by Dan Davis
I could not see the men I was stalking but I could hear them, and I could smell their stink. They were down in the deep shadows under a steep cliff side. I could probably have climbed down it in the daylight, wearing light clothing. But at night, in my armour, I knew I would fall. So I began to work my way around, moving slowly and as quietly as I could.
My helm was back at the castle, as it would have blocked my hearing and sight too much. Instead, I wore my mail coif that covered my head and neck. My body was protected by my thick, padded linen gambeson and over that my mail hauberk. Over the mail, I had a cotton overcoat in the Persian style that fitted me perfectly, and I wore it to reduce the noise and cover any shine from my armour.
I had to move deliberately as I approached my prey, and yet still I kicked the occasional stone downhill or snagged myself on brittle bushes. No doubt the men below me could hear something of the noise, and I hoped that they would. If I made too much noise, surely they would think I was drawing them into a trap, and they would be wary. So I had to judge it right. They would expect a Christian knight to be a clumsy oaf, and so that was what I had to be.
In truth, it was not a difficult part to play. Put me in a damp woodland and I will slither through it like a wolf. I will slip from outcrop to boulder in the hills of Derbyshire but even after months of practice, in that stony land, with powdery sand underfoot I made for a poor Assassin.
And I knew that, in the dark, their eyesight would be better than mine.
They leapt out at me, striking fast and hard. Not with cries but with grunts of effort and hard breathing.
I fended them off as best I could, retreating back up the hill as they came at me. They were six, crowding themselves in an effort to be the one to strike the killing blow, and I backed myself against an outcrop of sandstone twice the height of a man. Cornered as I was, they attacked hesitantly, wary of my skill.
One rushed in and I cracked him on the head, just as the one behind lunged at me. I batted the weapon aside and stamped on his knee, breaking it. He cried out, the harsh throaty sound splitting the night.
They fell back a few steps to collect themselves, and the four that were uninjured took the lead, brandishing their clubs.
Finally, I heard a sound above on the rock, and Eva leapt from it. Her silhouette flitting above me like a bat. She landed behind the Assassins and smashed two of them before any could react. And Thomas rushed from the flank and crashed into another, bringing him down with the weight of himself and his armour. I jumped forward and brought my club down on the others.
We beat them down into submission, and they begged for us to stop. They lay whimpering in the shadows.
“You did well,” I said to them in Arabic. “But you should not have left your position.”
“We need blood, master,” one of them said. “To heal.”
“And this is why you must always win. Every fight, you can either get weaker or you can get stronger,” I lectured. “When the Mongols surround us, you must drink the blood from those that you kill, and thus heal your wounds, and gain their strength. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master,” they said, holding their heads and bodies.
“I think my leg is broken,” one said.
“Well then,” I said. “You should get yourself back to the castle and ask for blood, do you not think? Go, now.”
After they scrambled to their feet, Thomas removed his helm. “What did you say to them?” he asked me.
“That they have a lot to learn before they can kill a thousand Mongols apiece.”
Eva’s shadow moved to my side. Her footsteps were as soft as a cat’s. “Few of them are ready. And the Mongols are almost upon us. Perhaps you should turn more of Hassan’s men.”
Thomas scoffed. “Perhaps we should leave, while we still can.”
“Come on,” I said. “Let us go home.”
Strange, to call it that. But that is what Firuzkuh Castle had become over those months. Gradually, the people had become less hostile and we had grown to see them, not as Saracens, or enemies, but as people. The men laughed and insulted each other as they worked and trained. The women laughed and gossiped as they did their work. Children ran and played, shouting always as if they were deaf, or they thought that all adults were.
Yet there was dread. The dread of the approach of the Mongol armies. Word came to us from the spies and scouts of the Assassins that Hulegu had brought the full might of his armies, over a hundred thousand Mongols, along with that many again of Turkomen and even Christian armies from the subject lands of Georgia and Armenia. Every day, the people talked of the snow that would come and save them, for another winter at least.
And there was something else. Some sense that I had, that many of us outsiders had, that the Assassins were hiding something from us. The feeling had grown over the weeks, and I saw less and less of Hassan. They often steered us away from the sacred parts of the castle, which was to be expected. None of us was a Mohammedan. But even Abdullah was barred from entry to the place of worship, and despite being from Syria, he was a Shiite, which I understood was a doctrine not so far from the teachings of the Ismailis. It even seemed to me like fear, that they were afraid of us going there. Thomas suggested that they had some Christian captives there that they were torturing, but that was pure speculation.
That night, we had just reached our quarters when Stephen rapped on our door and begged entry. It was so late by then that it was almost early, but then Stephen had spent years living as a monk, and they loved to wake in the dark of night, like soldiers.
Eva was removing her armour and he stared at her with his mouth open.
“What do you want, Stephen?” I said.
He tore his eyes away and shut the door behind him.
“I think he means to spend the night,” Eva said over her shoulder.
Stephen gulped and came over to me. “Richard, I have discovered what Hassan is hiding.”
