Alamut

CHAPTER TWO

At about the same time that Halima arrived by such curious circumstances in the strange, new gardens, a young man on a small, black donkey was also riding along the broad military trail toward the same destination, only from the opposite direction, from the west. It couldn’t have been long since he’d removed his childhood amulets and wrapped a man’s turban around his head. A downy first growth of beard barely showed on his chin, and his clear, lively eyes had an almost childish look to them. He came from the town of Sava, more or less halfway between Hamadan and the old capital, Rai. Years before, in Sava, his grandfather Tahir had established a circle of the Ismaili brotherhood whose ostensible purpose was to proclaim a renewed veneration of the martyr Ali, but which was in fact dedicated to the subversion of Seljuk rule. At one point the society also inducted a former muezzin from Isfahan as a member. Soon afterwards the authorities raided a secret meeting of the group and imprisoned some of its members. Suspicions centered on the muezzin as a likely informer. He was tracked down and the group’s conjecture was proven correct. They secretly condemned him to death and carried out the sentence. Subsequently, the authorities seized the brotherhood’s leader, Tahir, and, at the command of the grand vizier Nizam al-Mulk, ordered him beheaded. The brotherhood disbanded in panic, and at that point it appeared that the Ismailis had been banished from Sava forever.

When Tahir’s grandson reached the age of twenty, his father told him the entire story. He bade him saddle his donkey and get ready for a journey. He took him to the top of a local tower and pointed out the conical peak of Demavend as it shone snow-covered above the clouds in the infinite distance.

He said, “Avani, my son, grandson of Tahir. Go straight along the road that leads toward the peak of Demavend. When you reach the town of Rai, ask for directions to Shah Rud, the King’s River. Follow it upstream until you reach its source, which is nestled at the foot of several steep slopes. There you’ll see a fortified castle called Alamut, the Eagle’s Nest. That is where an old friend of Tahir, your grandfather and my father, has gathered all who profess the Ismaili teachings. Tell him who you are and offer yourself in service. This way you will be given the chance to avenge your grandfather’s death. My blessing be with you.”

The grandson of Tahir put on a crescent saber, bowed respectfully to his father, and mounted the donkey. His ride to Rai was uneventful. At a caravanserai he asked after the easiest route to Shah Rud.

The innkeeper said, “What on earth takes you to Shah Rud? If you didn’t have such an innocent face, I’d suspect you wanted to join the chief of the mountain, who gathers all those infidel dogs around him.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the grandson of Tahir dissembled. “I come from Sava to meet a caravan that my father dispatched to Bukhara, but which seems to have been held up on the way back.”

“When you leave town, keep Demavend to your right. You’ll come to a well-worn road which is used by caravans coming from the east. Stay on that and it will lead you to the river.”

The grandson of Tahir thanked him and remounted his donkey. After two days of riding, he heard the roar of water in the distance. He turned off the path and rode straight toward the river, alongside which a footpath led alternately through sandy open spaces and thick stands of shrubs. The incline of the river grew steadily steeper and the water more thunderous.

When he had thus half-ridden and half-walked his way through a good part of the day, a detachment of horsemen suddenly surrounded him. The attack came so unexpectedly that the grandson of Tahir forgot to draw his saber. When he remembered and reached for its handle, it was of no use to him. Seven sharp spear points were aimed at him. It’s shameful to be afraid, he thought, but what could he do against such superior power?

The commander of the horsemen addressed him. “What are you prying around in these parts for, greenhorn? Maybe you’ve come trout fishing? Be careful your hook doesn’t get caught in your own throat!”

The grandson of Tahir was at a total loss. If these were the sultan’s horsemen and he told the truth, he’d be finished. If they were Ismailis and he kept silent, they’d take him for a spy. He let go of his sword handle and desperately searched the soldiers’ mute faces for an answer.

The commander winked at his men.

“It looks to me like you’re searching for something you haven’t lost, my underaged Pahlavan,” he said, and then grabbed something from between his saddle and stirrup. A white flag, the symbol of the followers of Ali, fluttered on the short stick which he held in his hand.

What if it’s a trap? Avani thought. “No matter, I’ll risk it,” he declared to himself. He jumped off the donkey and reached his hand toward the flag, which the commander had thrust in his direction, and he reverently pressed it to his forehead.

“There you go!” the commander called out. “You’re looking for the castle of Alamut. Come with us, then.”

He drove his horse forward up the path alongside Shah Rud. The grandson of Tahir remounted his donkey and followed him. The soldiers poured after them.

They drew closer and closer to the mountain range, and the roar of Shah Rud grew worse and worse, until they reached a rocky cliff at the summit of which was a watchtower bearing the white flag. At the foot of this cliff the riverbed veered into a steep canyon.

The commander of the detachment held back his horse and ordered the others to come to a halt too. He waved a flag toward the tower and received a reply that the way was clear.

They rode into the canyon, which was chilly and dark. The path here was narrow but well constructed. In places it had been hewn into the living rock. The river roared far beneath them. At a bend in the path the commander stopped and raised his arm to point ahead of them.

Not far off, the grandson of Tahir saw two high towers which shone white over the dark mountains like a vision from a dream. The way the sun shone on them, they glimmered in its rays.

“That is Alamut,” the leader said and pressed onward.

Steep mountainsides concealed the two towers once again. The path continued to wind alongside the river until the canyon suddenly opened up. The grandson of Tahir gazed in astonishment. He saw before him a mighty cliff with a fortification whose foundations had been hewn out of the cliff itself. Shah Rud forked into two branches which embraced the cliff as though holding it in a cleft stick. The fortress was an entire small settlement which gradually rose in height from front to back. Its four corners were marked by four towers, the rearmost of which were much higher than the foremost. The fortress and river together were slung between two steep, impassable slopes and formed a formidable barrier blocking the exit from the canyon.

This was Alamut, the most powerful fortress of the fifty or so that existed in the Rudbar district. It had been built by the kings of Daylam, and it was said to be impregnable.

The commander of the detachment gave a sign, and from the wall opposite a heavy bridge was lowered on iron chains to span the river. The riders rumbled across it, through an imposing arched gateway and into the fort.

They entered a spacious courtyard which rose gradually over three terraces, linked at the center by stone stairways. Alongside the walls to the right and left grew tall poplars and plane trees, beneath which there were real pastures with herds of horses, donkeys and mules grazing on them. In a separate fold there were several dozen camels, peacefully ruminating. To the sides there were barns and barracks, harems and other buildings.

A hustle and bustle reminiscent of a beehive greeted the grandson of Tahir. He looked around in astonishment. Several military units were exercising on the central terrace. He heard the sharp commands, the clanking of shields and lances, the rattle of sabers. In the midst of it a horse would neigh or a donkey bray.

Other men were reinforcing the walls. Donkeys were hauling heavy rocks which the workers then lifted into place with pulleys. Shouts boomed out from all directions, drowning out the sound of the rapids completely.

They dismounted, and the commander asked a soldier walking by, “Is Captain Manuchehr in the guardhouse?”

The soldier came to an abrupt halt and replied, “Yes, he is, Sergeant Abuna.”

The commander signaled to the young man to follow him. They turned toward one of the two lower towers. From somewhere came the sound of short, sudden blows accompanied by groans of pain. The grandson of Tahir turned in the direction of the groans. A man, his back bared down to the waist, stood tied to a stone pillar. A huge Moor dressed in short striped trousers and a red fez stood lashing the man’s bare skin with a whip woven together from short straps. With each blow his skin broke in a new place and blood dripped from the wounds. A soldier stood by with a bucket of water in hand and every now and then doused the victim.

Seeing the horror in the eyes of Tahir’s grandson, Sergeant Abuna laughed scornfully.

