The dais and commanders listened to his speech with intense interest. From time to time he focused on one or the other of them, speaking and gesticulating as though he were communicating just with him.
“Now or never!” he cried out toward the end. “Let that be our motto. You are hunters and fishers of souls. Our Master chose you for that, and now he’s sending you back into the world to carry out his instructions. Be fearless, for all of our strength, all of our believers, and all of our warriors stand behind each one of you.”
Then he brought out a chest of money and began to settle accounts. Abdul Malik sat down beside him and opened a large book containing a record of who had already received how much, and how much additionally the supreme commander was allotting each of them now.
“From now on each one of you will receive a fixed wage every year,” Abu Ali said, “which you should view as a reward for your loyalty and your work. The greater an individual’s successes and accomplishments, the higher the amount allotted to him will be.”
The commanders began making their various requests. One of them had several wives and children, another had a long trip ahead of him. A third wanted to take the money for his comrade who had been unable to come, and a fourth lived in a region noted for its exceptional poverty. Only the representative of the grand dai of Khuzestan, Husein Alkeini, had actually brought something—three full bags of gold pieces—and asked nothing for himself or his superior.
“Here’s a man who can serve as a model for you all,” Abu Ali said, heartily embracing the delegate from Khuzestan.
“Robbery’s good business,” al-Hakim whispered to dai Zakariya with a knowing wink. Word had it that Husein Alkeini, on instructions from the supreme commander himself, preyed on the caravans that plied the routes out of Turkestan, and that this was one of the principal revenue sources that allowed Hasan ibn Sabbah to maintain his far-flung brotherhood.
When the disbursals were complete, the local commanders hosted a banquet of roasts and wine for their visitors and engaged them in more confidential discussions. They unburdened their cares and concerns to each other, and more than a few of them expressed serious doubts in the ultimate success of the Ismaili cause. They talked about their family concerns. One had a daughter at Alamut, another had a son someplace else, and between them they weighed the possibilities of marrying them off. Each one wanted to keep his family under his protection, and so they spent a long time arguing about who would have to let go of his child. And when these old friends had finally drawn close enough again, they turned to examine the supreme commander and his personal affairs.
Both of Hasan’s daughters, Khadija and Fatima, lived under Abu Soraka’s care in his harem. Khadija was thirteen, Fatima eleven. Hasan never called for them or asked about them since turning them over to Abu Soraka.
The dai told the delegate from Khuzestan, his guest, that the two girls were completely cowed, and that they shook at the mere mention of their father’s name. Abu Soraka couldn’t approve of that kind of treatment and was a very gentle father himself. What had become of Hasan’s wives, nobody knew. They weren’t at the castle.
The delegate from Khuzestan in turn described how the fortress of Gonbadan, which Husein Alkeini had conquered, was inhabited by the commander’s son Hosein. He and his father had quarreled, and as punishment his father turned him over to the grand dai of Khuzestan to serve as a common foot solider.
“That Hosein really is like a wild animal,” the delegate said. “But if I were his father, I would have kept him close by. Because if you can keep an eye on him, you’ll have the best chance of reforming him, or at least making some difference. But this humiliation has just reinforced Hosein in his stubbornness and spite. And Husein Alkeini has more than enough problems with him.”
The guests stayed at Alamut for three days, and at dawn on the fourth day they left, each to his own destination.
Life at the castle settled back into its routines, until an unexpected visit turned them inside out again.
CHAPTER FIVE
One hot midsummer day an old man of about sixty came riding up to Alamut accompanied by some fifteen horsemen. The guard outside the entrance to the canyon stopped him and asked who he was and what brought him to the castle. He said that he was the former mayor, or reis, of Isfahan, Abul Fazel Lumbani, that he was coming from Rai, and that he had extremely important news for the supreme commander from the reis there. The officer on duty immediately rode up to the fortress to inform his superior of the arrival of the strangers.
This was right after the third prayer. The novices’ afternoon break had just begun when the sound of the horn called them to assembly. They swiftly pulled on their sandals, put on their cloaks, reached for their shields and weapons, and hurried out into the courtyard. Captain Manuchehr and dais Abu Soraka, Ibrahim and Abdul Malik were already waiting, mounted on horseback.
The young men also mounted their horses.
“Something’s happening,” Suleiman whispered to his neighbor, drawing air in through his nostrils. His eyes shone in anticipation.
At that moment Abu Ali ran out and mounted his short, shaggy white horse. His short legs clamped onto the animal’s flanks and belly as though they had grown together. He galloped to the head of the group of novices and called out to them.
“Men! I am giving you the honor of escorting a respected man who is a good friend of Our Master. This man is the former reis of Isfahan Abul Fazel, who hid the supreme commander for four months while the grand vizier pursued him. It is only fitting that we give him a welcome worthy of his distinction and contributions to our cause.”