Chapter 24

THE SIEGE OF KHAIBAR.--KEDAR.

"The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore."

In the same year, the seventh year of the Hejira, Mohammed made the expected attack on Khaïbar. The chief, Kenana, got word of his approach, and ordered that the country for miles around the capital should be laid waste. For days the long roads leading into the city from every direction, swarmed with a moving line of anxious-faced people, driving their camels and sheep ahead of them, and leading mules laden with household property. Low wagons creaked beneath the weight of fodder for the animals, and corn and dates for the people; and the loud "Yákh! Yákh!" of the camel-drivers mingled with the thud of the camel-sticks falling upon the thick hides of the lazy animals.

Asru was given charge of the expedition for laying waste the country; and never was a more considerate destroyer.

"Here, here!" he would cry to an aged man, "let me load that animal for you!" and he would lift the heavy burden to the back of the pack-mule, while the old man would say, "You are surely a kind soldier after all."

"I will carry this sick girl," he would say, to another, and would lift her as gently as a mother and place her in the shugduf in which she was to be conveyed to the city.

His spirit of gentleness spread among his men.

"Let us be kind to our friends, men," he would urge upon them. "The day is fast coming when we can scarcely be kind to our enemies, be we never so willing."

So the people, though sad as they looked back upon their smouldering homes and blazing palm trees, were filled with love for the gentle soldiers, and went up with a new motive in striking for their liberty, for there is naught that will bring forth the strongest powers of action like the impulse of love.

Ah, the blight and misery of war! Manasseh looked out from the citadel upon the scene which he had deemed so fair--the waving corn-fields, the groves of palms and olives and aloes, the nestling houses, the pastures covered with flocks--now but a blackened and smoking waste, with here and there the skeleton of a palm tree pointing upward like a bony finger; and here and there a reeking column of black smoke, or the dull glare of a burning homestead.

The people murmured not. "Better let it lie in ashes than permit it to fall into the hands of the impostor!" they cried, and they muttered curses upon the head of the destroyer of their happiness and prosperity.

All were at last in and the anxious waiting began. Keen eyes peered from the citadel night and day. Watchmen were posted at every point of the out-works and spies were sent broadcast through the country.

Then the fateful word came. Breathless scouts told of an army fast approaching, twelve hundred men and two hundred horse, commanded by the prophet himself, his vizier Ali, and his friend Abu Beker.

Al Kamus, the citadel, was immediately crowded with men, and soldiers were posted along the walls, neither strong in numbers nor in arms, for many were armed but with staves and stones. Desperation was in their hearts, and calm, resolute faces looked forth for the advancing host.

Just as the morning sun flashed defiantly from the towers of Al Kamus, the Moslem army came in sight. At first it seemed like a moving, shapeless mass over the blackened fields,--and as the rising sun fell upon it, the moving mass became dotted with glints and lines of silver, like the ripple of waves on a sunlit sea; but the watchers recognized the deadly import of those bright gleams, and by the flash of scimitars and lances were able to compute in a vague way the strength of their opponents.

On they came until the stony place called Mansela was reached, and there, beneath a great rock, the host halted. The anxious watchers from the city could not discern the exact meaning of this, but more than one guessed that the halt was made for the offering of ostentatious prayer by the prophet.

This indeed was the case. As Mohammed came in full view of the citadel he cried out: "There, O believers, is the eyrie to which ye must climb. But victory has been promised us. Angels shall again lend us their invisible aid. Therefore have courage, O believers! Remember that for each of those vile infidels slain, a double joy awaits you in paradise. Know ye that every drop of an unbelieving Jew shed is as the crystal drops of nectar of paradise to the happy follower of Mohammed, the prophet of God. And fear not that ye be slain in this combat, O faithful! Ye will not be slain except your appointed time has come, when ye must in any case die. Remember that to be slain in battle for the cause of Islam is to reap a glorious reward!"

Then, mounting the great rock, he called with a loud voice: "La illaha il Allah! Mohammed Resoul Allah!" (There is no God but God! Mohammed is the prophet of God!)

And while the fanatics below prostrated themselves he prayed long and loudly.

