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Let them have a taste of their own cooking, he thought to himself.
“Since you’re so insistent about this, I’ll refer your request to the grand dai.”
Abu Ali sensed something unpleasant when he heard that Suleiman wanted to speak with
him.
“Wait,” he ordered Abu Soraka.
He went to Hasan and asked his advice.
“Talk  to  him,”  Hasan  said.  “Then  report  back  to  me.  We  may  learn  something  really
interesting.”
Abu Ali waited for Suleiman in the great assembly hall. They were alone in the huge room.
“What’s on your mind, my dear Suleiman, that you wish to speak to me?”
Suleiman lowered his eyes.
“I  wanted  to  ask  you,  reverend  grand  dai,  to  take  me  to  see  Sayyiduna.”  Abu  Ali  was
clearly nonplussed.
“Of all the things to ask for! Sayyiduna labors from morning to night for our well-being. Do
you want to steal time away from him? I’m his deputy. Everything you wanted to tell him
you can tell me now.”
“It’s difficult … He’s the only one who has the cure I need.”
“Speak up. I’ll relay everything to him.”
“I can’t stand it anymore. I want an assignment that will open the gates of paradise to me
again.”
Abu Ali reflexively took a step backward. For a moment he caught Suleiman’s eyes. They
were burning like fire.
“You’re mad, Suleiman. Do you realize that what you’re asking is practically rebellion? And
that rebellion is punishable by death?”
“Better to die than suffer like this.”
Suleiman had murmured these words, but Abu Ali understood him.
“Go now. I’ll give this some thought. There may be help waiting for you sooner than you
think.”
When Abu Ali returned, Hasan looked at him inquiringly.
“He wants you to give him an assignment so he can go back to paradise. He says he can’t
bear it anymore.”
Hasan smiled.
“I wasn’t mistaken,” he said. “The poison and the gardens are having their effect. Soon it
will be time for the final experiment.”
One night the incessant frustration eclipsed Suleiman’s mind. He got up, went over to Naim’s
bed and sat down on it. Naim woke up and caught sight of the figure sitting at his feet. By its
outline he recognized it as Suleiman. Instinctively he felt afraid.
“What’s wrong, Suleiman?”

---

Suleiman didn’t answer him. He stared at him motionlessly. His pale, sunken face shone
through the semidarkness. Gradually Naim made out its expression and was terrified.
With a sudden movement Suleiman yanked the blanket off of him.
“Show me your breasts!”
Naim was petrified with fear. Suleiman grabbed him by the chest.
“Oh, Halima, Halima!” he moaned.
“Help me!”
Naim’s shout echoed madly through the night.
Guards’ footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway.
Suleiman started awake.
“By Allah! I’ll strangle you if you give me away. You were dreaming!”
He quickly disappeared back into his bed.
A guard walked in.
“Did you call out, Naim?”
“Yes. I had a terrible dream.”
The guard went away.
Naim got up and pulled the blanket off his bed.
“Why are you leaving?”
Suleiman gave him a piercing look.
“I’m afraid of you, Suleiman.”
“Idiot! Get back into your bed this instant and go to sleep. I’m sleepy too.”
The next morning Naim asked Abu Soraka to assign him to different quarters. He’d prefer
not to sleep in the same room as Suleiman.
“Why not?”
Naim shrugged. His face was pale and diminutive.
Abu Soraka didn’t press the issue. It’s best I know as little as possible about these things, he
thought. He granted his request and sent Abdur Ahman to room with Suleiman.
A  competition  developed  among  the  other  fedayeen  to  see  who  could  do  the  best  job  of
performing  his  assigned  duties.  Obeida  returned  from  Rudbar,  where  he  had  been  sent  to
deliver  an  order  to  Buzurg  Ummid’s  deputy  ibn  Ismail,  the  military  commander  of  the
fortress, whom Hasan had since named regional dai. He brought with him detailed reports on
the movements of Emir Arslan Tash’s army, which was camped outside of Qazvin and Rai.
From Qazvin, ibn Vakas was in steady contact with the emir’s soldiers, while Halfa did the
same from Rai. Many Ismailis on the outside reported to them on the slightest details of the
enemy’s units.
To  all  appearances  the  emir  was  in  no  particular  hurry  to  reach  Alamut.  The  handsome
Persian had brought along a whole harem of wives. He invited the local grandees to attend
festive  banquets,  or  had  himself  invited  to  theirs.  He  drank  with  his  officers,  enjoying  his
veritable  swarm  of  songstresses  and  dancers.  The  army  adjusted  to  this  slow  pace.  The
noncommissioned officers and the men instigated their own excursions in all directions. They
seized and extorted everything they saw. The people cursed them along with the sultan and
the grand vizier for sending them.
From his next exploit Obeida brought back encouraging news. The released captives had

