Alamut (57 page)

Then, somewhat farther down, he noticed the body of a large animal.
Some kind of leopard
, he thought. He managed to get it to shore too.

The animals neighed in fright.

“Easy now … I’ll go report this to my commander.”

The emir’s men came to the river bank in large numbers to look at the strange find. An old soldier said, “This is a bad sign. A leopard and a maiden in the embrace of death.”

A captain ordered them buried side by side.

Over the following days the emir’s army continued to bombard Alamut steadily. The Ismailis grew inured to the crash and rumbling of projectiles against the castle’s walls. Hasan’s prediction turned out to have been right on target. The soldiers posted atop the walls would watch the incoming projectiles and ebulliently evaluate each one of them, laughing and jeering wildly at the bad ones, or loudly exclaiming their admiration for the good ones. None of them were the slightest bit fearful anymore. They used signals to communicate with the enemy. Ibn Vakas, who had taken the late Obeida’s place as leader of the scouts, soon found in these good relations a convenient opportunity to reestablish direct contact with the emir’s army. He sent out one of his own men together with one of the prisoners. The prisoner related that his fellow prisoners back at the castle were doing well and that the Ismailis treated them with respect. The Ismaili asked the emir’s men whether they were interested in trading with Alamut. There was plenty of money in the fortress, and overnight a thriving black market came into being that linked the men on both sides.

The news that ibn Vakas intercepted through this conduit was invaluable for the besieged castle. First of all he learned that the emir’s army no longer amounted to thirty thousand men, but barely half that number. Then, that even those remaining were short of provisions and that, as a result, the men were constantly grumbling and pressing for them to withdraw. Emir Arslan Tash would have liked to send another five thousand men back to Rai or Qazvin, but given the reports of the Ismailis’ fanatical determination and skill, he was afraid of losing his advantage and meeting with the same fate as the commander of his vanguard.

Little more than a week had passed when a messenger came rushing
into the emir’s camp and reported the horrific news that some Ismaili had stabbed the grand vizier in the midst of his own army at Nehavend. Arslan Tash was thunderstruck. In an instant his imagination conjured a disguised murderer trying to get at him. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Call Abu Jafar here!” he ordered.

The captain arrived.

“Have you heard?” he asked him worriedly.

“I’ve heard, Excellency. Nizam al-Mulk has been murdered.”

“What was it the master of Alamut said?”

“That he knew something about the grand vizier that Your Excellency would only find out about in six or even twelve days. And that when that happened, Your Excellency should remember him and his message.”

“O Allah, Allah! He knew everything already. It was he who sent the murderer to Nehavend. But what did he mean by saying I should remember him?”

“Nothing good for you, I’m afraid.”

The emir drew one hand across his eyes. Then he leapt toward the entrance like a deer.

“Commander of the guards! Quick! I want you to increase your forces tenfold. No man should ever be without his weapon. Put guards everywhere. Don’t let anyone through, except for my officers and individuals whom I’ve summoned personally!”

Then he rejoined Abu Jafar.

“Assemble the drummers! Get all of the men battle-ready. Anyone who has the slightest contact with Alamut will be beheaded on the spot.”

Even before Abu Jafar had a chance to carry out this order, an officer came dashing into the tent.

“Mutiny! The catapult teams have saddled their horses and mules and fled south. The sergeants who opposed them were beaten and bound.”

Arslan Tash clutched at his head.

“Oh, you dog! You son of a dog! How could you let this happen?”

The officer angrily stared at the ground.

“They’re hungry. They don’t want to fight against a powerful prophet.”

“Well, what do you advise me to do?”

Abu Jafar replied dispassionately. “The grand vizier, the mortal enemy of the Ismailis, is dead. Taj al-Mulk is in power. He’s sympathetic to the master of Alamut.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The men who know how to operate the siege equipment have fled. What purpose is there in continuing to surround Alamut?”

Arslan Tash relaxed visibly. Out of duty, more than for any other reason, he shouted, “So you recommend that I run shamefully?”