“We don’t sleep in featherbeds here, and we don’t anoint ourselves with amber,” he said. “If that’s what you were expecting, you were seriously mistaken.”

The grandson of Tahir walked silently alongside him. As much as he would have liked to know what the poor man had done to be punished so harshly, a strange anxiety had stolen his courage to ask.

They passed into the tower entrance. Beneath its vaults the grandson of Tahir realized just how mighty the fortress walls were. Whole strata of rock lay one on top of the other. A dark, damp stairway led them upstairs. They passed through a long corridor and from there into a spacious room whose floor was covered with a simple carpet. Several pillows were strewn about in the corner, and on them half sat and half lay a man of about fifty. He was well fed and had a short, curled beard shot here and there with filaments of silver. He wore a large white turban, and his coat was embroidered in silver and gold. Sergeant Abuna bowed and waited for the man on the pillows to speak.

“What’s this you bring me, Abuna?”

“We caught this boy on reconnaissance, Captain Manuchehr. He says he was coming to Alamut.”

At these words the captain slowly rose, and the grandson of Tahir saw rising up before him a man as big as a mountain. He planted his fists at his sides, fixed his gaze on the boy, and shouted in a booming voice, “Who are you, wretch?”

The grandson of Tahir flinched, but he quickly recalled his father’s words and remembered that he had come to the castle of his own free will to offer himself in service. Regaining his composure, he replied calmly, “My name is Avani and I’m the grandson of Tahir of Sava, whom the grand vizier ordered beheaded many years ago.”

The captain looked at him half in surprise and half in disbelief.

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Why should I lie, sir?”

“If this is so, then know that your grandfather’s name is written in gold letters in the hearts of all Ismailis. Our Master will be pleased to count you among his warriors. That is why you’ve come to the castle?”

“Yes, to serve the supreme commander of the Ismailis and to avenge my grandfather.”

“Good. What have you learned?”

“Reading and writing, sir. Also grammar and verse making. I know almost half the Koran by heart.”

The captain smiled.

“Not bad. How about the military arts?”

The grandson of Tahir felt at a loss.

“I can ride horseback, shoot with a bow, and I can manage with a sword and spear.”

“Do you have a wife?”

The young man blushed deeply.

“No, sir.”

“Have you indulged in debauchery?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

Captain Manuchehr turned to the sergeant.

“Abuna! Take ibn Tahir to dai Abu Soraka. Tell him that I’ve sent him. Unless I’m completely mistaken, he’ll be glad to have him.”

They both bowed and left the captain’s chamber, and shortly they were back in the courtyard. The pillar to which the man being flogged had been bound was now free. Only a few drops of blood testified to what had happened there. Ibn Tahir still felt a faint shudder, but now he was filled with a sense of his own safety, since clearly it meant something to be the grandson of the martyr Tahir.

They turned up the steps leading to the center terrace. To their right was a low building, perhaps a barrack. The sergeant stopped in front of it and glanced around, as if looking for someone.

A dark-skinned youth in a white cloak, white trousers and white fez came hurrying past. The sergeant stopped him and said politely, “The captain has sent me with this young fellow to his worship dai Abu Soraka.”

“Come with me,” the dark-skinned youth grinned broadly. “His worship the dai is just now teaching us poetry. We’re on the roof.” And, turning to ibn Tahir, he said, “Are you here to become a feday? There are quite a few surprises in store for you. I’m novice Obeida.”

Ibn Tahir followed him and the sergeant without having quite understood.

They came out onto the rooftop, the floor of which was covered with coarsely woven rugs. Some twenty youths, each of them dressed in white just like Obeida, sat on the rugs, knees and feet to the floor. At their knees they each held a tablet on which they wrote down whatever was dictated by an old man in a white cloak sitting in front of them with a book in hand.

The teacher rose when he saw the newcomers. His face knitted into ill-tempered wrinkles, he asked the sergeant, “What do you want from us at this hour? Can’t you see a lesson is underway?”

The sergeant coughed nervously while novice Obeida imperceptibly blended in among his companions, who were curiously inspecting the stranger.

Abuna said, “Forgive me for bothering you during instruction, reverend dai. The captain has sent me with this young man, whom he wants you to have.”

The old missionary and teacher studied ibn Tahir from head to toe.

“Who are you and what do you want, boy?”

Ibn Tahir bowed respectfully.

“My name is Avani and I’m the grandson of Tahir, whom the grand vizier had beheaded in Sava. My father has sent me to Alamut to serve the Ismaili cause and to avenge the death of my grandfather.”

The old man’s face brightened. He ran to ibn Tahir with outstretched arms and heartily embraced him.

“Happy eyes that see you in this castle, grandson of Tahir! Your grandfather was a good friend of mine and of Our Master. Abuna, go and thank the captain for me. And you, young men, take a good look at your new companion. When I tell you the history and struggles of the Ismailis I won’t be able to bypass the famous grandfather of this young man, the Ismaili Tahir, who became the first martyr for our cause in Iran.”

The sergeant winked at ibn Tahir, as if to say job well done, and then vanished through the opening that led downstairs. Dai Abu Soraka squeezed the young man’s hand, asked him about his father and how things were at home, and promised to announce his arrival to the supreme commander. Finally he ordered one of the novices sitting on the floor. “Suleiman, take ibn Tahir to the bedroom and show him the place of that good-for-nothing who got banished to the foot soldiers. Make sure he washes the dust off himself and changes his clothes so that he’s ready for evening prayers.”

Suleiman jumped to his feet, bowed to the old man, and said, “I’ll make sure, reverend dai.”

He invited ibn Tahir to follow him, and the two of them descended to the lower level. Halfway down a narrow hallway Suleiman lifted the curtain covering a doorway and let ibn Tahir through.

They entered a spacious bedroom. Along one wall there were about twenty low-lying beds. They consisted of big linen ticks stuffed with dried grass and covered with horsehair blankets. Each had a horse saddle for a pillow. Above them was a series of wooden shelves affixed to the wall. These held a variety of essentials arranged in strict order: earthen dishes, prayer rugs, and washing and cleaning implements. At the foot of each bed stood a wooden framework which supported a bow, a quiver with arrows, and a lance and spear. Jutting out from the wall opposite were three bronze candelabras with many branches, a wax candle stuck in each of them. In the corner stood a pedestal supporting a jug of oil. Twenty heavy, curved sabers hung on pegs beneath the candles. Beside them were as many round woven shields with bosses made of bronze. The room had ten small, grated windows. Everything in it was clean and kept in perfect order.

“This one is vacant,” Suleiman said, pointing to one of the beds. “Its former occupant had to join the infantry a few days ago. Here’s where I sleep, next to you, and Yusuf of Damagan sleeps on the other side. He’s the biggest and strongest novice in our group.”

“You say my predecessor had to join the infantry?” ibn Tahir asked.

“Right. He wasn’t worthy of becoming a feday.”

Suleiman took a neatly folded white cloak, white trousers and a white fez off a shelf.

“Come to the washroom,” he said to ibn Tahir.

They proceeded to the next room, which had a stone tub with running water. Ibn Tahir bathed quickly. Suleiman handed him the clothes and ibn Tahir slipped into them.

They returned to the bedroom, and ibn Tahir said, “My father has sent his greetings to the supreme commander. When do you think I’ll be able to see him?”

Suleiman laughed.

“You might as well forget that idea, friend. I’ve been here for a full year and I still don’t know what he looks like. None of us novices has ever seen him.”

“Then he’s not in the castle?”

“Oh, he’s here. But he never leaves his tower. You’ll hear more about him over time. Things that will make your jaw drop. You said you’re from Sava. I’m from Qazvin.”

