The Sword Of Medina (26 page)

Uthman beheld me in those chains and his mouth trembled. For all his foolish mistakes in recent years, he saw clearly the error his brother had committed in humiliating me, the father of the Prophet’s heirs. It would have been better for al-Walid to behead me in Kufa and declare me a traitor than to lead me, shackled and weak, into Medina before the eyes of my relatives and supporters.

Even worse for Uthman was this: My son Mohammad and his friends, exiled to Egypt, had learned of al-Walid’s journey and hastily convened a group to support my cause. They’d escaped from prison and fled to Kufa to occupy al-Walid’s palace and rally men in that city, as well. In Basra, Kufa’s sister city, malcontents had also gathered. They all rode forth, then converged at Mecca and marched as one to Medina. Meanwhile, that tippler al-Walid dragged me through the desert, my wrists bound so tightly that I
lost feeling in my hands, my mouth parched from the paltry amount of water he allowed me, and my feet blistering from the heat of the sand he made me stumble through while he rode, jerking my tether. Only when I fainted would he allow me to slump over a camel’s back, and then only until I recovered from my swoon. Each loss of consciousness was a blessing, not only because it afforded me a ride, but also because it silenced my fears. What form of torture would Marwan inflict for this charge of treason? How could I convince Uthman of my innocence? Why would he believe me, when neither Abu Bakr nor Umar had trusted me?
Help me, al-Lah, to survive
.

God answered my prayers as we neared Medina. The rebels joined us on the outskirts of town, provoking glares from al-Walid and his warriors but nothing more, for these protesters numbered in the thousands. At the gates, one hundred of these men continued into the city with us. I and al-Walid entered the mosque as in an angry swarm. Uthman, sitting on his elaborate throne of ivory and gold, stood as quickly as his aged legs would allow and ordered his wine-stinking brother to release me without delay.

Al-Walid shrugged, too relaxed by his breakfast imbibing to generate enthusiasm for any effort except another drink, and gestured to his men to free me. No sooner had the chains clanked to the floor than did our escorts begin to cheer and chant my name. I rubbed the soreness from my wrists and ankles and willed myself to remain standing. Uthman descended the steps to stand before me, his eyes glaring but his mouth as soft as a lover’s. He was waiting for me to thank him, but I was too dizzy and sick to think. In the next moment he slapped me so hard that I fell to my knees, my ears ringing.

“Were you plotting my overthrow?” he shouted over the protests of the rebels. “My heart sickens to hear this charge.”

“It is but a rumor,
yaa khalifa,
and a false one,” I said, spitting blood and struggling to my feet.

Al-Walid burst into laughter. Uthman turned to him.

“He was dining with al-Ashtar, who has escaped from prison with the help of his friends and now occupies the governor’s palace in my absence,” al-Walid said.

The mercurial al-Ashtar, leader of these dissidents, pushed his way through the Kufan guards.

“As you can see,
yaa khalifa,
I occupy no palace,” al-Ashtar said. “I have
come with an urgent petition to correct the injustices that your governors in Kufa, Basra, and Fustat have imposed.”

Uthman drew his mouth into a tight frown as he turned to his brother. Al-Walid’s bald head had turned a fiery red and he was glaring at al-Ashtar with bulging, blood-shot eyes.

“Is it as this man says,
yaa
brother?”

The drunken man emitted a guttural sound not unlike Mount Layla’s belching before she had rained brimstone upon our city a few years before.

“How dare you insult me with this ridiculous question?” he screamed at Uthman, who drew back from him. “You would take the word of this camel’s teat over that of your beloved brother?”

Uthman hastened to ascend his platform in time to avoid the spray of outrage spluttering forth from al-Walid’s mouth.

“Do you not know me after all these years?” the governor continued to shout, turning now to rail at the empty mosque. “Brother, instead of challenging me you should be flogging these traitors with barbed whips! You should remove their heads with dull blades! By God, I should have done that deed for you. By God, I will do it now!”

He clumsily pulled his sword from the sheath under his arm and stumbled toward al-Ashtar, who sidestepped him with a flourish. The raging drunkard fell to his knees on the floor, the position I had occupied only moments earlier. Al-Walid’s guards assisted him to his feet. After brushing himself off with great care, he thrust out his chin and reeled toward the mosque entrance, anticipating, no doubt, his next draught from the flagon on his horse’s saddle.

