Vladimir Bartol - Alamut

Abu Ali gave a satisfied smirk.

He gave a command, and they set out through the canyon to the fortress.

When they reached Alamut, Captain Manuchehr dismissed the novices. He also gave orders for the reis’s escort and animals to be looked after. Then he followed their guest and the dais to the assembly hall.

Along the way, Abul Fazel inspected the fortress and its buildings and was amazed at the large numbers of soldiers and grazing livestock.

“Why, this is a regular military camp, friend,” he said at last. “I was expecting to run into a prophet at Alamut, and maybe meet with a general. I can’t believe that what I’m seeing around me is the work of the ibn Sabbah I knew.”

“Didn’t I say you’d be surprised by a thing or two?” the grand dai laughed. “In fact, there are at most three hundred and fifty men at Alamut. But, as you saw, the soldiers are so well trained that it’s a sheer joy, and we have plenty of livestock and provisions. In each of the neighboring fortresses we have two hundred warriors who are all passionately dedicated to our cause. The whole region is sympathetic to us, and in case of a threat we can assemble up to fifteen hundred men at Alamut in a snap.”

“Even so that’s too little, far too little,” Abu Fazel muttered.

Abu Ali looked at him surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t be planning to resist the sultan’s entire army with that handful of men?”

“Of course we are. But there’s no threat at the moment, is there?”

Abul Fazel shook his head.

“I have to talk to ibn Sabbah,” he said.

The dais exchanged glances.

They reached the highest terrace and walked past guards bearing maces and into the building of the supreme commander.

The other dignitaries were waiting for them in the assembly hall. Abul Fazel’s eyes sought his old friend in vain.

“Where is ibn Sabbah?” he asked.

Abu Ali scratched his beard and replied, “I’ll go inform him of your arrival. The dais will keep you company and offer you something to eat and drink while you’re waiting.”

He hurried off. Abul Fazel called out after him.

“Tell him that I didn’t make this long trip for the fun of it. Reis Muzaffar has sent me with an important message. He’ll regret every minute that he keeps me waiting.”

Ill-tempered, he sat back amid the pillows. The dais sat around him, while servants brought him food and drink.

“You’d think I was the one being offered a favor,” he murmured, half to himself.

“Don’t be upset, honorable sheikh,” Abu Soraka said. “This is the custom at Alamut.”

“The supreme commander hasn’t left his chambers since he took over the castle,” Ibrahim explained. “For days and weeks at a time he doesn’t speak with anyone except the grand dai.”

“I know those ploys,” Abul Fazel replied. “When I was still reis of Isfahan, I’d let anyone I particularly wanted to soften up wait outside my door for a long time. But that same door was left wide open to good friends. Ibn Sabbah himself could testify to that.”

“We’ve heard, honorable sheikh, that you once hid him in your house for four months while the grand vizier was trying to hunt him down,” the Greek said and winked at him conspiratorially.

The reis laughed out loud.

“Did he tell you that I thought he was crazy?” he asked. “I’d just like to know who in my shoes would have thought differently.”

“I’ve also heard parts of that story,” Abu Soraka offered. “But I don’t know exactly what took place.”

“If you’d like, I can tell you,” the former reis said, clearing his throat.

The dais quickly propped more pillows around him so he could stretch out more comfortably as his audience drew closer.

He began.

“It’s been many years since I last saw ibn Sabbah. It appears he’s changed quite a bit since then. But when I first met him, he was an incomparable jokester and a pleasure seeker without equal. The whole court would laugh at his jokes. No matter how bad the sultan’s mood was, ibn Sabbah could lighten it with a single prank. You can imagine how jealous the grand vizier became of him. Eventually he played the ultimate trick on him. At any rate, Hasan safely escaped to Egypt and within a year almost nobody at court remembered his name anymore. Except for the grand vizier, of course, who quite rightly feared whatever revenge he might take. So when he got word that ibn Sabbah had left Egypt, he issued a secret order to all of his spies throughout the land that they were to sniff out his whereabouts and get rid of him, if they found him. But it was as though he’d vanished into thin air.

“One day some sheikh all bundled up in a traveler’s cloak stepped out from behind the curtain over the door to my room. I was so frightened I almost had a stroke. When I regained my senses, I shouted to the servants, ‘Hey, blockheads! Who let this man in the house?’ Then the man tugged a corner of the cloak away from his mouth, and who do I see gaping at me but my old friend Hasan, hale and hardy and smiling from ear to ear. But this is when I really got scared. I hurriedly pulled the double curtain back over the doorway. ‘Have you gone out of your mind?’ I asked him. ‘You’ve got a hundred of the vizier’s henchmen on your tail, and you come strolling right into Isfahan and foist yourself off on a law-abiding Muslim, practically in broad daylight.’ He laughed and slapped me on the back just like in the old days. ‘Ah, my dear reis,’ he said. ‘How many friends I had back when I was still lording it over the sultan’s court. But now that I’m out of favor, they all shut their doors in my face.’ What could I do? I liked him, so I kept him hidden in my house. It’s true, he had to spend the entire time in his room. But he was patient, and he would spend whole days scribbling on some scraps of paper with his pen, daydreaming, and—whenever I’d visit him—entertaining me with funny stories and jokes.

“Once, though, he surprised me with a really strange statement. And what was particularly unusual was that he laughed slyly and ambiguously as he made it, like he always did when he was making a fool of someone. Of course I assumed he was joking and figured it would be appropriate for me to laugh with him. Here’s what he said: ‘Dear friend, I need just two or three men on whom I can depend unconditionally, and in less than a year I can bring down the sultan and his empire.’ I laughed so hard I practically burst my gut. But he suddenly became deadly serious, seized me by the shoulder, and gazed deep into my eyes. That look sent shivers down my spine. Then he said, ‘I am absolutely serious, reis Abul Fazel Lumbani.’ I jumped back and stared at him as though he were from some other world. Who wouldn’t gape if somebody, and a nobody at that, told him that he and two or three men were going to topple a state that stretches from Antioch to India and from Baghdad all the way up to the Caspian Sea? It immediately occurred to me that he’d gone mad from his long exile and fear of being pursued. I said a few reassuring words and cautiously slipped out of his room. I ran to see a doctor and asked him to give me something to cure madness. After giving it a lot of thought, I offered Hasan that medicine. He turned it down, and at that point I felt he didn’t trust me anymore.”

The commanders laughed heartily at this story.

“That’s really a good one!” the Greek exclaimed. “It suits him perfectly.”

“And what do you think of Hasan’s statement today, honorable sheikh?” Abu Soraka asked.

“I’m afraid, really afraid, that he was dead serious.”

He looked at each one of them, shaking his head in complete bafflement.

Abu Ali returned and announced to their guest, “Let’s go! Ibn Sabbah is waiting for you.”