Riding into this valley, we came to a lovely meadow and drew up under the willows. This was the meadow of Bagh Dasht, the Garden of the Desert, and a truly beautiful spot, with the great wall of the Rock of Alamut rising above it.
We tied our horses with their heel ropes, squatted in the shade of the poplars along the stream, and ate our small meal in silence. No doubt we had been observed, but they must be puzzled as to how we had reached this point. The trail over which we had come had long been abandoned, forgotten before the Castle was built. Had the Isma’ili known of its existence, there would have been a watchtower there, or they would have destroyed it entirely.
These mountains were crisscrossed with ancient trails, old before the time of Alexander the Great. At a far distant time caravans had wended their way from Persia to the Mery Oasis and on to Turkestan and Cathay itself. The Assassins had been in the Elburz Mountains scarecely one hundred years, mere visitors by mountain standards. Khatib knew what he must do, no simple task, his success depending on what he knew of the mountains.
“They will not catch me, Kerbouchard,” he said. “My mother came from Daylam, and her people live yonder.” A nod indicated the direction. “When you shall go I shall disappear, and the hour will be sundown.
“In three nights I shall be here, at this point.” He drew a trail in the dust. “I shall come here each night after that, and wait one hour after midnight. If you wish to come to me, you will know where I will be.”
In my pack I hid the strong but slender rope for which I had asked Khatib, and in my saddlebags were the white crystals taken from the manure and the walls of stables. The other things needed were there also.
Along the stream where I had walked I gathered various herbs and some bark. This it had long been my custom to do, for from these came medicines used in my practice. Following the profession of physician as little as I had, it was rare that these were necessary, but a few remedies were always at hand.
There was a story remembered from Córdoba told me when I was myself studying medicine. It was a tale told of Jivaka, the personal physician of Bimbisara, of Magadha.
Jivaka, who became the greatest medical expert of his time, was sent by the emperor to attend Buddha during an illness. Jivaka was a foundling, the child of a courtesan of Rajagriha, thrown out on a dust heap to die. Found by Prince Abhaya, the son of Bimbisara, Jivaka studied medicine at Taxila, the greatest university in the world at the time. Before being allowed to graduate he was told to go out and find a plant within several miles of Taxila that was of no use to a physician. After a long search, Jivaka returned, saying he could find no plant without medicinal value. He was then graduated and given a little money with which to begin his practice.
Khatib, according to plan, picketed the horses out of sight among the willows, then lay down under his burnoose. The position he chose was at the edge of the shade, and when I glanced around a few minutes later, the burnoose still lay there but Khatib was gone. With him had gone our horses.
Idly, I wandered along the stream gathering herbs in full view of the walls of Alamut, but when the shadows grew longer I gathered the burnoose from the ground and started toward the gate and my rendezvous with destiny. From now on I must live from minute to minute, prepared to move quickly as opportunity offered. My mouth was dry, my stomach hollow. I was going into the very jaws of the enemy. And my father? What of him? Would he be fit for travel? Would I see him soon?
The Castle of Alamut had been built three hundred years before, and I had studied the history of Sallami in which he described the building of the Castle, and how each entry and exit had been built with double gates, massive oaken gates with straps of iron. Having entered the first gate, one crossed a small court to the second, vulnerable to attack from above. The second gate was as strong as the first.
The rooms of the Castle had been carved from solid rock. Long galleries had been constructed, and beneath them were tanks in which were stored wine, vinegar, and honey. A moat led halfway around the Castle, and the river guided into it. Beneath the Castle great tanks had been carved from the rock for the storage of water against a time of siege.
As I went up to the gates, they swung inward, and I went through and heard them clang shut behind me. A chill went up my spine. There would be no turning back now.
A dozen soldiers were there, lean, well-built men armed with pikes and swords. An officer came up to me. “Where is your slave?”
“Who?” I appeared puzzled. It was still not quite dark, and Khatib would need every second. “Your servant. The man who was with you?”
“Oh? A good man with horses, a likely man.”
“Where is he?” The officer was almost shouting.
“You are unduly excited about a mere hireling, a man of no consequence. Nor do I like your tone.”
“Where is he?” The officer grasped my arm.
Jerking my arm free, I stepped back and put my hand on my sword. “If you have not learned how to address a visitor,” I said, “you can be taught.”
In an instant I was surrounded by leveled pikes, but before another move could be made, a voice said, “Bring ibn-Ibrahim to my quarters, Abdul.”
Abruptly, the officer turned away, his face taut with fury. Pikemen fell in about me. If I needed no more, this assured me I was a prisoner. My venture attempted, and lost already. Or had I? No man is lost while yet he lives.
That voice!
It struck me suddenly. I knew that voice! Who could it be? Not Sinan, for I had never known him. The room to which I was shown was long. At one end was a low table. Two guards stood at the door, one stood at either end of the table.
There had been no move to deprive me of my weapons, nor was I sure how I would have reacted had such a move been made. As I moved, my eyes and ears were busy. Somewhere near was my father, and somewhere a secret tunnel that admitted one to a mysterious valley in the mountains. Or so I had heard.
Darkness had fallen. As I was seating myself, I heard the gate clang shut and the sound of horses’ hooves on the paved court. Had they found Khatib? Not if I knew him. Given the start he had, he would be hidden by now, and not far away.
Yet every time he returned to the meadow he would be in danger.
Despair welled up within me. What could I do? Wherever my eyes turned there were guards, lean and savage men, fanatically devoted to the Old Man of the Mountain. The door opened, and a man stepped in, standing in a shadow. He paused, taking my measure.
“It has been a long time, Kerbouchard.” So much for my assumed identity. With that sentence, ibn-Ibrahim died.
He stepped into the light then, and I took a half-step and stopped, frozen in astonishment. Mahmoud!
Yet a Mahmoud who had changed. He had grown heavier; his features had coarsened, his eyes were harder. “Yes,” I agreed, “it has been a long time.” He gestured to a seat, and I crossed my legs and sat on a cushion, careful to arrange my sword so the hilt was ready for my grasp. He noticed it, and smiled.
“The sword is of no use, Kerbouchard. I have a thousand armed men. You can make no move unless I wish it.”
“I understood you were in the service of Prince Ahmed?”
“That fool! He dismissed me.”
“What did you do? Try to approach Aziza?” His face mottled with anger, and I knew what I surmised was true. Mahmoud had believed her flirting with him when she was recognizing me, in Córdoba.
He had been a vain, weak man then. He was older now, infinitely stronger, yet a vain man still, perhaps a weak man still. “It does not matter,” he said smugly, “they are dead.”
“Dead?”
His teeth bared in what was intended for a smile, but there was too much hatred in it. “I had them killed. Prince Ahmed first … it was done in the street with a poisoned dagger.”
That Mahmoud was malicious I well knew, that he would stoop to this I would not have believed. It was an indication that I had much to learn about human nature. Or inhuman nature. Judging the change in Mahmoud and my own position, I had best revise my thinking, and suddenly.