behavior?

Miriam, a whore! This was the most intolerable thought of all. Her beauty, her intelligence, her kindness—all just decoys for the idiot he had been! He couldn’t live after a humiliation like this. This is why he had to go to Alamut and settle things with the old man. He had to, and this would earn him death too. What did he have to be afraid of?

Ah, but still! Hadn’t Miriam’s beauty been the most delightful miracle? What a powerful fire she had ignited! She had triggered a hundred new and unknown powers in him. And now, finally, this realization. Oh, if only he could press her close again. And in a moment of delight crush her, strangle her!

The next day they told him that the grand vizier had died. They held off sending him to Alamut and waited for what the sultan would do.

Sultan Malik Shah, who was already halfway to Baghdad, immediately interrupted his trip when he heard that Nizam al-Mulk had been murdered. Within two days he was back at Nehavend.

On a mighty platform, beneath a sky-blue canopy, and amid countless banners, wreaths and decorations, the vizier’s body lay, perfumed, anointed, and preliminarily embalmed, dressed in scarlet and adorned with a magnificent turban. A black fez and quiver with ink and pen, the symbols of the vizier’s station, were laid out at his feet. His waxen face, framed by its handsome white beard, expressed nobility and peaceful dignity.

One after the other, his sons arrived from all corners of the realm, riding the swiftest horses. They kneeled down before their dead father and kissed his cold, stiffened fingers. Moans and wails echoed around the funeral bier.

When the sultan saw the dead body of his vizier, he broke into tears like a child. For thirty years the deceased had served his country! “The king’s father”—ata beg—how that title suited him! Now he bitterly regretted his harsh treatment of him over the past year. Why had he let a woman meddle with affairs of state?! He ought to have kept her locked up in a harem like all the others.

At the camp he learned the details of the horrible murder. So this was Hasan’s true face! The murderer could just as easily have found him out instead of the vizier! He shuddered. No, he wasn’t going to let this criminality spread. He had to get rid of Hasan! And all the Ismailis with him. His castles would all have to be razed to the ground.

He permitted the vizier’s sons to transport their father’s body to Isfahan and hold the burial ceremony there. As for the murderer, the general sense was to have him carry out the dying vizier’s last command. “He’ll die at Alamut one way or the other,” they said. And so the sultan ordered ibn Tahir brought before him.

They shoved him into the tent, bound and still swollen from his beating and bloody from his wounds. The sultan was amazed when he saw him. In all the many years of his rule he had learned to judge people quickly. There was nothing at all murderous about this Ismaili.

“How were you able to commit such a terrible crime?”

Ibn Tahir gradually confessed. There was nothing invented or distorted in his words. The sultan broke into a cold sweat. He knew history well, but this was the most frightening tale he had ever heard.

“Do you see now that you were just a pawn in the hands of the vile old man of the mountain?” he asked him at the end of his story.

“My only desire is to atone for my crime and save the world from the monster of Alamut.”

“I trust you and will let you go. Thirty men will escort you to Alamut. Make sure you don’t give yourself away too soon. Rein in your anger until they let you see the leader. You’re a determined and bright young man. Your plan has to succeed.”

When he had taken care of everything, the sultan continued his journey to Baghdad.

The thirty men escorting ibn Tahir traveled with remarkable speed. Even so, news of the vizier’s death preceded them by a full day. Between Rai and Qazvin they came across whole bands of soldiers returning from the siege of Alamut. From them they heard how the news had affected the emir and his army. There was some risk that they might fall into the hands of some troop of Ismailis.

Ibn Tahir spoke up.

“I know a secret path on the far side of Shah Rud. That would be the safest route for us to travel.”

He led them to a shallows where they could easily ford the river. They came to a path at the base of the mountains which wended uphill amid gravel and scrub alongside the riverbed. They rode toward Alamut, until the lead rider announced that a horseman was approaching from the opposite direction. They hid in the bushes on both sides of the path and prepared their ambush.

Then ibn Tahir caught sight of the horseman approaching them and recognized ibn Vakas. He felt strangely anxious. Sayyiduna must be sending him to Rudbar, he thought. As much as he reproached himself for it, something in him still wanted the feday to escape from the trap set for him. “It’s not his fault, after all,” he reassured himself. “He’s just as much a victim of the deceitful old man as I was.” Moreover, he still felt some odd connection to the world of Alamut.

