The bare-chested beast of a man skidded to a halt only a pace away from the much-detested pool of mud.

He outstretched both hands as we circled one another, focused, wary of any potential act of aggression.

It came immediately from the large man as he lurched forward, a forearm guarding his face, the other fist swinging for my face.

I had both arms clasped side by side in a makeshift wall, the fists protecting my face. As betrayed by his posture, the blow was a ruse and he swung low at the last minute, making for the small of my belly.

My meticulously selected defense posture served me well. His fist rebounded off my elbows, sending us both wincing as we disengaged.

His moment of incohesive surprise would be a point for exploitation, I decided, ignoring the flaring affliction in my elbows. I pressed him as he staggered away, swinging my right over one shoulder as he eyed it warily, vulnerable now.

He held up a palm to parry but I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. At the last moment, I shifted to the other side, decking him on the chin with my left.

His mouth sprayed blood as he stumbled closer to the mud of pool that would spell his doom, and I gained on him as he gave ground.

Finally, I retracted only a footstep and rushed forward, half-crouched, favoring my right side.

I wrapped my left arm around his waist, my face beneath his arm, as we collided in a half-naked flurry of pronounced muscle.

In short, I speared him with all my weight, heaving him off his feet and knocking the wind out of him. He landed back-first into the mud, sending a splash of the vile thing exploding upward, and I landed with one knee on his chest, declaring myself victor.

The hoots and raucous of cheers intertwined with cries of dismay spelled the conclusion of this wrestling bout, my body covered in a thick coat of sweat.

I chuckled, finding my feet, and offering a hand to the fallen Banu Tanukh warrior to help him up – a gesture which he accepted.

The Bedouins gathered around exchanged goods or coin. Those that had bet on me readily holding out their hands for their reward; those who bet on their tribesman murmured in agitation as they would return to their tents only a tad bit poorer.

The gambling, quite an un-Islamic act, served as testimony to how some in the tribe retained their Christian faith, while most were either ignorant or ambivalent to their newfound Muslim one.

The tribe's chieftain, a kindly old man, walked over to greet me with a warm ear to ear grin.

"Quite the display, my son," he proclaimed. "I hope Mu'awiyah has procured for himself many a man such as yourself in Damascus."

"Only the best in all of the lands serve at Mu'awiyah's beck and call," I declared loftily, short of breath.

I felt invigorated, as though born anew. I'd forgotten the rush of battle, the relief that followed bout or brawl. As a trickle of sweat raced down my forehead and as the wind barraged my bare chest, all the uncertainty that plagued me evaporated but for a moment.

For the briefest of seconds, I felt myself again.

My delegation missions to the Syrian tribes had gone as expected. We were met with overwhelming positive acclaim in each dwelling, and we obtained all the promises of aid in any potential conflicts. As much as we needed.

It was essential to consolidate the support of Mu'awiyah's domain. He was the governor of the Levant; the overlord of Cilicia to the Syrian north where we bordered with Roman Anatolia on the coastline, all the way to the south of Palestine where our dominion gave way to the windswept plains of the Sinai peninsula and Egypt beyond.

I had just returned from conferring with a Palestinian chieftain some days ago, riding north to this Tanukh clan in particular. The folk here had secured for themselves an ideal dwelling. A lush strip of green land, perfect for the grazing of sheep with a ready source of water.

What more could a nomad want?

I breathed in the fresh air, sucking it through my nose, and felt the grass blades prick the soles of my feet. I let the free and wild vibes of these superb people wash over me, pretending but for a moment I was one of their own.

Oh, if only one had been born a Bedouin!

You may look down upon them as a primitive and extremist people stuck in the past as do most Arabs, but you are a fool, so your opinion matters naught.

My scarce minutes of euphoria were disturbed by the parting of the crowd in the wake of a clamoring rider.

Before the man opened his mouth, I knew what it was.

I had already traveled the length of the Levant down to the furthest point of Palestine, and I was making my way up back to Damascus.

If Amina was following the schedule we had fixed for ourselves, then my time was nigh.

"The prisoners in Mount Lebanon have escaped!" came the frantic call.

And so, it begins.

***

The palace grounds were solemn and desolate but for the select few souls I chose to barge in with.

Dragging along a sack in my right hand that was conspicuously stained with blood, I burst into the governor's wing, racing past the opulently decorated hallways. I was making for his audience chamber. Usually, the vast room was lively with soft-spoken singers and curvaceous Syrian dancers, filled to bursting with a plethora of color as a result of the abundant exotic dishes dotting every inch.

Something told me I would not be blessed with such sights this night.

Only a day prior, I was lurking amid the foliage of an array of cedar trees that served as my shield from prying eyes.

I kept a healthy distance from the nearest dirt path, for the mount between my legs was restless and indecorous as he was ancient. I patted his neck, ran my fingers through his dark mane.

Arslan the demon with his fuming red eyes. He snorted and he brayed like a mad wolfhound, he bared his fang-like front teeth and smacked the forest ground at our feet, snapping many a twig to alert our presence to the wildlife that called Mount Lebanon its habitat.

It was then that I saw a phantom racing across my vision, soundlessly scurrying through the width of the forest. Gone in the blink of an eye, but unmistakable all the same.

Amina the witch. Amina the Immortal. Amina the concubine.

With all her studious stealth, her cruising by served as a signal for the execution of the next step in our plan.

I put knees to horse's ribs, and savored the rugged gallop that followed. My warhorse was eager for the adventure, longing for the wild hunt he no doubt sensed from the smell of my enthusiasm.

The exquisite foliage and the peculiar looking nature of the cedar trees were but a blur in the corner of my vision as I darted past in a haze, making for the dirt path that the fugitives tread upon.

And there he was. Doubtless he had learned of my proximity before I laid eyes upon him.

