Alamut

CHAPTER SEVEN

Early the next morning the youths mounted their horses and with their instructors flew out of the fortress. Two by two they thundered across the bridge in perfect order and then raced through the canyon in unbroken formation. Those riding closest to the river’s edge were no more than a few inches away from a steep escarpment. Yet no one slid into the stream.

On the plateau Manuchehr brought them to a halt at the foot of a low-lying, gently sloped hill. The novices shivered with feverish tension. Their disquiet communicated itself to the horses, which began neighing impatiently beneath them. Finally, Abu Ali came riding up, accompanied by dai Ibrahim. He spoke briefly with the captain and then rode with the other dais to the top of the hill.

Manuchehr gave an order and the two battle lines went flying off in different directions. Both of them made difficult and complex turns, then attacked and evaded each other, all in a highly coordinated way and without any mishaps.

From the hilltop, sitting on his shaggy white Arabian horse, Abu Ali observed the maneuvers taking place below and gave instructions to the dais.

“Manuchehr has done a fine job of training them,” he said, “I can’t deny that. But I’m not sure if this Turkish approach is suited to mountainous terrain. In the old days we used to attack individually and take down whatever came under our swords, then scatter again in a heartbeat. We’d repeat that kind of assault two or three times until there was no enemy left.”

During the next exercise, when the boys changed their method of attack by breaking the lines and going at each other individually, his eyes shone with satisfaction. He stroked his straggly beard and nodded in recognition. He dismounted, led his horse down the shady side of the hill, stopped and spread a carpet out over the ground, and lowered himself down onto it so that he sat resting on his heels. The dais, who had followed him, gathered around.

The captain had given another order. The novices leapt off their horses and took off their cloaks to reveal light, scaly armor. In place their of turbans they pulled on tight battle helmets. They let down their lances and reached for their shields and spears instead.

As foot soldiers they proved themselves just as capable. The captain shot a discreet glance at the grand dai and caught him quietly smiling.

Next came the individual military arts. They set up targets at a suitable distance and archery practice began. Out of ten shots, ibn Tahir and Suleiman missed only one each. The others fared almost as well.

Then they competed in spear throwing. Just as they had all been sitting on pins and needles at first in the grand dai’s presence, wordlessly carrying out their commands, now that he had begun nodding approval, they gradually relaxed and grew more enthusiastic. They began to gibe and encourage each other. Each of them wanted to stand out and give his very best. Yusuf outdid them all with his powerful throwing arm. Suleiman refused to be defeated. His whole body was taut with exertion.

“Leave some strength for all the other oxen you’re going to have to kill,” Yusuf taunted him.

Suleiman compressed his lips, drew the spear back and sprinted forward. The weapon went darting through the air. But he didn’t outthrow Yusuf who, at his next throw, surpassed himself.

“Outstanding,” Abu Ali praised him.

But no one was a match for Suleiman at sword fighting. They were matched up in pairs, and whichever of the two was defeated dropped out of the competition. Ibn Tahir defeated Obeida and ibn Vakas, but then succumbed to Yusuf’s more powerful assault. Suleiman forced his competitors out, one after the other. Finally, he and Yusuf had to square off. He hid behind his shield, with his eyes looking out over it, mocking his opponent.

“Now show you’re a hero,” he taunted him.

“Don’t rejoice too soon, my fleet-footed grasshopper,” Yusuf replied. “You didn’t do so well at spear throwing.”

They faced off. Yusuf knew that weight was his advantage, so he lunged at his competitor with all his might. But Suleiman, with his long legs, had planted his feet far apart and was able to evade the attacks by shifting his torso without losing his footing. With a sudden feint he was able to trick his opponent into moving his shield to the wrong side, at which point he dealt an elegant blow to his rib cage.

The novices and commanders all laughed. Yusuf snorted with rage.

“One more time, if you’ve got it in you!” he shouted. “You won’t trick me this time.”

Manuchehr was about to intervene, but Abu Ali signaled to leave them alone. The two crossed swords again.

Yusuf lunged like a raging bull and began hacking away at Suleiman’s shield. Suleiman smiled at him from behind it. He stood puffed up on his long legs, adroitly shifting his weight. Suddenly he stretched far forward and jabbed Yusuf straight in the chest from under his shield.

He garnered loud approval.

