“I’m against it,” Naim said. “Dai Ibrahim forbade us to talk about unchaste things. You heard the punishments for violators.”
“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, Naim,” Jafar countered. “We are allowed to discuss anything our teachers have lectured about on the same day. Nobody can punish us for discussing the subject intelligently and matter-of-factly.”
“Just as long as the subject’s not women and other indecent things!” Naim grew excited.
Yusuf lost his temper.
“Over the parapets with the runt!”
Frightened, Naim backed away toward the exit.
“Stay here!” Suleiman yelled at him. “That way you can’t claim later that you weren’t here. And if you don’t stop being a pest, some of your fur is going to fly tonight after the lights go out.”
Ibn Tahir began.
“Let me speak frankly and directly so that we get these things out in the open at once. I’m convinced that none of us would even think of actually having an affair with a woman. We wouldn’t even talk about it, from here on out. We can control our actions and our tongue. But how are we supposed to govern our thoughts when they attack us in moments of weakness—not to mention our dreams? For while Iblis doesn’t hold power over our will, he does hold power over our imagination and our dreams. For instance, on a number of occasions I’ve deliberately tried to refrain from indecent thoughts. And I’ve been on the verge of thinking that I’d won. But then a lewd dream comes to you, as if inspired by some evil spirit, and the whole following day your imagination is its prisoner. So you start over, until you slip again. But the injunction is ironclad and refuses to recognize this natural weakness. How do we deal with that?”
Suleiman responded, “Why worry our heads over this? Dreams are just that: dreams. Nobody can be held accountable for them, any more than for every thought that runs through your head.”
“He’s right!” Yusuf exulted. “It’s like he took the words right out of my mouth.”
“No, I don’t know if that works,” ibn Tahir mused. “The injunction is definite and clear, so there has to be some way for us to overcome our weakness.”
Jafar joined in.
“You’ve hit on it exactly, ibn Tahir. If the injunction is as it is, then it has to be possible for us not to violate it. Each of us has to resist the insinuations of the evil spirit with all his might. That way we can liberate our thoughts and even our dreams from its influence.”
“I’ve tried that,” ibn Tahir said. “But human weakness is enormous.”
“It’s not smart to pick a fight with a more powerful opponent,” Yusuf grumbled.
Then Obeida, who had been listening silently until then, smiled knowingly.
“Why all the speeches and arguments, friends,” he said, “when in fact the matter is much simpler than that? Do you think Sayyiduna could give us a commandment we couldn’t fulfill? I don’t think so. So listen. Hasn’t Sayyiduna promised us a reward for our endurance, for our sacrifice? He has, and it’s the heavenly delights in the gardens of the beyond. Let me ask you: is a righteous man allowed to look forward to his future reward? You’ll all say, of course! So we also have every right to look forward to the joys that Sayyiduna has promised as our share after death. In our thoughts we can look forward to the beautiful gardens and the bubbling springs, we can imagine the choice food and drink that we’ll be served, and finally, in our imagination we can also enjoy the embrace of the dark-eyed maidens who will be assigned to serve us there. Where’s the impurity in that? If the evil spirit ever assaults us with its temptations, we can elegantly sidestep it with thoughts of the exquisite heavenly gardens where we’ll be able to lord over things to our heart’s content, without having a bad conscience to spoil our fun. That way we can please both Allah, who will have prepared the gardens for us, and Sayyiduna, who will reward us by opening the gates that lead into them—and ourselves, because we can give free rein to our imagination without sinning.”
The novices approved loudly and in high spirits.
“You’re incredible, Obeida!” Yusuf exclaimed. “How come I didn’t think of that myself?”
“Obeida draws an ingenious conclusion,” ibn Tahir suggested. “Formally there’s nothing wrong with it. But in my opinion impure desires are still indecent, even if we set them in the framework of the heavenly gardens.”
“I think you’re upset you didn’t think of it yourself,” Obeida snapped.
“No, ibn Tahir is right,” Jafar said. “Sin is still sin, wherever you do it. You can’t get around as clear an injunction as Sayyiduna has given us with some trick.”
