February 627 AD, Dhul Qi'dah 5 AH

I ran into a dark alleyway and sunk to my knees, my back scraping the rotting wood of a shack while I hugged my bow tight to comfort me. My breathing was ragged, muffled beneath my litham.

Oh ass-footed one, just bray away, we won't leave the desert plain nor ever go astray.

It was a prayer Qusayy had taught me. It was usually used to ward off evil spirits, but it could also be used as a prayer of salvation to one's own ancestors. Our ancestors' spirits watch over us, ofttimes influencing our lives. They needed ward off this evil now. They needed to save me.

Save Mother.

          Watch over me, Hubal, or I'm damned and doomed to die.

To my right and to my left, the narrow muddy streets of Yathrib were teeming with Muslims in flowing gowns and coats and turbans. In dusty leather jerkins and tattered mail shirts. Their weapons glimmered in their hands beneath a weeping sky. A new burst of rain soaked the streets of Yathrib, accompanied by a crash of thunder, that noise that had been plaguing my ears for nearly a month. It briefly drowned out the screams and bellows of Muslim and Jew alike.

No sooner than the siege had been lifted did Muhammad and his generals send out orders to root out every Jew from every corner of Yathrib. They had sent out scores of men in different groups to besiege the chieftains and merchants in their fortresses, while the bulk of the troops swarmed the lower city in their thousands. The Jews of the Qurayza, taken completely by surprise, attempted to fight back fruitlessly in the inner city, unsheltered by the wall of fort.

They were eventually overwhelmed and captured. The women screamed and the men bled, the children wept and the elderly shrieked.

It was too late to warn my parents now. The Muslims had descended upon them in a rush, pushed forward by aching bellies and sore muscles, by a rise of adrenaline and zeal following the retreat of the final remnants of the coalition. The expulsion of the Banu Qurayza had been a long time coming and everyone knew it, but I was caught by surprise at the raw enthusiasm thousands of men contained in their hearts, for weeks under threat of extermination at the hands of war or starvation.

Our chieftains had betrayed their oaths, and now we were paying the price.

Oh ass-footed one, just bray away, we won't leave the desert plain nor ever go astray.

The captives were dragged from their homes, their hands bound together with rope. The more troublesome among them were gagged. The men put up a fierce resistance but were eventually subjugated all the same. The women shrieked and clawed at their assailants, but they were subdued as well.

          Watch over me, Hubal, or I'm damned and doomed to die.

I rose to my feet, rushing forward on tired feet, navigating the alleyways until I reached my neighborhood. Shacks had caught fire here, havens of warmth in the midst of the icy chill. The great infernos crackled and hissed under the assault of heavy rain. They flickered toward me, tossing gusts of warmth my way. I cradled the litham over my face, adjusting it. It would not do to be recognized.

My family shack was unmarred by fire and there seemed to be no sign of a brawl at its foot. My family must have either escaped or already been captured, as the entire neighborhood was plunged into chaos.

Oh ass-footed one, just bray away, we won't leave the desert plain nor ever go astray.

I fought back tears and clung my bow closer to chest, seeking comfort in its proximity. I hurried away from the onslaught, heading for the upper districts and beyond, to the hillock of Sala', where they were collecting the captives.

I gulped as I reached the summit of Sala', panting and light-headed. I prayed that this was all a dream. That my entire life a cruel nightmare I would wake up from, or some sick joke the gods were playing on me. This could not be real. I could not fathom what life in exile would be like.

The chieftains would surely find succor elsewhere, among allies or friends. Perhaps in the cities of Khaybar and Fadak to the north; they housed large communities of Jews. But we were not as well off. We were not as well connected. We would be left for the crows and carrions, the scorpions and vipers, the wolves and the foxes. The baking sun, the scorching hot sands and the unforgiving plains.

We would die.

At Sala', I found batches of Qurayzi captives, all huddled together, seeking comfort in one another's presence, all of them hands bound. More than a few let out muffled screams beneath their gags. The men were separated from the women and children, I saw.

