Alamut (58 page)

He led them to a shallows where they could easily ford the river. They came to a path at the base of the mountains which wended uphill amid gravel and scrub alongside the riverbed. They rode toward Alamut, until the lead rider announced that a horseman was approaching from the opposite direction. They hid in the bushes on both sides of the path and prepared their ambush.

Then ibn Tahir caught sight of the horseman approaching them and recognized ibn Vakas. He felt strangely anxious.
Sayyiduna must be sending him to Rudbar
, he thought. As much as he reproached himself for it, something in him still wanted the feday to escape from the trap set for him. “It’s not his fault, after all,” he reassured himself. “He’s just as much a victim of the deceitful old man as I was.” Moreover, he still felt some odd connection to the world of Alamut.

Ibn Vakas rode in among them. Instantaneously he was surrounded on
all sides. He was too close to be able to use his lance. He threw it on the ground and drew his saber.

“Come, al-Mahdi!”

With this cry he threw himself at his attackers. The closest retreated, frightened by so much intensity. Ibn Tahir went pale and everything in him shrank. He recalled the first battle outside the castle, the time he had seized the Turks’ flag from them. In his mind he saw Suleiman throwing himself to the ground and howling in fury, because Abu Soraka wouldn’t let him fight. He could see the rising might and extent of the Ismailis. The sultan’s army of thousands had just scattered outside Alamut. A new prophet had spoken to Iran. A great and terrible prophet.… He lay his head down on his horse’s neck and quietly began to cry.

In the meantime, ibn Vakas had almost forced his way out with his boldness. His saber blows hailed down on the shields and helmets of his attackers. Then one of them jumped off his horse, picked up the feday’s lance and shoved it into his horse’s belly. The horse rose up on its hind legs and then collapsed, burying its rider beneath it. Ibn Vakas quickly managed to dig his way back out. But just then a mace blow to his head knocked him to the ground. The men tied him up while he was still unconscious. Then they washed his wound and brought him to with water.

When he opened his eyes he saw ibn Tahir before him. He remembered that he had just been proclaimed a saint the day before and he was horrified.

“Am I dead?” he asked timidly.

When the commander of the enemy detachment approached him, ibn Vakas’s eyes widened. Then he was overcome by exhaustion again, and he fell back unconscious.

Ibn Tahir shook him by the shoulder.

“Wake up, ibn Vakas. Don’t you recognize me anymore?”

They brought the wounded youth water, which he drank greedily.

“You’re ibn Tahir? And you’re not dead? What are you doing with them?”

He pointed toward the enemy officer.

“I’m coming back to Alamut to kill the greatest liar and fraud of all time. Hasan ibn Sabbah isn’t a prophet, he’s just a cheap fraud. The paradise he sent us to is on the far side of the castle, in the gardens of the former kings of Daylam.”

Ibn Vakas listened carefully. Then he contorted his face in a dismissive sneer.

“Traitor!”

Ibn Tahir’s face flushed red.

“You don’t believe me?”

“All I believe in is the oath I’ve sworn to Sayyiduna.”

“But he’s deceived us! How can an oath like that be binding?”

“It’s helped us beat the sultan’s army. All our enemies tremble in fear of us now.”

“You have us to thank for that. I killed the grand vizier.”

“That’s what they say. And that’s why the supreme leader proclaimed you a martyr. And now you’re coming back to murder him too?”

“If I had known before what I know now, I would have killed only him.”

“Killed him?! At his order and in front of all of us, Suleiman stabbed himself and Yusuf jumped off the top of the tower. And both of their faces looked blissful when they were dead.”

“Oh, that heartless murderer! Let’s go, quickly! The sooner I drive a knife into his guts, the sooner the world will be spared his horrors!”

They continued on. About a half parasang from Alamut, they stopped.

“You go into the fortress now,” the unit commander told him. “We’ll take the prisoner with us as a hostage. Good luck with your revenge, and may Allah give you an easy death.”

Ibn Tahir forded the river on his horse. Once on the other side, he looked for the place where he had hidden his clothing when he left the castle. He changed into it and then rode toward the canyon. The eyes of his escorts followed him until he was no longer visible. Then the commander ordered them to return to Rai.