“No, Your Excellency. It’s just that the situation has changed significantly with the vizier’s death. We have to wait for orders from the sultan and the new grand vizier.”

“Well, that’s different.”

He called an assembly of the officers. Most of them favored retreat. The men were opposed to fighting the Ismailis.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s strike camp and have the whole army get ready to withdraw in absolute silence.”

The next morning the sun shone down on an empty and desolate plateau. Only the trampled ground and the ashen beds of countless campfires remained as evidence of a huge army’s presence there just the day before.

Ibn Vakas’s sources had immediately let him know about the death of the grand vizier.

“An Ismaili has murdered the grand vizier right in the middle of his own camp! The sultan’s army outside of Alamut is disintegrating!”

The news traveled through the entire fortress in an instant. Ibn Vakas reported the news to Abu Ali, who went looking for Buzurg Ummid.

“Ibn Tahir has carried the order out. Nizam al-Mulk is dead!”

They both went to see Hasan and let him know.

From the moment the supreme commander learned that Miriam had slashed her wrists in her bath, he had withdrawn even farther into himself. His machine may have worked according to his plan, but in the process its claws were also devouring people for whom it wasn’t meant. One victim led to another, which led to yet another. He could feel that it was no longer entirely under his control, that it was reaching past and above him, and that it was beginning to destroy people who were dear to him and whom he needed.

Here he was now, alone and frightening even to his own people. He perceived Miriam’s suicide as the loss of the last person to whom he could reveal his true self. If only he had Omar Khayyam with him now! What would he have made of his actions? He wouldn’t have approved of them, for sure, but he would have understood them. And that’s what he needed most of all.

The grand dais entered his chambers. From the solemnity of their behavior he could tell they were bringing him important news.

“The emir’s army is running high-tail. Your Ismaili has killed the grand vizier.”

Hasan shuddered. The first of the threesome that had once pledged to their mutual cause was no more. The road was clear now.

“At last,” he whispered. “The death of that devil is the beginning of good fortune.”

The three of them remained silent for a time. Then he asked, “Have you heard what happened to the one who did it?”

Buzurg Ummid shrugged.

“We haven’t heard. What other possibility could there be, but one?”

Hasan looked them in the eyes, trying to read their thoughts. Abu Ali’s face showed loyalty and trust. Buzurg Ummid’s expressed approval verging on admiration.

He relaxed.

“Tell the Ismailis that from this day forward they’re to revere ibn Tahir as our most illustrious martyr. In addition to his name, they should also mention Suleiman’s and Yusuf’s in their prayers. This is my order. From here on, our path leads relentlessly upwards. All of the besieged castles will be liberated. Send a messenger to Gonbadan immediately. Husein Alkeini must be avenged. As soon as Kizil Sarik retreats from the fortress, have them send a caravan with my son in it here to Alamut.”

He dismissed them and went to the top of his tower, where he watched the emir’s forces retreating.

The next morning messengers were dispatched at a gallop to all the Ismaili fortresses. Ibn Vakas’s assignment was to reestablish contact with Rudbar.

As the day began to incline toward evening, a breathless Abu Ali came running in to see the supreme commander.

“Something incredible has happened,” he said when he was still a long way off. “Ibn Tahir has returned to the castle.”

The night after his attack on the grand vizier was the most horrible night in ibn Tahir’s life. Beaten and battered, his arms and legs bound, he lay chained to the tent’s middle pole. Desperate thoughts gnawed at him. He thought he could hear the mocking guffaws of the old man of Alamut. How could he have been so blinded that he didn’t see through the deception from the very start? Allah, Allah! How could he have ever guessed that a religious leader, whose devoted followers all thought he served justice and truth, could be such a vile fraud! Such a cold-blooded, calculating cheat! And that Miriam, that creature of angelic beauty, could be his helper, ten times more despicable than he, because she exploited love for her vile purposes. How limitlessly he despised her now!

