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 brough
t 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.”
CHAPTER SIX
A cook brought supper, but Hasan didn’t notice. Lost in thought, he pulled a torch out of its stand by the wall and lit it with a candle. With a practiced, careful gesture he drew aside a carpet hanging on the wall so that it wouldn’t catch fire, and he stepped through an entrance into a narrow passage from which a short stairway led to the top of the tower. Holding the torch over his head, he lit his way and soon reached the upper platform. He drew in the fresh, cool air and stepped up to the battlements. He raised the blazing torch high up in the air and three times drew a circle with it over his head.
Soon, from down below, out of the dark, came a like response. He waved the torch once more in acknowledgment, then returned to his room. He put the torch out by sliding it into a kind of quiver, and then wrapped himself up in a loose-fitting coat. Once more he drew a carpet aside, this time one hanging on the opposite wall, and stepped through a low entrance into a cramped, cage-like space that was completely upholstered with soft rugs. He lifted a mallet up off the floor and used it to strike a metal gong. A sharp sound reverberated down a hidden cord to the foot of the tower. Suddenly, the cage moved and, with Hasan in it, began sinking on a cleverly contrived pulley that was operated from below by unseen hands.
The trip to the bottom was slow. Each time Hasan took it, anxious feelings overcame him. What if part of the mechanism suddenly failed? Or if the rope broke and the cramped cage crashed to the stone floor with him in it? What if one of the Moors he was so dependent on deliberately wrecked his device and sent him to his doom? What if, in a moment of clarity, one of these eunuchs became aware of his humiliated human state and clubbed his master on the head with a mace? One of these terrifying Egyptian guards, whom he tamed like wild animals with his gaze, who were entranced by him, like snakes are by their master’s flute? He had done everything possible to ensure their loyalty. They would obey no one else in the world besides him. Whoever had to walk past them walked in fear, and even Abu Ali would get an eerie feeling when he met them. They were the unquestioning instrument that made him fearsome even to his dais and other commanders. Through them he exerted pressure downward onto his subordinates. And so that he could squeeze them from below as well—this was why he had been preparing his fedayeen. He refused to delude himself; the dais and commanders believed in nothing and for the most part sought only personal gain. Involuntarily he found himself comparing this human mechanism with the pulley that lowered him into the depths. If a single component of it failed, if a single presumption was false, the whole edifice would collapse. A single inaccurate calculation and his life’s work would crumble to dust.
The machine stopped and the cage came to rest at the bottom of the tower. The Moor who had just been operating the pulley lifted the curtain. Hasan stepped out into a chilly vestibule where the flame of a torch fluttered in the silent breeze. He fixed the eunuch with his gaze. He felt completely relaxed again.
“Let the bridge down!” he ordered gruffly.
“As you command, Sayyiduna.”
The Moor reached for a lever and threw his whole weight into it. One of the walls began to descend, and the sound of gurgling water could be heard. Light shone through the opening. A segment of star-strewn sky appeared. The bridge had been let down over the river, and a man with a torch was waiting on the other side.
Hasan hurried toward him. The bridge lifted up after him and the entrance to the castle closed.
“What’s the word, Adi?” he asked.
“Everything is going well, Sayyiduna.”
“Bring Miriam to the left-hand pavilion, where I’ll wait for her. Then you can go get Apama and deliver her to the right-hand one. But don’t say a word to either of them about the other.”
“As you command, Sayyiduna.”
They both smiled.
At the end of a sandy path they came to a transverse canal. They climbed into a boat, which Adi started rowing. Soon they turned into an arm of the canal and finally came to a stop alongside a sandy bank. A path led them slightly uphill and then over level ground past gardens in bloom to a glass pavilion that shimmered in the night like a crystal palace.
Adi unlocked the door. He went inside and lit the resin in the lamps that were set out in each corner. In the middle of the pavilion, water glistened in a circular pond. Hasan turned on a pipe and a jet of water shot up practically to the ceiling.
“So I don’t get bored while I’m waiting,” he said and lay down on some pillows next to the wall. “Now go get Miriam.”
He listened to the rippling of the fountain and the trickle of the water. He was so absorbed in listening to it that he didn’t notice when Miriam entered.
“Peace be with you, grandson of Sabbah,” she greeted him.
He started, then cheerfully motioned to her to join him.
She set down a basket of food and drink, unfastened her cloak so that it slipped off her shoulders, and dropped to her knees beside him. She kissed his hand, which he pulled away in mild embarrassment.
“What progress are the girls making?” he asked.
“Just as you’ve prescribed, ibn Sabbah.”
“Good. School’s over now. The sultan has dispatched his army after us. We’ll be able to see them from the castle within a few days.”
Miriam’s eyes opened wide. She looked at Hasan, who was faintly smiling.
“And you can be so calm about this?”
“What else can I do? Whatever is fated to happen will happen. So I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t pour me some wine, if you brought any.”
She stood up and poured two cups. She was wearing the pink silken gown in which she slept. Hasan inspected her. Her white, translucent hands tipped the jug over the cups. She was like perfection itself. Hasan suppressed the sigh of some unwonted ache that had suddenly crept over him. He knew he was old and that all things come too late in life.
She offered him a cup. They toasted. For an instant she discerned a moist glistening in his eyes, and she had a vague sense of what it meant. Then the old, roguish smile appeared around his lips and he spoke.
“You must have wondered what I need these lush gardens and the glass pavilions for, or what I plan to do with all the young girls that I’ve had educated in such a … unique way. But you’ve never asked me about these things. Believe me, I have great respect for your discretion.”
Miriam took hold of his soft but strong right hand, inspected it, and spoke.
“It’s true, grandson of Sabbah, I haven’t asked those questions, but priva
tely I’ve thought a great deal about your intentions.”
“I’ll give you a kingdom if you’ve guessed.”
Hasan’s smile was half mocking, half kind.
“And if I do know?”
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t you intend for these gardens to be your followers’ highest reward for their devotion and self-sacrifice?”
“Far from it, my dear.”
“That was what I thought. Otherwise I don’t have any idea.”
Miriam felt discouraged.
Hasan was enjoying himself. He continued.
“Once you complained to me—do you remember?—that you were horribly bored with the world and that there was nothing that interested or entertained you anymore. That’s when I began telling you about the Greek and Islamic philosophers, when I introduced you to the science of nature and of man’s secret drives, and described, as best I could, the nature of the universe. I told you about my journeys, about my failed exploits, about the princes, shahs, sultans and caliphs. Several times I mentioned that there were some other things I needed to tell you, but that the time for that hadn’t arrived yet. Once I asked you if you would like to help me bring down Sultan Malik Shah. You smiled and answered, ‘Why not?’ I gave you my hand then to show I accepted your offer. Perhaps you thought I was joking. Tonight I’ve come to take you up on your word.”
Miriam looked at him with inquiring eyes. She didn’t know what to make of these strange words.
“There’s one other thing I’d like to remind you of, my dear. There’ve been many times when you’ve sworn to me that after all that life has dealt you, it was no longer possible for you to believe in anything. I replied that both life and my studies had led me to the same conclusion. I asked you, ‘What is a person permitted, once he’s realized that truth is unattainable and consequently doesn’t exist for him?’ Do you remember your answer?”
“I do, ibn Sabbah. I said something like this: ‘If a person realized that everything people call happiness, love and joy was just a miscalculation based on a false premise, he’d feel a horrible emptiness inside. The only thing that could rouse him from his paralysis would be to gamble with his own fate and the fate of others. The person capable of that would be permitted anything.’ ”