“Our spies are everywhere. This word has now come to me. All I know is that as of three months ago, he was still well and strong.”
“But a slave?”
For such a man to become a slave seemed impossible. His fierce strength, his sharp intellect, his indomitable way—I could think of no man less suited to slavery than he.
Of the Assassins I knew only what was generally believed. They were a Persian sect, a branch of the Ismaili, who in turn were a branch of the Shi’a, one of the great divisions among the followers of Mohammed.
A young Persian Shi’ite, Hasan ibn-al-Sabbah, joined the sect in 1071 and became the first Grand Master of the Assassins, the first “Old Man of the Mountain.” He turned murder into a political weapon, making himself feared throughout the Islamic world and even in Christian Europe.
From the stronghold of Alamut, Assassins were sent out, doped with hashish to kill enemies of the Old Man of the Mountains or to attack caravans and bring their goods to him. From his fortress he sent orders to kings and sultans, and more than one, under threat of assassination, complied with the wishes of the Old Man.
There was a legend to the effect that Hasan-ibn-al-Sabbah, Omar Khayyam, and Nizam-al-Mulk, as young students, had entered into a pact. All studied with the same master; all were talented, and it seemed certain that at least one of the three would rise to power. It was agreed among them that whoever won success would share equally with the other two.
Nizam-al-Mulk became vizier of the mighty Seljuk empire, and Omar, the scholar, mathematician, and poet, chose a pension that would provide support while he pursued his studies. Hasan, on the other hand, insisted upon a position at court where he soon became rival to Nizam-al-Mulk himself. Finally, outwitted and disgraced, he fled from the empire and established himself at Alamut, from which point he directed the assassination of Nizam-al-Mulk.
A story was told of the Garden of Alamut, a secret valley in the mountains nearby where all manner of delicious fruits, gorgeous flowers, and shading trees were grown. There were fountains that flowed with wine or milk, and all about were beautiful, sensuous women.
Youths from desert tribes were invited to Alamut, drugged and transported into this interior valley. For a few days they lived as they had never lived upon the harsh and infertile desert.
Until this experience these desert youths had known nothing but dates, camel’s milk, and goat’s flesh. Suddenly they were surrounded by all manner of luxuries and permitted to enjoy the company of women of such beauty as only appear in dreams.
They were doped again, taken back to the outside, and told that the Old Man had transported them to Paradise and could do so again, at will. Furthermore, if they died in his service they would be returned to Paradise.
Then these young men were sent to slay the enemies of the Old Man, and because they were given hashish to make them fearless, they became known as hashishans, or assassins.
Stories were told of the Old Man and those he had slain. Every death of a possible enemy was attributed to him, no matter how it came about. And now my father was a prisoner in Alamut. Somehow I must go there, enter the fortress, and get him out. I said as much.
“I knew you would want to go there, but there is nothing I can do to help you, nothing at all.”
“I expect no help. The task is my own. I now know he is alive, know he is in health, and the rest is up to me.”
“I need not warn you, Mathurin, but the Old Man has spies everywhere. If you speak of your intentions, he will know. Even here he may have spies, so tell no one of your plans.”
We listened to the rustle of the river, and the stirring of the leaves. “Safia? You are sure you will be all right now?”
“I have friends, Mathurin, but I will need money. If you agree, I will take what cash we have, and you keep the goods, and the horses.”
“It is unfair. The value of the goods and the horses far exceeds what we have in gold.”
Behind us the camp was stirring. Guido was singing, and we could hear the laughter of Johannes. “I shall miss them, as I shall miss you. We were fortunate to find them when we did.”
“And I was fortunate to find you when I did,” I said. “Do you remember that night, Safia? I had no place to turn and enemies everywhere.”
“You have been a good friend to me.” She looked up at me. “Mathurin, I wish …”
What she wished I was never to know, for at that moment there was a call from camp.
The Hansgraf and Peter awaited me, with them were Lucca and Johannes. “We need your advice. Safia informs us that you have much knowledge of the science of lands, and even maps?”
“I have such knowledge.”
“East of here? Do you know the lands of the Magyars and Petchenegs?”
“I have read Marvazi, and others. They offer little.”
“Do you know Kiev?”
“It is a large market town, the largest in northern Europe, but the way there is dangerous, and the Petchenegs are a savage people.”
“No matter. Our two caravans, Peter’s and mine, will muster more than one hundred and fifty fighting men.”
Having heard much of the fierce steppe tribesmen, I was worried about the idea. The Hansgraf listened gravely to my objections. “We have missed the fairs at Bruges and Lille while the fair here at St. Denis is a small one. There will be trading at Lagny and Provins, but if we go eastward, there are fairs at Cologne and Leipzig. It seems to me if we take the cloth of Flanders to Kiev and sell it there and buy furs to take to Constantinople, we will make good trade.”
There had been rumors of restlessness among the steppe tribes, and I was disturbed. Safia was awaiting me, and I told her of what was planned and what I feared. The deep sea can be fathomed, but who knows the heart of a woman? We had known each other for many months, and she was always disturbing to me, yet there is a moment in the acquaintance of a man and woman and once that moment is passed it may never be recaptured. Not at least with the same essence.
We had met as equals, rarely a good thing in such matters, for the woman who wishes to be the equal of a man usually turns out to be less than a man and less than a woman. A woman is herself, which is something altogether different than a man.
“I shall escort you into the city. It is not well that you should ride alone.”
“All right.”
Silence fell between us, and I searched my heart for a key to the silence and found no words.
Paris was no such city as those to which I had become accustomed, but a shabby little place with muddy streets and a people suspicious of strangers.
My father told me how fishermen had settled an island in the Seine and started a town called Lutetia, raided many times by the Vikings. Finally, the Count Eudes and Bishop Gozlin fortified the island and organized the townspeople to fight off the Vikings, who then went downstream to settle in the land named for them, Normandy. The Northmen came to be known in the Frankish lands as Normans.
The city of Paris, if such it could be called, was actually three cities. On the island where Lutetia had been and where Notre Dame now was were the seat of government and the palace. The bishop lived on the island. On the right bank, separately administered, was the Town, the shops, markets, and the six great guilds. There were the money changers, goldsmiths, and bankers. This area was ruled by the Provost of Paris. On the left bank, only beginning, were the “schools” with their own laws, administrations, and customs. The Bishop of Paris was himself a feudal lord, a great landed proprietor with as much power as the king himself.
The ancient site of Lutetia was called the “Isle of the City,” but the king and the bishop who lived there had less to do with what was called government than members of the guilds or even the argumentative and often ribald students of the university. The Romans, I noticed, had not kept themselves to the island, for there were the remains of an amphitheatre and a few arches of an aqueduct on the left bank.
Safia and I parted at the bridge, for I had no desire to cross into the realm of officialdom. The further one can remain from the powers that be the longer and happier life is apt to be. Moreover, prolonged leave-takings made me uneasy.