Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 26

"Tulayha al-Asadi?" Ruqayya exclaimed. "You are putting your faith in that fool?"

"I know not who he is," I replied, polishing my bow with a piece of cloth. "All he said was to seek him out next expedition. For freedom."

"Tulayha ibn Khuwaylid is a fool," Ruqayya folded her arms and scowled. "As are all men."

"Harsh, don't you think? You are speaking to a man, after all."

"You are a boy."

I grunted. "A boy who has seen more grief in eleven years than most men, and women for that matter, did in a lifetime."

"Tulayha is the chieftain of the Banu Asad," Ruqayya continued. "He has always had delusions of grandeur. Though he is far superior than any other city person. Which isn't saying much. City people."

She scoffed.

"He is a nomad then? You are not fond of city people at all. Why is that?"

"Because you are corrupt," she extended her arms in an encompassing gesture. "You live extravagantly, in luxury. You indulge yourselves in base desires and grow fat and soft in your vice. What need does someone have for a construction of wood or brick? A tent provides sufficient shelter. What need does one have for ludicrous silver and gold coins. Is cattle not valuable enough currency? Are camels not? Your lives have no real challenge, no test of will. It is not what the gods designed man for. You lack fortitude, strength, willpower."

"Yet, for all your fortitude, strength and willpower, you're a slave."

She scowled at me then, her brow creasing. "Do not trust Tulayha al-Asadi. He is an incompetent fool that will get you killed."

"Ah," I smiled. "So, now you care for a city person that happens to be a man."

Her words lingered in my mind as the days plodded and drudged. I would set about toiling the fields, tidying the shed up, frequently visiting the marketplace to replenish the house's food supply, and all I could think about was an offer of freedom from a man that was supposedly incompetent.

It had been days since Mas'oud, Yazid and 'Ammar, as well as hundreds of other Muslims rode south to Makkah. They took no swords, no weapons, no shirts of mail or leather. They were clad in a simple stark white outfit that was draped over one shoulder, covering the arm, while leaving the other bare. They were seeking to perform 'umrah pilgrimage at the Ka'aba.

I yearned to go along with them, to see this most venerated sanctuary of the gods. The Muslims could corrupt it all they want, associate it with their false god, but Qusayy always said it was a safe haven for true believers of the Arab gods, a bastion of faith.

"Idols and sculptures as far as the eye can see," he once said. "And the Ka'aba itself...oh, Hanthalah, what a sight it is! Cube shaped and serene, swaddled in white covering. Dozens of the finest poems pinned to it. And the shrine of Ibrahim, ancestor of Arab and Jew alike! Marvelous."

But it was an endeavor for Muslims only, Mas'oud had said.

"No Jews allowed," he'd rasped.

"I'm no Jew! I'm a Muslim."

He only spat and left.

But it wasn't all bad.

In the shed, Ruqayya and I were virtually undisturbed by Mas'oud's remaining wife and youngest children. There was no one around to smack me for laxing around or 'reprimand' me for performing poorly, so the week or so it took the Muslims to return was blissful.