Then the tents were pitched and the siege began. For many days it lasted. So abundant had been the supplies of food, and so numerous the droves of animals brought into the city, that those within the walls had no fear of famine. But so complete was the devastation of the country that the prophet's troops began to suffer for want of food. Yet they waited, as a suitable time of attack had not arrived. In the meantime they were engaged in digging trenches as a protection to the troops.

Manasseh and Asru were much together. They had become like brothers, and night after night they met on the citadel and looked out over the strange scene that was presented to the inhabitants of Khaïbar every evening during the siege. For, daily, just as the sun was setting, the whole Moslem army, with the prophet praying loudly at its head, set out in solemn procession, then proceeded round and round the city until seven circuits were completed, as in Tawaf at the Caaba.

Many among the more superstitious Jews of Khaïbar and their few Koreish adherents felt a thrill of awe as they looked upon this ceremony, fearing that the prophet was again practicing his arts of enchantment upon them; but the performance never failed to bring the smile of scorn to Asru's lips.

"Blind fanatics!" he exclaimed one evening. "A precious set of idiots!"

But Manasseh looked serious. "Asru," he said, "of course, I do not believe in all this; yet there is a something solemn in it to me. It makes me think of the seven circuits made about Jericho, when the priests blew upon the trumpets and the walls fell."

"Ah, but the voice of Jehovah gave the order then; now,"--and he smiled contemptuously--"the commanding voice is that of Mohammed, the peaceful Meccan trader, anon the gentle prophet of Allah, anon the blood-thirsty vulture and cut-throat robber, destroyer of life and liberty."

"Verily, Asru the Moslem soldier has completely changed," returned Manasseh, smiling.

"Aye, Manasseh, thanks to the peaceful Gospel of Jesus, Asru the Moslem, the lover of war, would now fain see this fair land smiling with happy homes and peaceful tillers of the soil. What is that about the child and the cockatrice?"

"'And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall lay its hand on the cockatrice' den. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea,'" quoted Manasseh solemnly.

Asru looked thoughtfully out towards the distant hills, but he did not see them. He saw a quiet home in Mecca, where a pale-faced wife, a beautiful daughter, and two bright-eyed boys, sat.

"Manasseh," he said at length, "it may be that I shall be killed in this battle. If I am and you are spared, go to my wife and children. Tell them the Gospel for me. My great regret is that I myself put it off until too late. Will you, Manasseh?"

Manasseh pressed his friend's hand warmly. "You may trust me, if I live," he said simply. And the soldier was satisfied.

"Manasseh, I am rich," he continued. "See that my wealth is used for the best."

Manasseh pressed his hand again, and the tall soldier left him, feeling that, whatever happened, this young man's fidelity and integrity could be depended upon.

And now the Moslem army began to weary of inaction. Several desultory attacks were made by them, and battering-rams were set in play against the walls, but with no effect, until a grand attempt was decided upon. Night had scarcely faded into morning, and the rock of Mansela still stood black and shapeless against a gray sky, when a commotion was seen in the Moslem camp. Mohammed's troops no longer made the wild onslaught of untrained Bedouin hordes. The experience of scores of engagements had taught their leader the necessity of system; and now the host began to move in regular order in three main divisions. Above the center one floated the sacred flag of the prophet; to the right waved Ali's standard, a design of the sun; and to the left fluttered the Black Eagle of Abu Beker's division.

The battle began by an assault led by Abu Beker. Scaling-ladders were placed, and the Moslems swarmed up the walls, but a desperate band led by Al Hareth met them, and the besieging party, after a sharp fight, was compelled to withdraw. Shouts of triumph and jeers of derision arose from the city walls. The Moslems were frantic. Cries of vengeance were heard from their ranks.

Then Ali, shouting, "For God and the prophet!" dashed forward. He was dressed in scarlet, and wore a cuirass of steel. Over his head he waved the prophet's sword, and at the head of his division floated a sacred banner. Straight on he dashed towards a breach in the wall, and there, on a pile of loose stones, he fixed the standard.

Al Hareth rushed to the fore, and a desperate, single-handed combat ensued. The Moslem army and the garrison of the city alike held their breath. The contest was unequal. In a moment Al Hareth had fallen, and a mighty cheer burst from the prophet's men.

Manasseh was stationed at the head of a band of horsemen, whom he was now with difficulty keeping in check. Yet for a moment he forgot all in watching a figure that was ascending the breach.

