Alamut

CHAPTER FIVE

One hot midsummer day an old man of about sixty came riding up to Alamut accompanied by some fifteen horsemen. The guard outside the entrance to the canyon stopped him and asked who he was and what brought him to the castle. He said that he was the former mayor, or reis, of Isfahan, Abul Fazel Lumbani, that he was coming from Rai, and that he had extremely important news for the supreme commander from the reis there. The officer on duty immediately rode up to the fortress to inform his superior of the arrival of the strangers.

This was right after the third prayer. The novices’ afternoon break had just begun when the sound of the horn called them to assembly. They swiftly pulled on their sandals, put on their cloaks, reached for their shields and weapons, and hurried out into the courtyard. Captain Manuchehr and dais Abu Soraka, Ibrahim and Abdul Malik were already waiting, mounted on horseback.

The young men also mounted their horses.

“Something’s happening,” Suleiman whispered to his neighbor, drawing air in through his nostrils. His eyes shone in anticipation.

At that moment Abu Ali ran out and mounted his short, shaggy white horse. His short legs clamped onto the animal’s flanks and belly as though they had grown together. He galloped to the head of the group of novices and called out to them.

“Men! I am giving you the honor of escorting a respected man who is a good friend of Our Master. This man is the former reis of Isfahan Abul Fazel, who hid the supreme commander for four months while the grand vizier pursued him. It is only fitting that we give him a welcome worthy of his distinction and contributions to our cause.”

He spurred his horse and galloped off with the escort over the bridge and into the canyon.

Meanwhile, Abul Fazel had started to lose his patience. He kept turning anxiously toward the canyon into which the guard had disappeared, his horse shifting its footing beneath him as though sensing his mood.

At last the troop of horsemen came pouring out of the canyon. Among them was Fazel’s old friend Abu Ali, who came galloping up to him and embraced him right from the saddle.

“It’s a pleasure to be the first to welcome you to Alamut,” Ali said.

“Thank you, I’m glad too,” Abul Fazel replied. His voice conveyed mild displeasure. “However, you didn’t set any records for speed. It used to be others had to wait for me to receive them. But as they say, what goes around comes around.”

Abu Ali laughed.

“Times change,” he observed. “Just don’t be angry, old friend. I wanted you to have an escort worthy of your high standing.”

Abul Fazel was visibly mollified. He stroked his handsome silver beard and shook hands with the other dais and Manuchehr.

The captain gave an order and the detachment of novices galloped off toward the plateau in perfect formation. At a certain distance the detachment suddenly split into two columns which rode off in separate directions and then appeared to disperse haphazardly. Then came a harsh whistle, and the columns instantly rematerialized, whereupon the column leaders bellowed a command, and the horsemen charged each other with their lances lowered. It appeared as if they were about to do battle, but at the last moment they just slid past each other in fine formation, turned their horses around, merged into a single column again, and returned to the place where they had begun.

“Fine boys, an exemplary troop,” Abul Fazel exclaimed in admiration. “It really made me sweat when they charged each other.”

Abu Ali gave a satisfied smirk.

He gave a command, and they set out through the canyon to the fortress.

When they reached Alamut, Captain Manuchehr dismissed the novices. He also gave orders for the reis’s escort and animals to be looked after. Then he followed their guest and the dais to the assembly hall.

Along the way, Abul Fazel inspected the fortress and its buildings and was amazed at the large numbers of soldiers and grazing livestock.

“Why, this is a regular military camp, friend,” he said at last. “I was expecting to run into a prophet at Alamut, and maybe meet with a general. I can’t believe that what I’m seeing around me is the work of the ibn Sabbah I knew.”

“Didn’t I say you’d be surprised by a thing or two?” the grand dai laughed. “In fact, there are at most three hundred and fifty men at Alamut. But, as you saw, the soldiers are so well trained that it’s a sheer joy, and we have plenty of livestock and provisions. In each of the neighboring fortresses we have two hundred warriors who are all passionately dedicated to our cause. The whole region is sympathetic to us, and in case of a threat we can assemble up to fifteen hundred men at Alamut in a snap.”

“Even so that’s too little, far too little,” Abu Fazel muttered.

Abu Ali looked at him surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t be planning to resist the sultan’s entire army with that handful of men?”

“Of course we are. But there’s no threat at the moment, is there?”

Abul Fazel shook his head.

“I have to talk to ibn Sabbah,” he said.

The dais exchanged glances.

They reached the highest terrace and walked past guards bearing maces and into the building of the supreme commander.

The other dignitaries were waiting for them in the assembly hall. Abul Fazel’s eyes sought his old friend in vain.

“Where is ibn Sabbah?” he asked.

Abu Ali scratched his beard and replied, “I’ll go inform him of your arrival. The dais will keep you company and offer you something to eat and drink while you’re waiting.”

He hurried off. Abul Fazel called out after him.

“Tell him that I didn’t make this long trip for the fun of it. Reis Muzaffar has sent me with an important message. He’ll regret every minute that he keeps me waiting.”

Ill-tempered, he sat back amid the pillows. The dais sat around him, while servants brought him food and drink.

“You’d think I was the one being offered a favor,” he murmured, half to himself.