The night dragged on to infinity. The excruciating pain refused to pass and sleep refused to come. Was Miriam that horrible old man’s lover? Did the two of them laugh at his childish gullibility together? He, ibn Tahir, had written poems to her. He had dreamed about her, longed for her, expired for her. And all that time that vile old man had probably been using her as his plaything, slaking his lust on her, glutting himself on wine and her charms, while those who believed in him, who revered and loved him, got sent to their deaths. Allah, Allah, what a horrible revelation this was!

But how had all this been possible? Was there no one above us to punish such a crime? No one to set limits on such revolting behavior?

Miriam, a whore! This was the most intolerable thought of all. Her beauty, her intelligence, her kindness—all just decoys for the idiot he had been! He couldn’t live after a humiliation like this. This is why he had to go to Alamut and settle things with the old man. He had to, and this would earn him death too. What did he have to be afraid of?

Ah, but still! Hadn’t Miriam’s beauty been the most delightful miracle? What a powerful fire she had ignited! She had triggered a hundred new and unknown powers in him. And now, finally, this realization. Oh, if only he could press her close again. And in a moment of delight crush her, strangle her!

The next day they told him that the grand vizier had died. They held off sending him to Alamut and waited for what the sultan would do.

Sultan Malik Shah, who was already halfway to Baghdad, immediately interrupted his trip when he heard that Nizam al-Mulk had been murdered. Within two days he was back at Nehavend.

On a mighty platform, beneath a sky-blue canopy, and amid countless banners, wreaths and decorations, the vizier’s body lay, perfumed, anointed, and preliminarily embalmed, dressed in scarlet and adorned with a magnificent turban. A black fez and quiver with ink and pen, the symbols of the vizier’s station, were laid out at his feet. His waxen face, framed by its handsome white beard, expressed nobility and peaceful dignity.

One after the other, his sons arrived from all corners of the realm, riding the swiftest horses. They kneeled down before their dead father and kissed his cold, stiffened fingers. Moans and wails echoed around the funeral bier.

When the sultan saw the dead body of his vizier, he broke into tears like a child. For thirty years the deceased had served his country! “The king’s father”—
ata beg
—how that title suited him! Now he bitterly regretted his harsh treatment of him over the past year. Why had he let a woman meddle with affairs of state?! He ought to have kept her locked up in a harem like all the others.

At the camp he learned the details of the horrible murder. So this was Hasan’s true face! The murderer could just as easily have found him out instead of the vizier! He shuddered. No, he wasn’t going to let this criminality spread. He had to get rid of Hasan! And all the Ismailis with him. His castles would all have to be razed to the ground.

He permitted the vizier’s sons to transport their father’s body to Isfahan and hold the burial ceremony there. As for the murderer, the general sense was to have him carry out the dying vizier’s last command. “He’ll die at Alamut one way or the other,” they said. And so the sultan ordered ibn Tahir brought before him.

They shoved him into the tent, bound and still swollen from his beating and bloody from his wounds. The sultan was amazed when he saw him. In all the many years of his rule he had learned to judge people quickly. There was nothing at all murderous about this Ismaili.

“How were you able to commit such a terrible crime?”

Ibn Tahir gradually confessed. There was nothing invented or distorted in his words. The sultan broke into a cold sweat. He knew history well, but this was the most frightening tale he had ever heard.

“Do you see now that you were just a pawn in the hands of the vile old man of the mountain?” he asked him at the end of his story.

“My only desire is to atone for my crime and save the world from the monster of Alamut.”

“I trust you and will let you go. Thirty men will escort you to Alamut. Make sure you don’t give yourself away too soon. Rein in your anger until they let you see the leader. You’re a determined and bright young man. Your plan has to succeed.”

When he had taken care of everything, the sultan continued his journey to Baghdad.

The thirty men escorting ibn Tahir traveled with remarkable speed. Even so, news of the vizier’s death preceded them by a full day. Between Rai and Qazvin they came across whole bands of soldiers returning from the siege of Alamut. From them they heard how the news had affected the emir and his army. There was some risk that they might fall into the hands of some troop of Ismailis.

Ibn Tahir spoke up.

“I know a secret path on the far side of Shah Rud. That would be the safest route for us to travel.”