Ibn Vakas rode in among them. Instantaneously he was surrounded on all sides. He was too close to be able to use his lance. He threw it on the ground and drew his saber.

“Come, al-Mahdi!”

With this cry he threw himself at his attackers. The closest retreated, frightened by so much intensity. Ibn Tahir went pale and everything in him shrank. He recalled the first battle outside the castle, the time he had seized the Turks’ flag from them. In his mind he saw Suleiman throwing himself to the ground and howling in fury, because Abu Soraka wouldn’t let him fight. He could see the rising might and extent of the Ismailis. The sultan’s army of thousands had just scattered outside Alamut. A new prophet had spoken to Iran. A great and terrible prophet.… He lay his head down on his horse’s neck and quietly began to cry.

In the meantime, ibn Vakas had almost forced his way out with his boldness. His saber blows hailed down on the shields and helmets of his attackers. Then one of them jumped off his horse, picked up the feday’s lance and shoved it into his horse’s belly. The horse rose up on its hind legs and then collapsed, burying its rider beneath it. Ibn Vakas quickly managed to dig his way back out. But just then a mace blow to his head knocked him to the ground. The men tied him up while he was still unconscious. Then they washed his wound and brought him to with water.

When he opened his eyes he saw ibn Tahir before him. He remembered that he had just been proclaimed a saint the day before and he was horrified.

“Am I dead?” he asked timidly.

When the commander of the enemy detachment approached him, ibn Vakas’s eyes widened. Then he was overcome by exhaustion again, and he fell back unconscious.

Ibn Tahir shook him by the shoulder.

“Wake up, ibn Vakas. Don’t you recognize me anymore?”

They brought the wounded youth water, which he drank greedily.

“You’re ibn Tahir? And you’re not dead? What are you doing with them?”

He pointed toward the enemy officer.

“I’m coming back to Alamut to kill the greatest liar and fraud of all time. Hasan ibn Sabbah isn’t a prophet, he’s just a cheap fraud. The paradise he sent us to is on the far side of the castle, in the gardens of the former kings of Daylam.”

Ibn Vakas listened carefully. Then he contorted his face in a dismissive sneer.

“Traitor!”

Ibn Tahir’s face flushed red.

“You don’t believe me?”

“All I believe in is the oath I’ve sworn to Sayyiduna.”

“But he’s deceived us! How can an oath like that be binding?”

“It’s helped us beat the sultan’s army. All our enemies tremble in fear of us now.”

“You have us to thank for that. I killed the grand vizier.”

“That’s what they say. And that’s why the supreme leader proclaimed you a martyr. And now you’re coming back to murder him too?”

“If I had known before what I know now, I would have killed only him.”

“Killed him?! At his order and in front of all of us, Suleiman stabbed himself and Yusuf jumped off the top of the tower. And both of their faces looked blissful when they were dead.”

“Oh, that heartless murderer! Let’s go, quickly! The sooner I drive a knife into his guts, the sooner the world will be spared his horrors!”

They continued on. About a half parasang from Alamut, they stopped.

“You go into the fortress now,” the unit commander told him. “We’ll take the prisoner with us as a hostage. Good luck with your revenge, and may Allah give you an easy death.”

Ibn Tahir forded the river on his horse. Once on the other side, he looked for the place where he had hidden his clothing when he left the castle. He changed into it and then rode toward the canyon. The eyes of his escorts followed him until he was no longer visible. Then the commander ordered them to return to Rai.

The guard atop the tower outside the canyon entrance recognized him and let him through. The fortress bridge was let down for him. When the soldiers caught sight of him, they stared at him as though he had returned from the other world.

“I have to speak with Sayyiduna. Immediately!” he said to the officer on duty. “I bring very important news from the sultan’s camp.” The officer rushed the news to Abu Ali, who took it to Hasan.

Ibn Tahir waited, grim and determined. His desire to settle accounts with the impostor was stronger than his fear. Instinctively he felt the short sword he was carrying under his cloak. He had a dagger hidden under his belt, and in his sleeve he had the poisoned writing implement with which he had stabbed the grand vizier.

At the news that ibn Tahir had returned, Hasan was speechless. He stared at Abu Ali and forgot he was standing there. Like a mouse looking for a way out of a trap, his thoughts darted among all the possibilities, trying to understand this extraordinary event.