“Don’t be upset, honorable sheikh,” Abu Soraka said. “This is the custom at Alamut.”

“The supreme commander hasn’t left his chambers since he took over the castle,” Ibrahim explained. “For days and weeks at a time he doesn’t speak with anyone except the grand dai.”

“I know those ploys,” Abul Fazel replied. “When I was still reis of Isfahan, I’d let anyone I particularly wanted to soften up wait outside my door for a long time. But that same door was left wide open to good friends. Ibn Sabbah himself could testify to that.”

“We’ve heard, honorable sheikh, that you once hid him in your house for four months while the grand vizier was trying to hunt him down,” the Greek said and winked at him conspiratorially.

The reis laughed out loud.

“Did he tell you that I thought he was crazy?” he asked. “I’d just like to know who in my shoes would have thought differently.”

“I’ve also heard parts of that story,” Abu Soraka offered. “But I don’t know exactly what took place.”

“If you’d like, I can tell you,” the former reis said, clearing his throat.

The dais quickly propped more pillows around him so he could stretch out more comfortably as his audience drew closer.

He began.

“It’s been many years since I last saw ibn Sabbah. It appears he’s changed quite a bit since then. But when I first met him, he was an incomparable jokester and a pleasure seeker without equal. The whole court would laugh at his jokes. No matter how bad the sultan’s mood was, ibn Sabbah could lighten it with a single prank. You can imagine how jealous the grand vizier became of him. Eventually he played the ultimate trick on him. At any rate, Hasan safely escaped to Egypt and within a year almost nobody at court remembered his name anymore. Except for the grand vizier, of course, who quite rightly feared whatever revenge he might take. So when he got word that ibn Sabbah had left Egypt, he issued a secret order to all of his spies throughout the land that they were to sniff out his whereabouts and get rid of him, if they found him. But it was as though he’d vanished into thin air.

“One day some sheikh all bundled up in a traveler’s cloak stepped out from behind the curtain over the door to my room. I was so frightened I almost had a stroke. When I regained my senses, I shouted to the servants, ‘Hey, blockheads! Who let this man in the house?’ Then the man tugged a corner of the cloak away from his mouth, and who do I see gaping at me but my old friend Hasan, hale and hardy and smiling from ear to ear. But this is when I really got scared. I hurriedly pulled the double curtain back over the doorway. ‘Have you gone out of your mind?’ I asked him. ‘You’ve got a hundred of the vizier’s henchmen on your tail, and you come strolling right into Isfahan and foist yourself off on a law-abiding Muslim, practically in broad daylight.’ He laughed and slapped me on the back just like in the old days. ‘Ah, my dear reis,’ he said. ‘How many friends I had back when I was still lording it over the sultan’s court. But now that I’m out of favor, they all shut their doors in my face.’ What could I do? I liked him, so I kept him hidden in my house. It’s true, he had to spend the entire time in his room. But he was patient, and he would spend whole days scribbling on some scraps of paper with his pen, daydreaming, and—whenever I’d visit him—entertaining me with funny stories and jokes.

“Once, though, he surprised me with a really strange statement. And what was particularly unusual was that he laughed slyly and ambiguously as he made it, like he always did when he was making a fool of someone. Of course I assumed he was joking and figured it would be appropriate for me to laugh with him. Here’s what he said: ‘Dear friend, I need just two or three men on whom I can depend unconditionally, and in less than a year I can bring down the sultan and his empire.’ I laughed so hard I practically burst my gut. But he suddenly became deadly serious, seized me by the shoulder, and gazed deep into my eyes. That look sent shivers down my spine. Then he said, ‘I am absolutely serious, reis Abul Fazel Lumbani.’ I jumped back and stared at him as though he were from some other world. Who wouldn’t gape if somebody, and a nobody at that, told him that he and two or three men were going to topple a state that stretches from Antioch to India and from Baghdad all the way up to the Caspian Sea? It immediately occurred to me that he’d gone mad from his long exile and fear of being pursued. I said a few reassuring words and cautiously slipped out of his room. I ran to see a doctor and asked him to give me something to cure madness. After giving it a lot of thought, I offered Hasan that medicine. He turned it down, and at that point I felt he didn’t trust me anymore.”

The commanders laughed heartily at this story.

“That’s really a good one!” the Greek exclaimed. “It suits him perfectly.”

“And what do you think of Hasan’s statement today, honorable sheikh?” Abu Soraka asked.

“I’m afraid, really afraid, that he was dead serious.”

He looked at each one of them, shaking his head in complete bafflement.

Abu Ali returned and announced to their guest, “Let’s go! Ibn Sabbah is waiting for you.”

The reis slowly lifted himself off the pillows, excused himself with a slight bow, and followed the grand dai.

They traversed a long corridor, at each end of which a black giant stood supported by a heavy mace. They came to a narrow, winding staircase that led steeply up to the top of the tower, and they started to climb.

“Leave it to ibn Sabbah to choose the top of a tower for his quarters,” the reis complained after a while and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“As you say, respected friend.”

The stairway narrowed as it got steeper. The grand dai climbed it as though he were twenty years old. The former reis, on the other hand, puffed and wheezed fiercely.