“You’re trying to spoil everything for us with your brooding,” Yusuf said angrily. “As far as I’m concerned, Obeida is right, and nobody can keep us from looking forward to the reward that’s going to be rightfully ours.”
“As you see fit,” Jafar observed and shrugged his shoulders.
In the evenings, when torches flickered in front of the supreme commander’s building, when the gurgling of Shah Rud could be heard in the distance, and when the evening horn sounded its call to prayer and bed, a painful melancholy would come over the novices. The day’s hard schooling with its demanding tasks and discipline was behind them, and their thoughts could roam free. Some of them sought solitude where they could indulge their feelings of homesickness, while others talked about what it was like out there, where life was completely different.
“I wish I were a bird,” Suleiman said one night. “I’d fly to see what my two sisters are doing. Our mother is dead, and father has two other wives who also have children. My sisters will be a burden to them, and I suspect they’ll treat them badly. They’ll want to get rid of them. I’m afraid they’ll persuade my father to sell them to the first suitor who comes by. Oh, I can’t tell you how this is eating at me.”
He clenched his fists and buried his head in them.
“My mother is very old,” Yusuf said, brushing his heavy paw across his eyes. “She has a hard time tending the livestock and pastures, and I’m afraid the neighbors cheat her because she’s all alone. Why did I ever leave her?”
“That’s right, why?” ibn Tahir asked.
“It was her wish. She said to me, ‘You’re a strong Pahlavan, my son. The Prophet himself would be proud of you. And if your father, who cherished the martyr Ali more than anything in the world—if your father were still alive, he’d surely send you to study the true faith with one of the dais who serve the true caliph …’ At that time the grand dai Husein Alkeini was traveling through our area, recruiting for Our Master. I went to him and he sent me here, to Alamut.”
“And you, Naim, what brought you to the fortress?” ibn Tahir pursued.
“My village isn’t far from here,” Naim replied. “I heard that a powerful dai at Alamut was assembling an army to lead against the infidel sultan. Back home we were all true believers, so my father didn’t have any objection to my leaving to serve Sayyiduna.”
“And you, Suleiman?”
“What is there to say? People were saying there was going to be a war and that a grand dai who had caused a lot of miracles to happen had taken over Alamut in the name of the caliph of Egypt, and that he was planning to attack the sultan from there. ‘Things are going to happen here, Suleiman,’ I told myself. Dai Abdul Malik was traveling through our area and I joined him.”
“Our clan had always been faithful to Ali,” Obeida said. “There were nine of us brothers and someone had to leave home. I asked my father and he gave me his blessing.”
“How about you, Jafar?”
“I studied the Koran, the Sunna and the history of Islam scrupulously, and I realized that Ali had been wrongly deprived of the Prophet’s legacy, and that the caliph of Baghdad was unjustly occupying the regent’s throne. An Ismaili dai visited our area—it turned out to be our superior, Abu Soraka—and I had some learned discussions with him. I agreed with his teachings and I asked my father for permission to go with the missionary. When he heard tha
t my teacher was headed for Alamut, to join Sayyiduna, he gladly consented. People were already saying about our supreme commander that he was a very holy man.”
These conversations helped them get over their homesickness, their feelings of loneliness and their isolation from the world. When the sound of the horn roused them from their sleep the next morning, the vulnerabilities of the evening were already forgotten. The cold water in which they washed was a foretaste of the new day’s rigor. Once again they stood with both feet firmly in Alamut. Their only concern was whether they would be able to answer their teachers’ questions well and whether their superiors’ expectations would be too great. Their spirits untroubled and high, they devoted themselves to working for the Ismaili cause.
One morning, when the novices and Manuchehr returned to Alamut from their maneuvers, Abu Soraka addressed them.
“Today you have a free day. The dais from the surrounding fortresses have come to get further instructions from the supreme commander. Also, we will report to them on your successes and failures. Keep quiet and use the time to study.”
The novices were overjoyed. They ran to their sleeping quarters to fetch their tablets and notes. Some of them took them out onto the ramparts, while others, more curious, sat around the courtyard in the shade of the buildings and kept a watchful eye on the building of the supreme commander.