“By al-Lah,
yaa
brother, you have filled me full of shame,” al-Walid said over his shoulder. “I will retire to my quarters and await your apology.”

I heard laughter and looked to the courtyard entrance where Talha was winking at al-Zubayr and nudging the arm of the broad-shouldered general ‘Amr. Beside Talha stood A’isha, properly covered, for a change, yet affecting a stance—feet wide apart, arms folded across her chest—that indicated her attitude was far from demure. Unlike in the past, however, I did not resent her presence in the mosque. She, at least, was willing to confront Uthman over his unjust behavior.

Uthman glared at them as the Egyptians shouted and embraced their beloved ‘Amr.

“Here,
khalifa
, is our choice for Fustat.” Al-Ashtar gestured toward ‘Amr. “Reappoint ‘Amr as governor of Egypt and we will be appeased.”

Uthman sighed and sat heavily on his throne. “I do not know,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his chair. “Can I unseat Abdullah? He is my foster brother. And he was an early Companion to Muhammad.”

“Yes, and the worst kind of Companion!” A’isha called out. “First Abdullah pretended to be a Believer; then he went to Mecca and told lies about Muhammad.”

Uthman sat up quickly and pointed at A’isha. “I banished you from these meetings!” he cried. “Go to your hut, and do not come out until I summon you.”

Shouts of outrage filled the mosque from the rebels who stood behind me. Encouraged by their support, A’isha walked into the mosque to stand before the
minbar,
her chin lifted even higher than before. Uthman slumped in his seat again like a sail that has lost its wind.

“Yes, A’isha, Abdullah offended the Prophet, but the Prophet forgave him.” Marwan entered the mosque. His narrow eyes jerked about, taking in the gathering: I and the rebels; Talha and his cohorts; A’isha, openly returning his gaze and inspiring me to do the same; and Uthman, slumping in his king’s throne and appearing anything but royal.

Marwan’s sandals slapped across the tile floor and against the marble steps as he ascended the platform. He settled himself on a second throne, newly installed for him, of polished wood.

Uthman continued to sprawl in his chair like a drooling old
shaykh
. Marwan tapped a forefinger against his chin and perused us like a slave buyer eyeing shoddy merchandise. “
Yaa
Mother of the Believers, why have you not embarked on the
hajj
, as the
khalifa
so generously permitted?” he said.

“Al-Abbas’s son has delayed the caravan’s departure, at my request,” she said, turning her focus to Uthman and ignoring the impertinent Marwan, who behaved increasingly as if he were the
khalifa
. Gossips said that Marwan had put himself forth as Uthman’s successor. Uthman had been wise not to assent, for the day he agreed would be his final day on earth. He would die either by Marwan’s hand or that of al-Ashtar, who would do anything to prevent Marwan from becoming
khalifa.
Over supper in Kufa
the night we were arrested, al-Ashtar told me how he had risked his life long ago to carry the injured Marwan off the battlefield—and then been insulted in return.

“Instead of thanking me, he called me a ‘filthy Bedouin,’” al-Ashtar had said. “He complained that, because I had touched him, he would have to be purified.” For this humiliation, al-Ashtar nurtured a vicious grudge.

A’isha, on the other hand, advocated negotiation, not killing. “
Yaa khalifa,
I strongly advise you to listen to these men,” she said.

“I do not recall your being asked—” Marwan began, but A’isha interrupted him, gaining another measure of esteem from me.

“Uthman, they came all this way to talk to you,” she said. “And they’re only asking you to appoint a new governor in Egypt. It seems like a fair request.”

Cheers arose from the rebels, which brought Marwan to his feet. “Enough!” he cried. “You have overstepped your boundaries. Abdullah and al-Walid will remain in office at the command of the
khalifa.
Now, depart before I call our guards, who will show you Bedouin scum how
real
men behave.”

His insult fanned the flames of the rebels, who would have rushed onto the platform and attacked him with their swords if al-Ashtar had not urged me to the front alongside A’isha.

“
Yaa khalifa,
Abdullah has been a cruel governor,” I said. Marwan began to speak but Uthman, sitting up, shook his head at him.

“If you knew the tales I have heard, you would be aghast,” I said. “Muhammad would not want any Muslim to be abused as these men have. As for al-Walid, his weaknesses outnumber his strengths. It would be better to keep him in Medina as your advisor than to leave him to his own counsel in Kufa.”

