Alamut (8 page)

“All of this is completely new to me. Do you think the test will be very hard?”

“No question about it. Otherwise why would we be preparing for it from dawn to dusk every day? Six have already failed under the load. One of them dropped dead on the spot. The other five asked to be demoted to the infantry.”

“Why didn’t they just leave Alamut instead of letting themselves be humiliated like that?”

“Listen, Alamut is not to be trifled with, my friend. Once you’re in the castle you don’t just walk back out alive as you please. There are too many secrets around here.”

The novices came storming into the room. On the way they had washed in the washroom and gotten themselves ready for evening prayers. A giant almost a head taller than ibn Tahir collapsed on the bed next to his.

“I’m Yusuf of Damagan. I’m not a bad person, but I don’t advise anyone to provoke or make fun of me, or you’ll get to know my other side.”

He stretched his powerful limbs as if to underscore what he’d said.

Ibn Tahir smiled.

“I’ve heard you’re the biggest and strongest in the group.”

The giant sat up instantly.

“Who told you that?”

“Suleiman.”

Disappointed, Yusuf stretched back out on his bed.

The youths were ribbing each other. Obeida walked over to ibn Tahir and opened his Moorish lips.

“How do you like it here so far, ibn Tahir? Of course, it’s hard to say when you’ve just arrived. But once you’ve been in the castle for four months like me, everything you’ve brought with you from outside will evaporate.”

“Did you hear what that black ass said?” Suleiman sneered. “He’s hardly dipped his beak in Alamut’s honey and he’s already giving lessons to others.”

“Maybe I should give you some, you stupid blockhead,” Obeida responded, enraged.

“Easy, brothers,” Yusuf growled from his bed. “Don’t set a bad example for the new guy.”

A broad-shouldered, bowlegged youth with an earnest face approached ibn Tahir.

“I’m Jafar of Rai,” he introduced himself. “I’ve been in the castle for a year, and if you need any help with lessons, just let me know.”

Ibn Tahir thanked him. One after the other the novices approached him to introduce themselves. Afan, Abdur Ahman, Omar, Abdallah, ibn Vakas, Halfa, Sohail, Ozaid, Mahmud, Arslan … Finally the littlest one of them stood in front of him.

“I’m Naim, from near Demavend,” he said.

The others all laughed.

“No doubt one of the demons that live inside the mountain,” Suleiman teased him.

Naim looked at him angrily.

“We go to school a lot,” he continued, “and there’s a lot we have to learn. Do you know our teachers? The one who agreed to accept you is the reverend dai Abu Soraka. He’s a famous missionary who’s traveled through all the lands of Islam, teaching. Sayyiduna appointed him as our superior. He teaches us the history of the Prophet and of the holy martyrs who’ve fallen for the Ismaili cause. Also grammar and poetry in our native Pahlavi.”

“Did you hear that chatterbox? The littlest one in the bunch, and he’s the biggest talker.”

Suleiman laughed and the others joined him. Then he continued.

“Soon you’ll get to know your teachers first-hand, ibn Tahir. Just remember that dai Ibrahim, who teaches us dogma, algebra, Arabic grammar and philosophy, is a good friend of Sayyiduna. You’re going to have to know everything by heart for him, and you don’t want to get on his bad side. Then there’s the Greek al-Hakim. He’ll tolerate anything you blurt out, just as long as you say something. Captain Manuchehr doesn’t put up with back talk. Everything you do for him has to be done right now. The quicker you are in carrying out his commands, the more he’ll like and respect you. Dai Abdul Malik is young, but Sayyiduna puts a lot of trust in him. He’s strong and hardened, able to endure tremendous exertion and pain, and he has no patience for anyone who doesn’t know how to grit his teeth. He teaches us strength of will. His class is the most important one after dogma …”

“Hey, don’t scare our little dove here,” Yusuf interrupted, “or he might turn tail and run. Look, he’s white as a sheet.”

Ibn Tahir blushed.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “I haven’t had a thing to eat all day.”

Suleiman gave an amused laugh.

“You’re going to learn a whole new way of fasting here, friend. Just wait until you get to know dai Abdul Malik.”

They heard the drawn-out blast of a horn.

