THE SIEGE OF KHAIBAR.--KEDAR.
"The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than
shedding seas of gore."
In the same year, the seventh year of the Hejira, Mohammed made the
expected attack on Khaïbar. The chief, Kenana, got word of his approach,
and ordered that the country for miles around the capital should be laid
waste. For days the long roads leading into the city from every
direction, swarmed with a moving line of anxious-faced people, driving
their camels and sheep ahead of them, and leading mules laden with
household property. Low wagons creaked beneath the weight of fodder for
the animals, and corn and dates for the people; and the loud "Yákh!
Yákh!" of the camel-drivers mingled with the thud of the camel-sticks
falling upon the thick hides of the lazy animals.
Asru was given charge of the expedition for laying waste the country;
and never was a more considerate destroyer.
"Here, here!" he would cry to an aged man, "let me load that animal for
you!" and he would lift the heavy burden to the back of the pack-mule,
while the old man would say, "You are surely a kind soldier after all."
"I will carry this sick girl," he would say, to another, and would lift
her as gently as a mother and place her in the shugduf in which she was
to be conveyed to the city.
His spirit of gentleness spread among his men.
"Let us be kind to our friends, men," he would urge upon them. "The day
is fast coming when we can scarcely be kind to our enemies, be we never
so willing."
So the people, though sad as they looked back upon their smouldering
homes and blazing palm trees, were filled with love for the gentle
soldiers, and went up with a new motive in striking for their liberty,
for there is naught that will bring forth the strongest powers of action
like the impulse of love.
Ah, the blight and misery of war! Manasseh looked out from the citadel
upon the scene which he had deemed so fair--the waving corn-fields, the
groves of palms and olives and aloes, the nestling houses, the pastures
covered with flocks--now but a blackened and smoking waste, with here
and there the skeleton of a palm tree pointing upward like a bony
finger; and here and there a reeking column of black smoke, or the dull
glare of a burning homestead.
The people murmured not. "Better let it lie in ashes than permit it to
fall into the hands of the impostor!" they cried, and they muttered
curses upon the head of the destroyer of their happiness and prosperity.
All were at last in and the anxious waiting began. Keen eyes peered from
the citadel night and day. Watchmen were posted at every point of the
out-works and spies were sent broadcast through the country.
Then the fateful word came. Breathless scouts told of an army fast
approaching, twelve hundred men and two hundred horse, commanded by the
prophet himself, his vizier Ali, and his friend Abu Beker.
Al Kamus, the citadel, was immediately crowded with men, and soldiers
were posted along the walls, neither strong in numbers nor in arms, for
many were armed but with staves and stones. Desperation was in their
hearts, and calm, resolute faces looked forth for the advancing host.
Just as the morning sun flashed defiantly from the towers of Al Kamus,
the Moslem army came in sight. At first it seemed like a moving,
shapeless mass over the blackened fields,--and as the rising sun fell
upon it, the moving mass became dotted with glints and lines of silver,
like the ripple of waves on a sunlit sea; but the watchers recognized
the deadly import of those bright gleams, and by the flash of scimitars
and lances were able to compute in a vague way the strength of their
opponents.
On they came until the stony place called Mansela was reached, and
there, beneath a great rock, the host halted. The anxious watchers from
the city could not discern the exact meaning of this, but more than one
guessed that the halt was made for the offering of ostentatious prayer
by the prophet.
This indeed was the case. As Mohammed came in full view of the citadel
he cried out: "There, O believers, is the eyrie to which ye must climb.
But victory has been promised us. Angels shall again lend us their
invisible aid. Therefore have courage, O believers! Remember that for
each of those vile infidels slain, a double joy awaits you in paradise.
Know ye that every drop of an unbelieving Jew shed is as the crystal
drops of nectar of paradise to the happy follower of Mohammed, the
prophet of God. And fear not that ye be slain in this combat, O
faithful! Ye will not be slain except your appointed time has come, when
ye must in any case die. Remember that to be slain in battle for the
cause of Islam is to reap a glorious reward!"
Then, mounting the great rock, he called with a loud voice: "La illaha
il Allah! Mohammed Resoul Allah!" (There is no God but God! Mohammed is
the prophet of God!)
And while the fanatics below prostrated themselves he prayed long and
loudly.