While he spoke ibn Tahir had a chance to study him closely. He could scarcely imagine a more handsome youth. He was as slim as a cypress, with a sharply angular but attractive face. His cheeks were ruddy from sun and wind and a healthy blush permeated his dark skin. His velvety brown eyes gazed out at the world with the pride of an eagle. A light down of a beard showed on his upper lip and around his chin. His entire expression projected courage and daring. When he smiled he showed a row of strong white teeth. His smile was sincere, with just a shade of scorn, yet not at all offensive. Like some Pahlavan from the Book of Kings, ibn Tahir thought.

“I’ve noticed that you all have sharp, hard faces, as though you were thirty. But judging by your beards you can’t be more than twenty.”

Suleiman laughed and replied, “Just wait a fortnight and you won’t look any different from us. We don’t spend our time picking flowers or chasing butterflies.”

“I’d like to ask you something,” ibn Tahir resumed. “A while ago down below I saw them whipping a man who was tied to a pillar. I’d like to know what he did to deserve that punishment.”

“He committed a grievous crime, my friend. He’d been assigned to accompany a caravan traveling to Turkestan. The drivers weren’t Ismailis and drank wine on the journey. They offered him some and he accepted it, even though Sayyiduna has strictly forbidden it.”

“Sayyiduna forbids it?” ibn Tahir asked in amazement. “That injunction holds for all believers and comes straight from the Prophet!”

“You wouldn’t understand yet. Sayyiduna can forbid or permit whatever he wants. We Ismailis are bound to obey only him.”

Ibn Tahir was incredulous, and he began to feel vaguely anxious. He probed further.

“Earlier you said that my predecessor got sent to the infantry. What did he do wrong?”

“He talked about women, and very indecently.”

“Is that forbidden?”

“Absolutely. We’re an elite corps, and when we’re inducted we’ll serve only Sayyiduna.”

“What are we being inducted into?”

“I already told you—the fedayeen. Once we finish school and pass all the tests, that’s the level we’ll be at.”

“What are fedayeen?”

“A feday is an Ismaili who’s ready to sacrifice himself without hesitation at the order of the supreme commander. If he dies in the process, he becomes a martyr. If he completes the assignment and lives, he’s promoted to dai and even higher.”

“All of this is completely new to me. Do you think the test will be very hard?”

“No question about it. Otherwise why would we be preparing for it from dawn to dusk every day? Six have already failed under the load. One of them dropped dead on the spot. The other five asked to be demoted to the infantry.”

“Why didn’t they just leave Alamut instead of letting themselves be humiliated like that?”

“Listen, Alamut is not to be trifled with, my friend. Once you’re in the castle you don’t just walk back out alive as you please. There are too many secrets around here.”

The novices came storming into the room. On the way they had washed in the washroom and gotten themselves ready for evening prayers. A giant almost a head taller than ibn Tahir collapsed on the bed next to his.

“I’m Yusuf of Damagan. I’m not a bad person, but I don’t advise anyone to provoke or make fun of me, or you’ll get to know my other side.”

He stretched his powerful limbs as if to underscore what he’d said.

Ibn Tahir smiled.

“I’ve heard you’re the biggest and strongest in the group.”

The giant sat up instantly.

“Who told you that?”

“Suleiman.”

Disappointed, Yusuf stretched back out on his bed.

The youths were ribbing each other. Obeida walked over to ibn Tahir and opened his Moorish lips.

“How do you like it here so far, ibn Tahir? Of course, it’s hard to say when you’ve just arrived. But once you’ve been in the castle for four months like me, everything you’ve brought with you from outside will evaporate.”

“Did you hear what that black ass said?” Suleiman sneered. “He’s hardly dipped his beak in Alamut’s honey and he’s already giving lessons to others.”

“Maybe I should give you some, you stupid blockhead,” Obeida responded, enraged.

“Easy, brothers,” Yusuf growled from his bed. “Don’t set a bad example for the new guy.”

A broad-shouldered, bowlegged youth with an earnest face approached ibn Tahir.

“I’m Jafar of Rai,” he introduced himself. “I’ve been in the castle for a year, and if you need any help with lessons, just let me know.”

Ibn Tahir thanked him. One after the other the novices approached him to introduce themselves. Afan, Abdur Ahman, Omar, Abdallah, ibn Vakas, Halfa, Sohail, Ozaid, Mahmud, Arslan… Finally the littlest one of them stood in front of him.

“I’m Naim, from near Demavend,” he said.

The others all laughed.

“No doubt one of the demons that live inside the mountain,” Suleiman teased him.

Naim looked at him angrily.

“We go to school a lot,” he continued, “and there’s a lot we have to learn. Do you know our teachers? The one who agreed to accept you is the reverend dai Abu Soraka. He’s a famous missionary who’s traveled through all the lands of Islam, teaching. Sayyiduna appointed him as our superior. He teaches us the history of the Prophet and of the holy martyrs who’ve fallen for the Ismaili cause. Also grammar and poetry in our native Pahlavi.”

“Did you hear that chatterbox? The littlest one in the bunch, and he’s the biggest talker.”

Suleiman laughed and the others joined him. Then he continued.

“Soon you’ll get to know your teachers first-hand, ibn Tahir. Just remember that dai Ibrahim, who teaches us dogma, algebra, Arabic grammar and philosophy, is a good friend of Sayyiduna. You’re going to have to know everything by heart for him, and you don’t want to get on his bad side. Then there’s the Greek al-Hakim. He’ll tolerate anything you blurt out, just as long as you say something. Captain Manuchehr doesn’t put up with back talk. Everything you do for him has to be done right now. The quicker you are in carrying out his commands, the more he’ll like and respect you. Dai Abdul Malik is young, but Sayyiduna puts a lot of trust in him. He’s strong and hardened, able to endure tremendous exertion and pain, and he has no patience for anyone who doesn’t know how to grit his teeth. He teaches us strength of will. His class is the most important one after dogma…”

“Hey, don’t scare our little dove here,” Yusuf interrupted, “or he might turn tail and run. Look, he’s white as a sheet.”

Ibn Tahir blushed.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “I haven’t had a thing to eat all day.”

Suleiman gave an amused laugh.

“You’re going to learn a whole new way of fasting here, friend. Just wait until you get to know dai Abdul Malik.”

They heard the drawn-out blast of a horn.

“Time for prayers!” Yusuf called out. Each of them grabbed a rolled-up rug from his shelf and hurried up to the roof. Ibn Tahir also reached for the rug that lay rolled up above his bed and followed the others.

Dai Abu Soraka was waiting for them on the rooftop. When he saw that they were all assembled and had spread their rugs out beneath them, he turned to face west, toward the holy cities, and began the sacred ceremony. Reciting the prayers aloud, he cast himself down on his face, reached his arms out, and then sat back up again, as the laws of the faithful command. When he finished, he rose back to his full height, reached his arms out toward heaven, then fell to his knees again, bending forward and touching his forehead to the ground. He prayed as follows:

“Come, al-Mahdi, anointed and awaited one. Deliver us from pretenders and save us from the infidel. O, Ali and Ismail, holy martyrs, intercede for us!”

The novices copied his gestures and repeated the words after him. Then, suddenly, it had grown dark. The steady, sustained voices of other worshippers reached them from the neighboring roofs. Ibn Tahir felt a strange, anxious thrill. It was as if everything he was experiencing at this moment wasn’t real, but rather the product of some wonderfully vivid dream he was having. And then there was the open appeal to Ali and Ismail, something the faithful outside of Alamut could only do behind securely barred doors. He was puzzled and confused.

They rose, returned to their sleeping quarters and stowed the rugs back on their shelves. Then they went to supper.

The dining room was a vast hall in a wing opposite the building’s sleeping quarters. Each novice had his own place by the wall. Small stools made of woven willow branches were set out on the floor, and they either sat down on these or crouched beside them. Three among the novices were picked out in sequence and acted as servers. They brought each of their companions a large piece of bread baked either from grain or from dried figs or apple slices. One of them poured milk from large earthen jugs. The novices were served fish several times a week, and roast ox, lamb or mutton once a week. Abu Soraka supervised and ate with them. They had their supper in silence, intent only on the meal.