---

been telling the emir’s men about the wondrous life of the Ismailis at the castle of Alamut,
and about their omnipotent commander with the power to send his believers to paradise. The
soldiers,  long  since  tired  of  being  idle,  listened  to  them  with  relish.  In  the  evenings  they
would  discuss  these  things.  Many  of  them  were  becoming  enthusiastic  about  the  Ismaili
teachings and didn’t even bother to hide it. Now only their curiosity still drove them to get to
Alamut,  which  was  ruled  by  the  “commander  of  the  mountain,”  or  the  “old  man  of  the
mountain.” And now the Ismaili scouts could openly circulate among the emir’s forces. They
discussed religious and political issues with them, providing passionate proofs that only their
commander taught the one true faith. Even the ones who didn’t believe them, or even scoffed
at them, let them come and go freely. What could a little fortress with five hundred men do
against an army of thirty thousand, sent against it by the master of all Iran? And so the scouts
reported back to Alamut that the emir’s encircling forces were completely undermined and
that the enemy army was close to collapsing.
When Abu Ali brought this news to Hasan, the latter said, “The disarray of the enemy’s
army is the result of two factors, to wit, the defeat of the Turkish cavalry and our successful
experiment with paradise. The former forced the emir to be more cautious and consolidate his
campaign,  which  is  now  dependent  on  slow-moving  quartermaster  wagons.  But  while  its
effect  diminishes  from  day  to  day—and  that  kind  of  defeat  practically  demands  to  be
forgotten—the news of our miracle is spreading among the simple soldiery by evident and not
so evident means. Really, this sort of fairy tale is the best fuel for the people’s imagination.”
After the visit of the fedayeen, life in the gardens changed considerably too. Those girls who
had previously lived in harems saw their old memories awakened. They compared them with
the  most  recent  ones,  with  those  girls  who  had  gotten  short  shrift  during  the  youths’  visit
making a great deal of their earlier experiences. The rest praised this most recent night of
love.  Fights  and  arguments  resulted,  and  they  all  felt  a  certain  irritability.  Now  almost  all
they  did  was  weave,  sew,  and  do  other  handicrafts,  so  the  conversations  stretched  from
morning to evening.
They spent a lot of time speculating about whether the same visitors would come back next
time. Many of them didn’t care, or even preferred a change, to the extent they hadn’t received
enough attention from the lovers on the last visit. They hoped they wouldn’t be overlooked
next time. Most of them thought Hasan would send new people. Even Zuleika, who had spent
the first few days crying relentlessly for Yusuf, gradually accepted this thought. Only Halima
couldn’t and wouldn’t understand that she and Suleiman would probably never see each other
again.
Her state caused Miriam a great deal of concern. In a few days the flourishing color of her
little  face  faded.  Her  eyes  grew  red  from  sleeplessness  and  crying.  Dark  circles  appeared
around them. She comforted her as best she could.
But Miriam’s heart was unsettled too. She constantly worried about ibn Tahir’s fate. She
waited  for  Hasan  to  summon  her  for  a  conversation  again.  But  it  was  as  though  he  had
become deliberately absent. She felt an almost maternal concern for ibn Tahir. It was as if she
were personally responsible for his and Halima’s fate.

