The Sword Of Medina (18 page)

And so with spirits lifted, I stepped forth from the mosque a member of
the prestigious
shura
that would decide the future of the Islamic community. We were to meet almost immediately, but first, the members needed to be summoned, and Umar needed to rest. “Do not worry,” he said, gasping, “I will not take my final breath until a successor is named.” Yet the way he struggled to focus his gaze and the parchment-like pallor of his skin told us that his time, and ours in which to choose a
khalifa
, was very short.

For his comfort we closed the mosque to all except his family and the
shura
members. A’isha had advised against moving Umar to his home, saying the pain would be great for him and that doing so might shorten his life.

I hurried to the home of al-Abbas with the news of my appointment to the
shura
. For all my doubts about my uncle, I could not dispute his shrewdness in political affairs, and I desired his advice before entering into the deliberations that could shape my destiny.

“Praise al-Lah for Abd al-Rahman!” he cried when I had related the tale of the
shura
’s formation. I cringed to think of praising that smug sack of goat-grease, but then my uncle added, “His lack of intelligence is our gain. What he has unwisely refused, we will seize for ourselves.”

I did not like the greed in his eyes, for I neither intended to “seize” anything nor to claim the
khalifa
for my uncle’s sake. His ambitions, I had learned, could prompt me to perform deeds against my conscience. As I walked to my home to tell Asma the news, a scream more deafening than a howling
samoom
bounced against the building next to me. I ran in one direction, then another before finding Umar’s assassin, Abu Lulu’a, lying in the street, his face smeared with mucous and blood, his throat slit open. Beside him stood Umar’s youngest son, Ubayd Allah, a blood-dripping knife in his right hand and a grimace on his lips.

“Now begins my vengeance!” he cried. His eyes were bulging and unfocused, staring into the crowd gathering around the slain man. “Let his collaborators beware, for they will be the next to taste death’s dust.”

“
Yaa
Ubayd Allah,” I said, eyeing his knife warily. “Of whom do you speak? Umar angered Abu Lulu’a, and Abu Lulu’a attacked him in return. Now you have avenged your father, and the blood-price is paid. Any more killings would make you a murderer.”

“Murderer!” he snarled. He took a step toward me, his eyes gleaming. The aroma of blood pierced my nose. I gripped my sword handle. “The
dogs of Persia are the ones who have murdered today,” he said. “By al-Lah, before night falls the streets of Medina will be steeped in Persian blood!”

He turned and, shouting his father’s name, fled into the crowd. I hurried back toward the mosque, forgoing the embraces of my lovely Asma in order to alert Umar to the dangers his son posed. Ubayd Allah was like a stampeding bull, and I had no doubt that he would hunt down additional Persians to kill. But once I reached Umar’s bedside, I knew he was not the one to tell. He lay on his back with his hands folded on his chest, his face flushed and shining as though it had been rubbed with oil, his breathing like water bubbling through gravel, his bandages soaked and dripping onto his mattress.

I spat onto the dirt floor. Damn A’isha! Her task was to tend to Umar, yet she had left him alone without man or woman to greet him should he awaken. Once again she had proved herself as irresponsible as a child.

And she was as gullible, also. She would try to help Talha take the
khalifa
, I had no doubt, although how much influence she would wield was unclear. Talha was in Khaybar, inspecting his date plantation and enjoying the cool date-palm breezes created by his crowd of servant girls. Without being here to advocate for himself, he had almost no chance of being chosen today.

I knocked on the door of A’isha’s hut, but heard no response. I looked for her in the cooking tent, but it was empty. At last I stepped into the treasury, intending to inquire of Abd al-Rahman. I found him there, but I also discovered the other men of the
shura
—plus, to my astonishment, A’isha, who was pleading her favorite’s case.

“Talha can’t possibly ride all the way back from Khaybar in such a short time,” she was saying.

“Umar was clear,” Abd al-Rahman said. He folded his hands and studied us all with the gravity of a man who has assumed a weighty role against his inclinations. “He has directed me to choose his successor within three days. To leave the position unfilled for too long will cause strife in the
umma
and give others an opportunity to put forth their own candidates. We must avoid the confusion that would result.”