After supper they broke up into smaller groups. Some of them went out onto the rooftop, while others dispersed among the fortress ramparts.

Yusuf and Suleiman took ibn Tahir along to show him the fortress.

The bustle of activity had subsided. The castle stood enveloped in silence, and now ibn Tahir could distinctly hear the roar of Shah Rud, which evoked a strange longing in him. Darkness surrounded them, while in the sky tiny stars shone with a piercing gleam.

A man with a burning torch in hand walked across the courtyard. Torch-bearing guards appeared in front of the buildings on the upper terrace and took up positions at the entrances. There was a long row of them, and they stood motionless. A light breeze floated in from the mountains, bringing an icy chill with it. As the torch flames flickered, the shadows of the buildings, trees and men danced mysteriously over the ground. All around them the fortress walls were illuminated, but with a strange light. The buildings, towers and battlements appeared completely different in it than they did by day. It all seemed like a fantastic vision, enormous and alien.

They had walked alongside most of the wall that surrounded the lower and middle terraces.

“Don’t we want to go up there too?” ibn Tahir asked, pointing toward the buildings rising behind the torchbearers.

“No one but the commanders can go up there,” Suleiman explained. “The men who guard Sayyiduna are giant Moors, eunuchs, whom the supreme commander received as a gift from the Egyptian caliph.”

“Is Sayyiduna in his service?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Suleiman replied. “It could also be the other way around.”

“What do you mean?” ibn Tahir asked, baffled. “Didn’t Sayyiduna take Alamut in the caliph’s name?”

“That’s a story in its own right,” Yusuf offered. “You hear one thing and another. I’d advise you not to ask about things like that too much.”

“I thought the caliph of Cairo was the supreme head of all Shia, including the Ismailis.”

“Sayyiduna alone is our commander and we obey no other,” both Yusuf and Suleiman intoned at the same time.

They sat down on a rampart.

“Why doesn’t the supreme commander show himself to the faithful?” ibn Tahir asked.

“He’s a holy man,” Yusuf said. “He studies the Koran all day, he prays, he writes instructions and commandments for us.”

“It’s none of our business why he doesn’t show himself to us,” Suleiman asserted. “That’s just how it is and nobody but him needs to know why it has to be that way.”

“I imagined all this very differently,” ibn Tahir admitted. “Out there people think that the Ismaili leader is gathering an army at Alamut, and that he’s going to use it to strike at the sultan and the false caliph.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Suleiman replied. “The main thing that Sayyiduna demands from us is obedience and a holy passion for the Ismaili cause.”

“Do you think I’m going to be able to catch up with you, since you’ve already made so much progress?” ibn Tahir worried.

“Do everything your superiors tell you, and do it without hesitation, and you’ll achieve what you need to,” Suleiman said. “Don’t think that obedience is an easy thing. The evil spirit of rebellion will begin speaking to you, your body will refuse to follow your will’s dictates, and your reason will whisper a thousand reservations about the orders you get from your commanders. You need to be aware that all of that resistance is just the cunning design of demons intent on turning you away from the true path. Be brave and overcome all resistance in yourself, and you’ll become a powerful sword in the hand of Our Master.”

There was a sudden burst from the horn.

“Time to sleep,” Yusuf said, getting up.

They returned to their area and headed for their sleeping quarters.

Several wax candles were alight in the room. Some of the youths were undressing, while others had already climbed into bed.

Presently Abu Soraka entered the room. He checked to see if they were all present and everything was in order. Then he set a short ladder up against the wall and put the candles out.

On a stand in a corner a small flame glimmered in an oil dish. The dai went toward it to light his own short taper. Then he stepped quietly to the exit and lifted the curtain carefully so that the flame wouldn’t ignite it. He slipped through the opening, and his footsteps faded down the hallway.

An early morning reveille roused the youths from their sleep. They washed, performed morning prayers, and had breakfast. Then they took their saddles and weapons and hurried outdoors.

In an instant the entire fortress had risen to its feet. The novices went to the horse stable and arranged themselves in two rows alongside their animals, with a sergeant standing at the head of each row. Captain Manuchehr rode in, inspected the unit, and ordered them to mount. Then he had the bridge raised, and, one after the other, they thundered across it and out into the canyon.

They rode past a watchtower and out onto a vast plateau. For the newcomer’s benefit the captain explained the basic commands again. Then he divided the unit into two groups and ordered the groups to ride off in separate directions. First came turns in formation, and then charges, both Turkish and Arab. For the first time in his life, ibn Tahir experienced the sight of a massive assault, and his heart began to pound with pride. Then they dismounted and practiced brandishing swords, throwing snares and spears, and shooting with bow and arrows.

They returned to the castle in time for second prayers. Ibn Tahir was so exhausted he could barely stay upright in his saddle. When they dismounted and returned the horses to their stable, he asked Suleiman, “Do you have military exercises every day?”

Suleiman, who was as fresh and serene as if he’d just returned from a pleasant walk, laughed and replied, “This is just the beginning, friend. Wait until dai Abdul Malik gets hold of you. That’s when it really starts to come at you fast and furious.”

“I’m so hungry I can’t see straight,” ibn Tahir complained. “Can’t you get me something to eat?”

“Be patient. We’re allowed to eat three times a day, no more. If they caught you eating outside of set mealtimes, they’d lash you to the pillar, like you saw happen to that soldier who drank wine.”

Back in their quarters they stowed their weapons, washed, fetched writing implements from the shelves, and went up onto the roof.

A tall, thin man in a winding cloak appeared before them. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes hollow. His gaze was gloomy, and his nose was thin and hooked like a hawk’s beak. His sparse, graying beard reached almost to his chest. His thin, bony fingers clutched at a stack of papers like the claws of a bird of prey. This was dai Ibrahim, the old and venerable missionary and good friend of the supreme commander. To begin, he performed second prayers with the novices. He pronounced the words half-audibly in a dull mutter, but when he came to invoke the Mahdi, his voice boomed wild and hollow, as though he were beating a drum.

Then he began the lesson. He explained Arabic grammar, tediously citing its strict rules, which he illustrated with examples from the Koran. The pencils squeaked obediently across the writing tablets. At most, one of the students would dare now and then to draw an audible breath.

Ibn Tahir found the lesson relaxing. His command of grammar was good, and it was a relief to know that this subject wasn’t going to cause him trouble.

Dai Ibrahim bowed grimly when he had finished. With great dignity he lifted the hem of his roomy cloak in order not to trip on it, then he vanished through the steep passageway downstairs.

A whisper rose up among the novices. They waited a while longer so as not to run into dai Ibrahim, then they rushed out into the courtyard. There they assembled in two rows according to height.

Suleiman said to ibn Tahir, “Now you get to meet dai Abdul Malik. Here’s my advice: grit your teeth and focus your will. One fellow dropped dead during these exercises once. Trust in Allah and in the wisdom of Our Master.”

Yusuf stood at the head of the first row. Somewhere toward the middle was Suleiman, and at the end was ibn Tahir. At the head of the second row was Obeida, and Naim was at its far end.

A gaunt giant stepped before them with an impetuous stride. He had an angular face and a hard, piercing gaze. When he noticed ibn Tahir among the novices, he asked him, “What’s your name, hero?”

“I’m Avani, grandson of Tahir of Sava.”

“Good. I’ve already heard. I hope you prove worthy of your famous grandfather.”

He stepped back several paces and called out, “Footwear off, then over the wall!”

In an instant the sandals dropped from their feet. The novices sprinted toward the ramparts and began scaling the wall. Their hands reached into crevices and apertures and held onto stony prominences.