The guard out front had been reinforced. The black spear carriers stood as motionless as statues. From time to time some dai or other would dart past, dressed in his ceremonial white cloak. The novices would immediately whisper to each other whatever they knew about him. If it was someone they didn’t recognize, they would try to guess who it might be.
There was a commotion in front of the guard tower on the lower terrace. A group of horsemen had ridden in through the main gate. Soldiers bounded toward them and held their horses so they could dismount. An unassuming little man in a billowy cloak who had jumped off a short, shaggy white horse hurried up the steps, surrounded by others who followed him with evident respect.
“Abu Ali! The grand dai! I know him,” Suleiman exclaimed, instinctively rising to his feet.
“Let’s get out of here,” Yusuf proposed.
“No, let’s wait!” ibn Tahir said. “I’d like to see him close up.”
In the meantime the group had drawn closer to them. Soldiers who happened to be nearby were turning toward the new arrival and bowing respectfully.
“They’re all of them dais,” Suleiman whispered, his voice trembling excitedly. “Abu Ali went to get them himself.”
“Look! Dai Ibrahim and dai Abdul Malik are in the crowd,” Yusuf exclaimed.
In his billowy cloak Abu Ali strode across the terrace with great dignity, his whole body swaying solemnly as he went. He smiled affably at the soldiers saluting him. It was obvious he was aware of how much a friendly smile from him meant to his devotees. His face was covered with wrinkles. A sparse, grayish beard and drooping mustache to match surrounded his almost toothless mouth. When he walked past the novices, they bowed to him tautly. His little eyes beamed with joy. He drew one hand out from beneath his cloak and waved kindly to them. He bore an uncanny resemblance to a little old woman.
When the group of dais had gone past, the novices straightened back up.
“Did you see! We were the only ones he waved to!” Suleiman exclaimed, his voice shaking with happiness. “Abu Ali is second only to Sayyiduna!”
“It’s a shame he isn’t a little more imposing,” Yusuf suggested.
“Do you really think intelligence depends on height?” Naim countered.
“Looking at you, I could believe it.”
“I like his simplicity,” ibn Tahir said. “He smiled at us as if we were all old friends of his.”
“Even so, he has a lot of dignity,” Naim continued.
“He’s a learned and accomplished man,” Suleiman observed. “But I can’t imagine he was ever much of a soldier.”
“Could that be because he didn’t come storming in with a saber?” Naim said angrily. “Most of the dais I’ve seen have a frail appearance. They’re the leaders, and the muscular louts are their helpers.”
“I’d like to see Abdul Malik get his hands on them,” Suleiman snorted. “Then we’d see how frail the dais are.”
“What does Sayyiduna look like?” ibn Tahir asked.
They looked at each other.
Naim spoke.
“Nobody has ever told us.”
The great assembly hall occupied almost all of the ground floor of an entire wing of the supreme commander’s building. All morning long teachers, missionaries and other Ismaili dignitaries congregated there. They came from Rudbar and Qazvin, Damagan and Shahdur, and even from far-off Khuzestan, where grand dai Husein Alkeini led the Ismaili cause. As they waited for instructions from the supreme commander, they chatted with the locals and exchanged news with each other.
Heavy curtains covered the windows. The candles of numerous chandeliers illuminated the hall. Set atop tall stands in the corners were pans with resin, from which small flames flickered and crackled, sending a pleasant, heady scent throughout the room.
Beneath one of these lamp stands several people had gathered around the Greek Theodoros. These included the military commander of the castle at Rudbar, Captain ibn Ismail, the portly and whimsical dai Zakariya, and the young Egyptian Obeidallah, who knew the doctor from his days in Cairo. They were in a jocular mood, and laughter frequently punctuated their conversation.
“So you were with ibn Sabbah when he took over the castle, doctor?” the Egyptian asked his host. “Some incredible stories have been circulating about how it was taken. One has it that ibn Sabbah tricked the former castle commander into handing it over to him. Then there’s another that has him bribing the commander. I still don’t know what the truth is.”