Abu Ali rose, took the sword and shield from his neighbor’s hands, and called on Suleiman to fight with him.

All eyes turned toward them. Abu Ali was an old man and no one would have guessed he was still capable of fighting. Confused, Suleiman looked toward the captain.

“Carry out the order,” came the reply.

Suleiman hesitantly assumed his stance.

“Don’t let it bother you that I’m not wearing any armor, my boy,” the grand dai said benevolently. “I’d like to see if I’m still in practice. I think I may still be.”

He struck Suleiman’s shield in provocation. But Suleiman obviously didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“What are you waiting for? Go to it!” the grand dai said angrily.

Suleiman prepared to attack. But before he knew it, his sword went flying out of his hand. An elbow as big as a child’s head had sprung out of his opponent’s cloak.

A whisper of amazement coursed through the ranks. Abu Ali laughed roguishly.

“Shall we try once more?” he asked.

This time Suleiman got seriously ready. He lifted his shield up to his eyes and carefully studied his dangerous opponent from over the top of it.

They began. For a time Abu Ali expertly repulsed his lunges. Then he attacked forcefully himself. Suleiman started to evade him, hoping to trick him with his feints. But the old man was ready for anything. Finally he struck unexpectedly, and Suleiman’s sword went flying out of his hand a second time.

Smiling in satisfaction, Abu Ali returned the sword and shield.

“You’ll make a fine warrior, Suleiman,” he said, “once you have a few dozen battles behind you, like I do.”

He waved to Manuchehr to indicate that he was satisfied with their progress. Then he turned toward the novices, who were assembled in two smart rows, and spoke to them.

“Now you’ll get a chance to show how much progress you’ve made in controlling your willpower. Your teacher Abdul Malik is away, so I will test you in his absence.”

He approached them, coolly sizing them up with a glance, and ordered, “Hold your breath!”

Ali’s gaze went from one face to the next. He watched the novices turn red, the veins on their necks and at their temples swell, and their eyes bulge in their sockets. Suddenly the first one tipped over. Ali walked right up to him and watched him with interest. When he saw him breathing again, he nodded in satisfaction.

One after the other the novices pitched to the ground. Abu Ali looked at the dais and the captain and mockingly observed, “What do you know, like pears in autumn.”

Finally only three were left: Yusuf, Suleiman and ibn Tahir. The grand dai approached them and studied their nostrils and mouths.

“No, they’re not breathing,” he said quietly.

Then Yusuf started to sway. First he dropped gently to his knees, then he crashed to the ground, hard. He began breathing again, opened his eyes, and stared blankly around.

Suddenly, like a felled tree, Suleiman collapsed.

Ibn Tahir lasted a few seconds longer. Abu Ali and Manuchehr exchanged approving glances. Finally he also began to sway and fell over.

Abu Ali was about to give the order for the next exercise, when a messenger from the castle rode up at a wild gallop and called for him to return to the supreme commander immediately. The exercises would continue in the school building that afternoon.

The grand dai ordered them to mount and was the first to gallop off into the canyon.

Soon after the novices had ridden out from the castle that morning, a lookout atop one of the towers noticed a strange pigeon flying around the dovecote. He informed the keeper of the messenger pigeons, and the keeper rushed up the tower with his crossbow loaded. But meanwhile the little creature had settled down and tamely let itself be caught. A silken envelope was wrapped around one of its legs. The dovecote keeper ran to the building of the supreme commander and handed the pigeon to one of Hasan’s bodyguards.

Hasan opened the envelope and read.

“To Hasan ibn Sabbah, commander of the Ismailis, greetings! The emir of Hamadan Arslan Tash has attacked our forces with a large army. The fortresses west of Rudbar have already surrendered to him. We were prepared and repulsed a cavalry attack, but that force has proceeded on toward Alamut. An army is approaching to lay siege to the fortress. Awaiting your immediate orders. Buzurg Ummid.”

This pigeon was dispatched before my messenger reached Rudbar, Hasan thought. Or else the Turks intercepted the messenger on the way. The battle dance has begun.

He smiled at his composure.

“If only the boys were already initiated,” he told himself.

From a cabinet he took a swath of silk similar to the one the pigeon had around its leg and wrote an order on it for Buzurg Ummid to ride to Alamut immediately. He was about to send for one of the Rudbar pigeons, when the guard brought him yet another winged messenger, which had one of the keeper’s arrows through its throat. Hasan took the message from its leg. It was covered with tiny writing.

