Vladimir Bartol - Alamut

The machine stopped and the cage came to rest at the bottom of the tower. The Moor who had just been operating the pulley lifted the curtain. Hasan stepped out into a chilly vestibule where the flame of a torch fluttered in the silent breeze. He fixed the eunuch with his gaze. He felt completely relaxed again.

“Let the bridge down!” he ordered gruffly.

“As you command, Sayyiduna.”

The Moor reached for a lever and threw his whole weight into it. One of the walls began to descend, and the sound of gurgling water could be heard. Light shone through the opening. A segment of star-strewn sky appeared. The bridge had been let down over the river, and a man with a torch was waiting on the other side.

Hasan hurried toward him. The bridge lifted up after him and the entrance to the castle closed.

“What’s the word, Adi?” he asked.

“Everything is going well, Sayyiduna.”

“Bring Miriam to the left-hand pavilion, where I’ll wait for her. Then you can go get Apama and deliver her to the right-hand one. But don’t say a word to either of them about the other.”

“As you command, Sayyiduna.”

They both smiled.

At the end of a sandy path they came to a transverse canal. They climbed into a boat, which Adi started rowing. Soon they turned into an arm of the canal and finally came to a stop alongside a sandy bank. A path led them slightly uphill and then over level ground past gardens in bloom to a glass pavilion that shimmered in the night like a crystal palace.

Adi unlocked the door. He went inside and lit the resin in the lamps that were set out in each corner. In the middle of the pavilion, water glistened in a circular pond. Hasan turned on a pipe and a jet of water shot up practically to the ceiling.

“So I don’t get bored while I’m waiting,” he said and lay down on some pillows next to the wall. “Now go get Miriam.”

He listened to the rippling of the fountain and the trickle of the water. He was so absorbed in listening to it that he didn’t notice when Miriam entered.

“Peace be with you, grandson of Sabbah,” she greeted him.

He started, then cheerfully motioned to her to join him.

She set down a basket of food and drink, unfastened her cloak so that it slipped off her shoulders, and dropped to her knees beside him. She kissed his hand, which he pulled away in mild embarrassment.

“What progress are the girls making?” he asked.

“Just as you’ve prescribed, ibn Sabbah.”

“Good. School’s over now. The sultan has dispatched his army after us. We’ll be able to see them from the castle within a few days.”

Miriam’s eyes opened wide. She looked at Hasan, who was faintly smiling.

“And you can be so calm about this?”

“What else can I do? Whatever is fated to happen will happen. So I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t pour me some wine, if you brought any.”

She stood up and poured two cups. She was wearing the pink silken gown in which she slept. Hasan inspected her. Her white, translucent hands tipped the jug over the cups. She was like perfection itself. Hasan suppressed the sigh of some unwonted ache that had suddenly crept over him. He knew he was old and that all things come too late in life.

She offered him a cup. They toasted. For an instant she discerned a moist glistening in his eyes, and she had a vague sense of what it meant. Then the old, roguish smile appeared around his lips and he spoke.

“You must have wondered what I need these lush gardens and the glass pavilions for, or what I plan to do with all the young girls that I’ve had educated in such a… unique way. But you’ve never asked me about these things. Believe me, I have great respect for your discretion.”

Miriam took hold of his soft but strong right hand, inspected it, and spoke.

“It’s true, grandson of Sabbah, I haven’t asked those questions, but privately I’ve thought a great deal about your intentions.”

“I’ll give you a kingdom if you’ve guessed.”

Hasan’s smile was half mocking, half kind.

“And if I do know?”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t you intend for these gardens to be your followers’ highest reward for their devotion and self-sacrifice?”

“Far from it, my dear.”

“That was what I thought. Otherwise I don’t have any idea.”

Miriam felt discouraged.

Hasan was enjoying himself. He continued.

“Once you complained to me—do you remember?—that you were horribly bored with the world and that there was nothing that interested or entertained you anymore. That’s when I began telling you about the Greek and Islamic philosophers, when I introduced you to the science of nature and of man’s secret drives, and described, as best I could, the nature of the universe. I told you about my journeys, about my failed exploits, about the princes, shahs, sultans and caliphs. Several times I mentioned that there were some other things I needed to tell you, but that the time for that hadn’t arrived yet. Once I asked you if you would like to help me bring down Sultan Malik Shah. You smiled and answered, ‘Why not?’ I gave you my hand then to show I accepted your offer. Perhaps you thought I was joking. Tonight I’ve come to take you up on your word.”

Miriam looked at him with inquiring eyes. She didn’t know what to make of these strange words.

“There’s one other thing I’d like to remind you of, my dear. There’ve been many times when you’ve sworn to me that after all that life has dealt you, it was no longer possible for you to believe in anything. I replied that both life and my studies had led me to the same conclusion. I asked you, ‘What is a person permitted, once he’s realized that truth is unattainable and consequently doesn’t exist for him?’ Do you remember your answer?”

“I do, ibn Sabbah. I said something like this: ‘If a person realized that everything people call happiness, love and joy was just a miscalculation based on a false premise, he’d feel a horrible emptiness inside. The only thing that could rouse him from his paralysis would be to gamble with his own fate and the fate of others. The person capable of that would be permitted anything.’”

Hasan whistled in delight.

“Very nice, my dear. Tonight I’m giving you a chance to amuse yourself with your own fate and the fate of others. Does that please you?”

Miriam drew her head back slightly and looked at him seriously.

“Have you come to ask me riddles?”

“No, I’ve just brought you some poems of Omar Khayyam’s to read to me. As it happens, tonight I need to think about my old friend. That mayor of Isfahan whom I told you about, the one who thought I was crazy, gave them to me as a present today—quite a coincidence. He’s the one who’s told me to expect a less than friendly visit.”

He untied the package and handed it to Miriam.

“You’re always thinking of things to please me, ibn Sabbah.”

“Not at all. I just wanted to give myself the pleasure of hearing your voice. You know I’m not much good at these things.”

“So shall I read?”

“Please do.”

She leaned her head against his knee and read:

“How wise,” Hasan observed when she’d finished. “All of us think too much about ‘later,’ and as a result the ‘now’ continually recedes from us. A whole view of the world in four lines… But go on. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Miriam read: