“Then we must attack first!” Ali stood and drew his sword, Zulfikar, with its twin points at the end of a double blade. “Allow me to lead an expedition for you, and I will gouge the eyes of any apostate who refuses to pledge his allegiance.”
“How quickly the wolf dons the wool of a sheep,” I said to Talha, who had taken a seat beside me.
Ali glared, but my father nodded. “A’isha speaks the truth,” he said. “How can any man fight on my behalf when he has recently sown dissension against me?”
Ali’s features froze. “I was not free to bind myself to you while my wife lived,” he said. “I am certain you can understand why.”
“And I suppose your uncle and cousins forced you to oppose our khalifa in the first place,” Talha said, smirking.
My father’s glance at Talha was benign, but there was no mistaking its meaning: Talha had said enough.
“Yaa Ali, let me ask you something,” abi said. “Would you appoint a man to lead your army who had no legs?”
“I would not, yaa khalifa,” Ali said, pushing out his chest. “Such a man could not help our cause, and might even harm it.”
“You have spoken truly.” My father stroked his beard with one hand. “A man who cannot stand on his own principles, but who allows others’ desires to direct him, has no legs of his own.”
Ali’s face turned as white as a fish’s belly. He looked like a man on the verge of sickness.
“I have tolerated your disloyalty for the sake of the Prophet, whose love made him blind to your faults,” my father said. “But, by al-Lah, I will not appoint you to fight for me.”
I sucked in my breath, waiting for Ali’s famous temper to strike. Did my father realize what he was doing? By chastising Ali in front of Osama and, worse, Khalid, he’d humiliated him in the worst way. Now that the army was back, Ali had only to say a few words and he’d find himself in command of half those men—many of them the fiercest warriors in Medina. Overthrowing my father would be as easy for him as pulling the wings off a fly.
But Ali said nothing, to my relief. He stepped to the side and glowered at the wall, his hands behind his back as if tied. My father turned to Khalid with the eagerness of a man seeking the face of his beloved. Beside me, Umar and Uthman frowned at each other, sharing my concerns over abi’s enthusiasm for this majnun.
“How do you propose that we deal with these apostates, yaa Khalid? You’ve had many successes as a general against Muhammad’s army. In truth,” his grin was wry, “you were the reason we lost so pitifully at the Battle of Uhud all those years ago.”
“I suggest we leave tonight,” Khalid declared. “I will subdue the apostates in three days.” I almost snorted at this boast.
“But—our troops are exhausted,” Umar protested. “We cannot send them out again so soon.”
“They begged to fight three days ago, when we saw the Bedouin curs amassing,” Khalid said. “Your general, however, refused to act without orders from you.” He shot an accusing glance at Osama. “We must confront the apostates now. Every moment of hesitation strengthens our enemies’ resolve.”
Khalid’s eyes shone and I winced. He spoke as if he were already in command of my father’s troops. Would abi reward his aggressive attitude by making him general of the umma’s army? I stared at my father—trying to catch his attention. Yet he couldn’t see anyone but Khalid. It was as if that man’s battle scars held the answers to all abi’s troubles.
“Attack, then, with my blessing,” abi said. “But do not harm any Muslims, or shed the blood of anyone who offers to return to islam and pay the tax.”
Khalid lifted his arms as if in joy at my father’s words. The flourish of his hands, I thought, was an unnecessary gesture.
“Hearing is obeying, khalifa,” he said. And then I noticed something that made my heart skip: Khalid’s eyes were so shot with red they seemed to float in rivers of blood.
♦
Moments later, I stepped into the courtyard with Talha by my side. “Can anything good come from Khalid ibn al-Walid?” I said.
“New turban fashions,” Talha quipped. “Or were those arrows sticking out from his head?”
“He’s showing off,” I said. “He wants everyone to know what a fierce warrior he is.”
“He is fearsome. And perhaps Abu Bakr needs a show of strength. Criticism has besieged him these past months.”
“By demonstrating a strength that he does not possess, our khalifa creates the illusion of leadership qualities that he does not possess.” Ali’s voice slithered into our midst.