“To Hasan ibn Sabbah, commander of the Ismailis, greetings! Emir Kizil Sarik has set out against us with the entire army of Khorasan and Khuzestan. The smaller fortresses have surrendered to him and the faithful have fled to us at Gonbadan, where we are under siege by the enemy. The heat is unrelenting and our water will soon run out. Food is also running short. I have given the order to hold out, but your son Hosein tries to persuade our men to cede the fortress to the sultan’s men in exchange for safe passage. Awaiting your decisive instructions. Husein Alkeini.”

Hasan went blue in the face. His lips contracted in a terrible rage. His whole body shook. He began to fly around the room like a man possessed.

“That criminal son!” he shouted. “I’ll throw him in chains. I’ll strangle him with my own hands!”

When the grand dai arrived, he wordlessly handed him both letters. Abu Ali read them carefully. Then he spoke.

“For the life of me, I can’t think of any way to save these two fortresses. But you said you’re keeping a powerful weapon in reserve, and I trust you.”

“Good,” Hasan replied. “I’m sending several pigeons to Rudbar and Gonbadan with instructions. My treacherous son and all other malcontents are to be put in chains. Let them starve and go thirsty. Everyone else is to hold out to the last man.”

He wrote a second letter and sent for pigeons for both fortresses. With Abu Ali he attached the silken patches with orders around their legs, then carried them up to the top of his tower and released them.

When he returned he addressed the grand dai.

“First, the novices have to be initiated. They’re the rock on which I plan to build the fortress of our power. How did they do at the tests?”

“I’m satisfied with them,” Abu Ali replied. “Manuchehr and Abdul Malik have turned them into warriors without equal.”

“If only Buzurg Ummid were already here,” Hasan muttered half to himself. “Then the two of you could see the surprise I’ve prepared for you.”

“Indeed, I’ve been having to stifle my curiosity for too long as it is,” Abu Ali said, laughing.

After third prayers the novices resumed their examinations. They gathered with their instructors in the dining hall, and when Abu Ali arrived, the questioning began.

Right away they noticed a change in the grand dai since morning. He sat on pillows, leaning against the wall and staring grimly at the floor in front of him. He seemed not to be listening to what the novices were saying, but pondering something completely different instead.

Abu Soraka began with questions about the history of the Ismailis. The first four of them had already answered, and it seemed as though the exams were going to run as seamlessly as they had in the morning. But as the fifth youth was speaking, the grand dai suddenly interrupted him and began asking the questions himself.

“Poor,” he said when he didn’t get an absolutely precise answer.

Abu Soraka quickly resorted to ibn Tahir, who answered everything well.

“Let’s move on,” the grand dai commanded. “I’d also like to hear the ones who are less well versed.”

Jafar and Obeida safely negotiated the danger. When Abu Soraka called on Suleiman, Abu Ali laughed scornfully to himself.

Suleiman’s answers were short and abrupt, as though he were infallible in everything. But nearly everything he said was insufficient or even completely wrong.

“You do a poor job of dueling with the truth, my boy,” Abu Ali said, shaking his head. “A feday has to have a mind that never misses.”

Suleiman stepped back, exasperated.

Finally it was Yusuf’s turn. Although the novices were nervous for him, they also found him good sport.

Abu Soraka had saved the easiest question for him. He had to name the imams from Ali to Ismail. But Yusuf was so flustered that the name of the third imam stuck in his throat.

“By the beard of the martyr Ali!” the grand dai shouted. “I wash my hands of so much ignorance.”

Abu Soraka looked furiously at Yusuf, who had slumped back down, half dead.

After Abu Soraka came al-Hakim, who had an easier time avoiding this predicament. He knew that Abu Ali wasn’t familiar with his philosophical theories of human nature, so he nodded approval at every answer, no matter how wrong it was.

The novices were thoroughly versed in geography. The captain smiled in satisfaction and Abu Ali quickly passed over this subject.

Soon grammar, account-keeping and poetry were also taken care of. The grand dai didn’t intervene again until the topic was dogma, on which he placed a great deal of importance. Ibrahim posed his clear and simple questions, which the novices answered well, for the most part.

“Now let’s probe the extent of our novices’ native intelligence,” Abu Ali said, interrupting the questioning. “Yusuf, our great spear-throwing champion, tell us who is closer to Allah: the Prophet or the archangel Gabriel?”