“Let’s rest for a minute,” he said at last. “I’m out of breath. I’m not young anymore.”

They stood for a moment while the reis caught his breath. Then they continued their ascent.

But after a while Abul Fazel blustered again.

“By my father’s beard! Is there no end to this damned stairway? Has that old fox made his den so high up so he can keep making fools of the rest of us?”

Abu Ali quietly chuckled. As they approached the top of the stairway the former reis was barely able to breathe. He had his head lowered, so right up to the end he didn’t notice the guard standing at the top. As he negotiated the last steps, he nearly collided with two bare black legs. Startled, he lifted his head then practically jumped back in fright. In front of him, like a bronze statue, stood a half-naked Moor, as big as a mountain and as powerful as a bull. At his feet rested a mace so heavy that the reis could barely have budged it using both hands.

Abu Ali laughed as he supported the old man to keep him from falling back down the stairs. Abul Fazel carefully stepped around the guard, who remained in place, silent and motionless. As the reis proceeded farther down the corridor, he turned to look behind him one more time. He caught sight of the gaze that was following him. The Moor’s eyes shifted to track his progress, their huge whites showing.

“I’ve never seen a sultan or a shah with a guard like this,” the guest grumbled. “Not pleasant company, an African armed with a mace like that.”

“The caliph in Cairo sent Hasan a whole detachment of these eunuchs as a gift,” Abu Ali said. “They’re the most dependable guards you can imagine.”

“No, this Alamut of yours is not much to my liking,” the reis commented. “No conveniences or comforts that I can see.”

They reached a door outside of which stood a guard similar to the previous one. Abu Ali uttered a few words and the Moor raised the curtain.

They entered a sparsely appointed antechamber. The grand dai cleared his throat and something moved on the other side of one of the rugs hanging on the wall. An invisible hand lifted it, and out from beneath it appeared the supreme commander of the Ismailis, Hasan ibn Sabbah. His eyes shone cheerfully as he hurried over to his old acquaintance and firmly shook his hand.

“Look who’s here! My host from Isfahan! Don’t tell me you’ve brought me another cure for madness?”

He laughed jovially and invited both of the old men into his room.

The reis found himself in a comfortably decorated room that was reminiscent in every respect of a scholar’s quarters. Along the perimeter, several shelves were covered with books and documents. The floor was covered with rugs, over which were strewn various astronomical instruments, measuring and calculating equipment, slates and writing implements, and an ink pot and several goose quills, also for writing.

The visitor took all this in with astonishment. He couldn’t reconcile what he had seen in the fortress below with what was now before him.

“So you’re not bringing me a cure for madness?” Hasan continued to jest, smirking and stroking his handsome beard, which was still almost completely black. “If not, then what philanthropic cause has brought you to this end of the earth?”

“I most definitely haven’t brought you any cure for madness, dear Hasan,” the reis finally said. “What I do have for you is a message from Muzaffar: The sultan has issued an order and the emir Arslan Tash has set out from Hamadan with an army of thirty thousand men to take Alamut. Its vanguard, the Turkish cavalry, could reach Rudbar today or tomorrow and will be outside your castle within a few days.”

Hasan and Abu Ali exchanged quick glances.

“So soon?” Hasan asked and thought for a moment. “I didn’t count on such quick action. Something must have changed recently at the court.”

He invited his friends to have a seat amid the pillows and then dropped down beside them, shaking his head pensively.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Abul Fazel said. “Just be sure you make ready to evacuate the castle.”

Hasan was silent. The reis discreetly looked him over. He wouldn’t have thought he was already sixty years old. He was still youthfully agile. His skin was fresh and his large, intelligent eyes were lively and penetrating. He was more average height than tall. He was neither thin nor fat. His nose was long and straight, his lips full and distinct. He spoke loudly and directly and almost always with a tinge of facetiousness or concealed mockery. But whenever he grew thoughtful, his face underwent a painful transformation. The smile vanished and something dark and almost hard appeared in his features. Or he would seem absent, focused on something invisible, as people endowed with a powerful imagination sometimes are—an aspect that would arouse fear in those who were dependent on him. Overall it could be said that he was a handsome man. It bothered many that he often seemed to be conscious of his own virtues.

“Speak, I’m listening,” he told the visitor, knitting his brow.

“In case you don’t yet know,” the reis began slowly, “I can tell you that your old enemy Nizam al-Mulk is no longer grand vizier.”

Hasan flinched, and his whole body shuddered.

“What did you say?” he asked, as though he couldn’t believe his ears.

“The sultan deposed Nizam al-Mulk and named the sultana’s secretary as interim vizier.”

“Taj al-Mulk?” Abu Ali asked, overjoyed. “He’s our ally.”

“Not now that the sultana expects her little son to be proclaimed heir to the throne, as the law states,” the reis explained.

“What treachery,” the grand dai murmured.

Hasan remained silent and pensive. He leaned forward and began drawing odd circles on the carpet with his finger.

The two old men also fell silent. They watched his movements and waited for him to say something.

“If the sultana’s secretary has replaced Nizam al-Mulk, then it’s clear that our situation at the court has fundamentally changed,” Hasan said at last. “That crosses my plans a bit. I had thought I’d have peace until next spring. By then I would have completed my preparations. Now, I’m just going to have to speed them up.”