---

A month after the victory over the sultan’s vanguard, a division of Muzaffar’s men brought
back  to  Alamut  a  messenger  sent  to  Hasan  by  the  new  grand  vizier  and  secretary  to  the
sultana, Taj al-Mulk.
Hasan received him immediately. The messenger told him that news of the defeat of the
emir’s vanguard had reached the sultan on the road to Baghdad, in the vicinity of Nehavend.
The  deposed  grand  vizier  arrived  immediately  after  this  news.  The  sultan  had  become
violently angry. He had already given the order deposing Arslan Tash as emir and requiring
him to appear before him to defend himself. But Nizam al-Mulk persuaded the sultan that the
new grand vizier was at fault for everything, since he and the sultana were secretly allied to
the Ismailis. They came to an agreement and the sultan once again named Nizam al-Mulk as
his vizier. But the sultana was insisting that Taj al-Mulk retain that office. Nizam was now
encamped  near  Nehavend  and  was  assembling  forces  to  strike  against  Isfahan,  depose  his
rival, and restore the sultan’s and his own prestige. He had sent emir Arslan Tash an order to
take and destroy Alamut within a month at the latest. Otherwise he would indict him for high
treason. He issued a similar order to Kizil Sarik, who still had the fortress of Gonbadan in
Khuzestan  under  siege.  The  sultana  and  her  vizier  sent  him  this  message  under  oath  and
asked him to provide them with help and support in this crisis.
Hasan replied to the messenger immediately.
“First of all, give my greetings to your masters. Then tell them that I was quite surprised
when  they  recently  broke  their  promise  to  me.  Now  they’re  in  need  and  appealing  to  me
again. And despite the fact that they broke their word, I’ll jump to their aid once again. But
tell  them  to  think  carefully  next  time  before  disappointing  me  again.  Let  what  is  about  to
happen to their enemy and mine serve as a warning to them.”
Hasan dismissed him and ordered Muzaffar’s adjutants to dine him royally and shower him
with gifts.
“This is the decisive moment,” he told the two grand dais. He appeared to be exceptionally
calm—calm as only a person who has just made an irreversible decision can be.
“So Nizam al-Mulk is back at the helm. That means he’s going to be ruthless toward us and
do  everything  he  can  to  crush  and  destroy  us.  So  we  need  to  hurry  our  course  of  action
along.”
The grand dais looked at him inquisitively.
“What do you plan to do?”
“Destroy my mortal enemy once and for all.”
During these days ibn Tahir channeled his anxiety, his longing, and all the alienation of his
soul into poems. He wrote them on fragments of parchment that he carefully concealed from
all other eyes. He found at least a shred of consolation for all the travails and torments of his
heart in constantly revising each individual line. Under the pretext that he was preparing an
assignment for his students, he would retreat to his room and write verses there, or yield to
his loneliness and daydreams.
Some of his poems went like this:
It used to be my soul
Was full of holy teachings of the Prophet,

---

Of Sayyiduna, of Ali and Ismail,
The forerunner of what would come.
Now only your face, Miriam,
Rules my heart and fills my soul.
Your charming voice and magic smile,
The scent of your red lips, the fairness of your breasts,
Your slender hands, your perfect build,
Wise spirit, knowing mind, so unlike other women,
And your eyes! Those lovely, dusky eyes
Like mountain lakes, deep beyond imagination,
That glint beneath your brow, a marble cliff.
I see myself in them and
All the world! Where is there room
For Ali, Ismail and the Prophet now?!
You are my Ali, Ismail and Prophet,
My longing, faith, my Allah,
Commanding spirit, mind and heart.
You are my world, my paradise, my Allah.
When my mind’s eye, Miriam, sees your face,
Strange doubts creep into my heart.
Are you really flesh and blood like me and others like me,
Who thinks and feels and wants like us, God’s creatures?
The mark beneath my heart, is that the proof?
Or are you just a phantom lacking flesh and bones,
Which Our Master’s secret art conjured?
If so, then how can I escape this guile,
That I’m in love with air, a gust of wind, a poisoned wisp?
How dare I blaspheme! A holy man a fraud?
Who can dispel these troubling mysteries?
Oh, what a wretched Farhad I’ve become, parted from
My dearest Shirin. What sort of powerful master is it
Who’s set a boundary between her and me?
Is this the Mahdi, Prophet, perhaps Allah?
Insane with love, am I to hew her image
Out of rock? Or, mad from longing, plant
A hatchet in my heart?
Who gave you the power, Sayyiduna,
To let the living into heaven?
Do you perhaps have access too?
Do you know Miriam? (I’m wildly jealous!)

---

Do you perhaps have secret knowledge
Of the mysteries our ancestors’ priests performed,
The ones the Prophet banished to endure
Hell’s torments inside Demavend?
If that’s true, then Miriam, my beloved moonbeam,
Would be nothing but a loathsome brew
Of some black substance and your magic.
No, that can’t be. The Dævas still sleep
In the mountain undisturbed. It would take a villain
To deny your miracle’s sweet and perfect truth.
Why won’t you show the way that leads me
Back to Miriam, O Sayyiduna,
Kind uniter, cruel divider?
If it takes death to buy my passage back
To join her, say the word,
And I’ll leap from the highest rock.
My smile will testify how much I love her.
Or do I need to shove a knife into my heart
To live beside my Miriam forever?
Command! Perhaps I need to leap through fire
And join the Dævas? Just no more waiting,
No more pangs of separation,
Splitting me from paradise like Adam!
Send me back to Miriam! Take me to her
Before cruel longing rips my heart in two.
In the evening Hasan had ibn Tahir summoned to him.
“Is your faith solid now?”
“It is, Sayyiduna.”
“Do you believe I can open to gates to paradise for you whenever I want?”
“I do, Sayyiduna.”
They were alone in the room. Hasan inspected ibn Tahir closely. What a change since that
evening when he sent him to the gardens! He had grown thinner, his cheeks had sunken, and
his eyes were deep set. A feverish, doleful fire shone in them. He could see it: his machine
worked with a fearsome dependability.
“Do you want to earn eternal joy for yourself?”
Ibn Tahir trembled. He looked at Hasan brightly, imploringly.
“Oh, … Sayyiduna!”
Hasan lowered his eyes. He could almost feel his heart drop. Now he realized why he had
always been reluctant to get to know the fedayeen better.
“It wasn’t for nothing that I opened the gates of paradise to you. I wanted your faith to be
firm.  I  wanted  you  to  be  aware  always  of  what  awaits  you  once  you  carry  out  your

