In the meantime, in Isfahan Taj al-Mulk had made all preparations to proclaim four-year-old Mohammed the heir to the throne. The chief opponent of this plan was now gone, and the wavering sultan had no one to shore up his will against the demands of his youngest and most determined wife. Just then he was in Baghdad observing some of the greatest celebrations and ceremonies ever held. Besides the caliph, more than a thousand subject kings, princes and grandees from all the corners of his empire were paying tribute to him. He was at the height of his glory and power. Not even the death of his loyal advisor of many years could spoil his sense of his own majesty. He wanted for nothing. He was thoroughly happy.
The news of the dispersal of the sultan’s armies outside of Alamut and Gonbadan alerted the cautious Taj al-Mulk to the danger that threatened the realm from his erstwhile ally Hasan. Now that he had taken Nizam al-Mulk’s place as administrator of the great Iranian empire, he felt the full weight of his responsibility for peace and order throughout the realm. The sultan’s firm command that he deal ruthlessly with the Ismailis was practically made to order for him. He immediately relieved the emirs Arslan Tash and Kizil Sarik of their posts and appointed two young and forceful Turkish officers in their place. They were to collect and regroup the scattered units and use them to attack Alamut and Gonbadan once again.
“We’ve had enough excitement lately,” Hasan said to his two dais. “We need a rest so we can get ready to continue the fight. Just as importantly, we need to repair the breaches in our edifice. So let’s try to reach an honorable peace with the sultan.”
A feday named Halfa was assigned to ride to Baghdad with the written terms for the sultan, in which Hasan made the following stipulations: That he return to the Ismailis all of the castles and fortresses they had held before the grand vizier attacked them. The sultan would have to pay reparations for the castles damaged or destroyed. In return, Hasan would pledge not to acquire any new strongholds. At the same time, he would be prepared to defend the entire northern border of the realm against barbarian incursions. The sultan would have to pay him fifty thousand gold pieces per year to maintain that army.
Hasan had to smile as he set his seal on the letter. He sensed full well that his demands were no small provocation. He wondered how the sultan would take them. After all, he was demanding nothing less than that the all-powerful emperor of Iran pay him an annual tax!
Even though Halfa was an authorized messenger, the sultan’s henchmen seized him as early as Hamadan and sent him to Baghdad in chains. At the height of the festivities, the commander of the sultan’s bodyguard delivered Hasan’s letter to his master. The sovereign ripped the seal off of it and read it eagerly. He grew pale. His lips trembled with rage.
“How dare you bring me a vile thing like this in the middle these celebrations?!” he roared at the commander.
The commander of the bodyguard fell prostrate. He begged for mercy.
“Here, read it!” the sultan shouted.
He dismissed the entire court. Now he was free to give vent to his full rage. He tore the curtains and carpets off the doorways and windows, broke everything that was breakable, then collapsed, breathless and gasping, onto some pillows.
“Bring me the villain!” he ordered in a hoarse voice.
They led Halfa in, bound and terrified.
“Who are you?!”
Halfa answered in a stammer.
“A feday?! So you’re a professional murderer!” the sultan wailed.
He leaped to his feet, shoved Halfa to the ground, jumped on him, and worked himself into a fury. At last he drew his saber and used it to hack the poor messenger to death.
His outburst ended just as suddenly as it had come. He grew sober at the sight of the dead body before him. He asked his personal scribe and the commander of his bodyguard for their advice on how to respond to Hasan’s shameless provocation.
“Your Majesty should hasten all military campaigns against the Ismailis,” the commander of the bodyguard advised.
“But the insult itself must also be returned,” his secretary said. “Permit me to compose a response in Your Majesty’s name.”
They decided to send a messenger to Alamut. In his letter the secretary called Hasan a murderer, a traitor and a mercenary of the caliph of Cairo. He ordered him to vacate immediately all of the castles he had seized unlawfully. Otherwise not one stone would be left atop another, and the Ismailis would be wiped out together with their wives and children. He himself would meet with the ultimate punishment. This was how His Majesty ought to reply to him.
A young officer, a certain Halef of Ghazna, was chosen to be the messenger. He mounted his horse and changed it at every station along the way, and in this way he reached Alamut within six days.
Manuchehr had him detained in his tower while he carried the letter to Abu Ali, who in turn delivered it to Hasan.
Hasan read it and then showed it coolly to Abu Ali. He also called for Buzurg Ummid. He told them, “The sultan is blinded by his own greatness and is turning his back on the danger that threatens him. He refuses to recognize us. Too bad for him.”
He ordered the messenger put in chains and brought before him.
Halef resisted being bound.
“This is a crime!” he shouted. “I’m a messenger from His Highness, the sultan and shah of Iran. If you put me in chains, you insult him.”
This was to no avail. He had to appear before the supreme commander in shackles.
“I strongly protest this treatment,” he said indignantly when he came into the antechamber where the commanders were waiting for him.
“Where is my messenger?” Hasan asked him coolly.
“First…,” Halef said, trying to resume his indignant protest.
“Where is my messenger?!”
Hasan’s eyes bore into the officer. His voice was hard and commanding.
Halef stubbornly lowered his eyes. He was silent.
“Have you been struck dumb? Wait! I’ll show you a way to loosen your tongue.”
He ordered a eunuch to show in the executioner with his assistants and their equipment. Then he turned toward the grand dais and began to chat with them casually.
Halef suddenly spoke up.
“I come in the name of His Majesty. I’m only carrying out his orders.”
Hasan ignored his words. He didn’t even look at him.
The executioner and his two assistants arrived. The three of them were real giants. They immediately began to set up a rack. They set a stone urn down on the floor and used a bellows to fan the embers in it. In a separate box there were various implements of torture which rattled unpleasantly when they were set in the corner.
Sweat beaded on Halef’s forehead. He began swallowing so much that his mouth was soon dry.
“How should I know what’s come of your messenger?” he said, his voice trembling. “I was just given an order and I’ve carried it out.”
Hasan acted as though he were deaf.
When the preparations for torture were complete, the executioner spoke.
“Everything is ready, Sayyiduna.”
“Start with burning.”
The executioner took a sharpened iron poker out of the box and began heating it in the fire.
Halef shouted, “I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Hasan still didn’t move.
The poker had become white-hot. The executioner drew it out of the fire and approached the prisoner, who howled when he saw what was coming.
“Sir! Spare me! The sultan cut down your messenger with his saber.”
Only now did Hasan turn to face Halef. He gave the executioner a sign to withdraw.