The guard atop the tower outside the canyon entrance recognized him and let him through. The fortress bridge was let down for him. When the soldiers caught sight of him, they stared at him as though he had returned from the other world.

“I have to speak with Sayyiduna. Immediately!” he said to the officer on duty. “I bring very important news from the sultan’s camp.” The officer rushed the news to Abu Ali, who took it to Hasan.

Ibn Tahir waited, grim and determined. His desire to settle accounts with the impostor was stronger than his fear. Instinctively he felt the short sword he was carrying under his cloak. He had a dagger hidden under his belt, and in his sleeve he had the poisoned writing implement with which he had stabbed the grand vizier.

At the news that ibn Tahir had returned, Hasan was speechless. He stared at Abu Ali and forgot he was standing there. Like a mouse looking for a way out of a trap, his thoughts darted among all the possibilities, trying to understand this extraordinary event.

“Go. Have ibn Tahir come see me. Order the guard to let him through unhindered.”

He had five of his eunuchs hide behind the curtain in his antechamber.
He ordered them to seize the man when he walked in, disarm him, and tie him up.

Then he waited.

When ibn Tahir heard that the supreme commander had summoned him and that he had free access to him, he instantly pulled himself together. “I have to complete my mission,” he said to himself, “and Allah help me.” He remembered their lessons with Abdul Malik. He reckoned with the possibility that Hasan was setting a trap for him. All he needed was to get to his room!

Pale and determined, he entered the commander’s tower. With one hand he touched the handle of the sword beneath his cloak, while he kept the other ready to grab for the dagger quickly. His pace barely lagged as he walked past the Moorish guards. They stood motionless at all the doorways and at the head of each corridor. He forced himself not to look back, and so his pace accelerated.

He climbed the staircase to the top. Even the terrible mace-bearing guard at the end of it didn’t seem to notice him. Now he had to act with all decisiveness, whatever might happen. He crossed the length of the corridor swiftly. A guard was standing outside the leader’s antechamber. He drew back the curtain and motioned to him to proceed.

An icy chill ran down his spine.
Quickly, quickly!
he thought,
and get it over with
. Cautiously, decisively, his lips pressed tight, he walked in.

Suddenly a barrage of fists descended on him. They tried to seize him by the wrist, but he managed to wrench himself free and draw his sword. A blow to the back of his head knocked him to the floor. Several of the giants jumped on him and bound his hands and legs.

“What an idiot!” he howled. He gritted his teeth in fear and powerless rage.

Hasan came out of his room.

“As you ordered, Sayyiduna.”

“Good. Go wait in the corridor.”

He looked at ibn Tahir, who lay bound on the floor in front of him, and gave him a peculiar smile.

“Criminal! Murderer of innocents! Haven’t you had enough blood yet?”

As though he hadn’t heard these rebukes, Hasan asked him, ““Did you carry out my order?”

“Why do you bother to ask, you fake? You know perfectly well you tricked me.”

“All right. How did you manage to come back?”

Ibn Tahir grimaced painfully.

“What do you care? What matters is I’m here … to shove a dagger into your guts.”

“Not so easily done, hero.”

“So I see. So I was twice an idiot.”

“Why? As a feday you were committed to dying. We even proclaimed you a martyr. And now you come back trying to frighten us. Now we’re going to have to make sure you go to paradise.”

“I know. Liar! You took us to the gardens of the kings of Daylam and then, like some cheap huckster, you fooled us into believing you’d opened up the gates to paradise. And because of that I went and stabbed a decent man, who in the hour of his death did me the kindness of opening my eyes. What a nightmare!”

“Calm down, ibn Tahir. Nearly all of mankind suffers from just this sort of ignorance.”

“How could it not? When they’re abused by the people they trust most?! Oh, how I believed in you! I would sooner have believed anything about you, whom half of Islam called a prophet, than that you were an impostor and a fraud. That you intentionally deceived your loyal subjects. That you abused their faith to accomplish your criminal goals.”

“Do you have any other wishes?”

“Damn you!”

Hasan smiled.

“Words like that don’t worry me very much.”

Ibn Tahir’s energy flagged. He managed to calm down.

