Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 29

February 629 AD, Shawwal 7 AH

"He seems like a shady fellow," Ruqayya said. "Get out of it."

I had grown closer to the slave girl in the months after Khaybar. At first, she was cold and distant, preferring to keep to herself. I did not mind and cared little at the time. Now, however, she was more open to conversation, though still understandably reserved. Her tasks were far more hectic than mine; she had taken over the responsibilities of the cattle and the camel.

She was tasked with preparing food for the enormous household and the gods only knew what Mas'oud did to her. Her eyes were haunted, her face scarred, and she often walked with a limp.

"Get out of it?" I asked.

"This crusade he seems to be mustering. It's bound to fail. He can fool you with all his charm and his wit, but if you had half a mind, you'd see that he'll be short a head when all is said and done. As will you."

"He hasn't fooled me. What if this is a thread from the gods? It seems far too convenient to be otherwise. An exit of sorts?"

Ruqayya paused, studying me. "You want an exit. You want an end to all the misery. You're so desperate in your pursuit that you see an exit in every shadow. You're deluding yourself."

The door to Mas'oud's bedchamber creaked open. Mas'oud's new wife darted away, sobbing softly in her hands. Moments later, Mas'oud emerged bare-chested and puffing. He grunted at Ruqayya and beckoned for her to follow him inside.

Finally, Ruqayya wrinkled her nose and turned away from me.

"Go, join Tulayhah as a corpse at the bottom of a ditch. Why would I care for you?"

She stood abruptly and stalked off, leaving me to my thoughts. I rolled my eyes, walking out the doorway. She was no Sumayya. Now, that was company I yearned for. I wondered what had become of that mystery girl.

I will seek all my answers once I have collected my freedom.

The last Muslim soldier had vacated Khaybar within three days. The final skirmish that spelled the demise of the brothers Marhab and Harith ibn Al-Harith also heralded the fall of the final fortress.

However, there was no massacre of the Khaybarian Jews as there was of the Qurayza, nor did any Muslim linger in the conquered forts. The inhabitants of Khaybar were allowed to continue living freely in their ancestral home as long as they paid monthly tribute to Madinah – a hefty poll tax known as the jizya. Land owning Khaybarians were also taxed a substantial percentage of their produce; this land tax was referred to as kharaj.

The Muslims had established themselves as a force to be reckoned with, a political power worthy to rival the Quraysh. The Jews of Khaybar could no longer mount noteworthy resistance and had been humbled significantly.

It was dusk once I found Tulayha's shack. I knew he was a nomad, and so Yathrib was not his permanent place of residence, but I also knew that many of the Bedouin sought audience with Muhammad, especially after the respect curried after Khaybar. More Bedouin tribes, from the east in the Bahrayn to the far south in Yemen, traveled to Yathrib to pledge allegiance to Muhammad. The more prosperous among them had secured houses in the city. I inquired after Tulayha's whereabouts in the marketplace until I'd gathered enough.

Seek me out in Madinah, he'd said. Arrogant bastard. Maybe once I've been freed, I'll put a dagger through his eye as well.

With my bow slung over my back, my quiver at a hip and a dagger concealed inside my gown, I stood at the clay and thatch shack; I studied the alleyways and paths nearby for any potential witnesses. I did not know what I was getting myself into.