A guard walked past carrying a torch. They crouched behind a battlement.
“Let’s go. We can’t let them catch us here,” Suleiman said.
Cautiously they crept into their sleeping quarters.
Their comrades were already asleep. Only ibn Tahir was half-upright in bed. He appeared to be listening in on something. He gave a start when he noticed the two coming in.
“Not asleep yet?” Suleiman asked.
“Same as the two of you.”
The latecomers undressed and lay down in their beds. It was stuffy and hot in the room, and they were infernally thirsty.
“Phew, damned sorcery,” Suleiman muttered and turned over on his other side with a sigh.
“Too many memories to sleep?” ibn Tahir asked.
“I could use some wine now.”
“Are the two of you not planning to sleep at all tonight?”
Yusuf’s voice sounded gruff.
“Maybe you think you are?”
Suleiman taunted him angrily. He felt ready to jump out of his skin.
The next morning they all felt as though they had lead weights on their arms and legs.
Abu Soraka assigned each of the fedayeen his own area of responsibility. Within a few days they moved to new quarters at the base of one of the two front towers. New recruits were billeted in their former quarters.
Now they were sleeping two and three to a room. Yusuf shared a room with Obeida and ibn Vakas, ibn Tahir shared one with Jafar, and Suleiman was with Naim.
Every morning ibn Tahir set out for school with profound melancholy in his heart. He looked at the novices—hadn’t he been one of them himself just yesterday?—and it pained him to think that all of that was so far behind him and that he could never again be like them. An insurmountable wall rose up now between him and them. He would listen to their carefree chatter with a sad smile.
The sleepless nights eventually drained the freshness out of his cheeks. His face became sunken and his eyes gazed out absently and gloomily.
“Ibn Tahir, one of the ones who were in paradise,” the soldiers would whisper to each other if they caught sight of him. Yesterday an inconspicuous student, today a powerful hero whose name caused young hearts to race. Once he had wished he could be this famous. Now he didn’t care. Sometimes the admiring glances even bothered him. He wanted to get away from everybody, he wanted to escape into solitude, where he could be alone with his thoughts, and with Miriam.
Yes, Miriam was the great secret that separated him from all of these novices and even from his comrades. How many times had he dreamed of her, when he was fortunate enough to be able to fall asleep. He had the feeling she was ever-present, and because of this all company bothered him. Sometimes, when he was all alone, he would close his eyes. He would be back in the pavilion as he’d been that night, with Miriam bending over him. He saw her so vividly and registered all the details around her so precisely, that it was hellish torture not to be able to touch her. Indeed, he suffered no less than the unfortunate Farhad, separated from Shirin by Khosrow Parviz. Frequently he was afraid he might go mad …
By day Suleiman and Yusuf took some comfort in their fame. The first thing in the morning they would ride out of the castle at the head of their unit, and faces full of admiration would watch as they passed by.
But the irritability caused by their sleepless nights found its outlet precisely in the novices. Yusuf would roar like a lion when things weren’t going as he wanted them to. But the novices soon found out that Suleiman’s sharp, suppressed outbursts were far more dangerous. He often derided them for their mistakes. His laughter had the effect of a whiplash. Yusuf was generous with his explanations. He liked to be asked questions and then be able to answer them. All he needed was for them to show fear and respect when they approached him. But asking Suleiman a question was as good as risking a terrible slap in the face.
That is how they were by day. But as evening approached, they fell victim to fear and anxiety. They knew they were going to have to face another sleepless night.
Once Suleiman said to Yusuf and ibn Tahir, “I can’t take this any longer. I’m going to go see Sayyiduna.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
Yusuf was terrified.
“It doesn’t work that way, Suleiman,” ibn Tahir replied. “You’ve just got to bear with it, the same as us.”
Suleiman flew into a rage.
“But I’m not made out of wood! I’m going to go see him and tell him everything. Either he’ll give me some assignment that takes me back to paradise, or I’ll strangle myself with my own hands!”
His eyes flashed like an animal’s. He rolled them so that their whites showed and he gnashed his teeth furiously.
The next morning he asked Abu Soraka to permit him to go see Abu Ali.
“What’s your business with him?”
“I’ve got to talk to him.”
“What about? Some sort of complaint, maybe?”
“No. I want to ask him to give me an assignment.”
“You’ll get your assignment when the time comes, not by asking for it.”
“But I have to speak to Abu Ali.”
Abu Soraka noticed the crazed glint in his eyes.
Let them have a taste of their own cooking, he thought to himself.
“Since you’re so insistent about this, I’ll refer your request to the grand dai.”
Abu Ali sensed something unpleasant when he heard that Suleiman wanted to speak with him.
“Wait,” he ordered Abu Soraka.
He went to Hasan and asked his advice.
“Talk to him,” Hasan said. “Then report back to me. We may learn something really interesting.”
Abu Ali waited for Suleiman in the great assembly hall. They were alone in the huge room.
“What’s on your mind, my dear Suleiman, that you wish to speak to me?”
Suleiman lowered his eyes.
“I wanted to ask you, reverend grand dai, to take me to see Sayyiduna.” Abu Ali was clearly nonplussed.
