Abu-Bekr raised his arms: “May Allah be praised, and His Prophet live forever!”
“I was drawn to your country, as the water of the rain is drawn by the thirsty earth. The country of my fathers has been destroyed, Abu-Bekr. What part of the world is left me, save Arabia?”
“Arabia is your country, Cartaphilus.”
“Arabia is my country, and Abu-Bekr my father.”
“As true as Allah is the only God, and Mohammed is His Prophet.”
I stood up. “My country has been razed to the ground, and my people dispersed by those who profess the weak and effeminate religion of the Nazarene. Abu-Bekr and the Prophet shall avenge us!”
He stood up in his turn. “They shall avenge you, Cartaphilus, I swear it by Allah, and the beard of the Prophet!”
We reseated ourselves.
“Mohammed is wiser than all men, and nearer to Allah,—but for that reason, a little visionary.”
“Very true. Had it not been for me, he would have gone into the desert to speak with the angels, while our enemies slaughtered his followers.”
“It is for us, then, to attend to all practical affairs.”
“Yes, Cartaphilus.”
“It is not meet for me, a stranger, however, to be too much in evidence.”
“That is true.”
“Let it be known, then, that the Hindu merchant has bought all your camels and your wheat, and that he has gone home. Let the people see the animals laden, driven through the streets by many slaves. But the faithful slaves at night shall drive them back. Our enemies will think us weakened, and will attack us. Then shall Prophet of Allah triumph, and conquer the world!”
Abu-Bekr was silent.
“I understand, Abu-Bekr. You need the gold. That is why you wished to sell the animals. Well, you shall have both gold and animals.”
He raised my hands to his lips. “Allah has sent His angel Gabriel to His Prophet, that he may tell him the truth, and his other angel Cartaphilus, that the truth may be heard by all men.”
Mohammed’s camp seemed deserted. Many of the believers were sent about the town, instructed to look dejected and humble. Our enemies jeered at them, shouting: “Where is your Prophet, fool? Has he spoken to the angel again? What did the angel say to him?” Frequently, they slapped their faces or spat upon them. The believers, more Christian than the followers of the Nazarene, bent their backs and grumbled, “Mercy, masters.”
Meanwhile, Abu-Bekr, and ten chiefs, planned the attack. I moved into a secluded house on the outskirts of the city, where I received daily reports. From time to time, Abu-Bekr came to consult me. I suggested some of the methods used by the Romans, and illustrated them by means of chess.
Abu-Bekr presented me with two virgins, that time might not weigh too heavily upon me. “Woman is after all the best toy that Allah has invented, provided she is obedient and faithful,” he said.
Abu-Bekr decided to attack the enemy at night, as I had advised. Thanks to my gold, his men were well equipped and the granaries filled to the brim.
The people, considering themselves quite secure henceforth, slept peacefully. A few watchmen wandered about the city, calling out from time to time: “I see you! I see you!” Novices only trembled, but the more experienced thieves laughed in their beards, knowing that human eyes could not pierce the heavy black curtain which Night, their friend and benefactor, had lowered over the earth. Nor were they afraid of the dogs that barked disconsolately, answering one another, like endless echoes. They could easily be bribed by a piece of meat, dipped in poison, or be silenced by a firm grip about the throat.
We stood upon the top of one of the hills. A crescent moon, sharp and dazzling as a scimitar, and a star like a diamond upon the hilt, hung above us.
“Day shall break much sooner than usual, Cartaphilus. Allah will shorten this night for the sake of His Prophet, Mohammed.”
Masses of flames began to appear at many angles of the city. The black window of Night cracked, as if large rocks had been hurled against it.
“Allah be praised, and His Prophet live forever!” Abu-Bekr exclaimed, and looking at the moon, began to intone an ancient Arabic war-song:
‘Is he Nero?’ I thought. ‘Am I witnessing once again the burning of Rome?’
The officers sang the last words of each verse. I hummed.
Mecca glowed like an enormous ruby in a dark hall. The singing mingled with the wails and lamentations of men and women, and the weird and desperate howls of animals.
“Allah is the only God, and Mohammed is His Prophet!”
“Assassins!”
“Scoundrels!”
“Incendiaries! “
“Allah is the only God, and Mohammed is His Prophet!”
The flames paled in the morning lights, while the smoke became darker and heavier.
For two days, messengers dropped at our feet, and when their voices became articulate, exclaimed: “Allah be praised! Our enemies wallow in their blood like slaughtered oxen! Allah is the only God and Mohammed is His Prophet!”
Upon a tall, white steed Mohammed, dressed in a cloak of white silk and a turban shining with jewels, rode slowly through the city. In front of him, a hundred priests chanted, and exclaimed from time to time: “Allah is the only God, and Mohammed is His Prophet.” Behind him, Abu-Bekr, the staff of officers and I, rode on small black horses, and for a few miles in our rear, men, women and children walked or rode, singing martial airs and screaming from time to time, at the top of their voices: “Allah is the only God, and Mohammed is His Prophet.”
“This was the ambition of Jesus,—to ride triumphantly amid believers, proclaiming him the King of the Jews. But instead, he dragged his cross, hooted and mocked by the populace,—for it was ordered by Allah that only his true Prophet should be victorious.”
“Allah is just and His mercy is eternal,” answered Mohammed.
“The Prophet of Allah is not only the King of his people, but the King of the world.”
“Kings become old and die.”
“Their kingdoms remain.”
He turned and looked at me, his eyes dazzling like ebony ablaze. “I must go, Cartaphilus, but thou wilt tarry…”
I was startled. Was my destiny reiterated and reinforced? Was this the echo of the anathema, softened into a blessing?
As a hurricane that uproots mighty oaks, crumbles houses, and whirls in the air huge animals like withered leaves or feathers dropped from sparrows’ backs, were the fury and the might of the Prophet’s army.
The Word always succeeded the Sword, and the conquered were either persuaded of the truth, or considered it more prudent and more profitable to pretend belief. Thus all Arabia shouted: “Allah is the only God and Mohammed is His Prophet.” The desert and the mountains trembled with the echo.
XXXIV: CATASTROPHE—I WORK A MIRACLE—I RAISE A COFFIN—ABU-BEKR PAYS HIS DEBT
KOTIKOKURA turned his face to the East, and bowing several times, grumbled: “Allah… Mohammed.”
“Kotikokura, what is the meaning of this? Have you forgotten that Ca-ta-pha is the only God?”
“Ca-ta-pha is God. Allah is God. Mohammed is God.”
“Heathen! Barbarian! Are you not ashamed to have more than one God?”
He looked at me, startled.
“Perhaps you are right, Kotikokura. If there is one God, why not many?”
He grinned.
Abu-Bekr entered, breathless, his beard disheveled, and his hands trembling. “Cartaphilus, the Prophet is dead!”