Alamut (62 page)

“You mutinied against him. The supreme commander ordered him to restrain you as punishment, at which point you murdered him. Is this what happened?”

“Yes, that’s what happened.”

“Fine. Abdul Malik! Read what the law prescribes for the crime of mutiny against a superior and for the murder of a superior.”

Abdul Malik rose to his full height. He opened a heavy, bound book to the place where a marker had been inserted in it, and he reverently touched his forehead to it. Then he began reading in a solemn voice.

“Whoever among the Ismaili faithful opposes his superior or rebels against an order that his superior gives him, or in any other way avoids carrying out an order, unless he be prevented from so doing by a higher power, is to be put to death by beheading. Whoever among the Ismaili faithful attacks his superior or murders him is to be put to death, first by having his right hand severed and then by beheading.”

Abdul Malik closed the book. He bowed to the dais respectfully and then sat back down.

Abu Ali now spoke.

“High court of the dais! You have heard what the law prescribes for the crime of insubordination against an officer and for the murder of an officer. I will now ask you whether the accused is guilty of the crimes with which he has been charged.”

He turned toward Buzurg Ummid and called out his name.

“Guilty,” came the answer.

“Emir Manuchehr?”

“Guilty.”

“Dai Ibrahim?”

“Guilty.”

“Dai Abdul Malik?”

“Guilty.”

“Dai Abu Soraka?”

“Guilty.”

The verdict was unanimous.

Hosein winced at each name. The whole time he hoped secretly that someone would resist, that someone would see that he had been in the right and that he couldn’t have acted differently. When the last one had pronounced his “guilty,” Hosein howled, “Criminal dogs!”

Chained though he was, he still tried to leap at them. A guard restrained him in time. He ground his teeth and rolled his eyes in helpless rage.

Abu Ali rose solemnly and spoke.

“Grand court of the dais! You have unanimously recognized that the accused is guilty of the crimes of which he stands accused. Therefore, Hosein, son of Hasan and grandson of Sabbah, is condemned to death, first by having his right hand severed, then by beheading, as the law prescribes. The sentence will be carried out once it is signed by the supreme commander. Do any of the honored members of the court have anything to say?”

Buzurg Ummid rose.

“Grand court of the dais!” he said. “You have heard the sentence that has been pronounced on Hosein, son of Hasan, for the murder of the grand dai of Khuzestan. His guilt has been proven and the criminal himself has admitted it. The punishment meted out to him is therefore lawful, just and strict. Let me point out to the high court of the dais, however, that Hosein’s is the first crime of this kind since the supreme commander issued the more stringent law code. And so I propose that we support an appeal to Sayyiduna for mercy, should the accused choose to submit one.”

The dais murmured their approval.

Abu Ali turned toward Hosein.

“Accused! Do you wish to ask the supreme commander for mercy?”

Hosein shouted, enraged.

“No! Never! I will never ask anything of a father who turns his own son over to his henchmen.”

“Think about it, Hosein.”

Buzurg Ummid pleaded with him good-naturedly.

“No! I won’t do it!”

“Don’t be bullheaded! Ask for it!” Abu Ali admonished him angrily.

“Tell him he’s worse than a dog!”

“Hold your tongue, criminal!”

Ibrahim flushed red with anger.

“Me keep my mouth shut, with that stench coming from yours?”

Buzurg Ummid and Abdul Malik approached the prisoner.

“Think about it, son of Hasan,” the grand dai said. “Just ask, and I’ll try to persuade your father.”

“There’s no shame in asking for mercy,” Abdul Malik offered. “It’s a sign that you’re aware of your sin and you intend to improve in the future.”

“You can do whatever you want, as far as I’m concerned,” Hosein finally half-relented.

Abu Ali, Buzurg Ummid and Abdul Malik went to deliver the high court’s verdict to Hasan.

Hasan listened to them calmly. When Buzurg Ummid presented the plea for mercy, he coolly rejected it.

“I established the laws myself,” he said firmly, “and I intend to be the first to respect them.”

“This is the first time an Ismaili has killed his superior.”

“All the more important for us to set an example.”