“Of all the things to ask for! Sayyiduna labors from morning to night for our well-being. Do you want to steal time away from him? I’m his deputy. Everything you wanted to tell him you can tell me now.”
“It’s difficult … He’s the only one who has the cure I need.”
“Speak up. I’ll relay everything to him.”
“I can’t stand it anymore. I want an assignment that will open the gates of paradise to me again.”
Abu Ali reflexively took a step backward. For a moment he caught Suleiman’s eyes. They were burning like fire.
“You’re mad, Suleiman. Do you realize that what you’re asking is practically rebellion? And that rebellion is punishable by death?”
“Better to die than suffer like this.”
Suleiman had murmured these words, but Abu Ali understood him.
“Go now. I’ll give this some thought. There may be help waiting for you sooner than you think.”
When Abu Ali returned, Hasan looked at him inquiringly.
“He wants you to give him an assignment so he can go back to paradise. He says he can’t bear it anymore.”
Hasan smiled.
“I wasn’t mistaken,” he said. “The poison and the gardens are having their effect. Soon it will be time for the final experiment.”
One night the incessant frustration eclipsed Suleiman’s mind. He got up, went over to Naim’s bed and sat down on it. Naim woke up and caught sight of the figure sitting at his feet. By its outline he recognized it as Suleiman. Instinctively he felt afraid.
“What’s wrong, Suleiman?”
Suleiman didn’t answer him. He stared at him motionlessly. His pale, sunken face shone through the semidarkness. Gradually Naim made out its expression and was terrified.
With a sudden movement Suleiman yanked the blanket off of him.
“Show me your breasts!”
Naim was petrified with fear. Suleiman grabbed him by
the chest.
“Oh, Halima, Halima!” he moaned.
“Help me!”
Naim’s shout echoed madly through the night.
Guards’ footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway.
Suleiman started awake.
“By Allah! I’ll strangle you if you give me away. You were dreaming!”
He quickly disappeared back into his bed.
A guard walked in.
“Did you call out, Naim?”
“Yes. I had a terrible dream.”
The guard went away.
Naim got up and pulled the blanket off his bed.
“Why are you leaving?”
Suleiman gave him a piercing look.
“I’m afraid of you, Suleiman.”
“Idiot! Get back into your bed this instant and go to sleep. I’m sleepy too.”
The next morning Naim asked Abu Soraka to assign him to different quarters. He’d prefer not to sleep in the same room as Suleiman.
“Why not?”
Naim shrugged. His face was pale and diminutive.
Abu Soraka didn’t press the issue. It’s best I know as little as possible about these things, he thought. He granted his request and sent Abdur Ahman to room with Suleiman.
A competition developed among the other fedayeen to see who could do the best job of performing his assigned duties. Obeida returned from Rudbar, where he had been sent to deliver an order to Buzurg Ummid’s deputy ibn Ismail, the military commander of the fortress, whom Hasan had since named regional dai. He brought with him detailed reports on the movements of Emir Arslan Tash’s army, which was camped outside of Qazvin and Rai. From Qazvin, ibn Vakas was in steady contact with the emir’s soldiers, while Halfa did the same from Rai. Many Ismailis on the outside reported to them on the slightest details of the enemy’s units.
To all appearances the emir was in no particular hurry to reach Alamut. The handsome Persian had brought along a whole harem of wives. He invited the local grandees to attend festive banquets, or had himself invited to theirs. He drank with his officers, enjoying his veritable swarm of songstresses and dancers. The army adjusted to this slow pace. The noncommissioned officers and the men instigated their own excursions in all directions. They seized and extorted everything they saw. The people cursed them along with the sultan and the grand vizier for sending them.
From his next exploit Obeida brought back encouraging news. The released captives had been telling the emir’s men about the wondrous life of the Ismailis at the castle of Alamut, and about their omnipotent commander with the power to send his believers to paradise. The soldiers, long since tired of being idle, listened to them with relish. In the evenings they would discuss these things. Many of them were becoming enthusiastic about the Ismaili teachings and didn’t even bother to hide it. Now only their curiosity still drove them to get to Alamut, which was ruled by the “commander of the mountain,” or the “old man of the mountain.” And now the Ismaili scouts could openly circulate among the emir’s forces. They discussed religious and political issues with them, providing passionate proofs that only their commander taught the one true faith. Even the ones who didn’t believe them, or even scoffed at them, let them come and go freely. What could a little fortress with five hundred men do against an army of thirty thousand, sent against it by the master of all Iran? And so the scouts reported back to Alamut that the emir’s encircling forces were completely undermined and that the enemy army was close to collapsing.
When Abu Ali brought this news to Hasan, the latter said, “The disarray of the enemy’s army is the result of two factors, to wit, the defeat of the Turkish cavalry and our successful experiment with paradise. The former forced the emir to be more cautious and consolidate his campaign, which is now dependent on slow-moving quartermaster wagons. But while its effect diminishes from day to day—and that kind of defeat practically demands to be forgotten—the news of our miracle is spreading among the simple soldiery by evident and not so evident means. Really, this sort of fairy tale is the best fuel for the people’s imagination.”