---

assignment … Do you know who al-Ghazali is?”
“Surely you mean the Sufi, Sayyiduna?”
“Yes. The one who attacked our faith so meanly in the book On the Mustansirites. Over a
year  ago  the  grand  vizier  appointed  him  as  a  teacher  at  the  university  in  Baghdad.  Your
assignment is to pretend to be his student. Here is a copy of his work ‘O, Child!’ It’s short.
You  have  a  quick  mind  and  can  read  and  absorb  it  in  one  night.  Come  visit  me  again
tomorrow.  You’re  in  my  personal  service  now.  Not  a  word  to  anyone  about  this.  Do  you
understand?”
“I understand, Sayyiduna.”
He dismissed him. Agitated and half-crazy with happiness, ibn Tahir left the room.
On  the  stairway  ibn  Tahir  ran  into  Abu  Ali  and  Buzurg  Ummid,  who,  out  of  breath  and
flushed with agitation, were dragging a man behind them. By his appearance, he must have
just completed a difficult and strenuous journey. He was covered in dirt from head to foot.
Streams of sweat sluiced long passages down his mud-caked face. He was gasping heavily. Ibn
Tahir pressed up against the wall and let the three of them pass. Something told him that
great and difficult days were approaching for Alamut.
A guard uncovered the doorway to let the man and the grand dais in to see Hasan.
“A messenger from Khuzestan,” Abu Ali forced out amid gasps.
“What happened?”
Hasan gained control over himself. From the faces of his visitors he immediately sensed bad
news.
The messenger fell to his knees before him.
“O master! Husein Alkeini is dead. Murdered!”
Hasan went as pale as a corpse.
“Who is the perpetrator?”
“Forgive me, Sayyiduna! Hosein, your son.”
Hasan shuddered as though struck by an arrow. His arms waved as though grabbing for
someone invisible. He wavered, turned in a half-circle, and crashed to the floor like a felled
tree.

---

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN
The son of the supreme commander had murdered the dai of Khuzestan! The next day all of
Alamut was talking about it. No one quite knew how the news had spread. The messenger
had first entrusted it to the grand dais, who immediately took him to see Hasan. Perhaps one
of the dais standing nearby had caught wind of it, or perhaps the grand dais themselves had
let it slip to someone. Everyone knew about it, and it would have been pointless to try to hide
it in any way from the faithful.
Ibn  Tahir  had  to  wait  a  long  time  for  Hasan  to  receive  him.  The  supreme  commander
wanted to know all the details of the murder, so he questioned the messenger in detail.
“The carrier pigeon brought your order to Gonbadan, Sayyiduna. Kizil Sarik had us under
siege for ten days at that point. He had destroyed all the lesser fortresses and then encamped
outside of ours with his twenty thousand men. He offered us safe passage, but the grand dai
refused. But Hosein, your son, insisted that he surrender the castle. That’s when Alkeini asked
for your instructions as to what to do with him. You ordered him clapped into chains. Alkeini
relayed this to him and insisted that he give himself up. Hosein went wild with rage. ‘You’ve
betrayed me to my father, you dog!’ he shrieked at him. He drew his saber and cut down our
commander.”
“What did you do with the murderer?”
“We put him in chains and locked him in a cellar. Sheik Abdul Malik ibn Atash assumed
command of the fortress.”
“What’s the situation there?”
“Difficult, master. There’s not much water, and soon the faithful will run out of food too.
There’s more than three thousand of them in the fortress. The entire population of Khuzestan
is with us. But that damned Kizil Sarik is cruel, and they’re afraid of him. We can’t count on
much help from them.”
Hasan dismissed him.
Now he was steady and focused again.
“What do you plan to do with your son, ibn Sabbah?” Buzurg Ummid asked him.
“We’ll judge him according to our laws.”
He dismissed the grand dais and had ibn Tahir summoned.
“How is it coming with al-Ghazali?”
“I spent practically the whole night with it, Sayyiduna.”
“Good. Have you heard what has happened in Khuzestan?”
Ibn Tahir looked at him. He saw new furrows in his face.
“I have, Sayyiduna.”
“What would you do if you were in my place?”
Ibn Tahir looked at him with clear, bright eyes.
“I would do what the law commands.”
“And you’re right … Do you know who Iblis is?”
“Iblis is the evil spirit that tempted the first human beings.”
“Iblis is more than that. Iblis is a traitor to his own master, his sworn enemy.”