“Go. Have ibn Tahir come see me. Order the guard to let him through unhindered.”

He had five of his eunuchs hide behind the curtain in his antechamber. He ordered them to seize the man when he walked in, disarm him, and tie him up.

Then he waited.

When ibn Tahir heard that the supreme commander had summoned him and that he had free access to him, he instantly pulled himself together. “I have to complete my mission,” he said to himself, “and Allah help me.” He remembered their lessons with Abdul Malik. He reckoned with the possibility that Hasan was setting a trap for him. All he needed was to get to his room!

Pale and determined, he entered the commander’s tower. With one hand he touched the handle of the sword beneath his cloak, while he kept the other ready to grab for the dagger quickly. His pace barely lagged as he walked past the Moorish guards. They stood motionless at all the doorways and at the head of each corridor. He forced himself not to look back, and so his pace accelerated.

He climbed the staircase to the top. Even the terrible mace-bearing guard at the end of it didn’t seem to notice him. Now he had to act with all decisiveness, whatever might happen. He crossed the length of the corridor swiftly. A guard was standing outside the leader’s antechamber. He drew back the curtain and motioned to him to proceed.

An icy chill ran down his spine. Quickly, quickly! he thought, and get it over with. Cautiously, decisively, his lips pressed tight, he walked in.

Suddenly a barrage of fists descended on him. They tried to seize him by the wrist, but he managed to wrench himself free and draw his sword. A blow to the back of his head knocked him to the floor. Several of the giants jumped on him and bound his hands and legs.

“What an idiot!” he howled. He gritted his teeth in fear and powerless rage.

Hasan came out of his room.

“As you ordered, Sayyiduna.”

“Good. Go wait in the corridor.”

He looked at ibn Tahir, who lay bound on the floor in front of him, and gave him a peculiar smile.

“Criminal! Murderer of innocents! Haven’t you had enough blood yet?”

As though he hadn’t heard these rebukes, Hasan asked him, ““Did you carry out my order?”

“Why do you bother to ask, you fake? You know perfectly well you tricked me.”

“All right. How did you manage to come back?”

Ibn Tahir grimaced painfully.

“What do you care? What matters is I’m here… to shove a dagger into your guts.”

“Not so easily done, hero.”

“So I see. So I was twice an idiot.”

“Why? As a feday you were committed to dying. We even proclaimed you a martyr. And now you come back trying to frighten us. Now we’re going to have to make sure you go to paradise.”

“I know. Liar! You took us to the gardens of the kings of Daylam and then, like some cheap huckster, you fooled us into believing you’d opened up the gates to paradise. And because of that I went and stabbed a decent man, who in the hour of his death did me the kindness of opening my eyes. What a nightmare!”

“Calm down, ibn Tahir. Nearly all of mankind suffers from just this sort of ignorance.”

“How could it not? When they’re abused by the people they trust most?! Oh, how I believed in you! I would sooner have believed anything about you, whom half of Islam called a prophet, than that you were an impostor and a fraud. That you intentionally deceived your loyal subjects. That you abused their faith to accomplish your criminal goals.”

“Do you have any other wishes?”

“Damn you!”

Hasan smiled.

“Words like that don’t worry me very much.”

Ibn Tahir’s energy flagged. He managed to calm down.

“There’s something I want to ask you before you kill me.”

“Go ahead.”

“How were you able to come up with such a dirty scheme for us, when we’d pledged ourselves to you body and soul?”