After the visit of the fedayeen, life in the gardens changed considerably too. Those girls who had previously lived in harems saw their old memories awakened. They compared them with the most recent ones, with those girls who had gotten short shrift during the youths’ visit making a great deal of their earlier experiences. The rest praised this most recent night of love. Fights and arguments resulted, and they all felt a certain irritability. Now almost all they did was weave, sew, and do other handicrafts, so the conversations stretched from morning to evening.
They spent a lot of time speculating about whether the same visitors would come back next time. Many of them didn’t care, or even preferred a change, to the extent they hadn’t received enough attention from the lovers on the last visit. They hoped they wouldn’t be overlooked next time. Most of them thought Hasan would send new people. Even Zuleika, who had spent the first few days crying relentlessly for Yusuf, gradually accepted this thought. Only Halima couldn’t and wouldn’t understand that she and Suleiman would probably never see each other again.
Her state caused Miriam a great deal of concern. In a few days the flourishing color of her little face faded. Her eyes grew red from sleeplessness and crying. Dark circles appeared around them. She comforted her as best she could.
But Miriam’s heart was unsettled too. She constantly worried about ibn Tahir’s fate. She waited for Hasan to summon her for a conversation again. But it was as though he had become deliberately absent. She felt an almost maternal concern for ibn Tahir. It was as if she were personally responsible for his and Halima’s fate.
A month after the victory over the sultan’s vanguard, a division of Muzaffar’s men brought back to Alamut a messenger sent to Hasan by the new grand vizier and secretary to the sultana, Taj al-Mulk.
Hasan received him immediately. The messenger told him that news of the defeat of the emir’s vanguard had reached the sultan on the road to Baghdad, in the vicinity of Nehavend. The deposed grand vizier arrived immediately after this news. The sultan had become violently angry. He had already given the order deposing Arslan Tash as emir and requiring him to appear before him to defend himself. But Nizam al-Mulk persuaded the sultan that the new grand vizier was at fault for everything, since he and the sultana were secretly allied to the Ismailis. They came to an agreement and the sultan once again named Nizam al-Mulk as his vizier. But the sultana was insisting that Taj al-Mulk retain that office. Nizam was now encamped near Nehavend and was assembling forces to strike against Isfahan, depose his rival, and restore the sultan’s and his own prestige. He had sent emir Arslan Tash an order to take and destroy Alamut within a month at the latest. Otherwise he would indict him for high treason. He issued a similar order to Kizil Sarik, who still had the fortress of Gonbadan in Khuzestan under siege. The sultana and her vizier sent him this message under oath and asked him to provide them with help and support in this crisis.
Hasan replied to the messenger immediately.
“First of all, give my greetings to your masters. Then tell them that I was quite surprised when they recently broke their promise to me. Now they’re in need and appealing to me again. And despite the fact that they broke their word, I’ll jump to their aid once again. But tell them to think carefully next time before disappointing me again. Let what is about to happen to their enemy and mine serve as a warning to them.”
Hasan dismissed him and ordered Muzaffar’s adjutants to dine him royally and shower him with gifts.
“This is the decisive moment,” he told the two grand dais. He appeared to be exceptionally calm—calm as only a person who has just made an irreversible decision can be.
“So Nizam al-Mulk is back at the helm. That means he’s going to be ruthless toward us and do everything he can to crush and destroy us. So we need to hurry our course of action along.”
The grand dais looked at him inquisitively.
“What do you plan to do?” br />
“Destroy my mortal enemy once and for all.”
During these days ibn Tahir channeled his anxiety, his longing, and all the alienation of his soul into poems. He wrote them on fragments of parchment that he carefully concealed from all other eyes. He found at least a shred of consolation for all the travails and torments of his heart in constantly revising each individual line. Under the pretext that he was preparing an assignment for his students, he would retreat to his room and write verses there, or yield to his loneliness and daydreams.
Some of his poems went like this:
It used to be my soul
Was full of holy teachings of the Prophet,
Of Sayyiduna, of Ali and Ismail,
The forerunner of what would come.
Now only your face, Miriam,
Rules my heart and fills my soul.
Your charming voice and magic smile,
The scent of your red lips, the fairness of your breasts,
Your slender hands, your perfect build,
Wise spirit, knowing mind, so unlike other women,
And your eyes! Those lovely, dusky eyes
Like mountain lakes, deep beyond imagination,
That glint beneath your brow, a marble cliff.
I see myself in them and
All the world! Where is there room
For Ali, Ismail and the Prophet now?!
You are my Ali, Ismail and Prophet,
My longing, faith, my Allah,
Commanding spirit, mind and heart.
You are my world, my paradise, my Allah.
When my mind’s eye, Miriam, sees your face,
Strange doubts creep into my heart.
Are you really flesh and blood like me and others like me,
Who thinks and feels and wants like us, God’s creatures?
The mark beneath my heart, is that the proof?
Or are you just a phantom lacking flesh and bones,
Which Our Master’s secret art conjured?
If so, then how can I escape this guile,
That I’m in love with air, a gust of wind, a poisoned wisp?
How dare I blaspheme! A holy man a fraud?