Eva stopped and turned. “Keep your voice down.” She came over, wearing only her undershirt, which was very thin, very loose and quite soaked with sweat.
Stephen cleared his throat, lowered his head and stared at Eva’s chest while he spoke. “I do not know the full story, and it has taken days to discover this much. But Hassan has created living quarters for a group of fedayin. Quite separate from our thirty. They train in secret. And the servants are afraid of them. A woman was hurt a few days ago, and one of the old men who brought them water was killed yesterday, although no one will admit it fully. And these men, this new group, they have blood brought to them. Lots of blood.”
“What is this?” I said, feeling anger building. “How can this be?”
Eva put a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “Are you certain of this? Be sure that you are because it makes little sense. How have more been created, if Richard did not turn them himself?”
“I am sorry, I do not know,” Stephen said.
“Where is Hassan?” I asked him. “In his quarters, asleep?”
Stephen shook his head. “I believe he is with these men now, in the jamatkhana.”
I pulled my coif back onto my head and grabbed my sword.
“Ricard,” Eva hissed. “Think. Think before you act, here. Our position is precarious.”
“I will act now,” I said, strapping the sword around my waist.
“At least wait for me to put my armour back on,” she said. “I will come with you.”
“Put it on but wait here,” I said to her. “Get Thomas and the others ready, we may have to flee. Stephen, help Eva and do precisely as she orders, do you understand?”
He wanted to argue, I could see it on his face, and he wanted to come with me.
Eva grabbed his arm. “Help me put my gambeson back on,” she said and winked at me over his head.
I nodded to her and strode out, heading across the castle grounds to the jamatkhana. It was their communal hall, the place where they did worship and had other sacred events. It was a place closed to me, but I
would force my way inside.
The castle was never quiet, not even at night, and I was seen by a number of people before I was halfway there. Someone or other must have run ahead to raise the alarm, and I was met in the hallway outside a doorway that led to the jamatkhana by Hassan and four of his fedayin.
They were all armed, and armoured.
The four men all had their swords drawn.
“Stop,” Hassan shouted. “Halt, stop. Stop, Richard.”
“What are you doing here?” I shouted as I came to a stop before Hassan. The men loomed behind him, blocking the way.
“You cannot enter here,” Hassan said. “Come, let us return to—”
I was already angry at the deceit, and I was angry at myself for being so naive. For allowing myself to be deceived.
So I drew my sword.
The four fedayin stepped forward and pulled Hassan back behind them.
“I could kill you all,” I said in their language. “And go and find out for myself. Is that what you want, Hassan?”
He called for them to lower their swords, and to stand aside. “Come, Richard. I will show you. I do not wish there to be secrets between us. And, if the truth is to be told, I must admit that I may need your help with a large problem… It is best that I show you.”
Even though I knew he was not to be trusted, I still went with him. It is right and proper to be wary and to consider that almost any situation in life could be a trap, designed to capture and kill you. But you cannot avoid walking into risk, else you would never take any action worth taking.
Keeping my sword in hand, but the blade tip lowered, I followed Hassan into the jamatkhana. His men surrounded me at all times. As we got closer, the sound of voices and clashing wooden weapons grew louder.
“This is it,” Hassan said as we entered the hall. He seemed nervous. “This is the secret I have been hiding from you.”
The jamatkhana was like a church for them, and also something like a manor’s hall, or a court. But they had turned over that space into what amounted to a bunkhouse. A few lamps in alcoves in the walls cast pools of dim light and left lots in shadow. Two long rows of beds ran down one side, and the other half was open space. A side for sleeping, and a side for training.
Most startling of all was the fact it was filled with raucous fedayin. It was the end of the night, not long before dawn, and they were shouting and fighting. Some men lay on the beds, awake and talking to each other. One man jumped up and down on a bed, laughing while another shouted encouragement. Groups of others stood fighting in the open space. Some wrestled, stripped to the waist or naked, while others sparred with practice swords made from wood.
It smelled strongly of blood. I saw jugs, cups, and bowls on tables or tossed to the floor, which had held the stuff, and some dried stains showed on the floor and even on the walls.
“What have you done, Hassan?” I asked, watching the scene before me. “How have you done this?”
“Please, Richard, you must understand what a dire situation we are in. I have asked you to turn more men. I have all but begged you. You would give me no more than thirty, and I had to have more.”
“But how?” I asked him, as much curious as outraged.
He looked apologetic. “We used one of the men you had turned. It was Jalal. And we used his blood to turn these.”
I could not believe it. It had never occurred to me that such a thing would be possible.
“And it worked?” I said, my anger turning to horror.
Hassan hesitated. “The blood is not as strong. Almost half the men we tried to turn died. And these immortals are also weaker. Slower than the first generation. But still much stronger than an ordinary man.” He scratched his beard. “They are extremely sensitive to sunlight. Even more so than those turned by your blood directly. And they need to drink blood more frequently than the men you turned. They… they never seem to get enough.”