At the sight of the steep wall ibn Tahir felt his courage fade. He didn’t know how or where to start.

Above him he heard a voice whispering, “Give me your hand.”

He looked up and saw Suleiman, who was holding onto an opening in the wall with one hand while offering the other.

Ibn Tahir took hold of it. With iron strength Suleiman pulled him up.

“There. Now follow me.”

And he did. Suddenly he found himself atop the wall.

The others were already crawling down the other side into an abyss. At the foot of the wall Shah Rud was frothing. Ibn Tahir looked down into it and felt his head spin.

“I’m going to crash,” he said fearfully.

“Stay right behind me,” Suleiman whispered to him. His voice was firm and commanding.

He began his descent. Each time he found a firm foothold, he offered a hand and then a shoulder to ibn Tahir. They worked their way down the wall into the abyss, carefully and with clenched teeth. It seemed an eternity to ibn Tahir before they reached the rocks bounding the river.

Ibn Tahir caught his breath. He looked up horror-struck. The wall rose straight up before him. He couldn’t believe he had scaled it.

Abdul Malik appeared on top of the wall. He planted his feet far apart and called out, “Back to your places!”

They began climbing back up. Ibn Tahir kept close to Suleiman. He followed him foothold by foothold until finally, having traversed the wall’s inner face once again, he felt level ground beneath his feet.

The novices were catching their breath. Ibn Tahir tried to thank Suleiman but was abruptly shrugged off.

They put their sandals on and resumed their places in formation.

“Next time we’ll use a rope,” he whispered, “and that will have to go lightning fast.”

Abdul Malik smiled sarcastically and said, “What was wrong with you today that you didn’t finish first as usual, Suleiman? Feeling a bit lazy, perhaps? Or just a shade short of courage? Or maybe the newcomer seduced you with his example? The two of you were holding onto each other like ticks. Now show him you’re a hero. Step forward and hold your breath.”

Suleiman stepped in front of ibn Tahir and compressed his lips. He looked straight ahead, but with an indeterminate gaze, as if fixed on the far distance. Ibn Tahir grew fearful when he realized that Suleiman had stopped breathing. His face became more and more flushed and his eyes, dull and expressionless, began to widen strangely in their sockets. Ibn Tahir feared for him. He was, after all, at fault for this cruel punishment befalling his companion.

Abdul Malik stood face to face with Suleiman. He folded his arms on his chest and observed the young novice with expert attentiveness. Suleiman was beginning to suffocate, his neck swollen and his eyes horrifically bulging out of their sockets. Suddenly he staggered, as though standing on a ship’s deck, then dropped to the ground like felled timber.

“Outstanding,” Abdul Malik approved.

Suleiman’s breaths could be heard again, and his eyes came back to life. Slowly he lifted himself off the ground and returned to his place.

“All right. Obeida! Let’s have you show us how much progress you’ve made with your willpower,” Abdul Malik ordered next.

Obeida’s dark face turned ashen gray. He looked around in desperation and hesitantly stepped forward.

He held his breath. His facial color turned bright brown, and he quickly began to show signs of suffocation.

Abdul Malik watched him coolly. Ibn Tahir thought he was quietly mocking him. Obeida staggered and gently fell to the ground.

Abu Malik grinned meanly. Secretly, the novices standing in formation also laughed. The dai prodded the youth with his foot and said with mock kindness, “Up now, get up, little dove. Did something bad happen to you?” Then he added severely, “What was it like?”

Obeida rose to his feet. He smiled, half timidly and half at a loss.

“I passed out, reverend dai.”

“How do the Ismailis punish a lie?”

Obeida flinched.

“I couldn’t take it anymore, reverend dai.”

“Fine. Take the whip and punish yourself.”

From the stack of equipment that the teacher had brought with him, Obeida took a short leather whip. He unfastened the buttons on his long coat at the chest and bared himself to the waist. He then tied the sleeves together to keep the clothes from slipping off his body. His brown shoulders were full and muscular. He swung the whip over his head and lashed at his back. There was a snap and a red stripe appeared etched in the dark skin. He yelped, then resumed flogging himself.

“What a delicate boy,” Abdul Malik sneered. “Lay into it, hero!”

Obeida began lashing his back from the sides. The blows became sharper and more frequent. Finally he passed into a state of frenzied self-laceration. The whip sliced into inflamed areas and his skin began to rip in places. Blood ran down his back and trickled onto his white trousers and cloak. He beat himself mercilessly, as though he were his own worst enemy.

Finally Abdul Malik raised a hand and called out, “Enough!”

Obeida let go of the whip and dropped to the ground moaning. Abdul Malik ordered Suleiman to take his companion to the washroom to clean and dress his wounds. Then, turning to the novices and looking at ibn Tahir, he spoke.

“I’ve often explained to you the meaning and purpose of our exercises. Today there’s a newcomer in your ranks, so it makes sense for me to do so once again. The spirit, mind and passion of man could fly like an eagle, if only a great obstacle hadn’t been put in their way. That obstacle is our body, with all its weaknesses. Show me a youth who doesn’t have high-flying aims! And yet only one in a thousand of them is ever realized. Why is that? Our body, which is inclined to sloth and cheap comfort, fears the difficulties that the realization of our lofty goals would pose. Its base passions cripple our will and our nobler desires. Overcoming those passions and freeing the spirit of their bonds is the purpose of our exercises. Strengthening the will and channeling it toward a definite and suitable goal. For that is the only way we become capable of great feats and efforts of self-sacrifice. Not, then, by becoming like those thousands who are imprisoned by their own body and its weaknesses, but by aspiring to the level of that chosen one among them who is the master of his body and its weaknesses. That is our goal! That is how we will be able to serve Our Master and carry out his commands.”

Ibn Tahir listened to him eagerly. Yes, this was what he had unconsciously always wanted: to overcome his weaknesses and serve a greater purpose. Nothing that he had just experienced seemed frightening to him anymore. It was with utter conviction that he now responded when Abdul Malik asked him if he had understood.

“I understand, reverend dai.”

“Step forward and hold your breath!”

Ibn Tahir obeyed without a second thought. He gazed ahead into the distance, as he had seen Suleiman do earlier, and he drew a deep breath. It seemed as though everything around and within him became suddenly quiet. His vision began to blur. He could feel his veins straining, and he wanted to breathe again, but he controlled himself. An odd buzzing started in his ears and his legs felt unusually weak. He regained consciousness for a brief moment, then surrendered to dimness, but with the last glimmer of a thought he still knew—I have to, have to hold out!—until total darkness engulfed him. He swayed and pitched to the ground, exhaling as he fell.

“How was it?” Abdul Malik asked him, laughing.

Ibn Tahir rose to his feet.

“Fine, reverend dai.”

“This boy has potential,” he said. Then, turning to ibn Tahir, he added, “That was just an introduction to breathing exercises, a test to see how much command a person has over his body. The real lessons have yet to begin. We’ve already made substantial progress.”

Obeida and Suleiman rejoined the group.

Abdul Malik gave a new order. Some of the novices began quickly digging at a certain place in the ground. They dug out a ditch that must have been made ready beforehand and then filled in with lightly packed sand. It was rectangular and not particularly deep. In the meantime, some of the others had retrieved a pan filled with glowing coals from a nearby building and dumped them into the pit. They fanned the coals, then Abdul Malik spoke.

“With sustained practice, mastery of the body and force of will can attain a level where they don’t just overcome a person’s weaknesses but even nature itself and its laws… New boy! Open your eyes and see the truth of my words!”

He stepped out of his sandals, lifted his cloak so it reached his knees, and belted it at that level. Then he rolled up his tapered pant legs and stood in front of the pit of glowing coals, staring ahead.