The Greek laughed loudly, but said nothing.
Captain ibn Ismail signaled to the men to draw close. Then he spoke.
“I suspect it would be all right to explain to the young man how ibn Sabbah got Alamut into our hands. I wasn’t present myself, but one of my subalterns who at the time was assisting our commander has told me the story.”
Obeidallah and the portly Zakariya listened attentively. Theodoros frowned scornfully and kept at a distrustful distance.
“As you know,” ibn Ismail continued, “the sultan’s representative at the castle of Alamut was the stalwart Captain Mehdi. I didn’t know him personally, but I’ve heard that he wasn’t especially bright. Ibn Sabbah had luckily escaped the traps set by the grand vizier and had finally fought his way through to Rai, where the commandant of the city, Muzaffar, was one of his great friends. Muzaffar helped him muster a force of seventy men, which included the subaltern who told me this story. Well, our commander got the notion of taking over Alamut, which had far and away the strongest fortifications of any castle in the region. He conferred with Muzaffar and finally came up with the following scheme …”
While the Egyptian and the portly dai attentively followed this story, the doctor chuckled ambiguously. The captain noticed this, and it made him both flustered and angry.
“Why don’t you tell the story if you know better?” he asked, offended.
“But you can see, I’m all ears,” the Greek apologized with more than a touch of sarcasm.
“Let him make faces,” the Egyptian said, growing impatient. “We know him. He’s always pretending to know more than others.”
Ibn Ismail continued.
“So our commander devised his scheme and visited Mehdi in the castle of Alamut. He told him, ‘I am a dai and I have traversed half the known world. Now I’ve had enough of traveling and I’ve come here to find a peaceful retreat for myself. Sell me as much land outside of your walls as an ox hide will cover. I’ll give you five thousand gold pieces for the land.’ Mehdi practically burst with laughter. ‘If you really can give me that much money, I’ll give you the land you want on the spot.’ He assumed it was i
mpossible for a poor dai to have that much wealth. Ibn Sabbah reached beneath his cloak, pulled out a bagful of gold pieces and started counting out the money. Mehdi couldn’t believe his eyes, and he thought, ‘What can it hurt the castle if I sell the old dai a scrap of land beneath its walls? And I’ll get rich overnight.’ So they took an ox hide, let the bridge down over Shah Rud, and walked across it out onto the rocks under the castle walls. Ibn Sabbah pulled a sharp blade out from under his belt and started using it to cut the hide into thin strips. One after the other, officers and soldiers came over to stare at what the odd stranger was doing. No one even imagined what the dai might have in mind. When the hide was completely cut up, ibn Sabbah tied the strips together, drove a stake into a crevice, and fastened to it one end of the cord he’d created. Then, with the other end of the cord in hand, he began to circle the fortress. It was only at this point that it dawned on Mehdi. ‘Thief! Swindler!’ he shouted at ibn Sabbah and reached for his sword. At that instant there was a thundering sound over their heads. They looked up in fright. A band of horsemen with sabers drawn was galloping across the bridge and into the fortress. Ibn Sabbah laughed. ‘Too late, friends,’ he said. ‘The castle is mine now, and if you so much as touch a hair on my head, none of you will escape alive. But I keep my deals, Mehdi! Take the five thousand gold pieces and go with your people wherever you want.’ ”
Al-Hakim burst out laughing. He held his well-fed belly while tears streamed from his eyes, and he giggled so much that it hurt.
The Egyptian and the corpulent dai also laughed, though half at a loss. They couldn’t understand what the Greek was making fun of. Only Captain ibn Ismail challenged the doctor, with a furious stare.
“Oh, how naïve can you get?” the Greek brayed through his laughter. “So you’ve fallen for it too, old fellow! And Hasan and I actually cooked that morsel up just for the sultan.”
“So the subaltern tricked me?” The captain lost his temper, the blood racing to his cheeks and eyes. A vein on his forehead bulged with anger. “I’ll strangle him, I’ll thrash him like a dog!”