Yusuf got up and stared at him with a look of desperation on his face. Abu Ali asked each of his neighbors on down the line. One answered the Prophet, the next the archangel. But none of them was able to explain his choice.

The grand dai grinned malevolently.

“You decide, ibn Tahir,” he said at last.

Ibn Tahir rose and calmly proceeded to respond.

“Allah sent the archangel Gabriel to Mohammed with the announcement that he had been selected as Prophet. If Allah hadn’t meant to distinguish Mohammed above all others, he could have entrusted his archangel with the prophet’s mission directly. Because he didn’t do that, Mohammed now stands ahead of the archangel Gabriel in heaven.”

“That’s the right answer,” Abu Ali said. “Now explain this to us: what is the relationship between the Prophet and Sayyiduna?”

Ibn Tahir smiled. He thought for a moment and then answered.

“The relationship between Sayyiduna and the Prophet is a relationship of younger to older.”

“Fine. But who holds greater power over the faithful now?”

“Sayyiduna. Because he has the key that opens the gates to paradise.”

Abu Ali rose and all the others stood up after him. His gaze went from one novice to the other. Then he spoke in a solemn voice.

“Go and bathe and put on your ceremonial clothes. Be glad. The greatest moment of your lives is approaching. At the time of fifth prayers you will all be initiated.”

With a faint smile he bowed, then strode quickly out of the room.

A messenger from Rai came rushing in and announced to Hasan that the cavalry Muzaffar was supposed to send him was already on the way. They could expect it to arrive at the castle that night. Right behind him one of the scouts rode in and informed Hasan that the Turkish vanguard was moving toward Alamut with great speed and could be outside the walls by late that night or early in the morning.

Hasan at once had Abu Ali and Manuchehr summoned to him. He received them in his antechamber and told them the news. He spread a map out on the floor and the three of them reviewed the best options for showing their teeth to the sultan’s forces.

“I’ll send a messenger to intercept Muzaffar’s people,” Hasan said. “The best thing will be for them not to join us in the castle at all. Instead, Abdul Malik will guide them toward the road that leads from Rudbar. They’ll wait in ambush there until the Turks ride past. Then they’ll follow them at a safe distance. We’ll meet the enemy outside of Alamut, while they press them from behind. It will be like grinding them between two millstones.”

Abu Ali and the captain agreed with the plan. They selected an officer to ride with several men to meet Muzaffar’s people. Manuchehr left to issue the necessary orders. Hasan asked the grand dai how things were going with the novices.

“There isn’t a prophet hiding in any one of them,” Abu Ali laughed. “But they are all full of passion and their faith is unshakable.”

“That’s the main thing, yes, that’s the most important,” Hasan replied, rubbing his hands. Both of them were starting to feel feverish as the decisive events approached.

“Now go oversee the novices’ initiation. Here, I’ve put together the text of an oath for them. You’ll speak to them about the solemnity of the moment, you’ll speak about the heroic deeds of the martyrs, enthusiastically, passionately. Fire up their young souls and fill them with fervor and determination. Threaten them with horrible punishment, threaten them with damnation if they aren’t absolutely obedient to us in every way. For so many years I’ve dreamed of educating followers like these in accordance with my plan, of reshaping their character to suit my needs, so I could build my institutions on them. At last, at last I’ve lived to see the day!”

“You know I’ve always trusted your wisdom,” Abu Ali said. “I’m convinced that you also have good reasons for what you’re doing now. But I can’t help thinking that it would be wiser if you initiated the novices yourself. Look, they’re so eager to see you at last, for you to make an appearance, to feel that you’re a living person and not just some invisible force that they have to obey. It would elevate the event immeasurably.”

“That’s all true, but I won’t do it.”

Hasan grew pensive and looked down at the floor. Then he continued.

“I know what I’m doing. If you want to make use of people as means to an end, it’s better to keep a distance from their concerns. What matters is that you stay free to act and that your heart doesn’t dictate to you. When Buzurg Ummid comes, I’ll explain everything to both of you. The flag that you’ll give to the fedayeen is ready. Go and do what I’ve said. This initiation is more important than victory over the Turks.”

