Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 19

          The hillock of Sala' was brimming with bustling slaves and servants hurrying to and fro. Pitched tents rippled in ample wind under overcast weather. There had been a drizzle of rain very briefly earlier. The afternoon sky was a dark shade of grey and the winds were relentless. As the wind tugged at my coat, I studied the encampment. I noticed the purple tent of the Prophet at the heart of it, but that was no surprise. What really caught my eye was the activity at the foot of Sala'.

        Thousands upon thousands of men swarmed the landscape. They clouded my view of the horizon. Men as numerous as the sand. Men without end. The smoke of campfires trickled lazily upward as the troops below hustled and jeered and prayed beneath layers of cloth and wool, leather and chainmail. Thousands of tents of dozens of different varieties dotted the great field of grass the Quraysh and their allies occupied. Horses neighed and camels bleated, kicking the ground with their feet. There was the clamor of steel on steel and the yelling of men, followed by the snorting of a beast.

         It was a sight to instill fear even in the heart of a god. 

         "What's this?" I asked 'Amr, waving my hand in a broad gesture at the gaping hole in the ground .

         "It's Salman's idea. We're digging a trench to counter the vulnerability of the northern side," 'Amr answered. "The trench will hinder an infantry charge and it renders cavalry useless, which is supposedly the confederate army's greatest asset. If the idolaters attempt to force their way through and clamber up the ditch, they will be assailed by archers and crushed by boulders. If they still emerge from the trench – "

           "They will have to fight uphill, bruised and battered," I finished for him, in awe of the battle plan. "What of the crops?"

           The Quraysh could still burn them.

          "We gathered the harvest early," he explained.

           There were three large tents, distinct from all the others, for they had three different banners perched atop. Their cloth ruffled by the air all the while. The one in the middle was identical to the Qurayshi standard I had seen at Uhud – one of thick white cloth, the name of the tribe embroidered in red.

            I could not yet make the words of the standards to either side, but I did not need to read the embroidery to know these were the standards of the Nadir and the Qaynuqa'.

          My eyes swept across the boundless ocean of enemy warriors, each one of them huge and strong and splendid.

         I prayed to Hubal and al-Manat that I would live to see the end of the week.

         At Sala', I shared a tent with 'Amr, Mundhir and a number of other archers. I wore my litham at all times to obscure my identity, lest I be recognized.

          At night, we were on the front lines. The Battle of the Trench had begun.

          The trench by then was a formidable thing, adequately crescent shaped, stretching to either side of the hill. The sky gushed rainwater at intervals during the next few days.

           We were a single file of archers arrayed on the summit of the hill, the Muslim encampment to our backs, our bows in our hands. We had arrows nocked, but the bows were lowered as we awaited further instructions.

          A few stray raindrops pounded down on our heads, and a light breeze tugged at us. Some of the younger warriors in the confederate army ran to the edge of the trench on the other side and began hurling insults, jeering and yelling crude remarks. They slid one hand across their throats, promising us painful deaths. More than one stepped forward, raising unsheathed swords in the air, boasting of their reputations, illustrious lineage and skill at arms. They dared any 'Muhammadan' to cross the trench and face them in single combat.