“Time for prayers!” Yusuf called out. Each of them grabbed a rolled-up
rug from his shelf and hurried up to the roof. Ibn Tahir also reached for the rug that lay rolled up above his bed and followed the others.

Dai Abu Soraka was waiting for them on the rooftop. When he saw that they were all assembled and had spread their rugs out beneath them, he turned to face west, toward the holy cities, and began the sacred ceremony. Reciting the prayers aloud, he cast himself down on his face, reached his arms out, and then sat back up again, as the laws of the faithful command. When he finished, he rose back to his full height, reached his arms out toward heaven, then fell to his knees again, bending forward and touching his forehead to the ground. He prayed as follows:

“Come, al-Mahdi, anointed and awaited one. Deliver us from pretenders and save us from the infidel. O, Ali and Ismail, holy martyrs, intercede for us!”

The novices copied his gestures and repeated the words after him. Then, suddenly, it had grown dark. The steady, sustained voices of other worshippers reached them from the neighboring roofs. Ibn Tahir felt a strange, anxious thrill. It was as if everything he was experiencing at this moment wasn’t real, but rather the product of some wonderfully vivid dream he was having. And then there was the open appeal to Ali and Ismail, something the faithful outside of Alamut could only do behind securely barred doors. He was puzzled and confused.

They rose, returned to their sleeping quarters and stowed the rugs back on their shelves. Then they went to supper.

The dining room was a vast hall in a wing opposite the building’s sleeping quarters. Each novice had his own place by the wall. Small stools made of woven willow branches were set out on the floor, and they either sat down on these or crouched beside them. Three among the novices were picked out in sequence and acted as servers. They brought each of their companions a large piece of bread baked either from grain or from dried figs or apple slices. One of them poured milk from large earthen jugs. The novices were served fish several times a week, and roast ox, lamb or mutton once a week. Abu Soraka supervised and ate with them. They had their supper in silence, intent only on the meal.

After supper they broke up into smaller groups. Some of them went out onto the rooftop, while others dispersed among the fortress ramparts.

Yusuf and Suleiman took ibn Tahir along to show him the fortress.

The bustle of activity had subsided. The castle stood enveloped in silence, and now ibn Tahir could distinctly hear the roar of Shah Rud, which evoked a strange longing in him. Darkness surrounded them, while in the sky tiny stars shone with a piercing gleam.

A man with a burning torch in hand walked across the courtyard. Torch-bearing
guards appeared in front of the buildings on the upper terrace and took up positions at the entrances. There was a long row of them, and they stood motionless. A light breeze floated in from the mountains, bringing an icy chill with it. As the torch flames flickered, the shadows of the buildings, trees and men danced mysteriously over the ground. All around them the fortress walls were illuminated, but with a strange light. The buildings, towers and battlements appeared completely different in it than they did by day. It all seemed like a fantastic vision, enormous and alien.

They had walked alongside most of the wall that surrounded the lower and middle terraces.

“Don’t we want to go up there too?” ibn Tahir asked, pointing toward the buildings rising behind the torchbearers.

“No one but the commanders can go up there,” Suleiman explained. “The men who guard Sayyiduna are giant Moors, eunuchs, whom the supreme commander received as a gift from the Egyptian caliph.”

“Is Sayyiduna in his service?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Suleiman replied. “It could also be the other way around.”

“What do you mean?” ibn Tahir asked, baffled. “Didn’t Sayyiduna take Alamut in the caliph’s name?”

“That’s a story in its own right,” Yusuf offered. “You hear one thing and another. I’d advise you not to ask about things like that too much.”

“I thought the caliph of Cairo was the supreme head of all Shia, including the Ismailis.”

“Sayyiduna alone is our commander and we obey no other,” both Yusuf and Suleiman intoned at the same time.

They sat down on a rampart.

“Why doesn’t the supreme commander show himself to the faithful?” ibn Tahir asked.

“He’s a holy man,” Yusuf said. “He studies the Koran all day, he prays, he writes instructions and commandments for us.”

“It’s none of our business why he doesn’t show himself to us,” Suleiman asserted. “That’s just how it is and nobody but him needs to know why it has to be that way.”