The great assembly hall in the building of the supreme commander was turned into a mosque for that evening. For the first time the novices were permitted to enter that part of the fortress. The guard of mace-bearing eunuchs had been reinforced. The Moors were in full battle gear, with armor, helmets and shields. Anxious feelings beset the novices as they entered the hall, which was solemnly empty and draped all around with white curtains. They wore white cassocks and tall, white fezzes, and they were barefoot, as the commandment states. The dais were also dressed in white. They arranged the novices by groups, whispering instructions to them on how to behave during the ceremony. The novices shivered in excitement. They were pale and exhausted and some of them were feeling faint.

The horn sounded last prayers. Abu Ali entered, also wearing a loose white cassock and with a tall, white fez on his head. He walked straight through the hall, finally coming to a halt in front of the novices. The commanders stood in two rows beside him. The ceremony had begun.

Abu Ali began by conducting the evening prayers in a steady voice. Then he turned toward the novices and began speaking about the meaning of that evening’s initiation, about the joy they must be feeling about it, and about the obedience they owed to Sayyiduna and his deputies. He told them about the bliss of the martyrs and the importance of the example they had set, which should become their highest goal.

“The most glorious moment of your lives is approaching,” he said. “You are about to become an elite force, fedayeen, those who give their lives for the holy cause. Among hundreds of thousands of the faithful, only the twenty of you are receiving this honor. But a day of trials is also approaching, when you will have to prove your faith and obedience to Sayyiduna in battle. The enemy is fast approaching Alamut. Is there anyone among you who will waver at the crucial moment? Is there anyone among you willing to incur the punishment of a shameful death for treachery? I know there are not any such among you. I have spoken to Sayyiduna about you and asked him to approve your initiation. In his benevolence he has granted my wish. Do you wish to prove unworthy of his kindness and my trust? In his name, I am about to initiate you, all of you, as fedayeen. I will pronounce the oath, and all of you, each using his own name, will repeat it after me. Once you have sworn, a great transformation will take place in you. You will cease being novices and will become the elite of Our Master. Now listen and repeat each word after me!”

He stretched out his huge, shovel-like arms and lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. He spoke in an enraptured voice.

“I, …, solemnly swear by Allah, the Prophet Mohammed, Ali and all the martyrs, that I will carry out every order of Our Master or his deputy without any hesitation. I commit myself to defending the Ismaili flag with my life and to my last breath. With this oath I accept initiation into the fedayeen, from which no one can release me, except Sayyiduna. As Allah is God and Mohammed is his Prophet. Come, al-Mahdi!”

The solemnity of the moment deeply affected the novices. Their faces were waxen and their eyes shone as in a fever. A blissful smile played on their mouths. They were filled with an unspeakably sweet feeling. They had arrived at the goal of their long and persistent efforts. They accepted the initiation they had so fervently longed for.

Abu Ali signaled to Ibrahim, who handed the flag to him. The grand dai unfurled it, revealing the words of the fifth verse of the twenty-eighth sura glinting on its white surface in gold embroidered letters: “And we wished to be gracious to those who were being depressed in the land, to make them leaders and make them heirs.”

“Ibn Tahir,” he called out. “Come forward! To you, first among the elite, I give this banner. Let this white flag become the symbol of your honor and your pride. Should you let an enemy trample it, you let him trample your honor and your pride. Therefore, guard it more zealously than the apple of your eye. As long as a single feday is living, the enemy is not to lay hands on it. The only path to it leads over your dead bodies. Select the five strongest from your ranks. Lots drawn among them will determine the flag bearer.”

As in a dream, ibn Tahir took the flag from his hands. He went back and stood holding it at the head of the fedayeen. The moment marking the highpoint of his life was receding, and the unspeakably sweet feeling that had filled it was already turning into a burning ache for some wonderful, lost thing. This he realized: the moment he had just experienced, and that was so hopelessly short, would never come again.

In the meantime, messengers had been coming to and going from the castle. Abdul Malik had been informed in time and, with Muzaffar’s detachment, changed course for the road that the Turkish cavalry would be taking. Scouts were dispatched in the direction of the enemy and formed an unbroken chain that could communicate using predetermined signals. The reconnaissance service worked impeccably.

When Abu Ali returned from the initiation, Hasan relaxed.

“At least that’s taken care of.”

Then he ordered the grand dai to assemble the units he needed and head out with them onto the plateau outside the canyon, where they were to wait for the sultan’s vanguard.