Whose but Asru's that gigantic form? Whose but Asru's that floating turban of white--that helmet in which flashed a diamond placed there by Kenana's own hand? Whose but Asru's that clanking sword and that three-pronged spear which none but he could wield?

"Surely now the Moslem will waver!" thought the youth; and with bated breath he watched this second combat, waged beside the bleeding form of Asru's dead brother.

With dauntless air the Moslem awaited the coming of Asru. They closed upon each other. The armies looked on, motionless, breathless, the combatants struggled, a writhing mass, broken only by the flash of the spear and glitter of the lance, as deadly blows were dealt or parried--and the sunshine rained from above. The very air seemed to stand still in watching, and the clash of every stroke was borne, with painful distinctness, to the ears of Asru's friend.

The combat was an equal one, Ali's agility matching well the superior strength of his antagonist, and it was not soon over. At last the Moslem seemed to stagger.

There, there, Asru, strike! He falls, he falls! There is your advantage! Strike! Joy, joy! victory is ours!

But no! Ye gods, what is wrong! Why stands Asru there, helpless? Why does he not act? By Allah, he loses time! Ha! his turban end has become twisted over his eyes beneath his helmet! Help! Help! Ye gods! Ha! Ali rises with a sharp recoil! He strikes! Woe! Woe! Asru is down!

A shout breaks afresh from the Moslem army as the brave Asru's body is dragged to one side of the breach. And now the Moslems dash forward like an avalanche. The breach widens; the green and yellow turbans swarm within the walls. Manasseh's horse dash forward. Over the open square a detachment of Moslem horse is spurring, the horsemen bending low as they ride, their maddened animals, gorgeous in trappings of scarlet, yellow and blue, with tails knotted at the ends, "like unto the heads of serpents." With regular sway the long spears swing with the motion of the horses.

Clash! The opposing forces meet. Men fall. Horses roll over in the dust. Back! Back! The Moslems are in headlong flight! Yet one youth fights on. Straight for the young Jewish leader he dashes. Blows rain on each side. Some of the Jewish horse close round.

"Keep off, men!" shouts Manasseh. "Would ye attack a man fifty to one?"

Blows fall faster and breath comes in short gasps.

The Moslem's horse gives way beneath him, and falls with a shriek backwards. The gallant youth springs to his feet, then throws up his arms and falls. His turban drops off from his brow, and, for the first time, Manasseh recognizes Kedar.

He turns sick. Is the Moslem dead? No, his heart still beats. "Here, men, take him into that house. I will seek him later."

On goes the young leader to a fresh scene of battle. Alas! in the meantime the poorly-armed Jews have been everywhere driven back. The Moslems have entered the citadel; the Jews give way before them everywhere. Even his own hopeful spirit cannot revive them. They are seized with a panic and fly, leaving the brave youth almost alone.

Manasseh was soon overpowered, bound, and thrown into the corner of a great hall of the citadel, where he lay apparently forgotten, listening, with heavy heart, to the shrieks and cries of his countrymen without, and to the hum of war, gradually growing fainter, until it ceased, and he knew that the conflict was over. The Moslems began to enter the hall, among them Mohammed.

The prophet took his seat at the end of the apartment, and presently several of the chief citizens were brought in with hands bound. Manasseh perceived that a tribunal was being held, and, from his corner, listened eagerly to the sentence passed upon each.

It soon appeared that treasure was the prophet's aim. Exorbitant demands were made upon the rich merchants, who, pale and trembling, offered their all in exchange for their lives. Among the rest, Kenana, with his handsome wife, was brought in.

"They tell me, Kenana," said the prophet, "that you have immense wealth stored up in this citadel. If you desire your life, inform me where this treasure is."

"I have no treasure in the citadel," said Kenana, proudly; "and if I had, the apostle of Azazil should not know of it."

The prophet's face colored with passion. "Apostle of Azazil! O blasphemer!" he exclaimed. "Do you then thus defy the only, the true prophet of Allah?"

"I do."

"Then we shall see what can be done with a stubborn infidel spirit!" returned Mohammed. "Hither! Apply the torture!"