My eyes darted in all directions, as I wove through the huddles of captured Jews, searching for any hint of my family, but there was none.

Then I heard her. My mother.

She was screaming. The sound was coming from the incline of the hill.

I rushed past huddled families and vigilant captors toward the source of the screams. She was struggling as a man shoved her forward; kicking, crying, bawling. She cradled Dawood's daughter close to chest.

And I felt the rage surge through my veins, urging me forward. I felt the beast stir in the corner of my mind, demanding that it be released to wreak havoc and flood the Arabian peninsula red.

I grabbed an arrow from my quiver and laid it to rest on the wood of my bow. I drew it back on the string, all the way to my ear. There was a creak as I applied more pressure, channeling the muscles of my upper back and shoulders. I steadied my breathing and adjusted my footing.

          One last breath, I thought. I would suck in one more breath of air and let loose –

Abruptly, I was tackled, sent sprawling to the ground shoulder-first. The arrow flew wayward from its intended target, skidding to my mother's captor's feet.

The man that tackled me snatched the bow from my hand. He loomed over me, triumphant and smiling.

It was Muhammad ibn Maslamah.

I lay huddled next to Mother and Dawood's daughter, numb with shock. Ibn Maslamah was in charge of the women and children's wing of captives. I saw 'Umar overseeing the male captives on the far side of the hill.

I shifted in my seat, craning my neck to the male wing. I saw Father's snarling face. He was on his knees. My uncle was weeping softly. I could not make out Ezra's reaction, for I could only see the back of his head, but he sat motionless in his place, like a stone statue.

Thunder rumbled again and the clouds parted briefly. There was another downpour; more rain pounded on my miserable self. After what seemed like a lifetime had passed, I saw Muhammad stride forward, walking the pathway between the two segregated groups of captives.

"I have already agreed to delegate this matter to an Awsi chieftain, what more would you have of me with your pestering?" Muhammad he was speaking to a man walking at his side. "Ibn Maslamah, have you not brought me Sa'ad?"

Sa'ad? Sa'ad and Awsi chieftain? Was he speaking of Sa'ad ibn Mu'adh? Wasn't he dead?

But it dawned on me with slow realization once I saw the slim figure of an elderly man hobbling to the Prophet's side, his cane quivering in the palm of his hand. I didn't recognize him at first.

His once silvery grey hair had gone completely white, thinning now. There was a piece of cloth wrapped around his wounded head; the white of the cloth was disturbed by a pool of black and red at one temple. His skin was clammy and sickly pale like curdled milk. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was hunched over in pain on a cane, aided by two men, yet still seemingly on the verge of collapse.

          He's thinner than I remember, I thought.

His eyes drooped and his irises were unfocused. His mouth quivered, as he approached the Prophet. He was shivering vigorously despite being swathed beneath layers of cloth.

"The Qurayza were once allies to the Aws," Muhammad spoke to him softly, extending an arm to steady him. "Yours will be the verdict so no man can say that Muhammad is a tyrant."

Sa'ad's eyes shifted slowly. He studied the faces of the captives strewn before him. An eternity passed as his eyes focused on each and every one of us.

Finally, his gaze rested on me. I tried shying away, but he had already recognized me. A keen intelligence and a burning fury seemed to return to his pupils.

"This is the tribe that molested my wife," he mumbled in a weak voice, barely audible. We needed to lean forward to be able to hear him over the rumbling sky. A fit of coughing washed over him before he continued. "My verdict is at the ready, O Apostle."

His gaze never left me.

But then, a burst of coughing turned into a fit. He spasmed and shook, as men of the Aws hurried to his side in order to steady him.

"Speak your mind, ibn Mu'adh, or do you think I enjoy this weather?" 'Umar ibn al-Khattab demanded of him.

The chief of the Aws regained his composure and shrugged off the clutches of fretting tribesmen.

"When the other tribes forsook us in favor of conspiring with the enemy," he started before shivering. He paused, wincing, before he resumed his speech. "We showed remarkable clemency. We spared their lives. We showed mercy."