“We want ‘Amr!” al-Ashtar shouted. “ ‘Amr in Egypt and Mohammad ibn Abi Bakr in Kufa.”

Marwan’s eyes glinted. “Mohammad ibn Abi Bakr is your stepson, is he not, Ali? It is no wonder that you have allied yourself with these men. His appointment would certainly enhance your status.”

I flushed. “I was not aware of any movement to have my son appointed governor,” I said. “Although, in truth, he would perform excellently.”

“‘Amr and Mohammad! ‘Amr and Mohammad!” the men cried, rushing to the platform and crowding so closely around me and A’isha that we were pushed against each other. Her wrapper fell from her face and her eyes widened in alarm as we were jostled about. She appeared so tiny and fragile that I feared she might be crushed against the marble, but when I reached out an arm to protect her, she whirled around, narrowed her eyes at seeing me so close, then leapt onto the platform.

“
Yaa
Uthman, do something!” she cried, holding her sword high in defiance of the mob. She refused to meet my eyes, although I could not remove my gaze from the sight of her. She was so courageous and strong, not like any woman I had ever seen and certainly not the rude, brash girl I had once despised.

Marwan said something into the ear of Uthman, who nodded and then stood. He walked to the edge of the platform with his hands out to quell the crowd.

“I will do as you ask,” he said. “‘Amr will be governor of Egypt and Mohammad ibn Abi Bakr may rule Kufa. Forgive me for ignoring your complaints for so long. My territory is vast, and there is always much to be done. Now, please, in the name of al-Lah, go home, and allow the Mother of the Believers safe passage to her hut.”

He inclined his head toward me. “As for you, Ali, it is evident that you sympathize with the rebels’ complaints but not their tactics. I am dismissing the charges against you. You are free—but, in the future, choose your dining companions more wisely.”

The room fell silent as we men regarded one another in stunned shock. Had Uthman capitulated so easily? Relief washed over me and I uttered a prayer of thanks to al-Lah.

“I thought we would have to negotiate for weeks or even months,” Mohammad said as we filed out the front door.

“Did you see that scoundrel Marwan whispering in Uthman’s ear?” Al-Ashtar’s laugh was coarse. “By al-Lah, he is plotting something evil or I am not a filthy Bedouin.”

“
Yaa
Mohammad, that sister of yours is quite persuasive,” Hud said. “I’ll bet ‘Amr is glad to have her on his side.”

I bade farewell to al-Ashtar and my son at the city’s main gate, declining their request that I join them for the evening meal. I had already
endured weeks of imprisonment because of associating with al-Ashtar and his group, who were, in truth, too radical for my liking.
Thank you, alLah, for Uthman’s acquiescence.
If he had not accommodated them in some measure, they would take his head, or Marwan’s.

Uthman had spoken truly: Although I agreed with the rebels’ complaints, I did not wish harm upon the
khalifa
. If any life was sacred, it was that of Muhammad’s successor. Al-Lah had rid the
umma
of that usurper Abu Bakr only two years after he had deceived his way into the position. Would God allow Uthman to rule for twelve if He had not wanted him for the
khalifa
?

But I also denied the men’s dining invitation for another reason: I wanted to be alone to ponder all that had happened today, from the unexpected appearance of the rebels outside the city gates to Uthman’s refusal to acknowledge his brother’s drunken behavior, to my shocking response to A’isha—admiration!—on the mosque floor. I walked slowly down the street to my home—but then, at the door, turned away. I needed to delay the cacophony of wives, concubines, and children for just a few minutes more. As I walked to the
hammam,
the public baths, I pondered the day’s occurrences, as well as the question that Hud had posed: What
did
A’isha gain from helping ‘Amr?

I recalled the scene in the entryway, when the laughing Talha had winked at al-Zubayr, then ‘Amr, and I knew. Placing ‘Amr back in Egypt would be the first step toward procuring the
khalifa
for Talha—and, in A’isha’s view, power for herself. For I knew that, being a woman and therefore unable to claim the position, she would instead sit by Talha’s side and issue commands for him to carry out. Or so she mistakenly imagined. Judging from what I had heard between Talha and Mu’awiyya that day, Talha’s ambitions extended to no one but himself.