But he was a starved man on foot, harried and hunt, while I was once more a warlord in all my splendor, atop a regal mount that emitted all sorts of terror.

"Hudhayfa!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs, unsheathing my blade from the top of my saddle as he spun and sprinted the other way, hoping to dodge into the forest and avoid the bite of my blade.

But the thing about me is that my wrath is inevitable. It is unavoidable.

The former governor of Egypt – the man who had conspired against the old Khalifa 'Uthman – died a dog's death that day, beneath hoof.

His severed head adorned the inside of the sack I held tight when I eventually reached palace grounds. The governor would find missing patches in his cheeks, as well as a misplaced eye.

Who knew horses grazed on more than just pasture? Perhaps it is a trait exceptional only to Arslan.

"The place is so empty you'd think we were in your head, Hanthalah," Mundhir remarked by my side as we stalked the palace hallways.

I barged into the audience chamber, my entourage in tow.

We were immediately met by a predictably dreary presence within.

Gathered in a tight circle were Mu'awiyah's closest generals and advisers. The ancient ibn al-'Aas, the conqueror of Egypt, with his own son by his side. Habib, the conqueror of Armenia. Abu al-A'war, who had been by my side in Crete and Cyprus.

And finally, none other than the conniving bastard ibn Khalid, the smug little shit who sought to undermine me by setting the prisoners free.

My rival was smirking, no doubt believing he had pulled off a masterpiece of intrigue.

"Hanthalah ibn Ka'b!" bellowed Mu'awiyah the overlord, red-faced and fuming. "I've received word that Hudhayfa is on the run! The vagabond was entrusted to your men in the prison fortress. What is –"

The governor's tirade was cut short by my less than tact hurling of the sack at his feet.

The savaged head rolled out of it, wide-eyed and unseeing, while the other socket was bereft of an eyeball entirely. The cheeks were eaten out, and the hair set upon as well.

At a gesture of mine, the men by my side hefted their own sacks as well, containing the remains of the other prisoners who had doomed themselves as fugitives.

Mu'awiyah held up a hand to halt any similar action, eyes fixed on the head before him.

"You killed him," he accused me.

"They fought back," I lied. "Besides, you were going to execute them anyway."

"Your laxness set him free!" he roared, brown eyes fixed on me now. They were tinged with crow's feet on the edges, I noticed. Not as young as he used to be, nor as fit.

It was then that I snapped my fingers. My men parted, making way for another – bound and gagged.

I removed the gag from his mouth and spoke. "This is your culprit, my lord. He was the guard that set the prisoners free. He wishes to confess."

"I acted under duress, my lord," the man admitted, his tone frantic. "I was approached by a man and his armored contingent. They threatened my family, my lord!"

"A man?" Mu'awiyah asked.

To my client's credit, he paused for a moment, scanning the men gathered in the audience chamber. Finally, they rested on the dumbfounded ibn Khalid. I bit my lip in an effort to stop the gale of laughter threatening to slip past at the gaping nature of his mouth.

The culprit pointed at my rival, unwavering.

"It was him, m'lord," he declared. "That man threatened my family if I did not do exactly as he said."

"And you would have me believe you've forsaken the well-being of your family only after your crime?" Mu'awiyah demanded.

"My conscience, m'lord!" he cried out. "My zeal and jealousy for my religion. My fear of Allah! I could not be among the hypocrites that profess love and worship for the one God while sowing the seeds of evil in the land."

There was an awkward silence that loomed over the chamber then. An auspicious hesitation in Mu'awiyah's demeanor as he refused to look at ibn Khalid.

In truth, ibn Khalid did, in reality, threaten him into releasing the prisoners in order to undermine my already tenuous status at court. All at the behest of Amina, of course, who had whispered into his ear as they lay in bed.

It was through her that I had learned of the culprit's identity.

And in truth, it was the promise of a full pocket that enticed him to confess rather than any sense of religious or communal duty.

"You will face the consequences of your actions," Mu'awiyah wagged a finger at the culprit on his knees.

I immediately stepped forward, fist on my heart.

"No, my lord," I blurted out in a noble voice. "In the weeks prior, I have demonstrated my unyielding loyalty to your cause and that of your house. I have captured the criminal Hudhayfa who had conspired against our wronged Khalifa. I have worked tirelessly to secure the pledges of our allies in Syria and Palestine. I have remedied the treachery that one of your generals has wrought upon you."

Ibn Khalid murmured in distaste at my proclamation.

"So, my lord of Banu Umayya," I continued, pointedly ignoring the shamed man. "If I have accumulated any clout with you these past few weeks, I beg you to take it in consideration, and pardon this man. He is a good man that acted in fear of kin, and recanted in fear of Allah. He is a true, devout Muslim and a loyal supporter of the Banu Umayya. If it is a head you seek, take mine and spare his own."

The dumbfounded silence only stretched all the more whenever I played one of my tricks. In truth, Hanthalah ibn Ka'b would have normally betrayed the poor man doomed to die and saved himself the expense of the bribe.

But I had taken a resolve to remedy my ways in order to win back my progeny – sons and daughters. In order to preserve my legacy and find a way to redeem myself in my own eyes and those of my children.

And in any case, I suppose the farce of a noble sacrifice would help curry some sympathy among the generals present and the simple troops, elevating my status at court.

Mu'awiyah waved a hand in agitated dismissal.

"I have no time for this trivial bickering. Get him out of my face, ibn Ka'b."

I suppressed another smile, making sure to sneak an amused glance at the red-faced and humiliated ibn Khalid, before nodding deeply in gratitude to Mu'awiyah.

I spun to exit the chamber, sauntering away from the site of my victory.

I felt the heat of ibn Khalid's gaze on my back.