“Oh yes, I almost forgot the most important thing,” the reis interrupted him. “Nizam al-Mulk may have lost the viziership, but he’s been given an order to eliminate the Ismailis as soon as possible.”

“Then it’s a struggle to the death,” Abu Ali said grimly. “For the grand vizier that’s the same thing as ordering a wolf to clear out the sheepfold.”

“No, we’re no sheepfold yet, that’s for sure,” Hasan laughed. He had silently come to some decision, and his previous cheerfulness had returned.

“We need to take quick action,” he concluded. “What does Muzaffar think? Is he ready to help us?”

“He and I discussed all the possibilities at length,” Abul Fazel replied. “He likes you and he’s ready to cover your retreat from the Turkish cavalry. But he’s also helpless against the main force of the emir’s army.”

“I understand, I understand,” Hasan said. The old mischievous smile played around his mouth and eyes. “So where does His Excellency advise me to retreat to?”

“That was precisely the subject of our most heated discussions,” the reis observed. He acted as though he hadn’t noticed Hasan’s devilishness. “There are only two routes open to you: a shorter one to the west, leading through the untamed Kurdish lands to Byzantium and from there to Egypt, and a longer one to the east. Muzaffar recommends the eastern route. At Merv, or even as soon as Nishapur, Husein Alkeini could join you with his army, and then the two of you could retreat toward Kabul and on to India, where any one of the local princes would be glad to give you asylum.”

“An excellent plan,” Hasan said, encouraged. “But what if my army isn’t able to hold out against the Turkish cavalry?”

“We talked about that possibility too,” the reis said, moving close to Hasan. “If a retreat with your full contingent seems out of the question, then Muzaffar offers you and those closest to you refuge with him. That’s why he sent me here.”

“Muzaffar has a sharp mind and I won’t forget his consideration for me by any means. But he can’t see into my mind or into my heart.”

Hasan’s voice abruptly turned dry and realistic.

“Alamut cannot be taken,” he continued. “So we stay. We’ll wipe out the Turkish cavalry, and by the time the sultan’s army reaches the fortress, we’ll be ready.”

Abu Ali looked at Hasan with shining eyes, eyes full of trust. But Abul Fazel was frightened.

“I’ve always seen you as a deft and capable man, my dear Hasan,” he said. “Lately your reputation has risen so much that you’re talked about throughout all of Iran. And with your intrigues at court you’ve proven that you’re a highly gifted statesman. But what you’re proposing now fills me with real concern and trepidation.”

“My work is only half completed,” Hasan replied. “Until now I’ve trusted to my statesmanship. But now I’m going to see what faith can accomplish.”

He gave that word particular stress. He turned toward the grand dai and spoke.

“Go call the commanders to council. All men should go to battle stations immediately. Tomorrow our novices are going to have to pass a test so they can be sworn in as fedayeen. They need to know everything.

“You will conduct the grand council in my absence. Tell the commanders that we have visitors approaching, and that I have ordained that we will wait for them here. Have each of them share his thoughts. Once you’ve heard them out, come back and report everything to me. Have the captain order his men to make all preparations for the defense of the castle.”

“Everything will be done as you command,” the grand dai said, and hurried out.

The rumble of drums and a blast from the horn called the men to arms and the commanders to assembly. With a serious mien, Abu Ali awaited them in the great hall. The dais and the officers filed in.

When they were assembled, the grand dai looked them over and spoke.

“The sultan has deposed the grand vizier and ordered him to crush the Ismailis. The emir of Hamadan, Arslan Tash, has set out for Alamut with thirty thousand men. A vanguard of Turkish cavalry will reach Rudbar today or tomorrow. Within a few days black flags could be waving outside our castle. The mayor of Rai, Muzaffar, has promised us help. But our own preparedness is an even surer thing. Sayyiduna has sent me to find out how you think we can best resist an attack. Once he hears your recommendations he will take the necessary steps.”

Sitting on their pillows, the commanders exchanged surprised glances with each other. Here and there some of them whispered remarks to their neighbors, but for a long time none of them rose to speak.

“Captain, you’re an experienced soldier,” Abu Ali finally said to Manuchehr. “What do you think is our first priority?”

“We don’t have anything to fear from the Turkish cavalry,” the captain replied. “The fortress is ready for an attack, and anyone who takes it on will be badly burned. But how long we can hold out under siege against thirty thousand men with machines and assault equipment—that’s a difficult question.”

“How long will our food stores last?” the Greek asked.

“A good half year,” the captain replied. “But if we can dispatch a caravan to Rai, then Muzaffar will supply us for another half year.”

“That’s important,” Abu Ali commented, noting something down on his tablet.

Abdul Malik spoke next.

“Here’s what I think,” he said. “We mustn’t let ourselves get locked up in the fortress too soon. We can wallop the Turks on an open battlefield, especially if Muzaffar really does send help. The core of the sultan’s army is still a long way off.”

The young officers who were present enthusiastically supported his plan.

“We mustn’t rush into things,” Abu Soraka commented. “We have to bear in mind that we have our wives and our children with us in the castle. They’d be finished if we were foolhardy enough to risk a battle in the open.”