“He’s focusing his thoughts and mustering his will,” ibn Tahir’s neighbor whispered to him.

Ibn Tahir held his breath. Something said to him, “You’re experiencing great things now, grandson of Tahir. Things that people on the outside don’t even dream about.”

Suddenly Abdul Malik began to move. Slowly, probingly, he stepped a foot out onto the glowing coals, then quickly and as straight as a cypress waded across them. He came to a stop on the other side, gently shaking his head as if waking up from a dream. Then he returned to the novices and, with a pleased look on his face, showed them his feet. There wasn’t a trace of a burn on them.

“This is what a person can achieve if he trains his will properly,” he said. “Who would like to repeat the experiment after me?”

Suleiman volunteered.

“Always the same one,” Abdul Malik complained irritably.

“Then I’ll try,” Yusuf spoke up. There was a slight hesitation in his voice.

“Over live coals?” Abdul Malik asked, with a barely perceptible smile.

Yusuf anxiously looked around.

“Wait until we heat up the plate,” the dai said indulgently.

Just then Jafar said that he’d like to try.

“Good show,” Abdul Malik praised him. “But first tell me what you have to think about in order to focus your will.”

“Allah, great and all-powerful, keep me from being burnt. And I won’t be,” Jafar responded.

“Good. But do you have the necessary confidence?”

“I do, reverend dai.”

“Then go in the name of Allah.”

Jafar stood in front of the rectangular pit and began to focus his thoughts and his will. The novices noticed that several times he decided to start across the fire but then reconsidered.

Abdul Malik said to him, “Free yourself, shake off the convulsions and go in confidence. Allah is master of our fate.”

Then Jafar set off from the edge like a boat sets off from the shore, and he walked briskly and safely over the embers. Once on the opposite side he stood still for a while, as if dazed, then he slowly looked back over his shoulder. Behind him he saw the glowing, smoking coals, and a blissful smile came over his pale face. He visibly caught his breath.

“Truly, a brave young man,” Abdul Malik exclaimed.

A whisper of acclaim also passed among the two ranks of novices.

“All right, Suleiman! Now you show your mettle too, though we’ve already seen before that you’ve got it.”

Abdul Malik was in a good mood. Suleiman obeyed him with obvious relish. He collected himself and then walked over the embers as though he were long since used to it.

“Now let me try too,” Yusuf said, growing angry. He thrust his chest out, tightened his muscles, and stepped up to the pit. He tried to focus, quietly murmuring the prescribed words, while at the same time flinching at the thought that he still might get burned. He was on the verge of stepping onto the embers, but when he looked at what lay ahead, he started waving his arms like a swimmer who wants to dive into cold water but doesn’t quite trust himself, and he lurched backwards.

Abdul Malik smiled.

“Think of Allah and his help and forget everything else,” he advised him. “What do you need to fear if he’s with you?”

Finally, when he’d lost patience with his own hesitation, Yusuf gently approached the embers with one foot. But he instantly yowled and jumped back in fright.

A suppressed snigger coursed through the ranks.

“You’ve got courage, but your will is weak,” the dai said.

Yusuf hung his head and returned to his place.

“Could I try?” ibn Tahir asked shyly.

“The time hasn’t come for you yet, grandson of Tahir,” Abdul Malik replied. “But I have confidence that some day you’ll be among the first.”

The novices dragged a heavy metal plate out of a barrack. They fanned the embers again and then set the plate over them.

Abdul Malik called on them to walk over it. They did so in a single file, twice, three times, four times in succession. The plate got hotter and hotter and burnt their soles worse each time. When it was red hot, Yusuf hopped around on it like a madman, frying and burning himself as if in punishment for his earlier failure.

Ibn Tahir’s soles were also getting burnt. He gritted his teeth and told himself that it didn’t hurt, but to no avail. He couldn’t focus enough. The unwonted exertion wore him out, and he was afraid that he might faint.

Finally Abdul Malik called out that the exercise was over and that they should put the equipment away. Then the two rows formed for one last time. He stepped before them, sternly sized the novices up, and told them to think about everything they had seen and heard. Then he bowed slightly and walked away with the same long, impetuous stride as when he had first appeared.

The novices returned to the rooftop, where dai Abu Soraka instructed them in poetry, in their native language of Pahlavi. Ibn Tahir immediately shone in this subject. For each genre of poem he knew examples from Firdausi, Ansari and other older poets. Abu Soraka practically glowed with satisfaction. He praised him in front of all the others.

“Indeed, the military arts and training in force of will are indispensable to any fighting Ismaili. But it is equally as important that he train his spirit in the word, so he can become agile and learn to express his thoughts precisely and accurately. I am delighted to have found a bright student in you, grandson of Tahir.”

The time of the third prayers arrived and Abu Soraka led the youths in performing them on the spot. He hadn’t yet finished the invocation of Ali and Ismail when ibn Tahir, unused to so much exertion, passed out. Naim, who was next to him, noticed that he remained prostrate when the rest of them had risen. He bent over him and saw that his face was as yellow as desert sand. He called to Yusuf and Suleiman, and the novices immediately surrounded their comrade. Someone quickly brought water, and with its help they soon brought ibn Tahir back to consciousness. Yusuf and Suleiman led him into the dining room. It was already time for dinner.

Once ibn Tahir had eaten his fill, his strength quickly returned. Yusuf gave him a good-natured pat on the back.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Soon you’ll get hardened, and then you’ll be able to hold out for a day or two without eating, however much you have to exert yourself. Fasting is nothing unusual for us. Abdul Malik sees to that.”

“What should we do with the donkey you arrived on?” Abu Soraka asked.

“Keep it here,” ibn Tahir answered. “My father won’t need it, and it could be useful here.”

“As you say,” the teacher responded. “And now don’t think about home anymore. You’ve broken your last tie to the outside world, and from now on your thoughts should turn entirely to the business of Alamut.”

After dinner the novices removed to their sleeping quarters for a short rest. They stretched out on their beds and talked. Even though ibn Tahir was exhausted, he still wanted explanations for many of the troubling things he didn’t yet understand.

“I’m curious what the relations between us and the soldiery are like,” he asked. “Also, what’s the relationship between the dais and Captain Manuchehr? And what are the ranks among the Ismailis at Alamut?”

Yusuf and Jafar were first to respond.

“For Ismailis every believer occupies a precisely defined place. The lasiqs are the society of ordinary followers. Next above them are the refiqs, conscious and militant believers who teach the lasiqs about the fundamental truths. Lasiqs who have been educated this way can become soldiers, while the refiqs who are in the fortress serve as their immediate superiors, the corporals and sergeants. We novices of the feday have our own special place. As long as we remain in training, we’re responsible to the officers immediately above us. But once we’re consecrated, we’ll only obey the orders of the supreme commander or his designated representative. Then come the dais, who know the higher truths and propagate our doctrine. Captain Manuchehr, who is the commander of the fortress, holds a rank equivalent to theirs. Then above him are the grand dais, or the dais of all dais, of whom there are currently three: ‘dai eldoat’ Abu Ali, who came to Alamut recently from Syria; ‘dai eldoat’ Buzurg Ummid, which means ‘great hope,’ who is the commander of the castle of Rudbar; and ‘dai eldoat’ Husein Alkeini, who seized the fortress of Gonbadan in Khuzestan in the name of Our Master. At the very top of the structure is the head of all Ismailis, Our Master, Hasan ibn Sabbah.”

“What an intelligent arrangement!” ibn Tahir exclaimed.

