Mother of the Believers Part 30

"Zaynab does not love me," he said, and I could hear the deep pain in his voice. "Every time I lie with her, I will know that she wishes it was you there beside her. That I cannot bear."

He looked at me for a moment and then turned his attention back to the Prophet.

"I will divorce her," he said, with a tone of finality in his voice. "Her fate will be in the hands of G.o.d and his Messenger."

The Prophet rose to his feet, alarm on his features. He moved to stop Zayd from leaving. But the tall man simply took the Messenger's hand and kissed it with great love, tears flowing down his pockmarked cheeks. And then he turned and walked out.

The Messenger stood frozen for a long moment. I had never seen him look so confused. He finally turned to me, an abject apology on his face. He looked like a little child seeking absolution from his mother. But I could not bear to meet his gaze and I quickly stepped out and stormed over to Hafsa's house to unburden the rage and jealousy that was threatening to drive me mad.

7.

A few days later, my husband called for a gathering of his followers to address the wild rumors that were spreading in Medina over the state of affairs in his household. A crowd of hundreds gathered in the courtyard of the Masjid, and dozens more stood outside, eager to hear what was happening in the strange drama between the Messenger of G.o.d, his son, and his daughter-in-law. few days later, my husband called for a gathering of his followers to address the wild rumors that were spreading in Medina over the state of affairs in his household. A crowd of hundreds gathered in the courtyard of the Masjid, and dozens more stood outside, eager to hear what was happening in the strange drama between the Messenger of G.o.d, his son, and his daughter-in-law.

While the other wives of the Prophet stood near him as a sign of their support, I stayed by the threshold of my house, watching the proceedings with sullen intensity.

The Prophet looked at me eagerly and I could tell that he was hoping I would come to take my place beside Sawda and Hafsa, but I crossed my arms and held my chin up defiantly. He turned away and brought his attention to the jumbled gathering of believers. There was a crackling in the air like the coming hint of a thunderstorm, and I realized that this incident with Zaynab was the biggest threat to my husband's credibility since the day that the Jewish chieftain Huyayy had tried to mock his knowledge of the ancient scriptures. Whispers abounded about the Prophet's infatuation with his daughter-in-law and the terrible implications for the truth of the Revelation. How could G.o.d send a man capable of transgressing one of the most ancient of Arab taboos?

The Messenger raised his hand and the tense murmur of gossip abruptly ended, blanketing the courtyard with a silence so thick that all I could hear was the dull thud of my own heart.

"Today I received a Revelation from my Lord," the Messenger said in a voice that seemed to echo past the mud walls and into the paved streets of the oasis. He hesitated, the first time I had ever seen him having difficulty relaying the Word of G.o.d. I saw the color rise in his pallid face and I realized he was blushing like a bride on her wedding night.

And then Muhammad took a deep breath and recited the Divine command:

And when you said to him to whom G.o.d had shown favor And to whom you had shown favor Keep your wife to yourself And be careful of your duty to G.o.d And you concealed in your soul what G.o.d would bring to light And you feared men And G.o.d had a greater right that you should fear Him.

But when Zayd had divorced her We gave her to you as a wife So that there should be no difficulty for the believers In respect of the wives of their adopted sons When they have divorced them And G.o.d's command shall be performed.

I listened to the newly revealed words of the holy Qur'an. And then I stepped back as if I had been struck in the gut. Allah had nullified the oldest of Arab taboos that had made the sons of the flesh and the sons of oath equal in the eyes of men. I looked at the crowd, uncertain how they would react. If the people rejected the commandment, the Prophet's standing in the oasis would disappear. He would be proclaimed a self-serving impostor, legislating away ancient values to satisfy the desires of his own flesh. If the people of Medina denounced this remarkable shift in the definition of family, everything we had worked for over the past decade would instantly dissolve. Abu Sufyan would not need to attack the oasis to kill Muhammad. The people of the oasis would do it for him.

There was a murmur of disbelief from some of the crowd. All eyes fell on Zayd, who stood quietly to the side, looking at his feet. For years he had prided himself on being Muhammad's only lawful son. And now his inheritance had been invalidated by G.o.d Himself. If Zayd accepted this, he would no longer be the "son of the Messenger." He would just be another ordinary freedman, a former slave with no money or standing in society. And he would no longer have a wife and family as well. My heart went out to the poor, ugly, unfortunate man. In this one moment, everything that Zayd had, everything that he could have laid claim to in this world, had been taken away.

And then Zayd raised his head and I was stunned to see a wide, genuine smile on his battered face. He fell to his knees and tears of joy were streaming down his cheeks and making the black tufts of his beard glisten.

He raised his hands in supplication and his voice boomed through the courtyard.

"Praise be to G.o.d, who honors this unworthy slave with mention in his Holy Book!"

