He was able to change horses at every station. The first night he slept out under the stars, but after that he slept in the caravanserais along the main road. Halfway to the city of Sava he shared a room in some inn with two officers of Kizil Sarik’s army. They told him what it had been like outside of Gonbadan and how the news of the grand vizier’s murder had affected the troops.
“All the northern territories are Shiite,” one of them said. “They see the Ismailis as their coreligionists, and now that Nizam al-Mulk is gone, they don’t see any reason to fight the commander of the mountain.”
Jafar confided in them that he had just come from Alamut as the sultan’s messenger. They looked at him terrified.
“Don’t turn us in,” they begged him. “Like we said, that’s what all the men think now. When the order comes, we’ll all be ready to fight again.”
He reassured them. They grew curious. He amazed himself. Did his external transformation have this effect on him, or was it the fear of giving himself away that caused him to so completely embody his role? He told them horror stories about Alamut that made their hair stand on end. Even after he had fallen asleep, he kept dreaming about these terrors. But, on waking the next morning and noticing uniforms of the sultan’s army hanging on the wall, he still instinctively reached for the handle of his saber. It took a few moments for him to realize where he was and what role he was playing.
He performed his morning prayers quickly, downed a dish of curdled milk and a piece of oat cake, leapt onto his horse, and rode on.
Along the way he encountered a substantial, well-armed troop of Turkish cavalry. Their commander stopped him and asked for his identification.
Jafar showed it to him. He explained that he was the sultan’s messenger returning from Alamut.
“Fine. My assignment is to reorganize the units that scattered after the sieges of the infidel fortresses, and to do that at any cost. His Majesty has ordered us to attack the Ismailis again.”
Jafar continued his journey. He wondered, Does Sayyiduna know about this new danger 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.”