“The most glorious moment of your lives is approaching,” he said. “You are about to become an elite force, fedayeen, those who give their lives for the holy cause. Among hundreds of thousands of the faithful, only the twenty of you are receiving this honor. But a day of trials is also approaching, when you will have to prove your faith and obedience to Sayyiduna in battle. The enemy is fast approaching Alamut. Is there anyone among you who will waver at the crucial moment? Is there anyone among you willing to incur the punishment of a shameful death for treachery? I know there are not any such among you. I have spoken to Sayyiduna about you and asked him to approve your initiation. In his benevolence he has granted my wish. Do you wish to prove unworthy of his kindness and my trust? In his name, I am about to initiate you, all of you, as fedayeen. I will pronounce the oath, and all of you, each using his own name, will repeat it after me. Once you have sworn, a great transformation will take place in you. You will cease being novices and will become the elite of Our Master. Now listen and repeat each word after me!”
He stretched out his huge, shovel-like arms and lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. He spoke in an enraptured voice.
“I, …, solemnly swear by Allah, the Prophet Mohammed, Ali and all the martyrs, that I will carry out every order of Our Master or his deputy without any hesitation. I commit myself to defending the Ismaili flag with my life and to my last breath. With this oath I accept initiation into the fedayeen, from which no one can release me, except Sayyiduna. As Allah is God and Mohammed is his Prophet. Come, al-Mahdi!”
The solemnity of the moment deeply affected the novices. Their faces were waxen and their eyes shone as in a fever. A blissful smile played on their mouths. They were filled with an unspeakably sweet feeling. They had arrived at the goal of their long and persistent efforts. They accepted the initiation they had so fervently longed for.
Abu Ali signaled to Ibrahim, who handed the flag to him. The grand dai unfurled it, revealing the words of the fifth verse of the twenty-eighth sura glinting on its white surface in gold embroidered letters: “And we wished to be gracious to those who were being depressed in the land, to make them leaders and make them heirs.”
“Ibn Tahir,” he called out. “Come forward! To you, first among the elite, I give this banner. Let this white flag become the symbol of your honor and your pride. Should you let an enemy trample it, you let him trample your honor and your pride. Therefore, guard it more zealously than the apple of your eye. As long as a single feday is living, the enemy is not to lay hands on it. The only path to it leads over your dead bodies. Select the five strongest from your ranks. Lots drawn among them will determine the flag bearer.”
As in a dream, ibn Tahir took the flag from his hands. He went back and stood holding it at the head of the fedayeen. The moment marking the highpoint of his life was receding, and the unspeakably sweet feeling that had filled it was already turning into a burning ache for some wonderful, lost thing. This he realized: the moment he had just experienced, and that was so hopelessly short, would never come again.
In the meantime, messengers had been coming to and going from the castle. Abdul Malik had been informed in time and, with Muzaffar’s detachment, changed course for the road that the Turkish cavalry would be taking. Scouts were dispatched in the direction of the enemy and formed an unbroken chain that could communicate using predetermined signals. The reconnaissance service worked impeccably.
When Abu Ali returned from the initiation, Hasan relaxed.
“At least that’s taken care of.”
Then he ordered the grand dai to assemble the units he needed and head out with them onto the plateau outside the canyon, where they were to wait for the sultan’s vanguard.
“What about the fedayeen?” Abu Ali asked.
“This battle is made to order for them,” Hasan replied. “You’ll take them with you and Abu Soraka will continue to be their commander. But the two of you make sure they don’t get killed. I’m saving them for bigger things. So don’t expose them to too great a danger. Give them the prestigious jobs instead. For instance, have them shoot the first arrows that start the battle. But the first hand-to-hand clash should be borne by the older soldiers. Send the fedayeen into battle only after victory is certain or, of course, in case of extreme peril. If the opportunity comes, have them seize the enemy’s flag. I’m counting on you. You’re the pillar on which I’m building our common future.”
After he had dismissed Abu Ali, Hasan left for the gardens behind the castle.
“Take me to Miriam’s pavilion and then bring Apama there,” he ordered Adi. “This is no time for quarrels.”
Miriam came to meet him. He told her that he had sent for Apama.
“That woman has been behaving very strangely since last night,” she said with some concern. “You must have given her some special instructions.”
“The time for playing games is over,” Hasan replied. “Now all of us who have any responsibility have to focus all our efforts, if the plan is to succeed and if the enemy is to be destroyed.”
Adi brought Apama in. She examined the arrangement of the pavilion with a jealous eye.
“What a lovely little nest the two of you have made,” she said scornfully. “Like real lovebirds.”
“Abu Ali has ridden out with an army to defend the castle, which the sultan’s forces could attack at any minute,” Hasan began, as though he hadn’t heard what Apama had said. He motioned both women toward the pillows and then lay down on them himself.
The old woman was overcome with fright. Her eyes went from Hasan to Miriam.
“What will become of us?” she asked in a stammering voice.
“Everything will be fine, if my orders are carried out to the letter. Otherwise there will be a massacre here, the likes of which the world has never seen.”
“I’ll do everything you command, my master,” Apama assured him and poured wine into his cup.
“That’s precisely what I expect from both you and Miriam. Listen closely. The first thing we need is for the gardens to take on the appearance of something otherworldly. In other words, for them to give simple and unlearned visitors the impression of paradise. Not by day, of course, because their location and the surroundings would give too much away. I mean by night. That’s why we need, first and foremost, powerful illumination. This would show off every detail of the gardens in a special light, and everything outside of them would be lost in impenetrable darkness. Apama, do you remember that evening your Indian prince arranged for you in Kabul?”
“Oh, master! How could I forget, we were so young and radiant then!”
“I’m only concerned about a few of the details. Do you recall how astonished you were by the fantastic colored lanterns from China that turned night in the gardens into the most magical day? When everything was bright and yet totally strange, new and different?”
“Yes, when our faces went from yellow to red, green, blue, then all different colors at once. It was divine. And in the midst of all that, our burning passion…”
“Most praiseworthy, indeed. But what I want to know from you is whether you remember those lanterns well enough to be able to replicate them.”
“You’re right. What’s over is over. There’s no point in talking about it. Now it’s time for others to have their turn. Do I remember the lanterns, you ask? Of course I could reproduce them, as long as I had enough parchment and dye.”
“You’ll have it. Would you also be able to decorate them with appropriate designs?”
“We have a girl who’s a master at those things.”
“She means Fatima,” added Miriam, who had been listening to their dialog and quietly smiling. “Everyone could help Apama with this.”