And then Zayd fell prostrate on the ground, his forehead pressed hard against the stone floor of the Masjid. And then I realized that Zayd was right. Allah had mentioned him by name in the holy Qur'an, an honor given to no other Muslim. Even my father was called by his t.i.tle "The Second in the Cave"-no mention of the name Abu Bakr was anywhere in the text. And as I looked down at the kneeling man, who was crying praises to his Creator even as his face was pressed to the earth in humility, I realized that the former slave had been given something far greater than everything that had been taken away from him.

Zayd ibn Haritha had been given immortality. Long after he died, after his bones had crumbled into dust, his name would be recited by millions of believers with awe and reverence every time they read the holy Qur'an.

As I watched Zayd's complete surrender to the will of G.o.d, his joyful acceptance of his fate, a wave of shame and sorrow spread through the crowd of believers who had questioned the Messenger's integrity. And then, one by one, they all fell prostrate in obedience to G.o.d's command.

The tension that had gripped my heart vanished like dew exposed to the rising sun. The crisis was over. The people of Medina had been tested, and they had pa.s.sed.

And then my eyes fell upon the sparkling beauty of Zaynab bint Jahsh, the source of all this madness. I realized that she had been standing discreetly in the shadows, her face covered by a black silk veil that she had lifted when it became clear that the community would not pounce upon her. Even though her hair was still covered by a dark scarf, her perfect features, her upturned eyelashes and thick, inviting lips shone forth. Zaynab stepped proudly to stand at the Prophet's right hand, next to Sawda. I suddenly cursed myself for remaining aloof and giving my s.p.a.ce up to this woman. Zaynab turned to face the Prophet and smiled at him, her ivory teeth flashing in the sun. And the fire of rage that had been kindled in my heart burst forth again.

Zaynab saw me looking at her and I thought I saw her lips curl in a victorious smile. She had won. I was no longer the crown jewel of the harem. Zaynab would be the most beautiful woman in the household and the Messenger would soon taste of her flesh and be satiated. And unlike all of his other marriages, his wedding to Zaynab was one that came from the heart. The Messenger wanted Zaynab for herself, not for a political alliance or as an act of charity. He wanted Zaynab's body and soul, even as he had wanted mine.

My heart pounded in despair and I barely heard my father's voice as he politely spoke to my husband.

"May I serve as a witness at your wedding ceremony to Zaynab?"

I flashed Abu Bakr an outraged look, even though I knew that he was being diplomatic. My father full well understood that Zaynab could easily become the Prophet's new favorite and that his status as Muhammad's closest adviser might be diminished as a result. Abu Bakr was trying to show the Messenger that he was a supportive friend, even if he must endure a loss of face for his family. It was a wise and generous act. But at that moment, I felt so alone that I could not bear to see my own father welcome this beautiful interloper and bless her union with my husband.

The Messenger put a gentle hand on my father's shoulder, which had become even more stooped with age and the burdens of life over the past few years.

"There will no ceremony, my friend," Muhammad said. "The wedding has already been performed in heaven, with angels as the witnesses."

At this, I saw Zaynab beam widely. She would not even need to wait for the formalities of a wedding. She could take the Messenger to bed at once and consummate their union that very night.

I felt my face turn hot, and my cheeks burned brighter than my hair. And then I found my feet moving against my will and I was suddenly no longer safely ensconced in the doorway of my little home, but standing in the center of the crowded courtyard facing my husband, the Messenger of G.o.d.

"Your Lord is quick to fulfill your desires!" I screamed into his face.

The Prophet stepped back as if I had slapped him. I saw Zaynab's face turn down in contempt, and I caught a look of warning in my father's stern glance. I suddenly realized that every eye in the Masjid was on me, and I felt like the greatest fool on earth.

Somehow I managed to hold my head up in dignity. And then, without another word, I turned and stormed back inside my apartment, slamming the door shut and locking out the harsh world.

At that moment, my legs gave way. I fell to the ground and vomited. My body shaking violently, I crawled to a corner of my room and began to cry at the injustice of life and the cruelties of womanhood.

8.

The desert filled with the thunder of hooves as the Meccan army marched steadily toward Medina for the final confrontation. Four thousand men, armored in the finest chain mail from Abyssinia, accompanied by three hundred hors.e.m.e.n and fifteen hundred warriors on camels.

At a wadi four days south of the oasis, they were met by their new allies, the displaced men of Bani Nadir. Huyayy ibn Akhtab led a contingent of two thousand seven hundred infantry and three hundred horses. Joined together, it was the mightiest force ever seen in Arabia.

As the combined juggernaut turned its red eye to the north, a figure hiding in crevices of an ancient lava mound watched their movements carefully. The Muslim scout, a tribesman from the allied Bani Khuza'a, quickly calculated the full extent of the invading army and then crawled back to his horse, which had been tied by the mouth of an old cave that burrowed deep into the ocean of sand.

