In Xanadu by William Dalrymple Read Free Book Online Page A

thirteenth century, and the fida'i were frequently hired out as mercenary assassins. Yet they were still capable of heroics. When the crusader prince, Henry of Champagne, visited Masyaf he was taken around the battlements of the castle by the Grand Master. The Grand Master asked the prince if he had any subject as obedient as his own, and without waiting for a reply made a sign to two of his fida'i. They immediately jumped off the tower on which they were standing, and plunged straight to their deaths on the rocks below.
    But even complete obedience could not save the Assassins. As befits fairy-tale villains they came to a sticky end. They had fallen foul not only of the Mongols, but of the other great power of the day, the revolting Mameluke sultan, Baibars. In 1273, he marched into the al-Garb and laid siege to the castle. It was taken by storm less than a week later and every Isma'ili was put to the sword. Before he left, Baibars built a victory tower. It was twenty feet high, and made out of the skulls of the defenders.
     
     
    We arrived at Masyaf in the late afternoon. It had turned unusually chilly for high summer and clouds were billowing over the battlements. In the Fields along the al-Garb, the cotton was just beginning to ripen and a line of mules was bringing the first sackloads of white buds up to the town for weighing.
    We were tired and dusty after five hours of travelling, and stumbled out of the bus into two wicker chairs placed against the stone wall of a tea house. A boy dressed in a long gown of blue and white striped cotton brought a pot of cinnamon tea, and grapes on a silver tray; we sat munching them in silence, eavesdropping on the conversations around us. At the next tabic two middle-aged men in shirtsleeves were playing tawla; they had suntanned faces, uncovered balding heads, and plump midriffs. Beside them sat a third man, who watched the play and occasionally leant over to offer advice. He was dressed in full jellaba and keffiyeh, and through the V-neck of his gown you could see a string vest. Nearby, at different tables, sat two old men with wrinkled foreheads and heavy glass hookahs. They would gaze thoughtfully at us, then at the backgammon players, then at each other, and when they drew on their hookahs the water in the glass bulbs would make a muffled bubbling noise.
    An Arab boy walked over to our table and asked if he could sit down.
    'My name is Nizar al-Omar, the Merchant's son,' he said. I like for you. You like for me?' I looked at Laura. 'Yes,' I said. 'We like for you.'
    We did like for him. He was a tall, fragile boy with a light moustache on his upper lip, and the narrow, stooping manner of someone who is aware of his size. He looked delicate, sensitive and slightly effeminate.
'I think you are English,' he said. "We are.'
    'Good,' he said. 'I am student of English. I like English people because they speak very good English.' 'It's as good a reason as any.'
    'Come,' he said. 'We are friends. Tonight you stay with my house.'
    We got up and followed him through the steep, winding lanes. Masyaf reminded me of an Italian hill village. It was clean, and high and narrow, built of old, undressed stone. The houses were entered through first floor doors, up wooden banisters, and the windows had rough-hewn wooden frames which were covered with latticed grilles. We turned left down an alleyway, climbed some stairs and left our shoes outside the front door. Nizar's elder brother was playing cards on the floor. He got up when we entered and shook our hands.
'Do you know Werner?' he asked.
    'Werner who?'
    'Werner the German. He is my friend.' 'I'm afraid we're English.' 'But England is near Germany, isn't it?' 'Quite near.'
    'I am sorry,' he said politely, and resumed his game. The family was as welcoming and hospitable as only Arabs can be. Laura and I sat on a sofa and made friendly gestures while the household was paraded before us. We smiled at four younger brothers, and two little sisters