“Do you want to hear a serious answer?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then listen… and I’ll grant you your last wish… I’ve always told my followers that my background is Arab. My enemies have tried to prove that it isn’t. And they’re right. I had to do this, because you Iranians are ashamed of your heritage. Because you think that anyone who comes from the lands of the Prophet is nobler, even if it’s the most abject beggar. Because you’ve forgotten that you’re the descendants of Rustam and Suhrab, of Manuchehr and Feridun, that you’re the heirs to the glory of the kings of Iran, the Khosrows, the Farhads and the Parthian princes. You’ve forgotten that your language, that beautiful Pahlavi, is the language of Firdausi, Ansari and countless other poets. First you adopted your faith and spiritual leadership from the Arabs. And now you’ve submitted to the Turks, these horse thieves from Turkestan! For half a century you, the proud sons of Zarathustra, have let these Seljuk dogs rule you! When I was young, the grand vizier, whom you killed, Omar Khayyam and I pledged that we would do everything in our power to overthrow the Seljuk usurpers. We agreed that we would try to advance ourselves as much as possible, in order to maximize our influence, and that we would help each other along the way. I sought my weapon among the Shia, who were opposed to Baghdad and consequently the Seljuks as well. The vizier entered the Seljuks’ service. At first I thought that was the means he had chosen to fulfill our pledge. But lo and behold, when I called him to account, he laughed at me and was surprised I was still clinging to those ‘childish games.’ He obliged me only by finding me a position at the court. But soon he would see that I had remained faithful to our old pledge. He plotted against me and had me banished from the court. But when he saw that my influence was growing, he decided to destroy me. He put a reward of ten thousand gold pieces on my head! And that was the end of our youthful dream. The vizier was sitting at the trough, toadying up to foreigners. Omar was drinking wine, making love to women, bemoaning our lost freedom, and making fun of the whole world. I was persistent. But that experience and others opened my eyes once and for all. I realized that the people are slothful and lax, and that it’s not worth it to sacrifice yourself for them. I had tried to exhort and rouse them to no avail. Do you think the overwhelming majority of people care about the truth? Far from it! They want to be left alone, and they want fairy tales to feed their hungry imaginations. But what about justice? They couldn’t care less, as long as you meet their personal needs. I didn’t want to fool myself anymore. If this is what humankind is like, then exploit its weaknesses to achieve your higher goals, which will benefit them too, even though they don’t understand that. I appealed to the stupidity and gullibility of people. To their passion for pleasure, their selfish desires. The doors were wide open to me now. I became the people’s prophet, the one you came to know. The masses are assembled behind me now. All my bridges have been burned down. I have to move forward. Forward, until the Seljuk empire collapses. Don’t you see? Am I not making sense?… Or am I?”

Ibn Tahir listened to him wide-eyed. He would have expected anything, except for Hasan to defend himself, and like this!

“You said that the faith of you fedayeen was firm. Hardly! I have lived all of my sixty years in perpetual mortal danger. And if I could have known that my death would liberate the glorious throne of Iran from foreign despots, I would have thrown myself into it without any expectation of some heavenly reward! Back then, at least. I looked around and realized that if I deposed one of them, another would replace him. Because there wouldn’t have been anyone who would know how to make use of my death. So I had to look for others who would be willing to take aim at those highly placed heads. Nobody would have agreed to go voluntarily, because nobody was so acutely aware of his calling, or so proud that he could sacrifice himself for a cause. I had to find other means. Those means… those means were the artificial paradise beyond the castle, the gardens of the kings of Daylam, as you’ve so accurately said already. Where does deception begin and where does truth end in life? It’s hard to say. You’re still too young to understand. But if you were my age! Then you’d understand that the paradise a person sees as paradise really is paradise for him. And that his pleasures there are real pleasures. If you hadn’t seen through it, you would have died happy in that knowledge, just as Suleiman and Yusuf did… Am I making some sense now?”

Ibn Tahir shook his head in amazement.

“I think I’m beginning to understand, and it’s terrible.”

“Do you know what al-Araf is?”

“I do, Sayyiduna. It’s the wall that separates paradise and hell.”

“Correct. It’s said that that wall is the destination of those who have fought for a higher purpose against the will of their parents, and fallen with sword in hand. They can’t go to paradise, and they don’t deserve hell. It’s their lot to look in both directions. To know! Yes, al-Araf is a symbol for those who have their eyes open and who have the courage to act in accordance with their knowledge. Look. When you believed, you were in heaven. Now that you’ve come to see and deny, you’ve descended into hell. But on Araf there’s no place for either joy or disillusionment. Al-Araf is the balance of good and evil, and the path that leads to it is long and steep. Few have the opportunity to see it. Even fewer dare to tread it, because you’re alone on Araf. It’s what separates you from other people. To endure up here, you have to steel your heart. Do I make sense now?”

Ibn Tahir moaned.

“It’s horrible.”

“What strikes you as so horrible?”

“That the realization comes so late. This should have been the beginning of my life.”

Hasan took him in with a rapid glance. His face brightened. But there was still a quaver of distrust in his voice when he asked him, “What would you do if your life started now?”