I whirled around to face him, my hand lifted. How I would have loved to slap his face, to feel the satisfaction of his skin against my palm, to see his face recoil from the sting! He stopped with his feet wide apart, his arms folded against me, daring me to attack.
“You could be whipped for those words, especially after you’ve just pledged your allegiance to my father,” I said. “Apparently, your pledge was just another lie.”
“There is nothing false about my allegiance to Abu Bakr. Yet, as he himself would readily admit, he is human, with flaws which he has shown in abundance today.”
I snorted. “Refusing to appoint a traitor to his army indicates an abundance of leadership ability, if you ask me.”
“Allowing a djinni-possessed murderer to lead his troops indicates a complete lack of judgment,” Ali countered. “As does letting his daughter interject herself into men’s affairs.”
Again he made my blood rise, but Talha’s eyes glinted. “Yaa Ali, is it worse than heeding the counsel of a eunuch?”
Ali gripped his sword. “Are you calling me a eunuch?”
Talha shrugged. “What else do you call a warrior who can’t do battle?”
“Ali,” I said, trying to avoid a fight, “Muhammad had no qualms about letting me ‘interject.’ He came to me often for political advice.”
Now Ali was the smirking one. “He may have come to you often, but not for your insights.”
Talha drew his sword and, in a flash, had pressed the tip of the blade against Ali’s throat. “How dare you dishonor the Mother of the Believers with your filthy insinuations?” he growled.
“Talha, no,” I warned, not so much for Ali’s sake as to shield us all from more gossip. Our fighting would only further prevent the umma from joining together. If we fell apart, then islam would be lost.
“Afwan, A’isha,” Talha said. “But if I were khalifa, I would have ordered this traitor whipped to his final breath. I have no qualms about killing you now, Ali, for the disrespect you’ve just shown to my cousin. Apologize, if you would save your throat.”
I placed a hand on Talha’s lifted arm. “Talha, I don’t care. Let him go, please.”
“Al-Lah forgives all,” Ali said, looking Talha in the eyes. “And, as I ask Him now to forgive my insult, so has He granted my request.”
Slowly, Talha withdrew his sword. “A’isha saved your life today,” he said.
Then Ali did something rare: He laughed. With his mouth lifted at the corners and his cheeks plumped out like dates, he looked almost handsome. But his eyes held malice, not mirth.
“You are wrong, Talha,” he said. “She has only deprived me of the pleasure of fighting, and killing. In this, she resembles her father. But my loss is only temporary, even as Abu Bakr’s khalifa is temporary. He is an old man and will soon die.”
His smile disappeared as he turned to me. “Beware of me then, A’isha, for I will be ready to claim the khalifa that Muhammad intended for me. On that day, you will in turn claim the legacy he intended for you: a life spent at home with your sister-wives, tending to the business of housekeeping and gossiping, and forsaking the world that God created for men.” This was a strange comment, since Ali was telling everyone that he didn’t want to be khalifa. What was the truth? I wondered if he knew.
“If Muhammad had wanted me in seclusion, he could have commanded it,” I said. “He never stopped me from doing anything I wanted to do.
”
He narrowed his eyes. “That was his indulgence, but it is not mine. When I am khalifa, you will not be allowed to venture outside these courtyard walls, for you refuse to behave with the modesty required of the Prophet’s wives.”
Ali turned and walked back into the mosque When he was gone, Talha leaned close to my ear.
“What do you think now, yaa A’isha? Are you still reluctant to help me? If Ali becomes khalifa we are all lost. Islam as Muhammad intended will be a vague memory, and so will you.”
I shook my head as I had so often done these past weeks when Talha had urged me to help him gain the khalifa after my father’s rule ended. I had no desire to help anyone fight for power. Yet in that moment I did feel the strongest desire to keep Ali as far from the khalifa as possible.
Talha spoke truly: Ali would destroy islam with his self-righteous zeal and his rigidity. No one, not even my father, seemed to understand the threat he posed. In abi’s eyes, he was a hot-headed youth, nothing more. Only I and Talha knew what havoc Ali might wreak on the life Muhammad had built for us.
“Yes, I’m convinced,” I finally said. “We’re the only ones who can stop Ali. But you have to promise me one thing: When you become khalifa, you’ll rule as Muhammad would have ruled.”