“But the differences within the ranks are more sharply drawn than that,” Suleiman said. “For instance, dai Abdul Malik is just barely beneath dai Ibrahim, but a bit above dai Abu Soraka, even though he’s younger. But he has a stronger record in fighting for the Ismaili cause, and that’s the decisive factor in determining rank. There are also differences between us. For instance, since you just arrived at the castle yesterday, you’re just a shade beneath any of your colleagues. But when you distinguish yourself for the Ismaili cause in any way, or if you do better than others at examinations, then you’ll have pushed your way forward to a position that’s more appropriate to your accomplishments and abilities.”

“Does all this precise differentiation of ranks have any special meaning?” ibn Tahir asked.

“Very much so,” Suleiman replied. “At the moment of truth every Ismaili knows his place. Everyone knows exactly whom he commands and whom he obeys, so that any confusion or misunderstanding is made impossible at the outset. Does it make sense now?”

“Yes, it does,” ibn Tahir replied.

The sound of the gong called them to duty. Since it was too hot on the roof during the afternoon, their lesson was held in the dining room.

This time dai Abu Soraka explained the origins of Islam and the history of Ismailism. To help the newcomer catch up, he first asked the novices some questions about the material he had already covered. Then he proceeded with the day’s new material.

“By giving his only daughter Fatima as wife to Ali, the Prophet designated Ali as the successor to his throne. But after his death his cunning father-in-law Abu Bakr shamelessly tricked the proper heir and assumed the throne of leader of the faithful himself. On that day the Prophet’s magnificent edifice was split in two. On the left side are those who recognize the treacherous Abu Bakr as legitimate heir. Their flag is black and their book is the Sunna, an oral tradition that is a heap of miserable lies and false witness about the Prophet. Their capital is Baghdad, which is now ruled by false caliphs from the Abbasid dynasty. Abbas was the criminal uncle who used flattery and lies to persuade the Prophet to accept him as a believer only after it became unmistakably clear that he would be victorious. The patron of the Abbasids is the sultan, Malik Shah, a Seljuk Turkish dog whose vagabond clan came from the land of Gog and Magog to seize the Iranian throne.

“On the right are those of us who recognize Ali as the only legitimate first imam, just as the Prophet commanded. Our flag is white, and our capital is Cairo in Egypt, for the caliph who rules there is descended from Ali and Fatima, the Prophet’s daughter.

“The usurper Abu Bakr was followed by two more false imams, Omar and Othman. When Othman died, the people demanded that Ali finally become the Prophet’s representative. He was so elected, but he soon bled to death from the knife of a hired killer. His son Hasan succeeded him, but soon had to cede his place to Moawiya. In the meantime the people demanded that Husein, another of Ali and Fatima’s sons, assume the throne. But Husein died a martyr’s death in the valley of Karbala. From that time on, the pureblooded descendants of the Prophet have lived in the deserts and mountains, persecuted and killed by the false imams and their criminal shield bearers. Truly! The fate that Allah holds in his hands is not something we have read in books, but it is noble for us to mourn for the martyrs.

“We have said that the legitimate representatives of Ali and Fatima’s dynasty came to rule in Cairo. We recognize them—this is true—but with certain reservations. These reservations are our secret, which we plan to reveal to you over time. For today, suffice it for us to recite the succession of imams who followed Husein, the Prophet’s third legitimate representative. The fourth was Husein’s son, Ali Zain al-Abidin, whose son Mohammed al-Bakir was the fifth. Jafar as-Sadiq was the sixth. A dispute arose over the seventh, because Jafar as-Sadiq had two sons, Musa al-Kazim and Ismail. Those who recognize Musa al-Kazim as the seventh imam have another five successors, the last of whom is Mohammed, destined to return someday as al-Mahdi. Indeed, al-Mahdi will come, but from the line of Ismail, not that of Musa al-Kazim. We believe in this because we know the real facts. Thus, we recognize only the seven known imams, the last and greatest of whom was Ismail. It is true, one branch of his line attained conspicuous power in Egypt. But where is the other, larger and more important branch? For the moment we know only that the branch in Cairo is simply preparing the way to victory over the usurpers and heretics, for the ultimate leadership of all Islam. For it has been said that the six great prophets—Adam, Noah, Ibrahim, Moses, Christ and Mohammed—will be followed by a seventh and greatest, al-Mahdi, who will come from the line of Ismail. It is him we await and him that we fight for. Truly, I tell you there are great mysteries afoot in the fortress of Alamut!”

For the first time ibn Tahir was hearing the essence of the Ismaili doctrine. It seemed mysterious to him, and he was anxious to hear more revelations.

Abu Soraka left and was followed in the classroom by the Islamicized Greek Theodoros, whom they called al-Hakim, or the Doctor. He was a pudgy little man with a pointed beard and a thin, black mustache. He had pink, plump cheeks, but a nose so straight and long that it nearly reached the level of his full, red, almost feminine lips. His chin was soft and padded. He had round, laughing eyes, and when he spoke you couldn’t tell whether he was serious or kidding. The novices called him dai, even though he hadn’t been consecrated. They knew that the supreme commander had brought him back with him from Egypt. He was a trained physician and taught a variety of subjects, foremost among them the structure and functioning of the human body. He was considered a kind of sophos, or wise man, who had tried to reconcile the teachings of the Koran with Greek philosophy. During his lectures on diseases, poisons and varieties of death he would quote Greek thinkers, especially the skeptics, cynics and materialists. Listening to him, the novices would widen their eyes in amazement, and many of them thought his teachings were rather godless. For example, his explanation of the origin of man was part Koran, part Greek philosophy, and part his own creation.

“Allah created Adam from the four elements. First, he took hard material, but it was inelastic and fragile. He crumbled it into dust, and then he took another element—water. He mixed this with the dust and got clay, which he used to knead the form of man. But that form was soft and changed shape every time it was touched. Therefore, he created fire and used it to dry out the external surface of the human form. Now man had a skin which was elastic. But he was very heavy, so he removed some of the matter from his chest, and to keep the outer walls of the empty space that formed this way from collapsing, he filled the hollow with a fourth element, air. In this way the human body was completed, and to this day it consists of those four original elements—earth, water, fire and air.

“In order to bring man to life, Allah breathed a soul into him. Being of divine origin, the soul is exceptionally sensitive to the harmony of the elements in the human body. As soon as the equilibrium among them is disturbed, the soul departs the body and returns to its origin, which is Allah himself.

“Disturbances of the harmony among the elements can be of two kinds—natural or magical. Natural disturbances can result in one of four kinds of death. If, as the result of a wound, the body loses its blood, it is deprived of the element of water and the result is death. If we strangle someone by the throat or otherwise make breathing impossible, we’ve deprived him of the element of air, and he suffocates and dies. When a person freezes, he’s been deprived of the element of fire. And if a person is dashed against some object, his solid matter is shattered and death is inevitable.

“The magical causes of death, also referred to as medical, are far more intriguing. They are caused by the mysterious natural substances we call poisons. The object of natural science is to learn to recognize and also produce these substances. Every Ismaili can and should benefit from this knowledge…”

This subject was also a source of great amazement for ibn Tahir. It was new to him, and he couldn’t figure out why it was necessary to study it.

Bowing and smiling, the Greek left them, and dai Ibrahim appeared before the novices once again. A deathly silence prevailed, and ibn Tahir could sense that their next subject was an important one.

This time dai Ibrahim taught them Ismaili doctrine. He would pose a question and then point his finger at the novice who had to answer it. The questions and answers followed in rapid succession, short and abrupt.

Ibn Tahir listened intently.

“What are the peris?”

“The peris are evil female spirits who ruled the world before Zarathustra banished them to the underworld.”

“Who was Zarathustra?”

“Zarathustra was a false prophet and fire worshipper, banished by Mohammed to dwell among the demons.”

“Where do the demons dwell?”

“In Mount Demavend.”

“How do they show themselves?”

“By the smoke that comes out of the mountain.”

“How else?”

“And by the wailing voices we can hear coming from there.”

