“Don’t shoot! He’s ours!”
He mounted his horse and raced down the hill. He waved to several horsemen to join him. He grabbed the flag from one of them and galloped on toward the approaching rider, waving it.
Confused and frightened, the rider turned his horse aside, but when he saw the white flag, he drove the animal toward Abu Ali.
At that instant Abu Ali recognized him.
“Buzurg Ummid!” he called out.
“Abu Ali!” The rider pointed behind himself.
All eyes were trained on the horizon. A black line appeared along it, bending strangely and constantly growing. Then individual riders could be made out. Over their heads fluttered the black flags of the caliph of Baghdad.
“Ready your bows!” Abu Soraka commanded again.
Abu Ali and Buzurg Ummid joined the soldiers on the hillside. They were trembling with excitement, ready to attack.
“Find your man!” came the command to the archers.
The enemy horsemen were already quite close. One rode ahead of the others, leading the way. They turned toward the entrance to the canyon.
“Fire!”
Arrows flew toward the Turks. Several horses and riders dropped to the ground. For a moment the cavalry paused, then its commander, who was visible to all by the enormous plume that fluttered atop his helmet, called out.
“Into the canyon!”
At that instant Abu Ali gave a sign. He dashed down the slope on horseback with the others behind him and cut the Turks off at the entrance to the canyon. Lances flew past lances and sabers glinted over their heads. White flags mingled with black ones.
The fedayeen watched the battle from the top of the hill. They were seized with an indescribable enthusiasm. Suleiman shouted, “Let’s go! Mount up! Charge!”
He was already racing downhill toward the horses, when Abu Soraka lunged at him and held him back.
“Are you crazy!? Didn’t you hear the order?”
Suleiman howled in powerless rage. He flung his bow and lance aside and threw himself on the ground. He started writhing around as though he were out of his mind. He bit his knuckles and cried.
The Turks, who had been scattered by the unexpected attack, had now regrouped and were charging toward the canyon again to force their way through. Their commander had concluded that the entire Ismaili army was here outside Alamut, and that the fortress itself must be only lightly defended. The fedayeen watched in painful trepidation as the first casualties fell from Alamut’s ranks. Watching the battle with their arms crossed was intolerable.
Abu Soraka kept his watch toward the horizon. At last a second swarming line appeared there. The fedayeen didn’t notice it, but Abu Soraka’s heart pounded in elation when the white flags of the martyr Ali appeared, fluttering above them.
Now came the moment when he could send the fedayeen into battle. His eyes sought out the enemy’s regimental flag and he pointed it out to them.
“Mount up! Go capture the enemy’s regimental flag! All of you, in full force, to battle!”
The youths whooped for joy. They went flying down the hillside and leapt onto their horses in a flash. They brandished their bare sabers, and Jafar raised the white flag high up in the air. They all broke out at once toward the enemy and with their first thrust pressed them toward the river.
Chaos broke out among the Turks. Suleiman grimly brought down his first opponent. Jafar went flying with the flag into a gap that had opened up, and the other fedayeen pressed close behind him. Yusuf roared and thrashed wildly around, causing the frightened Turks to yield way. Ibn Tahir tirelessly hacked away at a small round shield, behind which a bowlegged Tatar was hiding. The latter had dropped his useless lance and was jerkily trying to pull his heavy saber out of its sheath in time. Finally the arm he held the shield with gave out. Covered in blood, he tried to slip away from the battle.
Suleiman and the others alongside him knocked several more of the enemy off of their horses. The white flag drew closer and closer to the black one.
The Turkish colonel finally guessed what the fedayeen were trying to do.
“Defend the regimental flag!” he howled, so that friend and foe alike could hear him.
“Let’s go for their leader!” ibn Tahir called out.
The Turks crowded around their flag and their commander. At that moment Abdul Malik and Muzaffar’s men slammed into them. The clash was horrible. The Turks dispersed to all sides of them like chaff.
Suleiman had not lost sight of the enemy flag bearer, just as ibn Tahir still tracked the colonel, who was shouting, “Retreat! Each man for himself! Rescue the flag!”
At that point ibn Tahir had fought his way up to him. Their sabers crossed. But Muzaffar’s men came racing up. Several Turks tried to hold them back. A hopeless tangle ensued, burying the colonel and his horse. Ibn Tahir extricated himself. He turned to look for the enemy flag bearer. He caught sight of him racing alongside the stream with Suleiman close behind. He rushed after him to help, and several of their comrades followed.
Suleiman rode alongside the flag bearer. The Turk was wildly whipping his horse. He shoved his lance out to the side to repel his pursuer. Suleiman was riding abreast of him. Suddenly his opponent turned his horse and Suleiman was struck by the lance. The unexpected blow was so strong that it threw him from his saddle.
Ibn Tahir howled. He spurred his horse on and within an instant was riding alongside the flag bearer. He realized vaguely that Suleiman was on the ground, possibly dead. But now only one thing mattered: to carry out the assignment, to seize the enemy’s flag.
He forced the Turk right up to the edge of the stream. Suddenly an avalanche of earth broke loose under the horse’s legs. It crashed into the rapids with the rider on it.
Ibn Tahir hesitated for a moment. Then he raced down the steep embankment into the river. For an instant the water covered him and his animal. Just as quickly they came back to the surface. They waded after the Turk, who was holding his flag out of the water. They caught up with him. Ibn Tahir slashed at his head with his sword. The arm holding the flag dropped and the Turk vanished under the waves. The black flag fluttered again in ibn Tahir’s hands.
A victorious shout greeted him from the shore as the current carried him downstream with tremendous speed. His horse was beginning to choke. The fedayeen raced down the river bank alongside him and shouted encouragement to hold out.
By exerting all his strength he finally drew the horse toward the shore. The horse felt firm ground beneath its legs, but the current was still dragging it downstream. One of the fedayeen jumped off his own horse, got on his stomach, and held a long lance out toward ibn Tahir. Meanwhile the others unwound snares and threw them to their comrade so he could tie the horse to them. Eventually they pulled them both out of the stream.
“What happened to Suleiman?” he asked when he was standing on the bank again. Unthinkingly he handed the enemy banner to ibn Vakas.
The fedayeen looked at each other.
“That’s right, what’s happened to him?”
They turned to look back. Suleiman was slowly walking toward them, downcast and leading his horse.
Ibn Tahir hurried toward him.
“It’s only thanks to you that we seized the enemy’s flag.”
Suleiman brushed the comment aside.
“What’s the point. For once I had a chance to do a great deed, and I failed. I can tell, fate is against me.”
He grabbed his leg and cursed. His comrades helped him onto his horse, and they headed back toward their camp.
The victory over the Turks was complete. The enemy commander and a hundred and twelve of his men had fallen. They took thirty-five wounded enemy captive. The rest had scattered to the four winds. Horsemen pursuing them returned, one after the other, and reported how many of them they had managed to kill. The Ismailis themselves lost twenty-six men. Slightly more than that had been injured.