“These are not your best men, I take it?” I asked, looking at them acting like fools and madmen.
He shook his head. “These are fine men. I mean… they were. They are themselves when their bellies are full of blood but is not long before they begin to lose their minds. It is like when the men you turn go without for many days, and they become angry, and they lose their control and seek conflict. The only way I am able to maintain discipline is through controlling the supplies of the blood.”
“They sound dangerous,” I said.
“To our enemies, I hope.”
Hassan’s betrayal of our agreement was considerable but I should have expected underhand tactics from such a deceitful people. The men slouched and grinned at each other and at me. The amused, smug expressions on their faces reminded me of children who had been caught breaking a petty rule.
They are themselves when their bellies are full of blood but is not long before they begin to lose their minds.
There were endless tales of strange peoples in those days, usually spoken of by ignorant common folk, soldiers, and gentlemen who were inebriated. One reoccurring notion was that the dead would rise from their graves to do harm to the living before returning to their tombs once more. It was said that these cursed people returned from the dead with barely any memory of their former selves, as they were in life. The word that these animated corpses were known by sprang at once into my mind.
Revenants.
Hassan’s abominations brought to mind these revenants. Men who had died only to return as violent shadows of their former selves. The notion was so apt that it disturbed me quite profoundly.
I lowered my voice and grasped Hassan by the arm. “These men must be killed.”
Hassan tried to pull away but I held him tight. He waved his own men back but they were at my back, ready to run me through. “I need to use every weapon that I have. Or we will all be killed anyway.”
“We had an agreement. Thirty men, I said.”
He lifted his bearded chin and looked me in the eye. “I must think of my people.”
I nodded. “So, this is taqiyya, is it? You can break your oath with a man who has not broken his, and you may say to yourself that you have done it for the good of your people?” He began to reply but I spoke over him. “And how many people can you have left? You must have spent all of your men, now. What of their wives, and their children? Who will make more children in the years to come?”
“There are some men who remain mortal,” Hassan said, though I could see it was weighing heavy on him. “But I fear that none of us will live to make more children anyway.”
“You must take heart, Hassan. Your people look to you for their strength. Even if you do not feel it, you must show it so that they do not break when the time comes.”
He shook his head. “You do not understand. Hulegu has come. The snows are late. Later than they have ever been, and nothing stands in his way. His armies have already besieged our castles to the east. His scouts are already in Alamut Valley.”
“Why have you hidden this from me?” My fear made me angry.
He shook his head again, looking down. “We had a messenger from Alamut Castle before sundown.” Hassan hesitated, drew me aside and lowered his voice even further. “Rukn al-Din has been summoned by Hulegu. The Mongols command our master to submit to Hulegu. And Rukn al-Din sent his son in his stead.”
I was appalled. “He sent his son to the Mongols? Alone? What cowardice.”
Hassan waved it away. “The messenger said that it was not truly his own son. I believe it was a bastard son of the last master, Rukn al-Din’s father.”
I laughed. “He sent a bastard brother of his to Hulegu, to pose as his son. Truly, you people have no honour.”
That made Hassan angry. “It is simply a means to delay Hulegu.” He took a deep, shaking breath. “As is the agreement that he made with him.”
“Tell it, for God’s sake.”
“Rukn al-Din has agreed with Hulegu that he will submit to the Mongols, in exchange for the life of himself and the lives
of his entire family. He has sent orders to all castles to dismantle the towers and battlements, as a symbol of our submission.”
I stared, open-mouthed until I came to my senses. “That’s more than a bloody symbol, Hassan. He has capitulated. It is over.”
“No,” he said, forcefully. “No, this is the true use of taqiyya, Richard. He lies to buy us time. There is still hope that the snows will come.”
“So you will defy his order, and keep your towers and your battlements intact?”
“I will.”
“How many other castles will do the same? And how many will follow his orders to the letter?”
“I do not know.”
“So,” I said. “The Assassins, feared throughout the world, have given up without a fight?”
“We will fight,” Hassan said, raising his voice. “We will fight to the last man.”
The men in the hall stopped to stare at us. Some grinned, others glared at me with murder in their eyes. Murder and madness.
“What good is that to me?” I asked. “We were here to kill Hulegu. Now you wish to go down fighting? Turn your men against Hulegu, now. Send away what women and children you can spare, save at least some of your people.”
His lip curled, as if tasting bitterness. “Send them where? Every castle will be surrounded before long.”
“Your people have castles in Syria.”
“That is a thousand miles from here. It is too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than being slaughtered by the Mongols when they take this place?”
The truth was, I cared very little for those Saracen women and children. At least, I would not allow myself to do so. But I wanted Hassan to focus on attack, not defence.
“They would never survive the journey. They could be taken by anyone before they reached Syria.”
He was right. A group of women and children on foot would be snapped up by the first warband that came across them, whether Christian, Saracen or Mongol.
“But you must fight,” I said. “Surely, you see that? If you submit, you are all dead anyway.”
