“It’s fine,” she told herself and tried to go to sleep.
Just then someone touched her lightly. Before she had a chance to scream, she heard Sara’s voice speaking right into her ear.
“Stay completely quiet, Halima, so that Zainab doesn’t wake up.”
She climbed under the blanket and snuggled up against her.
“I told you I don’t want this,” Halima said just as quietly. But Sara showered her with kisses and she felt powerless.
Finally she managed to break free. Sara started to coax her and whisper lovesick words in her ear. Halima turned her back, stuck her fingers in her ears, and fell asleep instantly.
Sara was unsure what was happening with her. Feeling disoriented, she returned to her bed and climbed in.
CHAPTER TWO
At about the same time that Halima arrived by such curious circumstances in the strange, new gardens, a young man on a small, black donkey was also riding along the broad military trail toward the same destination, only from the opposite direction, from the west. It couldn’t have been long since he’d removed his childhood amulets and wrapped a man’s turban around his head. A downy first growth of beard barely showed on his chin, and his clear, lively eyes had an almost childish look to them. He came from the town of Sava, more or less halfway between Hamadan and the old capital, Rai. Years before, in Sava, his grandfather Tahir had established a circle of the Ismaili brotherhood whose ostensible purpose was to proclaim a renewed veneration of the martyr Ali, but which was in fact dedicated to the subversion of Seljuk rule. At one point the society also inducted a former muezzin from Isfahan as a member. Soon afterwards the authorities raided a secret meeting of the group and imprisoned some of its members. Suspicions centered on the muezzin as a likely informer. He was tracked down and the group’s conjecture was proven correct. They secretly condemned him to death and carried out the sentence. Subsequently, the authorities seized the brotherhood’s leader, Tahir, and, at the command of the grand vizier Nizam al-Mulk, ordered him beheaded. The brotherhood disbanded in panic, and at that point it appeared that the Ismailis had been banished from Sava forever.
When Tahir’s grandson reached the age of twenty, his father told him the entire story. He bade him saddle his donkey and get ready for a journey. He took him to the top of a local tower and pointed out the conical peak of Demavend as it shone snow-covered above the clouds in the infinite distance.
He said, “Avani, my son, grandson of Tahir. Go straight along the road that leads toward the peak of Demavend. When you reach the town of Rai, ask for directions to Shah Rud, the King’s River. Follow it upstream until you reach its source, which is nestled at the foot of several steep slopes. There you’ll see a fortified castle called Alamut, the Eagle’s Nest. That is where an old friend of Tahir, your grandfather and my father, has gathered all who profess the Ismaili teachings. Tell him who you are and offer yourself in service. This way you will be given the chance to avenge your grandfather’s death. My blessing be with you.”
The grandson of Tahir put on a crescent saber, bowed respectfully to his father, and mounted the donkey. His ride to Rai was uneventful. At a caravanserai he asked after the easiest route to Shah Rud.
The innkeeper said, “What on earth takes you to Shah Rud? If you didn’t have such an innocent face, I’d suspect you wanted to join the chief of the mountain, who gathers all those infidel dogs around him.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” the grandson of Tahir dissembled. “I come from Sava to meet a caravan that my father dispatched to Bukhara, but which seems to have been held up on the way back.”
“When you leave town, keep Demavend to your right. You’ll come to a well-worn road which is used by caravans coming from the east. Stay on that and it will lead you to the river.”
The grandson of Tahir thanked him and remounted his donkey. After two days of riding, he heard the roar of water in the distance. He turned off the path and rode straight toward the river, alongside which a footpath led alternately through sandy open spaces and thick stands of shrubs. The incline of the river grew steadily steeper and the water more thunderous.
When he had thus half-ridden and half-walked his way through a good part of the day, a detachment of horsemen suddenly surrounded him. The attack came so unexpectedly that the grandson of Tahir forgot to draw his saber. When he remembered and reached for its handle, it was of no use to him. Seven sharp spear points were aimed at him. It’s shameful to be afraid, he thought, but what could he do against such superior power?
The commander of the horsemen addressed him. “What are you prying around in these parts for, greenhorn? Maybe you’ve come trout fishing? Be careful your hook doesn’t get caught in your own throat!”
The grandson of Tahir was at a total loss. If these were the sultan’s horsemen and he told the truth, he’d be finished. If they were Ismailis and he kept silent, they’d take him for a spy. He let go of his sword handle and desperately searched the soldiers’ mute faces for an answer.
The commander winked at his men.
“It looks to me like you’re searching for something you haven’t lost, my underaged Pahlavan,” he said, and then grabbed something from between his saddle and stirrup. A white flag, the symbol of the followers of Ali, fluttered on the short stick which he held in his hand.
What if it’s a trap? Avani thought. “No matter, I’ll risk it,” he declared to himself. He jumped off the donkey and reached his hand toward the flag, which the commander had thrust in his direction, and he reverently pressed it to his forehead.
“There you go!” the commander called out. “You’re looking for the castle of Alamut. Come with us, then.”
He drove his horse forward up the path alongside Shah Rud. The grandson of Tahir remounted his donkey and followed him. The soldiers poured after them.
They drew closer and closer to the mountain range, and the roar of Shah Rud grew worse and worse, until they reached a rocky cliff at the summit of which was a watchtower bearing the white flag. At the foot of this cliff the riverbed veered into a steep canyon.
The commander of the detachment held back his horse and ordered the others to come to a halt too. He waved a flag toward the tower and received a reply that the way was clear.
They rode into the canyon, which was chilly and dark. The path here was narrow but well constructed. In places it had been hewn into the living rock. The river roared far beneath them. At a bend in the path the commander stopped and raised his arm to point ahead of them.
Not far off, the grandson of Tahir saw two high towers which shone white over the dark mountains like a vision from a dream. The way the sun shone on them, they glimmered in its rays.
“That is Alamut,” the leader said and pressed onward.
Steep mountainsides concealed the two towers once again. The path continued to wind alongside the river until the canyon suddenly opened up. The grandson of Tahir gazed in astonishment. He saw before him a mighty cliff with a fortification whose foundations had been hewn out of the cliff itself. Shah Rud forked into two branches which embraced the cliff as though holding it in a cleft stick. The fortress was an entire small settlement which gradually rose in height from front to back. Its four corners were marked by four towers, the rearmost of which were much higher than the foremost. The fortress and river together were slung between two steep, impassable slopes and formed a formidable barrier blocking the exit from the canyon.
This was Alamut, the most powerful fortress of the fifty or so that existed in the Rudbar district. It had been built by the kings of Daylam, and it was said to be impregnable.