became the first martyr for our cause in Iran.”
The sergeant winked at ibn Tahir, as if to say job well done, and then vanished through the opening that led downstairs. Dai Abu Soraka squeezed the young man’s hand, asked him about his father and how things were athome, and promised to announce his arrival to the supreme commander. Finally he ordered one of the novices sitting on the floor. “Suleiman, take ibn Tahir to the bedroom and show him the place of that good-for-nothing who got banished to the foot soldiers. Make sure he washes the dust off himself and changes his clothes so that he’s ready for evening prayers.”
Suleiman jumped to his feet, bowed to the old man, and said, “I’ll make sure, reverend dai.”
He invited ibn Tahir to follow him, and the two of them descended to the lower level. Halfway down a narrow hallway Suleiman lifted the curtain covering a doorway and let ibn Tahir through.
They entered a spacious bedroom. Along one wall there were about twenty low-lying beds. They consisted of big linen ticks stuffed with dried grass and covered with horsehair blankets. Each had a horse saddle for a pillow. Above them was a series of wooden shelves affixed to the wall. These held a variety of essentials arranged in strict order: earthen dishes, prayer rugs, and washing and cleaning implements. At the foot of each bed stood a wooden framework which supported a bow, a quiver with arrows, and a lance and spear. Jutting out from the wall opposite were three bronze candelabras with many branches, a wax candle stuck in each of them. In the corner stood a pedestal supporting a jug of oil. Twenty heavy, curved sabers hung on pegs beneath the candles. Beside them were as many round woven shields with bosses made of bronze. The room had ten small, grated windows. Everything in it was clean and kept in perfect order.
“This one is vacant,” Suleiman said, pointing to one of the beds. “Its former occupant had to join the infantry a few days ago. Here’s where I sleep, next to you, and Yusuf of Damagan sleeps on the other side. He’s the biggest and strongest novice in our group.”
“You say my predecessor had to join the infantry?” ibn Tahir asked.
“Right. He wasn’t worthy of becoming a feday.”
Suleiman took a neatly folded white cloak, white trousers and a white fez off a shelf.
“Come to the washroom,” he said to ibn Tahir.
They proceeded to the next room, which had a stone tub with running water. Ibn Tahir bathed quickly. Suleiman handed him the clothes and ibn Tahir slipped into them.
They returned to the bedroom, and ibn Tahir said, “My father has sent his greetings to the supreme commander. When do you think I’ll be able to see him?”
Suleiman laughed.
“You might as well forget that idea, friend. I’ve been here for a full year and I still don’t know what he looks like. None of us novices has ever seen him.”
“Then he’s not in the castle?”
“Oh, he’s here. But he never leaves his tower. You’ll hear more about him over time. Things that will make your jaw drop. You said you’re from Sava. I’m from Qazvin.”
While he spoke ibn Tahir had a chance to study him closely. He could scarcely imagine a more handsome youth. He was as slim as a cypress, with a sharply angular but attractive face. His cheeks were ruddy from sun and wind and a healthy blush permeated his dark skin. His velvety brown eyes gazed out at the world with the pride of an eagle. A light down of a beard showed on his upper lip and around his chin. His entire expression projected courage and daring. When he smiled he showed a row of strong white teeth. His smile was sincere, with just a shade of scorn, yet not at all offensive.
Like some Pahlavan from the Book of Kings
, ibn Tahir thought.
“I’ve noticed that you all have sharp, hard faces, as though you were thirty. But judging by your beards you can’t be more than twenty.”
Suleiman laughed and replied, “Just wait a fortnight
The sergeant winked at ibn Tahir, as if to say job well done, and then vanished through the opening that led downstairs. Dai Abu Soraka squeezed the young man’s hand, asked him about his father and how things were athome, and promised to announce his arrival to the supreme commander. Finally he ordered one of the novices sitting on the floor. “Suleiman, take ibn Tahir to the bedroom and show him the place of that good-for-nothing who got banished to the foot soldiers. Make sure he washes the dust off himself and changes his clothes so that he’s ready for evening prayers.”
Suleiman jumped to his feet, bowed to the old man, and said, “I’ll make sure, reverend dai.”
He invited ibn Tahir to follow him, and the two of them descended to the lower level. Halfway down a narrow hallway Suleiman lifted the curtain covering a doorway and let ibn Tahir through.
They entered a spacious bedroom. Along one wall there were about twenty low-lying beds. They consisted of big linen ticks stuffed with dried grass and covered with horsehair blankets. Each had a horse saddle for a pillow. Above them was a series of wooden shelves affixed to the wall. These held a variety of essentials arranged in strict order: earthen dishes, prayer rugs, and washing and cleaning implements. At the foot of each bed stood a wooden framework which supported a bow, a quiver with arrows, and a lance and spear. Jutting out from the wall opposite were three bronze candelabras with many branches, a wax candle stuck in each of them. In the corner stood a pedestal supporting a jug of oil. Twenty heavy, curved sabers hung on pegs beneath the candles. Beside them were as many round woven shields with bosses made of bronze. The room had ten small, grated windows. Everything in it was clean and kept in perfect order.
“This one is vacant,” Suleiman said, pointing to one of the beds. “Its former occupant had to join the infantry a few days ago. Here’s where I sleep, next to you, and Yusuf of Damagan sleeps on the other side. He’s the biggest and strongest novice in our group.”
“You say my predecessor had to join the infantry?” ibn Tahir asked.
“Right. He wasn’t worthy of becoming a feday.”
Suleiman took a neatly folded white cloak, white trousers and a white fez off a shelf.
“Come to the washroom,” he said to ibn Tahir.
They proceeded to the next room, which had a stone tub with running water. Ibn Tahir bathed quickly. Suleiman handed him the clothes and ibn Tahir slipped into them.
They returned to the bedroom, and ibn Tahir said, “My father has sent his greetings to the supreme commander. When do you think I’ll be able to see him?”
Suleiman laughed.
“You might as well forget that idea, friend. I’ve been here for a full year and I still don’t know what he looks like. None of us novices has ever seen him.”
“Then he’s not in the castle?”
“Oh, he’s here. But he never leaves his tower. You’ll hear more about him over time. Things that will make your jaw drop. You said you’re from Sava. I’m from Qazvin.”
While he spoke ibn Tahir had a chance to study him closely. He could scarcely imagine a more handsome youth. He was as slim as a cypress, with a sharply angular but attractive face. His cheeks were ruddy from sun and wind and a healthy blush permeated his dark skin. His velvety brown eyes gazed out at the world with the pride of an eagle. A light down of a beard showed on his upper lip and around his chin. His entire expression projected courage and daring. When he smiled he showed a row of strong white teeth. His smile was sincere, with just a shade of scorn, yet not at all offensive.
Like some Pahlavan from the Book of Kings
, ibn Tahir thought.
“I’ve noticed that you all have sharp, hard faces, as though you were thirty. But judging by your beards you can’t be more than twenty.”
Suleiman laughed and replied, “Just wait a fortnight
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