“Sometimes mercy is more appropriate than harsh justice.”

“Any other time perhaps, but in this case absolutely not. If I pardon Hosein, the faithful will say, ‘Look, the laws apply to us, but not to his son. We’ve always known one crow doesn’t attack another.’ ”

“But they’ll be horrified if you order the sentence carried out. What kind of father is that!”

Hasan knit his brow.

“I didn’t issue the laws just for sons or just for other than sons. I wrote them to apply to all Ismailis. I am their supreme commander, and I’m responsible for the law. And that’s why I’m signing the death sentence.”

He took the sentence from Abdul Malik’s hands. He read through it carefully. Then he dipped a goose quill in ink and firmly affixed his signature.

“There,” he said. “Abu Ali! You will proclaim the verdict of the high court of the dais to the faithful. Tomorrow morning before the sun comes up the executioner is to perform his duty. Is everything clear?”

“Yes, ibn Sabbah.”

Buzurg Ummid, who had been standing silently off to one side all this time, said, “Perhaps it would be possible to soften the sentence by leaving out its first part?”

“It’s already been signed. Thank you for your work.”

When he was alone again, he said to himself, “My son has been a stumbling block in my edifice. Am I a beast for destroying him? Once begun, the building has to be finished. If your heart is an obstacle, tell it to be silent, because all great things are great in spite of human beings.”

Before the sun rose the next morning, the drums sounded the assembly. Word traveled quickly that the supreme commander’s son was to be beheaded for murdering the grand dai of Khuzestan.

Abu Ali entered the prisoner’s cell along with Manuchehr and Ibrahim. His voice quavered slightly as he read the sentence and announced that the supreme commander had rejected the plea for mercy.

“Let’s go, son of Hasan. Justice must be done.”

For a moment Hosein stared at his visitors like a startled animal. Then he lunged at them, but his legs got caught on his chains, and he fell.

“Dogs! Damned dogs,” he moaned.

They lifted him up. With all his might he struggled against going out to the place of execution. The guards had to drag him out of the dungeon by force.

The army was assembled on the middle and lower terraces. A heavy wooden block had been set up at the center of the middle terrace. The executioner arrived with his assistants. He was bare to the waist and carried an axe over his shoulder. He walked proudly and acted as though he didn’t see anyone.

A whisper coursed through the ranks.

“They’re bringing him.”

Hosein was cursing and pummeling the guards wildly. He snorted and bared his teeth like a wildcat. The men bringing him were already out of breath. They shoved and kicked him coarsely toward the block.

When the condemned man saw the executioner with his axe, he began to shake uncontrollably. He stopped making any noise, realizing what awaited him.

“Sayyiduna’s son. The supreme commander’s son,” the men whispered in the ranks.

Abu Ali, Buzurg Ummid and Manuchehr mounted their horses. The horn sounded the call to attention. Abu Ali rode forward a few paces from the others. He unrolled a document and read the death sentence aloud in a clear voice. Then he called on the executioner to perform his duty.

For a moment everyone was as silent as a tomb. Only the sound of the mountain stream could be heard.

Suddenly a cry erupted from Hosein’s chest.

“People! Didn’t you hear? A father is handing his own son over to the executioner!”

A murmur coursed through the ranks. Standing at the head of the fedayeen novices, Abdur Ahman looked at Naim, who was right behind him. His face was as pale as wax.

The assistants seized the prisoner and freed his right hand. Hosein resisted with desperate force. He instinctively strained away from the block, but the two giants managed to push him toward it all the same, forcing him to his knees and holding his right hand over the block. The executioner grabbed onto his wrist with one hand and then swung the axe with the other. The blade shot through the air and sliced through the bone with a grinding sound. Hosein bellowed so loudly that it pierced the men to the marrow. He broke free of the assistants, spraying their faces with the blood that was coursing from his open veins. Then he passed out and collapsed to the ground. The two men lifted him up and set his head on the block. The executioner severed it from his body with a single blow. An assistant handed him a cloak. He threw it over the body, which was swimming in blood.

Then he turned to Abu Ali.

“The executioner has performed his duty,” he said dryly.

“Justice has been served,” the grand dai responded.