He reached out and pulled my wrapper away from my covered eye, then gazed deeply at me. I blushed, feeling as exposed as if he’d removed my clothes, and glanced quickly around to make sure no one was watching.
“When I’m khalifa, I won’t need to try to emulate Muhammad.” His breath smelled of honey. He spoke so softly that I had to watch his mouth to understand him.
“When I’m khalifa, yaa A’isha, you will rule. Who better to lead islam than the one who knew our Prophet best? I might hold the title, but A’isha bint Abi Bakr will be the khalifa in truth. And I, your faithful cousin, will carry out your every command.”
Ali
Our esteemed khalifa had ordered me to observe only, and to file reports of the legendary Khalid’s exploits. I had balked, for in truth, as that mocker Talha had said, to cut off a warrior from fighting is to deprive him of his manhood. Yet, during the year that I rode with Khalid ibn al-Walid throughout Arabia and, now, in the Persian Sawad, witnessing countless heart-sickening murders, I thanked al-Lah many times that I was not a warrior—for then I would have been required to fulfill that demon’s commands.
With a churning stomach and a sickened heart I watched from my horse as Khalid and his warriors hacked the bodies of their victims and spilled their blood into the trickle of water flowing through the wadi. Please, al-Lah, color this stream the brightest of reds, I prayed, spitting to eliminate the taste of rust filling my mouth as the blood-smell permeated my nose, my hair, my skin, and my sleep.
For three days Khalid had been slaughtering men in his djinni-possessed effort to create a river of blood. First he had killed all the Bedouins who had fought for the Persian empire against his army. Then, when their blood merely disappeared into the dry sand, he had ordered his troops to gather all the injured and dying among our enemies—Persians as well as apostate Bedouins—and he slaughtered them, also, to no avail. Still, he had no river of blood. Finally, this morning, he had ordered his men to round up all the citizens living in the countryside and, at the suggestion of a local shaykh, had the gates opened at a nearby wheat mill to release the waters stored there. The innocents’ blood mingled with the water from the mill created a crimson stream. Now, perhaps, the killing would cease.
Despite my revulsion, I said nothing, as Abu Bakr had commanded. Commentary was not my responsibility on this expedition. I was not an adviser; nor, to my humiliation, was I a warrior, even though I had sworn allegiance to Abu Bakr. I knew that our almighty khalifa and his conniving daughter had deprived me of commanding troops for fear that I might lead a rebellion. I had not desired to do so until he refused to allow me to fight. Unmanned, I became more receptive to my uncle al-Abbas’s reminders of my rightful position. Surely you remember the time when the Prophet likened himself and you to Moses and Aaron. Did not al-Lah say, speaking through His Prophet, “Moses said to his brother Aaron, ‘Take my place among my people; act rightly and do not follow in the way of those who spread corruption?’” Muhammad, in truth, intended for me to “take his place among his people” as khalifa after his death.
The qur’an, Muhammad’s recitations, also say, “Will you make in the khalifa one who will act corruptly and shed blood?” With these words, my uncle pointed out, al-Lah had foretold the reign of Abu Bakr, for never had there been such carnage wrought in the name of God. Khalid committed his atrocities despite my warnings that Abu Bakr would be displeased. As for me, I would have killed Khalid gladly, and stopped the slaughter. At Umar’s urging, Abu Bakr had sent me to ensure that Khalid was doing the khalifa’s bidding, such as dealing respectfully with those who returned to islam. But I could do nothing to stop him when he disobeyed.
After one of the first battles, in which he had defeated our invaders with hardly an arrow slung, Khalid spared the lives of all who fell to their knees and professed for islam. Yet when he discovered that a group of Ghatafani had slipped away from us, Khalid vowed, “We will find the traitors if we have to comb the desert sands for them.” Forgotten was his promise to return to Medina as soon as he had vanquished the Bedouin rebellion.
He led his army galloping through the parched desert, our animals’ hooves sinking into hot, thick dunes, the sun glaring like an angry eye until even the camels began to swoon. By the time we surprised the Ghatafani at the Wadi al-Hamd oasis, few of our men could muster the strength to do battle. Yet his warriors’ faintheartedness failed to deter Khalid.