“What about the fedayeen?” Abu Ali asked.

“This battle is made to order for them,” Hasan replied. “You’ll take them with you and Abu Soraka will continue to be their commander. But the two of you make sure they don’t get killed. I’m saving them for bigger things. So don’t expose them to too great a danger. Give them the prestigious jobs instead. For instance, have them shoot the first arrows that start the battle. But the first hand-to-hand clash should be borne by the older soldiers. Send the fedayeen into battle only after victory is certain or, of course, in case of extreme peril. If the opportunity comes, have them seize the enemy’s flag. I’m counting on you. You’re the pillar on which I’m building our common future.”

After he had dismissed Abu Ali, Hasan left for the gardens behind the castle.

“Take me to Miriam’s pavilion and then bring Apama there,” he ordered Adi. “This is no time for quarrels.”

Miriam came to meet him. He told her that he had sent for Apama.

“That woman has been behaving very strangely since last night,” she said with some concern. “You must have given her some special instructions.”

“The time for playing games is over,” Hasan replied. “Now all of us who have any responsibility have to focus all our efforts, if the plan is to succeed and if the enemy is to be destroyed.”

Adi brought Apama in. She examined the arrangement of the pavilion with a jealous eye.

“What a lovely little nest the two of you have made,” she said scornfully. “Like real lovebirds.”

“Abu Ali has ridden out with an army to defend the castle, which the sultan’s forces could attack at any minute,” Hasan began, as though he hadn’t heard what Apama had said. He motioned both women toward the pillows and then lay down on them himself.

The old woman was overcome with fright. Her eyes went from Hasan to Miriam.

“What will become of us?” she asked in a stammering voice.

“Everything will be fine, if my orders are carried out to the letter. Otherwise there will be a massacre here, the likes of which the world has never seen.”

“I’ll do everything you command, my master,” Apama assured him and poured wine into his cup.

“That’s precisely what I expect from both you and Miriam. Listen closely. The first thing we need is for the gardens to take on the appearance of something otherworldly. In other words, for them to give simple and unlearned visitors the impression of paradise. Not by day, of course, because their location and the surroundings would give too much away. I mean by night. That’s why we need, first and foremost, powerful illumination. This would show off every detail of the gardens in a special light, and everything outside of them would be lost in impenetrable darkness. Apama, do you remember that evening your Indian prince arranged for you in Kabul?”

“Oh, master! How could I forget, we were so young and radiant then!”

“I’m only concerned about a few of the details. Do you recall how astonished you were by the fantastic colored lanterns from China that turned night in the gardens into the most magical day? When everything was bright and yet totally strange, new and different?”

“Yes, when our faces went from yellow to red, green, blue, then all different colors at once. It was divine. And in the midst of all that, our burning passion…”

“Most praiseworthy, indeed. But what I want to know from you is whether you remember those lanterns well enough to be able to replicate them.”

“You’re right. What’s over is over. There’s no point in talking about it. Now it’s time for others to have their turn. Do I remember the lanterns, you ask? Of course I could reproduce them, as long as I had enough parchment and dye.”

“You’ll have it. Would you also be able to decorate them with appropriate designs?”

“We have a girl who’s a master at those things.”

“She means Fatima,” added Miriam, who had been listening to their dialog and quietly smiling. “Everyone could help Apama with this.”

“You’ll need everyone, because everything has to be ready by tomorrow evening. Have the eunuchs prepare the food and drink. I hope there’s still enough wine in the cellars.”

“More than enough.”

“Good. I’ll visit the gardens tomorrow between third and fourth prayers. I want the girls to see me and have their zeal reinforced. And hear directly from me how they’re supposed to behave toward their visitors. I won’t tolerate any jokes. If any of them in any way lets on that she’s not one of the houris and that the gardens aren’t paradise, she’ll be finished, no questions asked. It shouldn’t be too hard, I don’t think.”

“Each one of them thinks she’s a princess already,” Apama added.

“The two of us will be sure to coach them into their roles,” Miriam commented anxiously.

“The threat of death will do its work,” Hasan said. “Make sure all three pavilions are fully ready for visitors tomorrow. The girls assigned to them should be made over from head to foot, dressed all in silk, gold and gemstones. Made up so that they themselves could be convinced that they’re girls from heaven. I hope the school has done its job in that respect.”

