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threatening Alamut? But he had to carry out his order, and nothing could deter him from that.
The military route struck him as one continuous army camp. He was constantly meeting up
with new units. To keep from being continually stopped, he would shout from a long distance
off that he was a messenger of His Majesty. From time to time tents shone white alongside the
road. Countless horses, camels, donkeys, cows and whole flocks of smaller livestock picked off
the last stalks of greenery from the fields.
He had to ride around Nehavend, since there was so much military there. But after that the
road to Baghdad was virtually clear. There was plenty of room in the serais for him to stay
overnight.  Now  is  also  when  he  took  the  first  pellet.  He  felt  overcome  with  tremendous
anxiousness. Now and then as he rode, phantoms would attack him. He seemed to be riding
through enormous cities teeming with endless masses of people. Then he dreamed he was in
the gardens of paradise, surrounded by dark-eyed houris. Day and night merged into one. He
succumbed utterly to a passion for these states. He had swallowed all of the pellets but one. It
took the utmost force of will for him to keep from taking it.
Suddenly he seemed to have arrived at the outer gate to a large city. In front of him was a
contingent of guards armed to the teeth. He started to ride on, taking this for just another
disembodied vision. Six spear points were thrust at his face.
Instantly his stupor evaporated. This was the tenth day since his departure from Alamut; he
had at last arrived at the Baghdad city gates.
He quickly found his footing.
“I am a messenger of His Majesty,” he said gruffly.
The captain of the guard inspected his identification.
“All right, you can go on,” he said.
He passed through the city walls. All he could do was stare. Palaces of pure marble, one
more beautiful than the next, lined the streets. These were interrupted from time to time by
mosques with gold and green cupolas. Tall minarets swelled to the sky. Squares and bazaars
where  everything  swarmed  like  an  anthill  slowed  his  progress.  He  had  long  since  lost  his
bearings, which his double at Alamut had described to him. He felt minuscule. To bolster his
courage, he reminded himself, “Jafar! Places a thousand times more beautiful are waiting for
you, once you complete your task.”
He  came  upon  a  guard  patrol  consisting  of  four  men.  He  pushed  his  way  toward  it  and
asked its leader, “Show me the way to His Majesty’s palace.”
The sergeant gave him an astonished look.
“Well, don’t just gape at me,” Jafar lit into him. “Show me the way to the palace.”
“That’s where we’re headed. Come with us.”

---

One of the men had his horse by the bridle and was pulling it along behind him. They spent
a  long  time  wading  through  an  endless  sea  of  houses  and  mansions.  Finally  they  reached
some magnificently tended gardens, at the far end of which stood an indescribably beautiful,
white palace.
“That’s His Majesty’s residence,” the sergeant said.
Jafar  recognized  it  from  Halef’s  accounts.  Men  were  coming  out  of  barracks  constructed
along the sides of the gardens. He rode ahead to a great entry gate and called out a password.
The guard on duty looked puzzled.
“That password isn’t valid anymore,” he said.
“I  am  a  messenger  of  His  Majesty!”  Jafar  shouted.  “I’ve  been  to  Alamut,  and  now  I’ve
returned with messages from there.”
A sergeant came out and eyed the rider in some perplexity. He was caked in grime from the
road and he had a barely healed wound across his cheek. His face was totally sunken.
“Let me call the officer on duty,” he said when he heard what the stranger had asked for.
Jafar began to feel ill. His nerves felt like they had been ground between two millstones.
He saw the officer approaching him. What should he do? Should he act as though they knew
each other? What if this was a new man?
The officer came right up to the gate. He studied the stranger carefully. Then he called out
to him.
“Aren’t you Halef, son of Omar?”
“Who  else?  Just  tell  the  commander  of  the  bodyguard  that  I’m  here.  I  have  to  see  him
immediately.”
The officer shook his head.
“Just get off the horse and come with me.”
Both of them were silent as they walked. The officer examined him from the side. Yes, this
was Halef of Ghazna, even if slightly changed and obviously exhausted.
The commander of the bodyguard received him in the palace immediately.
“How did your assignment go, Halef?”
“Precisely as you ordered, emir. But I was treated horribly. They tortured me to find out as
much as they could about His Majesty’s plans. I have some important news for him.”
“Did you bring a letter?”
“No, just an oral message.”
“Tell it to me.”
“The Ismaili commander meant for it to be delivered to His Majesty directly.”
“Have you forgotten how things work at court?”
“No, emir. But the blow that infidel commander dealt me still burns on my cheek, and even
my bones still ache from it. I have no time to lose. I bring terrible news.”
“What is Hasan ibn Sabbah like?”
“He’s  a  real  killer,  an  animal  in  human  guise.  It’s  high  time  we  obliterated  him  and  his
brood from the face of the earth.”
“And that will happen. Wait here. I’ll go ask His Majesty if he’ll receive you.”
When he had gone, Jafar quickly swallowed the pellet. He was so used to the substance
that it took effect immediately. His confidence and courage swelled under its influence. The
now familiar visions returned to him. He resisted them with an extreme effort of will.

---

“I have to focus entirely on my task now,” he told himself.
It was just before noon on the eighteenth day of November of the year one thousand and
ninety-two  by  our  calendar.  Sultan  Malik  Shah  had  just  returned  from  a  brief  visit  to  the
harems of his sister, who was now the sole wife of the caliph. At last, through a combination
of persuasion and threats, he had managed to get the leader of the faith to designate Jafar, his
son by the sultan’s sister, as his successor, and to disinherit his first-born son Mustazir. For
the sultan, this was the culmination of long and bitter battles with his brother-in-law. Only
after he had banished him to Basra did Caliph al Muqtadi relent, though he had negotiated an
extra ten days to think about it.
That had been five days ago. During his visit, his sister assured him that the caliph had
essentially agreed to the demand. Now the sultan was contentedly rubbing his hands as he sat
on  a  dais  amid  pillows.  He  was  a  man  in  his  prime,  quick-witted  and  healthy.  He  loved
wealth and luxury and was a friend of the sciences and arts. Anything that was creative or
exceptional gave him pleasure.
He  thought  to  himself,  Is  there  anything  more  I  could  want?  The  boundaries  of  my  empire