Vladimir Bartol - Alamut

In the evening Hasan had ibn Tahir summoned to him.

“Is your faith solid now?”

“It is, Sayyiduna.”

“Do you believe I can open to gates to paradise for you whenever I want?”

“I do, Sayyiduna.”

They were alone in the room. Hasan inspected ibn Tahir closely. What a change since that evening when he sent him to the gardens! He had grown thinner, his cheeks had sunken, and his eyes were deep set. A feverish, doleful fire shone in them. He could see it: his machine worked with a fearsome dependability.

“Do you want to earn eternal joy for yourself?”

Ibn Tahir trembled. He looked at Hasan brightly, imploringly.

“Oh,… Sayyiduna!”

Hasan lowered his eyes. He could almost feel his heart drop. Now he realized why he had always been reluctant to get to know the fedayeen better.

“It wasn’t for nothing that I opened the gates of paradise to you. I wanted your faith to be firm. I wanted you to be aware always of what awaits you once you carry out your assignment… Do you know who al-Ghazali is?”

“Surely you mean the Sufi, Sayyiduna?”

“Yes. The one who attacked our faith so meanly in the book On the Mustansirites . Over a year ago the grand vizier appointed him as a teacher at the university in Baghdad. Your assignment is to pretend to be his student. Here is a copy of his work ‘O, Child!’ It’s short. You have a quick mind and can read and absorb it in one night. Come visit me again tomorrow. You’re in my personal service now. Not a word to anyone about this. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Sayyiduna.”

He dismissed him. Agitated and half-crazy with happiness, ibn Tahir left the room.

On the stairway ibn Tahir ran into Abu Ali and Buzurg Ummid, who, out of breath and flushed with agitation, were dragging a man behind them. By his appearance, he must have just completed a difficult and strenuous journey. He was covered in dirt from head to foot. Streams of sweat sluiced long passages down his mud-caked face. He was gasping heavily. Ibn Tahir pressed up against the wall and let the three of them pass. Something told him that great and difficult days were approaching for Alamut.

A guard uncovered the doorway to let the man and the grand dais in to see Hasan.

“A messenger from Khuzestan,” Abu Ali forced out amid gasps.

“What happened?”

Hasan gained control over himself. From the faces of his visitors he immediately sensed bad news.

The messenger fell to his knees before him.

“O master! Husein Alkeini is dead. Murdered!”

Hasan went as pale as a corpse.

“Who is the perpetrator?”

“Forgive me, Sayyiduna! Hosein, your son.”

Hasan shuddered as though struck by an arrow. His arms waved as though grabbing for someone invisible. He wavered, turned in a half-circle, and crashed to the floor like a felled tree.

The son of the supreme commander had murdered the dai of Khuzestan! The next day all of Alamut was talking about it. No one quite knew how the news had spread. The messenger had first entrusted it to the grand dais, who immediately took him to see Hasan. Perhaps one of the dais standing nearby had caught wind of it, or perhaps the grand dais themselves had let it slip to someone. Everyone knew about it, and it would have been pointless to try to hide it in any way from the faithful.

Ibn Tahir had to wait a long time for Hasan to receive him. The supreme commander wanted to know all the details of the murder, so he questioned the messenger in detail.

“The carrier pigeon brought your order to Gonbadan, Sayyiduna. Kizil Sarik had us under siege for ten days at that point. He had destroyed all the lesser fortresses and then encamped outside of ours with his twenty thousand men. He offered us safe passage, but the grand dai refused. But Hosein, your son, insisted that he surrender the castle. That’s when Alkeini asked for your instructions as to what to do with him. You ordered him clapped into chains. Alkeini relayed this to him and insisted that he give himself up. Hosein went wild with rage. ‘You’ve betrayed me to my father, you dog!’ he shrieked at him. He drew his saber and cut down our commander.”

“What did you do with the murderer?”

“We put him in chains and locked him in a cellar. Sheik Abdul Malik ibn Atash assumed command of the fortress.”

“What’s the situation there?”

“Difficult, master. There’s not much water, and soon the faithful will run out of food too. There’s more than three thousand of them in the fortress. The entire population of Khuzestan is with us. But that damned Kizil Sarik is cruel, and they’re afraid of him. We can’t count on much help from them.”

Hasan dismissed him.

Now he was steady and focused again.

“What do you plan to do with your son, ibn Sabbah?” Buzurg Ummid asked him.

“We’ll judge him according to our laws.”

He dismissed the grand dais and had ibn Tahir summoned.

“How is it coming with al-Ghazali?”

“I spent practically the whole night with it, Sayyiduna.”

“Good. Have you heard what has happened in Khuzestan?”

Ibn Tahir looked at him. He saw new furrows in his face.

“I have, Sayyiduna.”

“What would you do if you were in my place?”

Ibn Tahir looked at him with clear, bright eyes.

“I would do what the law commands.”

“And you’re right… Do you know who Iblis is?”

“Iblis is the evil spirit that tempted the first human beings.”