Lost in thought, the emir Arslan Tash paced back and forth inside his tent. He was a tall, handsome man. It was evident from his carefully groomed appearance that he loved the joys of life and its comforts. His features expressed concern. He wasn’t the slightest bit pleased with Hasan’s answer. One after the other, he looked each of his three emissaries in the eye. He asked them, “Are you sure you weren’t the victims of some trick?”
“We’re positive,” Abu Jafar replied. “Suleiman stabbed himself barely five or six paces away from us. And all of Alamut saw Yusuf jump from the parapets.”
Arslan Tash shook his head.
“I just can’t believe it. I’ve heard of sorcerers in India who appear to make miraculous things happen. They throw a rope up in the air, for instance, and the rope remains suspended. Then the sorcerer’s assistant starts climbing up the rope. When he’s climbed up quite high, the sorcerer gives a command. The rope drops and the assistant comes crashing to the ground. The sorcerer sets a basket over the corpse. He recites a few prayers and then, when he lifts the cover, the assistant pokes his head out, hale, hardy and smiling. The whole episode turns out to have been an illusion.”
“There was no such sorcery at Alamut. The knife was buried up to its hilt in Suleiman’s heart. His clothing was spattered with blood.”
The emir fell silent again and pondered. All of this seemed more than mysterious to him.
Then he spoke.
“Whatever the case, I order you to keep as silent as a tomb about everything you saw and heard at Alamut. The men could resist or mutiny if they found out what kind of enemy they’re facing. The grand vizier is on the march, and he’s not going to be amused if we fail to carry out his orders.”
Abu Jafar’s aides exchanged worried glances. On their way here they had described their audience at Alamut to several colleagues.
The emir didn’t notice their exchange of glances. He was pacing around the tent, preoccupied.
“What on earth could the Ismaili commander have meant when he hinted that he knew something about the grand vizier that I would only learn about in six or even twelve days?”
“I’ve told Your Excellency everything he said,” Abu Jafar replied.
“Most likely he just meant to scare me. What could he know about the grand vizier that I myself don’t know? That he’s en route to Isfahan? That he’s planning to move on Alamut after that?”
He swung his arm in frustration.
“Just my luck to get the dubious honor of taming these infidels! What kind of honest opponent is this? He hides in fortresses, avoids open battle, poisons ignorant minds with strange fairy tales and turns them into dangerous fools. How am I supposed to get my hands on that?”
“All right, then. You’re dismissed!” he said a short time later. “I’ll take your report into consideration. Just keep it quiet.”
The emissaries bowed and left.
The emir dropped onto some soft pillows, poured himself a full cup of wine, and drank it down in one draught. His face brightened. He clapped. Two beautiful young slave girls came out from behind a curtain. They sat down next to him and embraced him. Soon Alamut and its cruel master were forgotten.
By contrast, his men were all the more animatedly discussing the experience of the three emissaries at Alamut. The news had swept through the entire camp like a cyclone. When Abu Jafar and his aides came back out of the emir’s tent, his friends showered him with questions. He raised a finger to his lips and whispered that the emir had given them strict orders to keep as silent as a tomb about everything. This meant that the officers retired to a separate tent, put a guard out front, and then spent hours discussing in depth everything the emissaries had been able to say.
The enlisted men discussed the Alamut events in their own way.
“The master of Alamut could be a true prophet. He started with only a handful of men, just like Mohammed. Now there are thousands fighting in his ranks.”
“The Ismailis are adherents of the party of Ali. Weren’t our fathers too? Why should we fight with men who remain faithful to the teachings of their fathers and ours?”
“The Prophet wasn’t as powerful as the master of Alamut. Sure, he could travel to paradise. But could he also send others there, alive?”
“They said that both of the youths who killed themselves in our emissaries’ presence had already been in paradise. Otherwise, how could they have gone to their deaths so enthusiastically?”
“As long as I’ve lived, I’ve never heard of anything like this. Does it make any sense for us to fight such a powerful prophet?”
“You’d think the Ismailis were Turks or Chinese for the sultan to declare war on them. They’re Iranians like us, and good Muslims.”
“The grand vizier wants to get back in the sultan’s good graces. That’s why he’s sent us to attack Alamut, so he can look important and needed. We’ve seen this kind of business before. We weren’t born yesterday.”
“It’s a lucky thing that our emir is such a smart man. He isn’t in any hurry. When it gets cold, we’ll just leave for our winter quarters in the south.”
“Of course, it would be stupid for us to fight with an enemy that nobody hates.”
Wordlessly, the grand dais accompanied Hasan to his chambers. The supreme commander was clearly exhausted. He tossed the white coat off his shoulders and lay down on the pillows.
The grand dais remained standing.
“Do you know who I miss having here today?” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Omar Khayyam.”
“Why him of all people?”
“I can’t say exactly. I’d just like to talk to him.”
“Is your conscience bothering you?”
Buzurg Ummid gave him a penetrating look.
Hasan instinctively rose. He looked inquisitively at the grand dais. He didn’t answer the question.
“Do you know that on that night when you went to the gardens where the youths were, I suggested to Abu Ali that we kill you and throw you off the tower into Shah Rud?”
Hasan instinctively grabbed the handle of his saber.
“Yes, I suspected something. Why didn’t you carry out your plan?”
Buzurg Ummid shrugged his shoulders. Abu Ali could only stare at him, dumbstruck.
“Until now I regretted not carrying it out.”
“You see? That’s probably why I started missing Omar Khayyam so much. But don’t think it’s because I’m afraid. I just wish I could have a good talk with somebody.”
“Go ahead, speak. We’ll listen.”
“Let me ask you a question. Is a child’s delight in his colorful playthings real joy?”
“What’s the point of these digressions again, ibn Sabbah?” Buzurg Ummid said with obvious annoyance. “Just tell us straight out what you were planning to say.”
“You said you’d listen to me.”
Hasan’s voice was once again hard and determined.
“My intention was not to justify my actions. I only wanted to explain them to you. Obviously, a child’s delight in his colorful toys is just as genuinely felt as a grown man’s pleasure in money or women. Viewed from the perspective of any individual, every pleasure that he feels is a real, genuine pleasure. Each of us is happy in his own way. So if the prospect of dying means happiness for someone, he’ll delight in death just as much as another delights in money or a woman. There are no regrets after death.”