“There’s something I want to ask you before you kill me.”

“Go ahead.”

“How were you able to come up with such a dirty scheme for us, when we’d pledged ourselves to you body and soul?”

“Do you want to hear a serious answer?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then listen … and I’ll grant you your last wish … I’ve always told my followers that my background is Arab. My enemies have tried to prove that it isn’t. And they’re right. I had to do this, because you Iranians are ashamed of your heritage. Because you think that anyone who comes from the lands of the Prophet is nobler, even if it’s the most abject beggar. Because you’ve forgotten that you’re the descendants of Rustam and Suhrab, of Manuchehr and Feridun, that you’re the heirs to the glory of the kings of Iran, the Khosrows, the Farhads and the Parthian princes. You’ve forgotten that your language, that beautiful Pahlavi, is the language of Firdausi, Ansari and countless other poets. First you adopted your faith and spiritual leadership from the Arabs. And now you’ve submitted to the Turks, these horse thieves from Turkestan! For half a century you, the proud sons of Zarathustra, have let these Seljuk dogs rule you! When I was young, the grand vizier, whom you killed, Omar Khayyam and I pledged that we would do everything in our power to overthrow the Seljuk usurpers. We agreed that we would try to advance ourselves
as much as possible, in order to maximize our influence, and that we would help each other along the way. I sought my weapon among the Shia, who were opposed to Baghdad and consequently the Seljuks as well. The vizier entered the Seljuks’ service. At first I thought that was the means he had chosen to fulfill our pledge. But lo and behold, when I called him to account, he laughed at me and was surprised I was still clinging to those ‘childish games.’ He obliged me only by finding me a position at the court. But soon he would see that I had remained faithful to our old pledge. He plotted against me and had me banished from the court. But when he saw that my influence was growing, he decided to destroy me. He put a reward of ten thousand gold pieces on my head! And that was the end of our youthful dream. The vizier was sitting at the trough, toadying up to foreigners. Omar was drinking wine, making love to women, bemoaning our lost freedom, and making fun of the whole world. I was persistent. But that experience and others opened my eyes once and for all. I realized that the people are slothful and lax, and that it’s not worth it to sacrifice yourself for them. I had tried to exhort and rouse them to no avail. Do you think the overwhelming majority of people care about the truth? Far from it! They want to be left alone, and they want fairy tales to feed their hungry imaginations. But what about justice? They couldn’t care less, as long as you meet their personal needs. I didn’t want to fool myself anymore. If this is what humankind is like, then exploit its weaknesses to achieve your higher goals, which will benefit them too, even though they don’t understand that. I appealed to the stupidity and gullibility of people. To their passion for pleasure, their selfish desires. The doors were wide open to me now. I became the people’s prophet, the one you came to know. The masses are assembled behind me now. All my bridges have been burned down. I have to move forward. Forward, until the Seljuk empire collapses. Don’t you see? Am I not making sense? … Or am I?”

Ibn Tahir listened to him wide-eyed. He would have expected anything, except for Hasan to defend himself, and like this!

“You said that the faith of you fedayeen was firm. Hardly! I have lived all of my sixty years in perpetual mortal danger. And if I could have known that my death would liberate the glorious throne of Iran from foreign despots, I would have thrown myself into it without any expectation of some heavenly reward! Back then, at least. I looked around and realized that if I deposed one of them, another would replace him. Because there wouldn’t have been anyone who would know how to make use of my death. So I had to look for others who would be willing to take aim at those highly placed heads. Nobody would have agreed to go voluntarily, because nobody was so acutely aware of his calling, or so proud that he could sacrifice himself for a cause. I had to find other means. Those means … those means were the artificial paradise beyond the castle, the gardens of the kings of Daylam, as you’ve so
accurately said already. Where does deception begin and where does truth end in life? It’s hard to say. You’re still too young to understand. But if you were my age! Then you’d understand that the paradise a person sees as paradise really is paradise for him. And that his pleasures there are real pleasures. If you hadn’t seen through it, you would have died happy in that knowledge, just as Suleiman and Yusuf did … Am I making some sense now?”

Ibn Tahir shook his head in amazement.

“I think I’m beginning to understand, and it’s terrible.”