A machine of fiendish invention was applied to the chief's hands. His fingers were squeezed until the bones cracked; his veins swelled in agony; yet no sound escaped his lips. He could not, or would not, tell where the treasure was concealed, and he was handed over to a Moslem whose brother Kenana had slain. Manasseh closed his eyes in horror, for he knew that Kenana's fate was sealed.

Kenana's wife, Safiya, was taken by Mohammed, and on the homeward march she became the wife of the prophet.

Manasseh lay there in great depression of spirit. He was weary in mind and cramped in body, and it almost seemed as though he were completely forsaken. Yet his ever-present source of comfort returned to him, and like a sweet refrain came the words into his mind: "Thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall."

The half-starved Moslem troops now began to clamor for food, and the defenceless Jewish women were forced to prepare victuals and to serve their conquerors. Among these women entered Zaynab, the niece of Asru. She placed a shoulder of mutton before the prophet, then went towards the door. Perceiving Manasseh in the corner, she severed his bonds with a quick stroke of a small dagger, then, shielding him as best she might, she bade him begone.

"Have hope!" she whispered in his ear. "I have poisoned the prophet."

Manasseh uttered an exclamation of horror.

"Why not?" she said, with a laugh. "Manasseh fights with a lance, Zaynab with poison. Now, fly, ere they see you!"

Manasseh hastened down the dark streets to the house in which Kedar had been placed. He found the youth moaning feebly. Hurrying out, he caught a couple of stray camels, and fastened a shugduf in its place. Then, raising the youth in his strong arms, he laid him in the shugduf, and set off in the darkness.

To Mecca he must go. It was a long, weary way. He had little money, and the few provisions which a Jewish woman in the house gave him would not last long; yet he trusted to Providence, and remembered with satisfaction that the dates were now at their ripest. He would nurse Kedar tenderly; they would journey in the cool shades of night when there was less danger of being stopped on the way. Planning thus, he proceeded, as noiselessly as possible, with his precious burden, through a gap in the wall, and urged his faithful beasts on in the cool night breezes over the blackened plain.

Then he thought of Asru. Asru must not be left to be rudely thrown into a grave by infidel hands. There was danger in it, but he must go back. Kedar was sleeping. He fixed the camels by a charred palm grove, and went back, with flying feet, through the gloom. The towers of Al Kamus rose above him, with lights twinkling on the battlements. He wondered if the prophet were yet alive and what would be the result to Arabia if he were dead. On, on, through the darkness, until the fatal breach was reached. It was quite deserted, peopled only by a heap of dead bodies, from which, in the night time, the superstitious Arabs shrank in horror. Groping among them, he soon came upon Asru's huge form, which he readily recognized by its armor. He dragged the precious clay of his friend from the mass of dead and brought it, with difficulty, outside of the wall; and there beneath a palm tree, he hollowed out a lonely grave, loosening the clay with a battle-axe taken from a dead Arab, and throwing the clods out with his shield. He then cut a wisp of hair from the dead soldier's long locks, placed it in his bosom, kissed the cold brow, and uttered a short prayer over the lifeless form. Tenderly he placed the body in the shallow grave, and covered it with the clay, then, breathing a last farewell, left Asru forever in this life.

In the meantime Mohammed and one of his followers had begun to eat of the poisoned mutton. The soldier was ravenous with hunger, and set upon the tempting roast with eager relish. Mohammed partook of it more slowly.

Suddenly the soldier threw up his arms, and fell back in a convulsion. Mohammed started back in consternation. He, too, felt pain, and raised the cry of "Poison!" The Moslems came rushing in in great alarm. Antidotes were given him, and he shortly recovered, with but a slight sensation of burning in his head. The poor soldier was soon stiff in death.

Mohammed sent for the woman who had brought him the mutton. She came at once.

"Know you who put the poison in this meat?" he asked.

"It was I," she confessed, boldly.

"And how dared you perpetrate so wicked a scheme?"

"If you were a true prophet," she replied, "you would have known that the meat was poisoned; if not, it were a favor to Arabia to rid it of such a despot."

"See then," exclaimed the prophet, "how Allah hath preserved the life of his apostle! Behold, I forgive you. Return to your tribe, and sin not in like manner again."

So saying, with one of his strange freaks of magnanimity, he waved her off, and soon afterward went to rest.