“Who are the Seljuks?”

“The Seljuks are Turks who came storming in from Gog and Magog to seize power over Iran.”

“What is their nature?”

“They have a dual nature—half human and half demon.”

“Why?”

“Dævas, or evil spirits, mated with human women, who then gave birth to the Seljuks.”

“Why did the Seljuks adopt Islam?”

“To disguise their true nature.”

“What are their intentions?”

“To obliterate Islam and establish the rule of demons on earth.”

“How do we know that?”

“Because they support the false caliph in Baghdad.”

“Who is the most bitter enemy of the Ismailis in Iran?”

“The sultan’s grand vizier, Nizam al-Mulk.”

“Why is he a sworn enemy of the one true teaching?”

“Because he is an apostate.”

“What is his most blasphemous crime?”

“His most blasphemous crime was to offer ten thousand gold pieces for the head of Our Master.”

Ibn Tahir shuddered. It was true, the grand vizier was a criminal who had ordered his grandfather Tahir beheaded. And now he had set his sights on the Ismaili supreme commander himself.

Through these questions and answers, dai Ibrahim reviewed the material he had presented so far. Then with a wave of his hand he gave the sign that he would now continue lecturing. Quickly the novices set their tablets on their knees and prepared their writing implements. Posing questions and then answering them himself, dai Ibrahim began dictating the nature of the power granted to the supreme commander of the Ismailis.

In amazement ibn Tahir wrote everything down.

“Who gave Sayyiduna power over the faithful? The Egyptian caliph Mustansir indirectly, and Allah directly.

“What is the nature of this power? This power is of a dual nature, natural and supernatural.

“What is his natural power? That he is the master over life and death of all Ismailis in Iran.

“What is his supernatural power? He has the ability and right to send anyone he wants to paradise.

“Why is Sayyiduna the most powerful of all men who have ever lived on earth? Because Allah has given him the key that unlocks the gate to paradise.”

The fourth prayer marked the end of the school day. The novices gathered on the roof to review what they had learned that day. A lively debate developed around ibn Tahir.

“What I saw and heard in Abdul Malik’s lesson is clear to me,” he said. “But I don’t understand what dai Ibrahim meant by the maxim that Allah had given Sayyiduna the key to the gate of paradise.”

“What is there to wonder about here?” Yusuf spoke up. “That’s what Sayyiduna teaches and our duty is to believe it.”

“Fine, but I just don’t understand whether we’re supposed to take it literally or see it as some kind of parable,” ibn Tahir continued to probe.

“A parable?!” Yusuf lost his temper. “That’s how it’s been said and how we’re supposed to take it.”

“Then that would mean a new miracle has taken place,” ibn Tahir persisted.

“Why shouldn’t it have?” Yusuf said.

“Why shouldn’t it have?” ibn Tahir replied. “Because the Prophet said explicitly that miracles occurred only in ancient times. He disallowed them during his own reign and afterwards.”

Yusuf didn’t know how to respond.

Then Jafar spoke. “We don’t need to see a miracle in the fact that Allah gave Sayyiduna the key to paradise. After all, even the Prophet didn’t view his journey to heaven with the archangel Gabriel as a miracle.”

“All right, then let’s assume that Sayyiduna was just the recipient of Allah’s special favor,” Ibn Tahir continued. “That still leaves the question of when, where and in what manner Allah granted Our Master the key to the gate of paradise.”

“Allah appeared to Sayyiduna in the form of a burning bush or a pillar of smoke,” Suleiman suggested, “the way he appeared to the earlier prophets. He could have given him the key that way, like he gave Moses the tables of the law on Mount Sinai.”

“I can picture all of that,” ibn Tahir said, growing more and more impassioned. “I just can’t accept that we live alongside such a glorious and powerful prophet.”

“Maybe you don’t feel worthy?” Suleiman said with a smile. “In what way are we any worse than people of earlier times?”

Ibn Tahir glanced around him in distress. He saw faces that expressed extreme religious fervor. No, they couldn’t understand what was perplexing him so much and forcing him to doubt.

“I think what’s more likely than Suleiman’s conjecture,” Jafar offered, “is that Allah sent some angel to take Sayyiduna to heaven. There Allah could have easily handed him the key to paradise.”

“One way or the other,” ibn Tahir summarized, “the question now is what is the nature of this key. Because we have to assume that neither Allah, nor paradise, nor any of the things in it are made of the same substance as our world. So how is it possible that there is an object among us, here on earth, that’s made of the substance of the other world? Could we perceive it with our senses? And if we could, would it still be a heavenly object?”

“You ask an excellent question, grandson of Tahir,” Yusuf brightened, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

“If you ask me, this discussion has gone beyond what’s allowed,” Naim warned.

“Who asked you, cricket?” said Suleiman, drowning him out. “As though we cared what you think.”

“In the Koran it’s written,” said Jafar, “that after death the righteous will partake of heaven and its joys in forms that are similar to those on earth. The blessed will have the same senses they had in this world, and the same pleasures. Seen that way, objects in the other world won’t differ much from objects here. And so the substance that the key to paradise is made of could resemble the substance of earthly things.”

Obeida had listened attentively and in silence the entire time and now was smiling slyly.

“I’ve got a good explanation that could clear up this whole riddle of Allah’s key,” he said. “We’ve heard that this key opens the gate to paradise and that it’s in the possession of Sayyiduna, who lives among us, on earth. So this key opens the gate to paradise from the outside, from earth’s side. That means that, regardless of the nature of paradise, Sayyiduna’s key opens the gate from earth, so it has to be made of an earthly substance.”

“You’ve hit on it perfectly!” Yusuf exclaimed.

“An elegant explanation,” ibn Tahir consented.

“Obeida is as cunning as a lynx,” Suleiman laughed.

“We need to ask dai Ibrahim if it really is the right answer,” Naim worried.

“You wouldn’t be very welcome with a question like that, my little bundle of joy,” Suleiman countered.

“Why not?” Naim asked irritably.

“Because, in case you haven’t noticed, the reverend dai Ibrahim requires us to answer only what we’ve been asked. If you, my little snotpicker, tried to outshine him, you’d be making a fatal miscalculation.”

The novices all laughed, while Naim flushed red with rage. But Yusuf, for whom convoluted and learned discussions were a huge pleasure, glared at Suleiman angrily, while he said to his companions, “Come on, keep going, fellows.”

But then the horn summoned them to the fifth prayer.

After supper ibn Tahir was overcome with fatigue and chose not to go for an evening walk with the others. He withdrew to the bedroom and lay down on his bed.

For a long time he was unable to close his eyes. Images of everything he had been experiencing at Alamut passed before his eyes. Perhaps the affable dai Abu Soraka and strict Captain Manuchehr reminded him most of his former life outside the castle. But the half-absurd, half-enigmatic al-Hakim, and then dai Abdul Malik, endowed with his monstrous powers, and most of all the mysterious and grim dai Ibrahim, had introduced him to a completely new world. And he had already begun to recognize that this new world had its own hard and fast rules, that it was organized and governed from within, from the inside out, and that its structure was consistent, logical, and complete. He hadn’t entered it gradually. He had been yanked into it. And now, here he was at its very heart. Just yesterday he had been on the outside, over there. Today he was Alamut’s completely.

He felt overcome with sorrow at taking leave from that former world. He felt as though the way back was now blocked forever. But he could already sense in himself an intense anticipation of the future, a passionate curiosity about the mysteries that he sensed all around him, and a firm determination not to lag behind his peers in anything.

“All right, then. I’m in Alamut now,” he said, almost out loud. “Why should I need to look back?”

But then, one more time, he summoned his home, his father, his mother and sister before his mind’s eye, and he silently bade them farewell. The images began to fade, and in sweet anticipation of new things to come he fell fast asleep.