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CHAPTER VIII
And so they set forth with their great train of red, snarling camels
and little patient donkeys and slender, nervous horses toward the
rising sun. Behind them the green hills of Palestine died out as
a rainbow dies out, and now there was sand before them and now bleak
mountains, and by day the wind was swift and hot and by night it was
black and cold. And moons were born and died. . .
And they passed through the land of the King of Armenia, and they
passed Ararat, the mountain where Noah brought his ark to anchor,
and where it still is, and where it can be seen still, but cannot
be reached, so cold and high and terrible is that mountain.
And they passed ruined Babel, that was built of Nimrod, the first
king of the world, and now is desolation. They passed it on a waning
moon. And out of the ruins the dragons came and hissed at them, and
strange, obscene birds flapped their wings in the air and cawed and
pecked at them, and over the desert the satyr called unto her mate. . .
And they passed through the Kingdom of Georgia, whose kings are born
with the mark of an eagle on their right shoulder. They passed
through Persia, where the magicians worship fire. And they passed
through the city of Saba, where sleep the three magi who came to
worship at Bethlehem, and their names were Kaspar, Balthlasar, and
Melchior.
And they passed through Camadi, where great ruins are and robbers
roam through the magical darkness. And they passed northward of
the Perilous Valley, where the Devil's Head is in black stone, and
that is one of the nine entrances to hell; and passed the Valley of
the Cockadrills, where there are serpents five fathoms in length;
and passed the Valley of Cruel Women, who have precious stones in
place of eyes. . .
And they went through the Dismal Desert, where no stream sang. . .
And in the desert they passed the Trees of the Sun and Moon, which
speak with the voices of men. And it was from the Speaking Tree
that Alexander heard of his death. And it was near there that he
and Darius fought. And they passed the Arbre Sec, the Dry Tree,
which has a green bark on one side and white on the other, and there
are no trees within a hundred miles of that tree, and it is sprung
from the staff of Adam.
And they passed through Balkh, the Mother of Cities. And they
passed through Tailian, where the great salt mountains are. And
they passed through Badashan, where the mountains of the rubies are.
And they passed through Kashmir, whose women are very beautiful, and
whose magicians weave the strongest spells in the world. . .
And moons were born and died. . .
And they came to Alamoot, the fortess of Senex de Monte, the Old Man
of the Mountain, the King of the Assassins, the greatest wizard of
all time. . .
Now this is the tale of the Old Man the Mountain.
Whenever within his dominions there was a fine young horseman, the
Old Man would put a spell on him and draw him to the Castle of Alamoot,
and outside of the castle sleep would come on him. And when he woke
up, he would be inside the castle, in the wonderful gardens. And
they'd tell him he was dead and in paradise. And paradise it would
be for him what with the lovely women and the great playing on the
flutes, the birds singing, and the sun shining, the crystal rivers
and the flowers of the world. And after a while the Old Man of the
Mountain would call for him, and tell him he was sending him back
on earth again on a mission to punish Such-and-Such. And the Old
Man would put sleep on him and a knife in his hand, and when he woke
he would be outside the Castle of Alamoot. And he would start on
his mission. And when he came back he would be readmitted to
paradise. And if he didn't come back, there were others to take
his place.
The Old Man of the Mountain always kept one hundred and one assassins
and four hundred and four women to tend them.
Now when the caravan of the Polos had come to rest for the day, the
Old Man of the Mountain put out white, not black magic, and he drew
Marco Polo to the castle as a magnet draws a needle. And Marco Polo
galloped up to the Castle in the waning moon, and the Old Man looked
down on him from the battlements and stroked his long white beard.
"Do you know me, Marco Polo?"
"I know you and I have no fear of you, Old Man of the Mountain."
"And why have you no fear of me, Marco Polo?"
"Because the cross of the Lord Jesus is between me and harm.
Because it protects me night and day."
"I know Eesa ben-Miriam," said the Old Man. "He was a great prophet.
But whether he would have protected you from me, we will differ about
that. I've often thought of you, Marco Polo, and you coming this way.
I could have used you in my work of keeping the kings and chieftains
of the world in fear and subjection."
"Then why am n't I in your garden, Old Man of the Mountain?"
"The four most beautiful women in the world are in my garden.
There is a tall, black-haired woman, and she is fairer and more
adroit than Lilith, who was before Eve; and there is a tall, blond
woman, and she is like a queen; and there is a slim, copper-colored
woman, and she is like an idol in a shrine; and there is a little
brown-haired woman, and she is like a child. But none of those
women could make you believe you were in paradise while there's a
face in your heart. Not the cross of the Lord Jesus is between you
and me, but the face of little Golden Bells of China."
"But I am not going to China to woo Golden Bells, Old Man of the
Mountain. I am going to convert the men of Cathay."
The Old Man of the Mountain laughed and stroked his beard.
"You had a sermon from Gregory before you came away. Did he tell
you you were to convert the men of Cathay?"
"He did not."
"Ali, Gregory's a sound man. He knew you can't make saints in a day.
Why, child, I've seen the beginning of the world, and I've seen the
end of it. I've seen the beginning in a crystal glass, and I've seen
the end in a pool of ink in a slave's hand. I've seen mankind begin
lower nor the gibbering ape, and I've seen them end the shining sons
of God. Millions on millions on millions of years, multiplied unto
dizziness, crawling, infinitesimal work overcoming nature, overcoming
themselves, overcoming the princes of the powers of darkness, one of
whom I am. But this is too deep for you, Marco Polo.
"Now you can go on your way without hindrance from me, Marco Polo,
because of the memory of an old time, when the courting of a woman
was more to me than the killing of a man, when beauty meant more
nor power.
"Let you be on your way, Marco Polo, while I sit here a lonely old
man, with wee, soft ghosts whispering to him. Let you be hastening
on your way before I remember I am a prince of the powers of darkness
and should do you harm. . .
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