“Haven’t I always said,” Ibrahim said, losing his temper, “that women and children don’t belong in the fortress with warriors?”

“I’m not the only one who has his family here,” Abu Soraka countered. By this he was referring to Hasan’s two daughters.

Dai Ibrahim angrily compressed his lips.

“I have the perfect suggestion,” al-Hakim said, laughing. “Let’s put our wives and children on the camels and donkeys and send them to Muzaffar. We can use that same caravan to bring needed foodstuffs back to the castle. There you’d accomplish three things at one blow. We’d reduce the number of mouths to feed, we’d rid ourselves of painful concerns for our families, and the caravan wouldn’t make half its trip for no purpose.”

“Good idea,” Abu Ali acknowledged, making some more notes on his tablet.

The discussion grew more and more impassioned. They tallied all the things they would need at the castle, argued about the rightful duties of various commanders, and recommended first one thing, then its opposite.

At last Abu Ali gave a sign that the assembly was over. He told the commanders to wait for their precise instructions and returned to join Hasan at the top of the tower.

In the meantime Hasan had learned from the former mayor of Isfahan what recent changes at the court had caused the sultan to move so suddenly. Up until that point he had had very good connections to court circles, considering that Taj al-Mulk, vizier to the young sultana Turkan Khatun, had been his confidant.

Sultan Malik Shah had legally designated his first-born son, Barkiarok, heir to the throne. He was the sultan’s son by his first wife. Just then the twenty-year-old heir apparent was conducting a military campaign against a number of rebellious princes on the border with India. The young sultana used this absence to secure the Iranian throne for her four-year-old son Mohammed. Most strongly opposed to this plan was Nizam al-Mulk. The sovereign vacillated, submitting first to the influence of his old vizier, then to the charms of his young wife. The grand vizier had powerful support, primarily in the caliph of Baghdad and the entire Sunni clergy. The sultana had the support of Nizam’s numerous enemies and the many individuals whom his power had reduced to insignificance. But so that her side could gain a counterweight against the Sunni clergy as well, the sultana’s vizier sought out contacts with the Shia, among whom Hasan’s Ismaili sect had the greatest influence. This court intrigue was practically made to order for the master of Alamut. He assured the sultana that his adherents throughout Iran would support her cause. Taj al-Mulk promised him that he and Turkan Khatun would try to prevail on the sultan not be too concerned about Hasan’s exploits in the north of Iran.

In the course of two years the sultana and her secretary had kept their word. Whenever Nizam al-Mulk pressed the sultan to move against the Ismailis, the two of them would downplay Hasan’s exploits and point out that the grand vizier’s efforts were no more than the result of his personal hatred for Hasan ibn Sabbah. The sultan was glad to believe this. Since he was more inclined to Nizam’s side in the choice of an heir, he was all the more willing to concede to the sultana and her vizier when it came to the Ismailis.

Now reis Abul Fazel told Hasan what Muzaffar’s messenger from the court at Isfahan had told him. When Nizam al-Mulk learned that Husein Alkeini had become ensconced in the fortress of Gonbadan and was rousing all of Khuzestan against the sultan in Hasan’s name, he was nearly frightened to death. He knew that he and Hasan still had a grim score to settle, and this led him to resort to extreme measures with the sultan. Years before he had manipulated Hasan’s disgrace in the sultan’s eyes by using a trick to portray him as a flippant jokester who had tried to deprive him, the vizier, of his position at court. The sultan grew angry, and Hasan was forced to flee Isfahan overnight. Since then the sultan had been unable to view Hasan’s exploits as a serious matter. Now the grand vizier confessed to him that he had tricked Hasan back then, and that the Ismaili leader was in fact a dangerously capable man. The sultan went pale with insult and rage. He shoved the old man, who was abjectly bent down on his knees before him, and withdrew to his chambers. From there he issued a decree that Nizam had ceased to be grand vizier and that the sultana’s secretary would fill that position in the interim. Simultaneously, Nizam was issued an order in the strictest terms to defeat Hasan and eliminate the Ismailis immediately. It goes without saying that the sultana and her secretary could now abandon their ally of convenience since her worst opponent had been eliminated and the two of them now had unlimited influence over the sultan.

After these tumultuous events, the sultan and his entire court set out to travel to Baghdad, so he could visit his sister and her husband, the caliph. He wanted to persuade the latter to designate the son he had had by his sister as his heir.

By the time Abu Ali returned with his report, Hasan had been fully informed of the intrigues at the court in Isfahan. He now listened carefully to the advice of his commanders. When the grand dai had finished, he got up and started pacing back and forth across the room. In his mind he was surveying the situation and deciding what to do.

Finally he said to Abu Ali, “Take the tablet and write.”

The grand dai sat down, crossed his legs, set the tablet on his left knee, and reached for his pencil.

“I’m ready, ibn Sabbah,” he said.

Hasan stopped beside him so he could see over his shoulder and began half-dictating, half-explaining his instructions.