Then the tents were pitched and the siege began. For many days it
lasted. So abundant had been the supplies of food, and so numerous the
droves of animals brought into the city, that those within the walls had
no fear of famine. But so complete was the devastation of the country
that the prophet's troops began to suffer for want of food. Yet they
waited, as a suitable time of attack had not arrived. In the meantime
they were engaged in digging trenches as a protection to the troops.
Manasseh and Asru were much together. They had become like brothers, and
night after night they met on the citadel and looked out over the
strange scene that was presented to the inhabitants of Khaïbar every
evening during the siege. For, daily, just as the sun was setting, the
whole Moslem army, with the prophet praying loudly at its head, set out
in solemn procession, then proceeded round and round the city until
seven circuits were completed, as in Tawaf at the Caaba.
Many among the more superstitious Jews of Khaïbar and their few Koreish
adherents felt a thrill of awe as they looked upon this ceremony,
fearing that the prophet was again practicing his arts of enchantment
upon them; but the performance never failed to bring the smile of scorn
to Asru's lips.
"Blind fanatics!" he exclaimed one evening. "A precious set of idiots!"
But Manasseh looked serious. "Asru," he said, "of course, I do not
believe in all this; yet there is a something solemn in it to me. It
makes me think of the seven circuits made about Jericho, when the
priests blew upon the trumpets and the walls fell."
"Ah, but the voice of Jehovah gave the order then; now,"--and he smiled
contemptuously--"the commanding voice is that of Mohammed, the peaceful
Meccan trader, anon the gentle prophet of Allah, anon the blood-thirsty
vulture and cut-throat robber, destroyer of life and liberty."
"Verily, Asru the Moslem soldier has completely changed," returned
Manasseh, smiling.
"Aye, Manasseh, thanks to the peaceful Gospel of Jesus, Asru the Moslem,
the lover of war, would now fain see this fair land smiling with happy
homes and peaceful tillers of the soil. What is that about the child and
the cockatrice?"
"'And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the
weaned child shall lay its hand on the cockatrice' den. They shall not
hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of
the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea,'" quoted
Manasseh solemnly.
Asru looked thoughtfully out towards the distant hills, but he did not
see them. He saw a quiet home in Mecca, where a pale-faced wife, a
beautiful daughter, and two bright-eyed boys, sat.
"Manasseh," he said at length, "it may be that I shall be killed in this
battle. If I am and you are spared, go to my wife and children. Tell
them the Gospel for me. My great regret is that I myself put it off
until too late. Will you, Manasseh?"
Manasseh pressed his friend's hand warmly. "You may trust me, if I
live," he said simply. And the soldier was satisfied.
"Manasseh, I am rich," he continued. "See that my wealth is used for the
best."
Manasseh pressed his hand again, and the tall soldier left him, feeling
that, whatever happened, this young man's fidelity and integrity could
be depended upon.
And now the Moslem army began to weary of inaction. Several desultory
attacks were made by them, and battering-rams were set in play against
the walls, but with no effect, until a grand attempt was decided upon.
Night had scarcely faded into morning, and the rock of Mansela still
stood black and shapeless against a gray sky, when a commotion was seen
in the Moslem camp. Mohammed's troops no longer made the wild onslaught
of untrained Bedouin hordes. The experience of scores of engagements had
taught their leader the necessity of system; and now the host began to
move in regular order in three main divisions. Above the center one
floated the sacred flag of the prophet; to the right waved Ali's
standard, a design of the sun; and to the left fluttered the Black Eagle
of Abu Beker's division.
The battle began by an assault led by Abu Beker. Scaling-ladders were
placed, and the Moslems swarmed up the walls, but a desperate band led
by Al Hareth met them, and the besieging party, after a sharp fight, was
compelled to withdraw. Shouts of triumph and jeers of derision arose
from the city walls. The Moslems were frantic. Cries of vengeance were
heard from their ranks.
Then Ali, shouting, "For God and the prophet!" dashed forward. He was
dressed in scarlet, and wore a cuirass of steel. Over his head he waved
the prophet's sword, and at the head of his division floated a sacred
banner. Straight on he dashed towards a breach in the wall, and there,
on a pile of loose stones, he fixed the standard.
Al Hareth rushed to the fore, and a desperate, single-handed combat
ensued. The Moslem army and the garrison of the city alike held their
breath. The contest was unequal. In a moment Al Hareth had fallen, and a
mighty cheer burst from the prophet's men.
Manasseh was stationed at the head of a band of horsemen, whom he was
now with difficulty keeping in check. Yet for a moment he forgot all in
watching a figure that was ascending the breach.
