The Criminal History of Mankind by Colin Wilson

One of Marco’s least credible stories concerned a sinister being called the Old Man of the Mountain. This old man, whose name was Aloadin, lived in Persia, and was regarded by his people as a prophet. He inhabited a fortress at the head of a valley, and was rich enough to turn the valley into an enormous and beautiful garden, full of pavilions and palaces, trees bearing every kind of fruit and brooks flowing with wine and milk as well as water. The pavilions were inhabited by beautiful dancing girls. It was, in fact, a very passable imitation of the paradise promised by the prophet Mahomet.

When the Old Man wanted somebody killed – Marco Polo does not explain why – he would order one of his followers to carry out the assassination, promising that his reward would be an eternity in paradise. And the man would unhesitatingly sacrifice his life to carry out the order; for he was convinced that he had already tasted paradise. The cunning old man had all his trainee assassins drugged and carried into the garden; when they woke up they found themselves surrounded by beautiful girls, who plied them with food and wine and offered their favours. After a few days, the young man was drugged and carried back to the castle. He would now be impatient to sacrifice his life to regain paradise…

The would-be killers, says Polo, are called ‘Ashishin’, and that word provides the clue to the real identity of Aloadin, the Old Man of the Mountain. The castle really existed; it was called Alamut, meaning Eagle’s Nest, and is perched on a rock in the Elburz Mountains of Iran. There was probably some form of landscaped garden below the castle, in the valley, for a narrow slit in the rock of Alamut leads to a green enclosure with a spring. The Old Man of the Mountain was called Hasan bin Sabah, and it was through him that the word ‘assassin’ entered the European vocabulary. It is derived from ‘hashishim’, for it was also widely believed that his followers nerved themselves to kill – and be killed – by smoking hashish.

Hasan bin Sabah was born about the year 1030, in the town of Rayy, near modern Teheran; his family were Shi’ite Muslims – that is, Muslims who believed that the prophet’s cousin Ali should have become the first Caliph instead of Abu Bekr. Hasan was deeply interested in religion, and became involved with a sect called the Ismailis who had broken away from the Shi’ites.

We have seen that the Abbasids – who were orthodox Muslims -had gained power by promising to support a Shi’ite Caliph, then failed to redeem the promise. By the year 1000, the Shi’a and the Sunnites – orthodox Muslims – were no longer so bitterly opposed. The real opposition came from the Ismailis, who had set up their own rival dynasty, the Fatimids, with its own Caliph. (Fatima, the prophet’s daughter, had been killed in the massacre of Shi’ites in 680 A.D.; but a sick boy named Ali ibn Husayn had survived to carry on the line). By the time of Hasan bin Sabah’s birth, it looked as if the Ismailis were going to be the winners in the Islamic power struggle – but this was before the Seljuk Turks appeared on the scene and lent their support to the Abbasids.

Hasan seems to have been a late developer. He was in his thirties when a serious illness made him decide to become an Ismaili; he took the oath of allegiance in 1072. Four years later, he had to leave his home town – no doubt for preaching Ismaili doctrines – and made his way to the newly-built Ismaili capital, Cairo. There he became a supporter of the Caliph’s eldest son – and presumptive heir – Nizar. Political – and/or religious – intrigues led to his expulsion from the capital. One biography says that he was sentenced to death, but that just before his execution one of the towers of the city collapsed; it was seen as an omen and he was exiled instead. The ship on which he was deported ran into a violent storm; Hasan stood calmly on the deck and declared that he could not possibly die until he had fulfilled his mission. In fact, the ship was wrecked in Syria, but Hasan escaped. He finally arrived back in Persia in 1081. By now in his late forties, he had become an impressive figure, a man with a ravaged face, burning eyes and a tone of total conviction. For the next nine years he travelled and preached, gaining an increasing horde of followers. And in 1090 he came to the castle of Alamut and decided that this was the fortress he was looking for. If political intrigues prevented Nizar from becoming the next Fatimid Caliph – as seemed likely – then Hasan would need a firm base from which to conduct his own campaign.

He achieved his aim with remarkable ease. The castle was owned by an orthodox Muslim. Hasan’s preaching converted the surrounding villages, then his preachers became guests at the castle and converted the servants. Hasan was smuggled into the Eagle’s Nest in disguise. One morning, the owner woke up to be told that he had been dispossessed. He was politely shown the door and handed a generous sum in compensation.

Hasan ruled like a patriarch. His followers seldom saw him. The rule was strict. One of his sons was caught drinking wine and executed. Hasan lived frugally, wrote books, and plotted how to overthrow the Abbasids in Baghdad. The first problem was to undermine the Seljuk Turks who supported them, and who were now the masters of Persia. Little by little, Hasan extended his religious empire. He proved to be as good a general as the prophet himself – his greatest ally being the hatred of the Persians for the Turks. His preachers – called dais – won over the surrounding villages. He extended his influence to an area called Quhistan in the south-east, and the Turks were overthrown in a popular uprising. The Turks besieged him in Alamut, but it was impregnable – as he had known it would be.

As a general he had one major problem. His followers were devoted – fanatically so – but they were few in number compared to the Turks. In 1092 he decided upon the answer: to strike down his enemies one by one, making use of the total obedience of his disciples.

We have seen that the Seljuks established their power when they defeated the Byzantine army at the battle of Manzikert in 1071; but their leader, Alp Arslan, died a year later and his son Malik Shah came to the throne. Malik’s Grand Vizier was a man called Nizam al-Mulk – who, as it happened, had been at school with Hasan bin Sabah, as well as with the mathematician and poet, Omar Khayyam. Nizam had set Omar to the task of revising the calendar. The Arab chroniclers tell a story to the effect that when Nizam became Vizier in 1073, both Omar and Hasan came to him asking for jobs, and Hasan was given a position at court; but his thirst for power soon became apparent, and Nizam sacked him. It is just possible, for in 1073, Hasan had not yet set out on his travels to Cairo.

Twenty years later, Nizam was Hasan’s most dangerous enemy, the man he would most like to see dead. In October 1092, during Ramadan, Nizam had finished giving audience to various suppliants and was carried out of the tent towards the tent of his womenfolk. A man in the garb of a Sufi – a holy man – came forward and was allowed to approach the litter. He pulled a knife from his clothes and drove it into Nizam’s heart. A few moments later, he was himself killed by Nizam’s guards. When Hasan heard the news, he chuckled with elation. ‘The killing of this devil is the beginning of bliss.’

It seems likely that when Hasan planned the murder he had no other aim in view than to get rid of a ‘traitor’, but that now he suddenly realised that he had an infallible method of extending his power. Marco Polo was no doubt mistaken: it was unnecessary to persuade his followers to kill with a ‘glimpse of paradise’. They were delighted to offer their lives for their prophet.

Hasan’s assassins (or, of course, as they called themselves, Ismailis) were the first terrorists. To their enemies, they were vicious criminals trying to overthrow society; to their supporters and converts, they were a small but highly trained army, overthrowing oppression by the only means at their disposal. And in the years that followed, the list of victims was a long one, and included anyone who had dared to speak openly against their doctrines – princes, governors, generals and religious opponents. A point came where no one in authority dared to go out without armour under his robes. One victim was stabbed as he knelt in the mosque at prayers surrounded by his bodyguards. A chief opponent woke from a drunken sleep to find a dagger driven into the ground close to his head, and a note saying ‘That dagger could just as easily been stuck in your heart.’ He decided to reach an understanding with Hasan.