“Concerning the Turkish cavalry,” he said, “Abdul Malik is right. We mustn’t let ourselves become surrounded in the castle too soon. We’ll wait for them out in the open and defeat them there. We have to be sure that Muzaffar gets his units here to help us in time. Abu Ali, you will have command of the force that meets the sultan’s vanguard. Manuchehr will be responsible for the defense of the fortress. This will put his nose out of joint, because he loves the smell of battle, but we need his skills to make sure the castle is ready for any eventuality.

“Next, and this is very important, we need to get rid of all unnecessary mouths to feed and other appurtenances. By tonight after last prayers Abdul Malik is to load the harems, both wives and children, on our pack animals and set out with his caravan. Muzaffar is a kind soul and will have no choice but to take on responsibility for our live cargo. Send a messenger to Rai immediately, so that he’s informed in advance. He’s to have foodstuffs ready for our caravan to transport back, and he should immediately dispatch as many of his men to Alamut as he can spare. Tell him he can put the women and children straight to work, so that he doesn’t incur too much of a loss… And what are your plans, my dear Abul Fazel?”

Smiling, he cast a stinging glance at the reis.

“I’ll be taking off with Abdul Malik’s caravan,” the former mayor replied. “I wouldn’t be caught in this mousetrap when the sultan’s army arrives for anything in the world. Muzaffar’s and my advice has not been in vain. I’ve done my duty, and now the only thing remaining for me is to make a quick exit.”

“Your decision suits my plans perfectly,” Hasan laughed. “Your presence will be enough to protect the caravan, so that Abdul Malik will only have to take a handful of men along. Muzaffar should add a few men of his own for the trip back. I’m counting on you to look after our harem kin.”

Then he turned back to Abu Ali.

“Send a messenger to Rudbar immediately with an order for Buzurg Ummid to come to Alamut. I need him personally. It’s a pity Khuzestan is so far that Husein Alkeini couldn’t get here in time. But he needs to be informed too. Things will happen here that will make our remote descendants gape in awe…”

He chuckled to himself quietly, absorbed in his own thoughts. He was silent for a while, then he spoke to the reis.

“Listen, Abul Fazel! I have the impression you still take me for an idiot, like you did in our Isfahan days, because what you see is an army of thirty thousand soldiers marching against our handful of men. But what you don’t see are the angels gathered to help and protect us, like they once protected the Prophet and his people in the battle of Beder.”

“Always joking, you’re still always joking,” Abul Fazel replied with a sour smile. He was a little offended, because he thought Hasan was making fun of him again.

“I’m not joking, no, old friend,” Hasan said cheerfully. “I’m just speaking a bit in parables. I’m telling you, I’ve got such surprises ready that people won’t believe their own ears. I’m going to show the world what kind of miracles faith can work.”

Then he resumed dictating instructions. Finally he gave orders to Abu Ali.

“Inform everyone of the tasks I’ve assigned them. Select your messengers and write out the appropriate commands. They must set out at once. Have Abdul Malik bring my daughters to me before he leaves. Once you’ve taken care of all that, assemble all the men and tell them that the sultan has declared war on us. Order the novices to get ready, because tomorrow morning will be the beginning of their test. Be firm and demanding with them, squeeze everything they can do out of them. Threaten them that they won’t earn their ordination. But tomorrow evening you’ll assemble them in the mosque and ordain them as fedayeen. Make that the most solemn moment of their lives and their highest achievement in this world. All of this following the model that you and I experienced in Cairo… Is all that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, ibn Sabbah.”

Hasan dismissed both of the old men. He stretched out on his pillows and once more thought through all of the measures he had just taken. When he was certain he hadn’t left out anything of major significance, he drifted peacefully off to sleep.

All this time the men stood waiting in the courtyard under the baking sun. They watched their senior officers disappearing inside the building of the supreme commander for long periods of time. The soldiers could barely control their impatience.

The novices were assembled in two rows in front of their building. They stood as straight as cypresses, gazing fiercely ahead. The honor of having been chosen to escort the old dignitary still filled them with pride, but gradually their patience eroded too.

Suleiman was first to break the silence.

“I’d like to know what’s going on,” he said. “Maybe there’s going to be an end to this schooling after all.”

“I think you’d like to have a beard before you’ve even got peach fuzz,” Yusuf scoffed at him.

The ranks snickered.

“Well, I think you’re afraid of the fat on your belly melting,” Suleiman shot back. “Which is why you’re none too enthusiastic whenever the drums and trumpet sound.”

“I’m just curious which one of us the enemy will spot first.”

“You, no doubt. With your long shanks you’ll stick up proudly from behind my back.”

“Cut it out,” ibn Tahir intervened. “You don’t even know yet where the lion is that you’re planning to skin.”

“If I were a fly, I could hear what the commanders are talking about now,” Obeida said.

“You’d be even happier to be a fly when the enemy shows up,” Suleiman laughed at him.

“If heroes won battles with poisonous tongues, you’d be first among them,” Obeida replied. “All of Iran would tremble at the sight of you.”

“Hmm, a certain Obeida would also tremble at the sight of my fist,” Suleiman returned.

Sergeant Abuna hurried past. He whispered to the expectant youths, “It looks like things are going to get hot, boys. The sultan’s forces are bearing down on us.”

They fell silent. At first they felt anxious, but gradually that feeling gave way to enthusiasm and wild excitement.