He spied Umm Siml among the Ghatafani, her hair cropped to her neck like a man’s and leather plates shielding her breasts, slashing and thrusting her sword from the hump of a rearing, kicking, belching camel. His eyes bulged in their red-rimmed sockets as he watched her slice through his men. She is mine, he breathed before letting out a scream and racing his black steed toward her, his black-robed body folded over the horse’s back so that he could barely be seen. Khalid extended his blade and slashed the backs of her camel’s knees, snapping the hamstrings. Umm Siml’s mount crashed to the desert floor.
The beast emitted a shriek like that of one thousand and one terrified women, but I heard no sound from Umm Siml. She leapt from the animal’s back and whirled to face Khalid, still holding high her singing sword, her chest heaving and her eyes blazing.
Any other man would have followed his opponent to the ground to conduct an honorable fight. But Khalid cared nothing for honor, only for conquest. He wheeled his horse around and yanked on its reins, causing it to rear up and kick Umm Siml in the back. She sprawled forward and our men cheered as Khalid hurled himself from his horse to land on top of her. He then yanked up his robes and committed an atrocity before the eyes of all—except me, for I had the grace, thank al-Lah, to avert my gaze. A collective gasp made me look back in time to see Khalid slitting the woman’s throat with his dagger while he still abused her.
Now, as then, blood glistened on Khalid’s hands and smeared his robes. He approached me, and nausea twisted my guts when he lifted his blood-slick hands to cup my face.
“Be certain to include the deeds of this day in your report to your khalifa,” Khalid said. “Let Abu Bakr know that Khalid ibn al-Walid has subdued every apostate who threatened his people.”
I wondered why I would need to tell Abu Bakr anything in Khalid’s stead, since he had been commanded many times to return to Medina. Apparently, he held other desires more dear than following our khalifa’s orders. That evening, while the waters still gleamed red and death’s haze hung over the land, he called a meeting.
We gathered in his tent, one fashioned from the hides of twenty lions that Khalid claimed to have wrestled before killing. Inside, we sat cross-legged in the sand, making a circle around Khalid, who crouched in the center and turned to stare into the eyes of each of us. I could
barely bring myself to look at him for fear of revealing my disgust. He smelled of sweat and urine and blood creased his fingernails. I focused my gaze on his clean robes, which he had fortunately had the courtesy to don.
“The invaders we thwarted were only the first of many who have resisted our khalifa’s authority,” he said. “When Abu Bakr sent me into Hijaz, he ordered me to subdue those who oppose him. Despite our efforts to restore peace, resisters remain to Muslim rule. There are many in Persia who would subdue us.”
He lifted his dagger and held it close to the face of the man sitting before him. The man looked at the dagger, then at Khalid, whose queer eyes shone with a brightness that shrank his pupils to needle points. He then moved the dagger over to the next man, watching his face as if to gauge his reaction to his words.
“I have heard that in Yemama, the Bani Tamim tribe follow a whore named Suhayl who has led thousands astray with her sexual charms. She has also seduced the Bani Hanifa’s false prophet, Musaylima, thus joining two tribes for us to conquer. “
I said nothing, although I knew my silence could be construed as consent or even approval of Khalid’s brutality. I was loath to invite speculation that I opposed Khalid, especially while Abu Bakr suspected me of disloyalty. So when Khalid moved his blade to my face, instead of meeting his taunting gaze I took the coward’s way and shifted my eyes to stare at the tent wall behind his head.
“Tomorrow, we ride to Yemama,” Khalid said, moving the dagger to the face of another man, who broke into a trembling sweat. “Our mission will be this: To kill the apostates. Already the Bani Tamim and the Bani Hanifa have repulsed two teams of negotiators sent by Abu Bakr. By al-Lah, they will not turn us away! We will trample them like a stampede of elephants and make necklaces of their noses and ears. Only then will al-Lah be satisfied.”
“Commander,” one of the Medina ansari said in a voice as meek as a child’s, “do you have the authority from our khalifa to lead this charge? The tribes you have mentioned have never accepted islam, nor did the Prophet force them to.”
The Sword Of Medina Page 5