“But Talha was appointed by Umar,” she said.

“So were we all,” I interjected. Heads turned at the sound of my voice. “But the rest of us are here in Medina, not lounging in the cool Khaybar oasis.”

A’isha’s face reddened. “Talha is working, and you know it. He has date plantations to manage and workers to pay.”

In truth, I did not relish the presence of Talha in these
shura
meetings for I knew he would campaign aggressively against me. Judging from what I had overheard in Damascus between him and Mu’awiyya, his election would bring a complete corruption of
islam
. Talha thought only of his own ambitions and very little of the desires of al-Lah. Preventing his ascension to the
khalifa
was more important to me, therefore, than my own appointment. Yet, as I pondered the alternatives, I felt certain that I was right for the task.

“You speak the truth, A’isha,” Abd al-Rahman said, nodding like a sage old
shaykh.
“Umar did appoint Talha—at your suggestion, and possibly without recalling that he had departed for Khaybar. I have sent a messenger to request his return. He will certainly arrive as soon as possible. In the meantime, I agree with Umar that we should begin our deliberations.”

He glanced around the room, but I barely met his gaze. I stared angrily at A’isha. I knew she had summoned the other
shura
members, and purposely neglected to include me. She would do anything to undermine my candidacy—as she proved with her next words.

“
Yaa
Abd al-Rahman, why not allow me to speak in Talha’s stead?” she said. “As you know, I and he agree on every matter.”

“An excellent idea!” my traitorous cousin al-Zubayr exulted. By al-Lah, what had brought those two so closely together? My mouth felt dry. I said nothing, knowing that I must appear nonchalant if I desired success.

“
Afwan
,
yaa
Abd al-Rahman, but I do not think my father would approve of a woman’s involvement in these talks,” Abdallah ibn Umar said. I suppressed a smile. A’isha glared at him. “Forgive me, Mother of the Believers,” he murmured.

Uthman cleared his throat. “I agree with Abdallah, although I wish it were not so,” he said, inclining his head toward A’isha. “You have much wisdom to contribute, A’isha, and you can speak for our Prophet, also. But Umar did not appoint you, and I think it would be wrong to violate our dying
khalifa
’s wishes.”

“Holding the
shura
without Talha will violate his wishes, also,” she pressed. She turned her eye on each of us, but no one replied. “Don’t fool yourselves,” she said with a snort. “It’s not the
khalifa’s
desires you’re protecting, but your own.” She stomped from the room with her head high.

The relief I felt at her exit must have been experienced by others, also, for immediately we began to talk as we lifted cushions from the corner of the room and placed them around the long, low table Umar used for counting and disbursing money. Abd al-Rahman placed himself in the center position, assuming the leadership.

“Before we begin the deliberations, we must know who desires the
khalifa
,” he said, gazing at each of us with the shrewd, piercing eyes of a bird. “Anyone who wishes to compete, place your right hand on the table.”

Silence fell about our heads like dust settling after a storm. As wary as if we were predators stalking the same prey, the six of us watched one another and waited for the first hand to appear. Finally, Abd al-Rahman placed his hand, palm down, on the table and said, “I will begin by announcing my own interest. Who joins me?”

I looked down at my trembling hands, unable to lift either, wondering if my desire to lead the
umma
sprang from the will of al-Lah or from myself.
Please, God, guide me in this momentous decision.
If I vied for the
khalifa
now and lost, I might never again have the opportunity to try again. But if I did not make the attempt, would I be failing al-Lah,
islam
, and all those who had supported me? I knew I could rely on Sa’d. I had saved his life at Uhud, and encouraged Muhammad to promote him after the Battle of the Trench. But who else here would vote for me? Umar’s son, Abdallah? We had fought together, also, but he was indolent and I had been harsh with him. Al-Zubayr, that traitor? Perhaps. And certainly Uthman, one of Muhammad’s closest Companions, would support me. He knew how often Muhammad had relied on my aid and advice

But, no. Across the table, Uthman coughed, covering his mouth with his hand, said “
Afwan
,” and set his hand down on the table. A sense of urgency flared in me, urging me to declare myself. I could not bear to see either of these men governing the faithful and guiding the Believers in the ways of
islam.