“At last!” Suleiman said, the words coming from the bottom of his heart.

They exchanged glances. Their eyes and cheeks glowed. Now and then one or the other of them smiled. Their imaginations began to work. They saw heroic deeds before them, and they saw themselves accomplishing arduous tasks, earning glory and immortality.

“Damn! When is this waiting going to be over?” Suleiman lost his temper. He couldn’t stand being at peace anymore. “Why don’t they order us to mount and attack the infidels?”

Abuna and two other men led three horses across the courtyard—two of them black, plus Abu Ali’s Arabian.

Somebody whispered.

“Sayyiduna is going to speak.”

The word sped through the ranks.

“What? Who’s going to speak?”

“Sayyiduna.”

“Who says? The Arabian belongs to Abu Ali, and one of the black horses is the captain’s.”

“So whose is the third?”

The guards outside the entrance to the high command stood stiffly to attention and shouldered their arms. The grand dai and other commanders came out of the building. Abu Ali, the captain and dai Ibrahim mounted the horses that the sergeant had brought out. The other leaders headed off toward their various detachments, stood before them, and ordered them about face toward the building of the supreme commander.

Abu Ali and his two escorts trotted out to the edge of the upper terrace. He raised his arm in a call for silence. A deathly quiet came over both of the lower terraces. The grand dai stood up slightly in his stirrups and called out in a powerful voice.

“Ismaili believers! In the name of Our Master and supreme commander. A time of trial and decisiveness has come. With weapons in hand you must now prove your devotion and your love for the holy martyrs and for our leader. At the sultan’s command, his henchman, the son of a dog Arslan Tash, has set out with a large army to slaughter all of us true believers. Within a few days the trumpets of his cavalry will sound outside of Alamut and the black flag of the dog Abas will flutter in front of our fortress. I therefore now order in the name of Our Master that from this moment on, by night and by day, no one will part with his weapon. Whoever disregards this order will be put to death as a rebel. When the trumpet sounds, you are all to be at your assembly points within the time allotted. Your officers will give you detailed instructions…”

He turned his horse around, looked out toward the novices, and called out to them.

“You who are prepared to sacrifice yourselves, hear the command of Our Master! Tomorrow you will be called to a test. Whoever passes it will be ordained in the evening. I appeal to you: focus your mind and spirit, because for each of you ordination into the fedayeen will be the most illustrious moment of your life…”

He turned again to face the entire force. His voice thundered throughout Alamut.

“Warriors for the Ismaili cause!” he shouted. “Remember the words of the Prophet: battle like lions. Because fear saves no one from death! There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his Prophet! Come, al-Mahdi!”

There was a rush among the novices, as though lightning had struck in their midst. The great day of trials had arrived and none of them was ready for it yet. Their faces pale, they looked at each other as they returned to their rooms.

“Now we’ve got the devil to pay,” Suleiman exclaimed. “We don’t know how to do a thing, and it’d be best if we just volunteered for the infantry.”

“Right, let’s all volunteer, and then they can do with us what they want,” Obeida seconded.

Yusuf was the most fainthearted of them all. He kept wiping the sweat from his brow and quietly hoping that some ray of hope would finally shine forth.

“Will it really be that bad?” he asked timidly.

“You’ll croak for sure, you make such a good target,” Suleiman grinned at him maliciously.

Yusuf sighed piteously and buried his face in his hands.

“But what are we going to do?” Naim asked.

“Why don’t you jump into Shah Rud? That’d be the best thing for you,” Suleiman said to him.

Then ibn Tahir spoke.

“Listen, fellows. Do you really think Our Master chose us as novices so that he could humiliate us now by putting us in the infantry? We’ve got some skills! My suggestion is that we grab our notes, get together, and review everything we’ve studied so far.”

“You tutor us! You lead the review for us!” the novices called out one after the other. Ibn Tahir suggested they go out on top of the building. They sat down on the rooftop, each with his tablets and notes in hand, and ibn Tahir asked them questions, explaining whatever they didn’t understand. Gradually they calmed down, though now and then one or the other of them shivered when he remembered the coming day. Somewhere deep down, they all still felt trepidation at the prospect of their test. They all forgot about the approaching enemy.

On the lower terrace, next to the left-hand guard tower, concealed by dovecotes, poplars and densely planted cypresses, stood the harem building. Abdul Malik swooped in among the women and children like a hawk, urging them to get ready for immediate departure. Cries, shrieks, wailing and mindless commotion followed his command. The eunuch guards observed all this with indifference until the dai made them start helping the women with the move.

In the meantime a dozen drivers had led camels and donkeys up to the building. Husbands came to bid farewell to their wives and children.

Abu Soraka had two wives in the castle. The first was the same age as him, an elderly and toothless little woman. She had borne him two daughters who were married and living in Nishapur. The dai had been attached to her since his youth, and he needed her like a child needs its mother.

The second was younger and had borne him a daughter and a son, which he kept in his harem with Hasan’s two children. He loved this wife tenderly and, now that she was leaving, he suddenly realized how much he was going to miss her. He fought hard to keep from showing his feelings.