“I imagined all this very differently,” ibn Tahir admitted. “Out there people think that the Ismaili leader is gathering an army at Alamut, and that he’s going to use it to strike at the sultan and the false caliph.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Suleiman replied. “The main thing that Sayyiduna demands from us is obedience and a holy passion for the Ismaili cause.”

“Do you think I’m going to be able to catch up with you, since you’ve already made so much progress?” ibn Tahir worried.

“Do everything your superiors tell you, and do it without hesitation, and
you’ll achieve what you need to,” Suleiman said. “Don’t think that obedience is an easy thing. The evil spirit of rebellion will begin speaking to you, your body will refuse to follow your will’s dictates, and your reason will whisper a thousand reservations about the orders you get from your commanders. You need to be aware that all of that resistance is just the cunning design of demons intent on turning you away from the true path. Be brave and overcome all resistance in yourself, and you’ll become a powerful sword in the hand of Our Master.”

There was a sudden burst from the horn.

“Time to sleep,” Yusuf said, getting up.

They returned to their area and headed for their sleeping quarters.

Several wax candles were alight in the room. Some of the youths were undressing, while others had already climbed into bed.

Presently Abu Soraka entered the room. He checked to see if they were all present and everything was in order. Then he set a short ladder up against the wall and put the candles out.

On a stand in a corner a small flame glimmered in an oil dish. The dai went toward it to light his own short taper. Then he stepped quietly to the exit and lifted the curtain carefully so that the flame wouldn’t ignite it. He slipped through the opening, and his footsteps faded down the hallway.

An early morning reveille roused the youths from their sleep. They washed, performed morning prayers, and had breakfast. Then they took their saddles and weapons and hurried outdoors.

In an instant the entire fortress had risen to its feet. The novices went to the horse stable and arranged themselves in two rows alongside their animals, with a sergeant standing at the head of each row. Captain Manuchehr rode in, inspected the unit, and ordered them to mount. Then he had the bridge raised, and, one after the other, they thundered across it and out into the canyon.

They rode past a watchtower and out onto a vast plateau. For the newcomer’s benefit the captain explained the basic commands again. Then he divided the unit into two groups and ordered the groups to ride off in separate directions. First came turns in formation, and then charges, both Turkish and Arab. For the first time in his life, ibn Tahir experienced the sight of a massive assault, and his heart began to pound with pride. Then they dismounted and practiced brandishing swords, throwing snares and spears, and shooting with bow and arrows.

They returned to the castle in time for second prayers. Ibn Tahir was so exhausted he could barely stay upright in his saddle. When they dismounted and returned the horses to their stable, he asked Suleiman, “Do you have military exercises every day?”

Suleiman, who was as fresh and serene as if he’d just returned from a pleasant walk, laughed and replied, “This is just the beginning, friend. Wait until dai Abdul Malik gets hold of you. That’s when it really starts to come at you fast and furious.”

“I’m so hungry I can’t see straight,” ibn Tahir complained. “Can’t you get me something to eat?”

“Be patient. We’re allowed to eat three times a day, no more. If they caught you eating outside of set mealtimes, they’d lash you to the pillar, like you saw happen to that soldier who drank wine.”

Back in their quarters they stowed their weapons, washed, fetched writing implements from the shelves, and went up onto the roof.

A tall, thin man in a winding cloak appeared before them. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes hollow. His gaze was gloomy, and his nose was thin and hooked like a hawk’s beak. His sparse, graying beard reached almost to his chest. His thin, bony fingers clutched at a stack of papers like the claws of a bird of prey. This was dai Ibrahim, the old and venerable missionary and good friend of the supreme commander. To begin, he performed second prayers with the novices. He pronounced the words half-audibly in a dull mutter, but when he came to invoke the Mahdi, his voice boomed wild and hollow, as though he were beating a drum.

Then he began the lesson. He explained Arabic grammar, tediously citing its strict rules, which he illustrated with examples from the Koran. The pencils squeaked obediently across the writing tablets. At most, one of the students would dare now and then to draw an audible breath.

Ibn Tahir found the lesson relaxing. His command of grammar was good, and it was a relief to know that this subject wasn’t going to cause him trouble.

Dai Ibrahim bowed grimly when he had finished. With great dignity he lifted the hem of his roomy cloak in order not to trip on it, then he vanished through the steep passageway downstairs.