Saying a silent prayer to Allah to grant him the speed of a falcon, the scout climbed on his mount and raced back toward Medina. If he continued for three days with no sleep, he might be able to get back in time to warn his people. He only hoped that his horse would survive the merciless pace. But if he was forced to complete the journey on foot, he would do so. The scout knew that the dogs of war were bearing down upon the unsuspecting oasis, and if he failed in his mission, the Ummah Ummah would be consumed in the jaws of their rage. would be consumed in the jaws of their rage.

THE COUNCIL OF WAR gathered in the courtyard of the Masjid. I walked among the worried men, carrying a bucket of water to help them quench their thirst or wet their brows as the cruel sun beat down upon them. The Messenger sat by the gathered in the courtyard of the Masjid. I walked among the worried men, carrying a bucket of water to help them quench their thirst or wet their brows as the cruel sun beat down upon them. The Messenger sat by the mihrab, mihrab, the southern alcove facing Mecca that delineated the direction of prayer. His brow was furrowed and his shoulders bent. His black eyes were upon the dark earth at his feet, where his followers had drawn a rough map of Medina and its surrounding hills. the southern alcove facing Mecca that delineated the direction of prayer. His brow was furrowed and his shoulders bent. His black eyes were upon the dark earth at his feet, where his followers had drawn a rough map of Medina and its surrounding hills.

Umar had just explained that the best strategy would be to evacuate the women and the children into a network of caves in the volcanic fields while the men barricaded themselves inside the houses and prepared for hand-to-hand combat in the streets. There was no talk of moving out to confront the enemy as we had done at Uhud. The scout, before he had died of exhaustion and sunstroke, had given us a troubling estimate of the size of the invading army. Even with our Bedouin allies to the north, we would be outmatched two to one. Though Ali had been adamant that we could beat such odds-we had done so at Badr, and even at Uhud we had been winning until the archers betrayed us-there was another problem.

The Bani Qurayza, the last of the Jewish tribes in Medina, would be directly behind us if we chose to go out into the hills and battle against the invaders. Though the Jews had refused to partic.i.p.ate in the past conflicts, even though our treaty required them to join us in the defense of the oasis, there could be no guarantee that they would remain neutral this time. According to the courageous scout, the Jews of Bani Nadir had joined in arms with Abu Sufyan, and it was unlikely that the Qurayza would sit back while their kinsmen fought the Muslims. If we risked going out into the fields, we risked opening ourselves to attack from the rear.

The only plan that made sense was Umar's. But I could tell that my husband was not enamored of the idea of turning the city streets of Medina into a battleground. He had worked for five years to bring order and peace to the chaotic settlement and the thought of blood flowing through its cobbled streets was too painful to bear. But without other options, he had announced to the gathered believers his intention to lure the Meccans into the winding alleys of the oasis, force their troops to divide and scatter, and turn the houses themselves into death traps. It was a butcher's job, but war was ugly no matter how it was executed.

There had been a long silence as the men looked at one another grimly. This would be the last battle. Either the Meccan army would be annihilated in the streets, or the Muslims would be ma.s.sacred. And if the Muslim men were defeated, the women and children would be hunted down in the neighboring hills and captured or killed. There would be no quarter from the Meccans, not after so many years of bitter conflict. After watching Hind's cannibalistic barbarism, they shuddered to think what would become of any survivors left in the hands of the enemy.

I heard a nervous cough as a man sitting outside the central circle of the Prophet's advisers cleared his throat. It was Salman, a Persian who had been a slave to one of the Jews of Bani Qurayza. After he had adopted Islam, the Messenger had purchased his freedom and the foreigner had lived among the Arabs as one of them. Salman was short and thin, with blue eyes and the handsome chiseled features of his race. When he spoke, it was with a lyrical voice that made every word sound as if it had been sung, and his Persian accent was hauntingly beautiful.

"O Messenger of G.o.d, is your strategy revealed by G.o.d, or is it a matter of personal opinion?"

Umar scowled and turned red.

"How dare you question the Messenger?"

The Prophet placed a hand on his father-in-law's ma.s.sive shoulder.

"Gently, Umar," he said with a patient smile, and then turned his attention to the freedman. "It is a matter of opinion. Do you have another suggestion, Salman?"

Salman hesitated and then moved into the circle of the Messenger's closest aides. Umar gave him a furious flash of his eyes, but the Persian ignored it. He leaned down to look at the map of the oasis drawn in the upturned earth and ran a delicate finger through his perfectly groomed beard.