Whose but Asru's that gigantic form? Whose but Asru's that floating
turban of white--that helmet in which flashed a diamond placed there by
Kenana's own hand? Whose but Asru's that clanking sword and that
three-pronged spear which none but he could wield?
"Surely now the Moslem will waver!" thought the youth; and with bated
breath he watched this second combat, waged beside the bleeding form of
Asru's dead brother.
With dauntless air the Moslem awaited the coming of Asru. They closed
upon each other. The armies looked on, motionless, breathless, the
combatants struggled, a writhing mass, broken only by the flash of the
spear and glitter of the lance, as deadly blows were dealt or
parried--and the sunshine rained from above. The very air seemed to
stand still in watching, and the clash of every stroke was borne, with
painful distinctness, to the ears of Asru's friend.
The combat was an equal one, Ali's agility matching well the superior
strength of his antagonist, and it was not soon over. At last the Moslem
seemed to stagger.
There, there, Asru, strike! He falls, he falls! There is your advantage!
Strike! Joy, joy! victory is ours!
But no! Ye gods, what is wrong! Why stands Asru there, helpless? Why
does he not act? By Allah, he loses time! Ha! his turban end has become
twisted over his eyes beneath his helmet! Help! Help! Ye gods! Ha! Ali
rises with a sharp recoil! He strikes! Woe! Woe! Asru is down!
A shout breaks afresh from the Moslem army as the brave Asru's body is
dragged to one side of the breach. And now the Moslems dash forward like
an avalanche. The breach widens; the green and yellow turbans swarm
within the walls. Manasseh's horse dash forward. Over the open square a
detachment of Moslem horse is spurring, the horsemen bending low as they
ride, their maddened animals, gorgeous in trappings of scarlet, yellow
and blue, with tails knotted at the ends, "like unto the heads of
serpents." With regular sway the long spears swing with the motion of
the horses.
Clash! The opposing forces meet. Men fall. Horses roll over in the dust.
Back! Back! The Moslems are in headlong flight! Yet one youth fights on.
Straight for the young Jewish leader he dashes. Blows rain on each side.
Some of the Jewish horse close round.
"Keep off, men!" shouts Manasseh. "Would ye attack a man fifty to one?"
Blows fall faster and breath comes in short gasps.
The Moslem's horse gives way beneath him, and falls with a shriek
backwards. The gallant youth springs to his feet, then throws up his
arms and falls. His turban drops off from his brow, and, for the first
time, Manasseh recognizes Kedar.
He turns sick. Is the Moslem dead? No, his heart still beats. "Here,
men, take him into that house. I will seek him later."
On goes the young leader to a fresh scene of battle. Alas! in the
meantime the poorly-armed Jews have been everywhere driven back. The
Moslems have entered the citadel; the Jews give way before them
everywhere. Even his own hopeful spirit cannot revive them. They are
seized with a panic and fly, leaving the brave youth almost alone.
Manasseh was soon overpowered, bound, and thrown into the corner of a
great hall of the citadel, where he lay apparently forgotten, listening,
with heavy heart, to the shrieks and cries of his countrymen without,
and to the hum of war, gradually growing fainter, until it ceased, and
he knew that the conflict was over. The Moslems began to enter the hall,
among them Mohammed.
The prophet took his seat at the end of the apartment, and presently
several of the chief citizens were brought in with hands bound. Manasseh
perceived that a tribunal was being held, and, from his corner, listened
eagerly to the sentence passed upon each.
It soon appeared that treasure was the prophet's aim. Exorbitant demands
were made upon the rich merchants, who, pale and trembling, offered
their all in exchange for their lives. Among the rest, Kenana, with his
handsome wife, was brought in.
"They tell me, Kenana," said the prophet, "that you have immense wealth
stored up in this citadel. If you desire your life, inform me where this
treasure is."
"I have no treasure in the citadel," said Kenana, proudly; "and if I
had, the apostle of Azazil should not know of it."
The prophet's face colored with passion. "Apostle of Azazil! O
blasphemer!" he exclaimed. "Do you then thus defy the only, the true
prophet of Allah?"
"I do."
"Then we shall see what can be done with a stubborn infidel spirit!"
returned Mohammed. "Hither! Apply the torture!"
A machine of fiendish invention was applied to the chief's hands. His
fingers were squeezed until the bones cracked; his veins swelled in
agony; yet no sound escaped his lips. He could not, or would not, tell
where the treasure was concealed, and he was handed over to a Moslem
whose brother Kenana had slain. Manasseh closed his eyes in horror, for
he knew that Kenana's fate was sealed.
