Vladimir Bartol - Alamut

Now she felt calm as the water gradually began to turn red. As her blood flowed out, so did her life. An enormous exhaustion overcame her. “Time to sleep,” she said to herself. She closed her eyes and sank into the water.

The next morning, when Fatima came to her bath to look for her, she found her pale and dead in the water, red from her blood. Her scream reverberated through the entire building, and then she fainted.

At about the same time, a soldier of the sultan’s army came to the river to water some horses and donkeys. Caught among tree branches in a small inlet he saw the naked body of a young girl. He pulled it to shore and couldn’t help exclaiming, “What a beauty!”

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.