Salman took his fingers and clawed out several deep lines on the ground representing the northern face of the city. The lines connected and formed an arc that encircled the vulnerable northern pa.s.ses where the Meccan army would be best positioned to invade. Salman finished his work and looked up at my husband with a nervous glance.

"In my native land, we would dig a trench around our cities to protect them from siege," Salman said. "If it pleases G.o.d and His Messenger, perhaps a similar strategy would serve in the defense of Medina."

I looked down over the shoulder of my brother-in-law Zubayr and suddenly understood what the Persian was saying. I was not yet a military strategist-my days as a commander of armies were still many years away-but I could see how a ditch dug at the intervals Salman suggested might work.

The Companions looked at one another in surprise but said nothing, each perhaps afraid to be the first to voice support for this unusual stratagem. And then, finally, Umar spoke, his gruff voice rumbling through the courtyard.

"A trench large enough to hold back an army? I have never heard of such a thing," he said, with a hint of grudging respect.

My husband looked into Salman's nervous eyes and smiled warmly, taking the Persian's hand in his.

"Neither have the Meccans."

9.

The Confederates, as the unified Meccan and Jewish contingents called themselves, crossed waves of blackened sand dunes as they made their final approach to Medina. The size of the army had swelled to ten thousand as disgruntled Bedouins were recruited to join the behemoth as it marched toward the upstart oasis that had thrown the world into disarray It had been twenty days since the Arab and Jewish forces had joined together in the wilderness and the steady march through the desert for the army had been exhausting. Water skins were running low, and the first sight of the palm trees that lined the southern boundaries of Medina had been welcome. The men had raided the wells on the outskirts of the town and had been surprised to find them utterly undefended. They had rejoiced, seeing their easy capture of the southern pa.s.ses as a sign from the G.o.ds of imminent victory.

But their commander, Khalid ibn al-Waleed, was troubled. He sat upon his mighty black stallion and gazed out across the horizon, past the lava tracts that served as Medina's natural defensive border to the south. He did not stir, even as Huyayy ibn Akhtab, the leader of the Jewish forces, rode up beside him, beaming.

"Smile, my friend! Victory is upon us." Huyayy gazed across the dark stones that led to his lost homeland and breathed in the salty oasis air deeply. "Soon my people will reclaim their homes. And your people will regain their honor."

Khalid turned to face him at last, his eyes burning darkly.

"Where are Muhammad's advance guards? We are almost to Medina and there has been no sign of even a single horseman."

The chief of the Bani Nadir shrugged, unwilling to let the dour Arab spoil his jubilant mood.

"He has likely taken refuge inside the city, like my forefathers did at Masada," Huyayy said, although he disliked comparing the n.o.ble warriors of his ancestors with this self-serving impostor and his illiterate fanatics.

But the reference was lost on Khalid, who gave him a blank look.

"They held off the entire Roman army for years," Huyayy explained proudly. "When the centurions finally breached the walls, they found that all the Jews had killed themselves rather than surrender."

The chieftain's eyes gleamed with pride at the memory of the n.o.ble sacrifice, the courage of his people in the face of unconquerable odds.

But if the Jew saw honor in this tale, the Arab found it less appealing. Khalid spit on the ground in contempt.

"The Arabs are not suicidal like your ancestors," he said sharply. "They are nothing if not brave. They will meet us and fight."

Huyayy bit his tongue before he said something that would wreck their hard-won alliance.

"If these Arabs are so courageous, then where are they?" Huyayy tried to keep the poison out of his voice, but he was not entirely successful.

Khalid shook his head "That is what concerns me."

Before Huyayy could respond, shouts echoed from ahead. Khalid roughly spurred his horse and rode past the front lines of the advancing army. Huyayy quickly followed and saw a group of Confederate scouts standing on top of a large lava tract that would give them a view down into the heart of the oasis.

When Huyayy reached the ledge, he felt his heart miss a beat.

A ma.s.sive trench had been dug across the northern pa.s.ses into Medina. From where he stood, Huyayy estimated that it was thirty feet wide and perhaps a hundred feet deep. The cavernous ditch wound across the borders of the city to the west until it vanished into the thick jumble of palm trees and rocky hills to the south.

He had never seen anything like it, and he could see no way to traverse this barrier.

As Huyayy's heart sank, he heard the racing of hooves and saw the Meccan leader Abu Sufyan ride up to join them. The old man breathed in sharply at the sight of this surprising defensive tactic.

"What is this?" Abu Sufyan asked, his voice mixing fury and despair all at once.

And then Huyayy was stunned to hear the sound of deep laughter. He turned to see Khalid's head thrown back in genuine delight.

"A work of genius," the general said, without any hint of bitterness.

And then, like a child racing to collect a new toy, Khalid rode down the ash-covered dunes toward the edge of the pit. The Confederate army followed, although the soldiers' faces were twisted in confusion at the sight of the barrier.