[Illustration: The Moslem's horse gives way beneath him!--See page 76.]
Kenana's wife, Safiya, was taken by Mohammed, and on the homeward march
she became the wife of the prophet.
Manasseh lay there in great depression of spirit. He was weary in mind
and cramped in body, and it almost seemed as though he were completely
forsaken. Yet his ever-present source of comfort returned to him, and
like a sweet refrain came the words into his mind: "Thou hast been a
strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge
from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible
ones is as a storm against the wall."
The half-starved Moslem troops now began to clamor for food, and the
defenceless Jewish women were forced to prepare victuals and to serve
their conquerors. Among these women entered Zaynab, the niece of Asru.
She placed a shoulder of mutton before the prophet, then went towards
the door. Perceiving Manasseh in the corner, she severed his bonds with
a quick stroke of a small dagger, then, shielding him as best she might,
she bade him begone.
"Have hope!" she whispered in his ear. "I have poisoned the prophet."
Manasseh uttered an exclamation of horror.
"Why not?" she said, with a laugh. "Manasseh fights with a lance, Zaynab
with poison. Now, fly, ere they see you!"
Manasseh hastened down the dark streets to the house in which Kedar had
been placed. He found the youth moaning feebly. Hurrying out, he caught
a couple of stray camels, and fastened a shugduf in its place. Then,
raising the youth in his strong arms, he laid him in the shugduf, and
set off in the darkness.
To Mecca he must go. It was a long, weary way. He had little money, and
the few provisions which a Jewish woman in the house gave him would not
last long; yet he trusted to Providence, and remembered with
satisfaction that the dates were now at their ripest. He would nurse
Kedar tenderly; they would journey in the cool shades of night when
there was less danger of being stopped on the way. Planning thus, he
proceeded, as noiselessly as possible, with his precious burden, through
a gap in the wall, and urged his faithful beasts on in the cool night
breezes over the blackened plain.
Then he thought of Asru. Asru must not be left to be rudely thrown into
a grave by infidel hands. There was danger in it, but he must go back.
Kedar was sleeping. He fixed the camels by a charred palm grove, and
went back, with flying feet, through the gloom. The towers of Al Kamus
rose above him, with lights twinkling on the battlements. He wondered if
the prophet were yet alive and what would be the result to Arabia if he
were dead. On, on, through the darkness, until the fatal breach was
reached. It was quite deserted, peopled only by a heap of dead bodies,
from which, in the night time, the superstitious Arabs shrank in horror.
Groping among them, he soon came upon Asru's huge form, which he readily
recognized by its armor. He dragged the precious clay of his friend from
the mass of dead and brought it, with difficulty, outside of the wall;
and there beneath a palm tree, he hollowed out a lonely grave,
loosening the clay with a battle-axe taken from a dead Arab, and
throwing the clods out with his shield. He then cut a wisp of hair from
the dead soldier's long locks, placed it in his bosom, kissed the cold
brow, and uttered a short prayer over the lifeless form. Tenderly he
placed the body in the shallow grave, and covered it with the clay,
then, breathing a last farewell, left Asru forever in this life.
In the meantime Mohammed and one of his followers had begun to eat of
the poisoned mutton. The soldier was ravenous with hunger, and set upon
the tempting roast with eager relish. Mohammed partook of it more
slowly.
Suddenly the soldier threw up his arms, and fell back in a convulsion.
Mohammed started back in consternation. He, too, felt pain, and raised
the cry of "Poison!" The Moslems came rushing in in great alarm.
Antidotes were given him, and he shortly recovered, with but a slight
sensation of burning in his head. The poor soldier was soon stiff in
death.
Mohammed sent for the woman who had brought him the mutton. She came at
once.
"Know you who put the poison in this meat?" he asked.
"It was I," she confessed, boldly.
"And how dared you perpetrate so wicked a scheme?"
"If you were a true prophet," she replied, "you would have known that
the meat was poisoned; if not, it were a favor to Arabia to rid it of
such a despot."
"See then," exclaimed the prophet, "how Allah hath preserved the life of
his apostle! Behold, I forgive you. Return to your tribe, and sin not in
like manner again."
So saying, with one of his strange freaks of magnanimity, he waved her
off, and soon afterward went to rest.
[Illustration]