“Excellent.” Abd al-Rahman beamed at Uthman, his brother-in-law and close companion. “It looks as though we two are the only contenders for this
khalifa.
And since I am advanced in years and lack the energy that the position requires, I will happily—”

Hurry hurry hurry hurry you are losing it all—stop him now!

The slap of my palm on the table made Abd al-Rahman’s eyes fly open
as though a bucket of cold water had been slung in his face. Uthman twisted his mustache and frowned.

“Ah. Ali.” Abd al-Rahman’s smile was a thin attempt at pleasantness. “Of course you still desire to fill the Prophet’s place.” He cleared his throat and glanced brightly around the table again. “Any others? No? Then please note the candidates: Me, Uthman, and Ali. Those in favor of me, place your hand on the table.”

He left his hand there, and Umar’s son Abdallah added his own. “Because it is my father’s desire,” he said.

Next came the vote for Uthman. Al-Zubayr, that deceptive dog, planted his hand beside Uthman’s. “I had thought of vying, also,” he said, “but to compete against a man so generous would feel dishonorable. You have treated my wife well.” I felt a smirk creep across my mouth. Was al-Zubayr unaware of Uthman’s reputation with women?

And at last Abd al-Rahman spoke my name, and the only remaining hand—that belonging to the estimable young general Sa’d—came down for me. “I have not forgotten your years as my commander,” he said. “Never did a man wield a sword so expertly or so bravely. Your courage and skill would translate well to the
khalifa.
”

And so, without Talha to cast a seventh vote—thank al-Lah!—we found ourselves with no winner. “Does anyone wish to nominate a man outside this room?” Abd al-Rahman said.

“What about Talha?” al-Zubayr said.

“Are you nominating him?” Abd al-Rahman said. “Then you must withdraw your support from Uthman.”

“Would Talha offer himself as a candidate against such formidable opponents?” Abdallah said. “Which of the candidates might he support, instead? Since we have no way of knowing, I think we have to omit him.”

Abd al-Rahman called a second vote, but the results were identical. For a long while we sat in confusion—until at last Abd al-Rahman said, “It is important to have a clear consensus regarding the
khalifa.
If we cannot decide who will lead us, how can we expect the
umma
to support our final choice?”

He called again for a vote, but the results did not vary.

“Praise al-Lah, He has handed us a challenge,” Abd al-Rahman said, but his voice sounded weary rather than excited. “And now I will attempt
to meet that challenge with this offer: I will remove my name—if you all will allow me to choose the next
khalifa,
with al-Lah’s direction.”

That sly son of Satan! He and Uthman were the closest of friends. It was no mystery whom he would select.

“An excellent idea, Abd al-Rahman,” Uthman said, smiling. “As a flawlessly pious man and Companion to the Prophet, you will rely on alLah for assistance in this important decision, I know.”

“I will fast and pray until He reveals His will to me,” Abd al-Rahman said.

I hesitated to protest, fearing that I might seem overly contentious. Seeing that Sa’d was not going to question this dubious offer, however, I allowed myself to speak. “And what if He does not reveal His will, Abd al-Rahman?” I said. “On what basis will you choose between me, whom you have never supported before, and your relative, who also happens to be your bosom companion?”

“
Afwan,
Ali, but you are speaking without thinking,” al-Zubayr said. “Abd al-Rahman is well respected in our
umma
as the most faithful of Believers. Did not the Prophet say, ‘Truly, You hear all prayers?’ Surely al-Lah would listen to the man our
khalifa
would have chosen as his replacement.”

The treachery of al-Zubayr, my long-beloved cousin, made me gnash out the words I had repressed for so long.

“And you, cousin?” I snarled. “You supported me in the past, but you have turned with the prevailing winds like an inconstant flag. How many dinars did Uthman pay for your vote today?”

Al-Zubayr leapt to his feet, his hand on his sword. “Insulting Uthman, the Prophet’s beloved Companion! If not for Muhammad’s love for you, I would cut out your tongue this very moment.”

I stood, also, and touched my sword hilt. “The only man I wished to insult, cousin, was you.”

“
Yaa
Ali,” my lone supporter, Sa’d, said quietly, “this is not the way to gain the
khalifa
.”