“Don’t worry about that, my master. Miriam and I will take care of everything.”

“Tell me, since you know best, what kind of appearance should I make to those monkeys in order to produce the strongest impression?”

“You need to look like a king,” Miriam replied. “That’s how the girls imagine and want you to be.”

“You’ll need to have an entourage,” Apama added, “to make your arrival more ceremonious.”

“Aside from the eunuch guards and my two deputy commanders, no one can know about the existence of these gardens. I’ll have to make do with them. But tell me, what do those little chickens imagine a king looks like?”

“A proud gait and an exalted facial expression—that’s what their king needs to have,” Miriam said with a smile. “And most important of all, a scarlet cape and a gold crown on his head.”

“Amusing, really. The wise man has to disguise himself if he wants respect and confirmation from the people.”

“That’s how the world is,” Apama added.

“Well, we have plenty of rags and baubles like that in the castle. All that was taken care of ahead of time.”

Hasan laughed. He leaned toward Apama and whispered in her ear.

“Do you have that tincture ready that causes the skin to contract? The visitors should get the impression that they have perpetual virginity beside them.”

Apama burst out laughing and nodded. Miriam had only caught the last few words and blushed.

“Are the baths and everything that goes with them ready?”

“Everything is in order, my master.”

“Good. Get to work in earnest tomorrow morning and then wait for me with the girls. Good night.”

Adi rowed him noiselessly back out of the gardens.

Now that he was alone in his rooms, he thought everything through one more time. For twenty years he had prepared steadily and unflaggingly for this moment. Twenty long years. He had never wavered or been frightened by anything in his path. He had been hard and demanding toward himself. He had also been hard and demanding toward others. All just to realize his goal, to embody his dreams.

What a fairy tale life was! A youth full of dreams, an early manhood full of restless searching. And now, in his mature years, the old dreams were starting to become reality. He was the master of thirty armed fortresses. He was the commander of thousands of believers. He lacked only one tool to assume absolute power. To become feared by all the potentates and foreign despots far and wide. That tool was the plan just now on the verge of being launched. A plan built on thorough knowledge of nature and human weakness. An insane and wild plan. A plan calculated in every respect.

It suddenly occurred to him that he might have overlooked some trifling detail that could bring down the whole conceit. A strange fear gripped him. Had he perhaps miscalculated somewhere?

He tried in vain to escape into sleep. The strange uncertainty unsettled him. He had in fact never seriously thought about the possibility of his entire edifice collapsing. He had, after all, taken every possibility into account. Now that fear was haunting him.

“Just get through this night,” he told himself. “Then it will be fine.”

He became short of breath. He got up and went to the top of the tower. Up there was the immeasurable starry vault. Beneath it roared the river. Next to it were the gardens, harboring their strange life. The first embodiment of his strange dreams. Out there, in front of the castle, his army was waiting for the arrival of the sultan’s vanguard. They had all submitted to his leadership without reservations. Did any of them have a hint where he was leading them?

It occurred to him that he could escape all of this. Leap over the ramparts and disappear into Shah Rud. That would be the end of his responsibility forever. He would be spared everything. What would happen with his people then? Maybe Abu Ali would announce that the supreme commander had been lifted up into heaven. Like Empedocles. And they would venerate him as a great prophet and saint. Maybe they would find his corpse. What would they say then?

He felt the awful attraction of the depths. Convulsively he seized onto the ramparts. He was almost lured into the abyss.

He relaxed only after he returned to his room. Soon he was overcome by sleep.

He dreamt he was still at the court in Isfahan, as he had been sixteen years before. A huge throne room. All around nothing but grandees and dignitaries. In an elevated space, Sultan Malik Shah half sits, half reclines and listens to his report. He’s twirling his long, thin mustache and sipping wine. Standing next to him is the grand vizier, his former schoolmate, who winks at him roguishly. He, Hasan, is reading the report and turning its pages. Suddenly all of the sheets are blank. He is unable to proceed. His tongue gets stuck. He begins stammering incoherently. The sultan fixes two cold, hard eyes on him. “Enough!” he shouts and points to the door. His knees get weak. The hallway shakes with the hellish guffawing of the grand vizier.

He shot upright out of his sleep, drenched in sweat, his whole body shaking.

“Praise be to Allah,” he whispered, relieved. “I was just dreaming.”

Then, comforted, he fell fast asleep.