---

Ibn Tahir nodded.
“Whoever is a traitor to the true faith and becomes its enemy is related to Iblis. Because the
true faith is Allah’s faith. And only one faith is true.”
“Yes. The Ismaili faith.”
“Correct. Do you know anyone who has betrayed our faith and become its sworn enemy?”
Ibn Tahir looked in his eyes, trying to guess what he was thinking.
“Perhaps you mean the grand vizier?”
“Yes,  the  same  man  who  murdered  your  grandfather  for  professing  our  faith.  He  is  our
Iblis, our evil spirit. You be our archangel and your grandfather’s avenger. Get your sword
ready.”
Ibn Tahir clenched his fists. He stood before Hasan as straight as a cypress.
“My sword is ready, Sayyiduna.”
“Do you know the road from Rai to Baghdad?”
“I do. I’m from the town of Sava, which lies on that road.”
“Then listen. You’re to set out along that road. You’ll go to Rai and from there through
Sava and Hamadan to Nehavend. But avoid your father’s home! The whole time you have to
be thinking about one thing—how to reach your goal. Be on the lookout everywhere and find
out where the grand vizier is and what he’s planning to do. I’ve received a report that he’s
assembling a large army in Nehavend that he plans to lead against us and his rival in Isfahan,
Taj al-Mulk. Are you following all of this? Al-Ghazali is his friend. From now on you’re going
to be al-Ghazali’s student Othman, bringing him a message from your teacher. So take his
book along with you. Here’s the black garb of a Sunni seminarian for you, here’s a coin purse
with money for the road, and here’s a letter for the grand vizier. The seal you see on it will
clear the way for you.”
Ibn  Tahir  took  the  black  clothing  from  him  and  examined  it  with  a  kind  of  happy
excitement. He fixed the coin purse to his belt and put the envelope under his robe.
“You’ve learned from Hakim how to behave in the presence of the grand vizier. When you
ride out from Alamut, you’ll take along everything I’ve given you in a bag. Once you’re away
from the fortress you’ll find a concealed place to change clothes in and get rid of anything
that might give you away. I know Nizam al-Mulk. When he hears that al-Ghazali has sent
you, he’ll welcome you with open arms. Now listen carefully! There is a long, sharp dagger
hidden  in  that  sealed  letter.  Before  you  hand  the  envelope  to  the  vizier,  secretly  take  the
dagger out of it. While the vizier is opening the letter, you thrust it hard into his neck. If you
notice just a drop of blood, you can know that you’ve succeeded. But be careful not to injure
yourself with it first—the tip of the dagger has been tempered in a terrible poison. If you even
graze yourself with it, you won’t be able to complete your task and the paradise you want so
much will be lost to you forever.”
Pale, but with eyes shining, ibn Tahir listened to him.
“And … what do I do then?”
Hasan gave him an abrupt glance.
“Then … then commend yourself to Allah. The gate to your paradise will be open to you.
No one will be able to take that away from you at that point. The soft pillows are already
spread out over the carpets. Miriam is waiting for you on them, surrounded by her and your
servants. If you fall, you’ll go flying straight into her embrace. Do you understand me?”

---

“I understand, Sayyiduna.”
He bowed and quickly kissed Hasan’s hand.
Hasan  shuddered.  Ibn  Tahir  was  too  preoccupied  with  himself  to  notice  this.  Then  the
commander uncovered a shelf and took down from it the gold chest that ibn Tahir already
knew. He opened it and shook several pellets out of it onto a linen cloth.
“One for each evening. They’ll bring you closer and closer to paradise. But be sure to save
the  last  one  for  just  before  your  audience  with  the  grand  vizier.  Take  good  care  of  them,
because they’re the key that will unlock the gates to paradise for you.”
He put his arm around his shoulders.
“Now off with you, my son.”
Dazed,  pale,  proud  and  strangely  moved,  ibn  Tahir  left  him.  Hasan  watched  until  he
disappeared behind the curtain. Then he grabbed at his heart. He needed air. He rushed to
the top of the tower, where he took deep breaths.
“There’s still time,” he told himself.