Al-Hakim had a beautiful Egyptian wife, whom he had brought with him from Cairo. She hadn’t given him any children. The word in the harems was that before her marriage she had led the life of a woman of the streets. He liked to describe her beauty to other men, cursing his enslavement to her and her power over him, but each time a caravan stopped at the castle, he would look for some exquisite gift to buy her. An old Ethiopian woman did all the work for her, while she lay amid her pillows, applied her makeup, dressed in silks, and spent whole days daydreaming.

Captain Manuchehr had a single wife at the castle, but he had brought along three children from his two former wives. Now he briefly bade farewell to all of them. He was afraid of losing his edge if he lingered with them too long.

And so the men with wives and children in the castle took leave of their families and returned to their manly duties.

Abu Soraka and al-Hakim ran into each other along the way and had a brief conversation.

“Now the castle’s really going to feel empty,” Abu Soraka commented.

“I have to admire the philosophers who claimed that, next to food and drink, the pleasures of women were the only worldly good worth striving for,” the Greek replied.

“But our supreme commanders get by without them,” the dai answered him.

The physician frowned scornfully.

“Come on now, you’re talking like a schoolboy.”

He took Abu Soraka by the sleeve and spoke to him now in the barest whisper.

“What on earth do you think our masters have got hidden behind the castle? A litter of cats? Come on! They’d be stupid not to take advantage of it. You and I have never had such plump geese as they’re raising down there.”

Abu Ali came to an abrupt stop.

“No, I can’t believe that,” he managed to say at last. “I know they’re up to something down there, but I’m convinced it’s for the good of us all, not for their private enjoyment.”

“So don’t believe me if you don’t want to,” the doctor replied, almost offended. “Just keep in mind that the master always saves the best pieces for himself.”

“I’d almost forgotten something,” reis Abul Fazel said when he came to say goodbye to Hasan toward evening. He winked knowingly and continued.

“I have indeed brought you something, though not a cure for madness. I think it might cheer you up. Can you guess?”

Hasan smiled, at a loss. He looked first at the reis, and then at Abu Ali, who was standing to the side.

“I really can’t imagine,” he said.

“Ah, but I won’t hand it over until you’ve guessed,” the reis teased him. “You have riches aplenty, you disdain finery. All of your needs are modest, except one. Can you guess now?”

“You’ve brought me a book.”

“Good shot, Hasan. It’s something written. But by whom?”

“How should I know? Maybe one of the ancients? Ibn Sina? No? Then is it a modern writer? It’s not al-Ghazali, is it?”

“No, that’s not what I’ve brought,” the reis laughed. “He’d be just a little too pious for you. The writer whose work I’ve brought is much closer to you.”

“In Allah’s name, I have no idea who you mean.”

Abu Ali smiled and asked, “May I try too?”

“Go ahead, I’m curious,” Hasan said, his courage flagging.

“I’d wager that the reis has brought you something written by your old friend Omar Khayyam.”

The reis nodded, smiling broadly. Hasan slapped his forehead.

“How could I not remember!” he exclaimed.

“I’ve brought you four poems that an acquaintance of mine copied in Nishapur from Omar Khayyam himself. I thought they’d give you pleasure.”

“You couldn’t have brought me a finer gift,” Hasan said. “I’m enormously grateful to you for your thoughtfulness.”

Abul Fazel took a package out from under his cloak and handed it to Hasan. Hasan unfastened the ribbons and looked inside.

He paused, lost in thought.

“This is odd,” he said after a while. “News on the same day from both of my old schoolmates, Nizam and Khayyam.”

A eunuch came through the doorway and announced the arrival of Abdul Malik and Hasan’s daughters.

“Go now, friend,” Hasan said, putting his arm around the reis’s shoulder. “Take care of our women and our children. Maybe someday you’ll need something. Remember me then and know that I’m in your debt.”

He nodded to Abu Ali and they both left him.

Abdul Malik held the curtain back and Hasan’s daughters Khadija and Fatima timidly stepped in. They stood up against the wall next to the doorway, while the dai proudly approached the supreme commander.

“I’ve brought your daughters, Sayyiduna,” he said.

Hasan cast a fierce glance at the girls.

“What are you perched there for, like two soaked chickens? Come closer!” he shouted at them. “Your mother burdened me with the two of you so that every time I’d look at you I’d think of her and get angry. I’ve taken you in as my sense of fatherly duty required. Now you’ll go along with the rest of the harem chattel to Muzaffar’s in Rai.”

He turned to Abdul Malik.

“And you tell Muzaffar to give them only as much food as they earn with their weaving. The fact that they’re my daughters should be irrelevant. If they’re disobedient, he should sell them as slaves, keep half of the money to cover his expenses, and send the other half to me. That’s all! Now off to prayers with you, and then the open road!”

The girls scurried out the door like two little mice. Hasan kept Abdul Malik behind for a moment.

“Muzaffar will know how to handle them. He’s a wise man and he has a pack of children, himself.”

The girls waited for the dai outside the entrance. They were both crying.

“Did you see how handsome he is?” the younger one asked.

“Why does he hate us so much?” the older one sobbed through her tears.

Abdul Malik led them down from the tower. He tried to comfort them.

“Don’t worry, little quails. Muzaffar has a good heart. He has lots of children, and you’ll get to play and have fun with them.”