“First I’d want to learn everything that the greatest minds have discovered. I’d study all the sciences, delve into all the secrets of nature and the universe. I’d attend all the most famous schools in the world, explore all the libraries…”

Hasan smiled.

“What about love? Have you forgotten about that?”

Ibn Tahir’s face darkened.

“I’d avoid that evil. Women are shameless.”

“Come now, where did you learn that profound truth?”

“You should know…”

“Is that aimed at Miriam? Then you should know that she pleaded for you. For all of you! She’s gone now. She slit her wrists and bled to death.”

Ibn Tahir fell back onto the floor. His heart ached bitterly. Yes, he was still in love with her.

“Whoever intends to scale al-Araf has to be master over love too.”

“I understand.”

“What do you think of me now?”

Ibn Tahir smiled.

“I feel much closer to you.”

“Now perhaps you also understand what it means to observe the world for forty years with a great plan in your heart. And to spend twenty years searching for the chance to realize a great dream. Such a plan and such a dream are like an order that you’ve received from an unknown commander. The world around you is like an enemy army besieging a fortress. You have to get out of the fortress alive if you want to get your order out through the enemy forces. You have to be brave and yet you have to keep your head on your shoulders. Bold and cautious at the same time… Is that clear?”

“It’s becoming clear, Sayyiduna.”

“Do you still think I’m a vicious criminal?”

“No. From the perspective that I see you in now, you’re not a criminal.”

“Would you have the courage to climb al-Araf?”

“From now on it will be my only passion.”

Hasan stepped up to him and cut his bonds.

“Get up. You’re free.”

Ibn Tahir looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

“What do you mean? I don’t under—” he stammered.

“You’re free!”

“What? Me? Free? After I came here to murder you?”

“Ibn Tahir is gone. Now you’re just Avani. You’ve begun your ascent of al-Araf. One crow doesn’t peck the other’s eyes out.”

Ibn Tahir burst into tears. He threw himself at his feet.

“Forgive me! Forgive me!”

“Get far away from here, son. Study, get to know the world. Be afraid of nothing. Cast aside all your prejudices. Let nothing be too lofty or too base for you. Explore everything. Be brave. When nothing remains for you to draw counsel from, come back here. I may not be here anymore. But my people will be. You’ll be welcome, I’ll see to it. When that happens, you’ll be at the summit of Araf.”

Ibn Tahir eagerly kissed his hand. Hasan lifted him up and looked deeply into his eyes for a long time. Then he embraced and kissed him.

“My son,” he stammered, his eyes glistening. “This old heart is happy for you. I’ll give you some money and arrange for you to get anything you might need for your journey…”

Ibn Tahir was moved.

“May I take one more look at the gardens?”

“Come with me to the top of the tower.”

They went out onto the platform and looked down into the gardens. Ibn Tahir sighed. Then he was overcome with emotion. He lay his head down on the rampart and began to cry uncontrollably.

They went back inside and Hasan issued the necessary orders. Ibn Tahir took his things with him, including his poems. They were a precious memento. That same day he rode out from the castle, well armed, supplied with money, and with a pack mule to one side. He looked around himself with wide-open eyes. The whole world seemed reborn and new. He felt as though he had just now opened his eyes. A thousand questions were waiting to be answered. Ibn Tahir the feday had died, and the philosopher Avani had been born.

Hasan returned to his chambers with an unfamiliar, wonderful feeling in his heart. A while later the grand dais rushed in to see him, out of breath.

“What does this mean? Do you know that ibn Tahir has just ridden out of the castle? Everyone saw him.”

Hasan laughed lightheartedly.

“You’re mistaken. Your eyes have deceived you. Ibn Tahir died as a martyr for the Ismaili cause. That must have been someone else you saw. By the way, something pleasant has happened to me, and I’ve been meaning to tell you: I have a son.” The grand dais looked at each other and shook their heads.

The detachment that had escorted ibn Tahir to Alamut headed back toward Nehavend with ibn Vakas as its prisoner. Along the way they paid particular attention to the news. They were waiting for reports of the Ismaili leader’s murder to spread. But there were no such reports.

In Nehavend, Fahr al-Mulk, the son of the dead grand vizier, ordered that his father’s murder be avenged and the escape of the true murderer be covered up by having ibn Vakas beheaded as the vizier’s murderer.

By that time ibn Tahir had already crossed the border of Iran and arrived in India.