Once again he rode a few paces forward to address the assembled garrison.

“Ismailis! You have just witnessed the strict justice that governs Alamut. Sayyiduna, our supreme commander, knows no exceptions. Whoever commits a crime will be punished strictly according to the law. Neither rank nor lineage will shield any man from the punishment he deserves. So I call on you once more to respect and obey the law. Allah is Allah and Mohammed is his Prophet! Come, al-Mahdi!”

He gave an order and the men dispersed to resume their usual daily assignments.

Many of them said, “Truly, there is still justice in the world!”

Others said, “Has there ever been a prince or a chieftain who has sacrificed his own son to the law?”

Word about how the Ismaili supreme commander had punished his own son spread like lightning throughout the land and evoked a respect for Hasan verging on awe.

In the meantime Jafar, transformed into the sultan’s messenger Halef, had a variety of encounters on his way to Baghdad. Immediately outside of Qazvin he came across a large group of soldiers, some riding and others walking toward the military encampment at Nehavend. They were scattered members of Kizil Sarik’s army for the most part, originally from Khorasan and Khuzestan. They respectfully made way for him when they realized he was an officer of the sultan’s bodyguard. But they also immediately became quiet.

He was able to change horses at every station. The first night he slept out under the stars, but after that he slept in the caravanserais along the main road. Halfway to the city of Sava he shared a room in some inn with two officers of Kizil Sarik’s army. They told him what it had been like outside of Gonbadan and how the news of the grand vizier’s murder had affected the troops.

“All the northern territories are Shiite,” one of them said. “They see the Ismailis as their coreligionists, and now that Nizam al-Mulk is gone, they don’t see any reason to fight the commander of the mountain.”

Jafar confided in them that he had just come from Alamut as the sultan’s messenger. They looked at him terrified.

“Don’t turn us in,” they begged him. “Like we said, that’s what all the men think now. When the order comes, we’ll all be ready to fight again.”

He reassured them. They grew curious. He amazed himself. Did his external transformation have this effect on him, or was it the fear of giving himself away that caused him to so completely embody his role? He told them horror stories about Alamut that made their hair stand on end. Even after he had fallen asleep, he kept dreaming about these terrors. But, on waking the next morning and noticing uniforms of the sultan’s army hanging on the wall, he still instinctively reached for the handle of his saber. It took a few moments for him to realize where he was and what role he was playing.

He performed his morning prayers quickly, downed a dish of curdled milk and a piece of oat cake, leapt onto his horse, and rode on.

Along the way he encountered a substantial, well-armed troop of Turkish cavalry. Their commander stopped him and asked for his identification.

Jafar showed it to him. He explained that he was the sultan’s messenger returning from Alamut.

“Fine. My assignment is to reorganize the units that scattered after the sieges of the infidel fortresses, and to do that at any cost. His Majesty has ordered us to attack the Ismailis again.”

Jafar continued his journey. He wondered,
Does Sayyiduna know about
this new danger threatening Alamut?
But he had to carry out his order, and nothing could deter him from that.

The military route struck him as one continuous army camp. He was constantly meeting up with new units. To keep from being continually stopped, he would shout from a long distance off that he was a messenger of His Majesty. From time to time tents shone white alongside the road. Countless horses, camels, donkeys, cows and whole flocks of smaller livestock picked off the last stalks of greenery from the fields.

He had to ride around Nehavend, since there was so much military there. But after that the road to Baghdad was virtually clear. There was plenty of room in the serais for him to stay overnight. Now is also when he took the first pellet. He felt overcome with tremendous anxiousness. Now and then as he rode, phantoms would attack him. He seemed to be riding through enormous cities teeming with endless masses of people. Then he dreamed he was in the gardens of paradise, surrounded by dark-eyed houris. Day and night merged into one. He succumbed utterly to a passion for these states. He had swallowed all of the pellets but one. It took the utmost force of will for him to keep from taking it.

Suddenly he seemed to have arrived at the outer gate to a large city. In front of him was a contingent of guards armed to the teeth. He started to ride on, taking this for just another disembodied vision. Six spear points were thrust at his face.