Another fit of coughing seized him. There was a lump forming in my chest. Never have I been so terrified. It was a sensation of dread surpassing even that of Uhud.

Oh ass-footed one, just bray away, we won't leave the desert plain nor ever go astray.

Watch over me, Hubal, or I'm damned and doomed to die.

"We have treated them with our own laws. And our own laws are ones of peace.

But these are Jews, my Apostle of Allah. Thus, their sentence must  been in accordance to Jewish law. I am no rabbi, Allah forgive me, but I am aware of the Jewish scriptures. The jurisdiction Allah bestowed upon the Jews, their codes of conduct.

This betrayal should not be taken lightly, and another Battle of the Trench will not be allowed to take place. I judge their punishment to be ordained as in the Torah."

He coughed before interpreting the intended verse. In a rush, Dawood's lessons racked through my brain. My jaw dropped as I understood what he was referring to.

Devarim, I thought. The book of Devarim. Fuck.

Oh ass-footed one, just bray away, we won't leave the desert plain nor ever go astray.

"Check the boys. Those with pubic hairs will share the same fate as the men," There was a twinkle to Sa'ad ibn Mu'adh's eyes as he met mine again. "Those without share the fate of women and infants."

He smiled wryly.

The air was still for several seconds as the judgement sunk in. Thunder rumbled again and a fresh drizzle fell from the sky.

          Is this a result of the gods' anger? I wondered over the meaning of the natural phenomena.

Oh ass-footed one, just bray away, we won't leave the desert plain nor ever go astray.

Abruptly, Sa'ad's Awsi tribesmen harangued him with a flurry of complaints and arguments all at once. The captives stayed very still, heads lowered, eyes fixed on the damp sands.

The Prophet raised a palm for silence. The balking of the Awsi tribesmen ceased.

"This is Allah's judgement," he said. "The sentence will be carried. Trouble Sa'ad no further in this matter."

He looked pained and walked away from the scene.

"'Ali, 'Umar and ibn Maslamah will carry out the executions," he said, leaving. "Also, I want one warrior of each Awsi clan to take part."

Muhammad helped ibn Mu'adh shuffle away. The latter gave me one last lingering look before he disappeared.

The remaining tribesmen yanked the young boys and men by their collars. Dawood's daughter screeched and squealed, while a dozen or so children howled at their captors, most of their screams muffled by the gags. The sounds rang empty against my ears. I was too stunned to do anything but gape.

A man I did not recognize yanked me by the collar, heaved my gown overhead and ripped off the trousers I wore beneath. He grunted at the sight and tossed me away like a discarded doll.

My mother's forehead was pressed against the sand as her body shuddered with soft sobs. My father was grabbed by 'Ali, my uncle by ibn Maslamah and my brother by 'Umar. All three men were dragged to the edge of the flooded trench and shoved to their knees.

'Umar ordered my brother to lower his head. Ezra did not balk nor did he resist. Surprisingly, he acquiesced silently, resigned to his fate.

'Umar raised his sword high in the air. He hacked down, dropping the edge of his blade on Ezra's beefy neck. Ezra shuddered, his head not yet severed, for he had grown overweight and thick under the lack of exercise. But his neck was gushing blood from a ghastly wound.

'Umar struck again. Ezra's head was still loosely connected to the rest of his twitching body. His mouth spurted blood and he struggled for air as other men drew their last breaths all around.

One more strike was all it took to saw through the last of the fat on Ezra's neck. A fresh spurt of blood splashing against 'Umar's face. Ezra's head rolled lazily on the ground before tumbling to the bottom of the trench with a splash.

Dawood and Father's deaths were far cleaner.

The rabbi was clad in his dark robes, muttering his last prayers, when ibn Maslamah chopped his head off with one stroke. His head also collapsed into the trench, landing with another gentle splash.

My father's head was cleaved off in a single clean cut from 'Ali's blade. Like all the rest, his feet jerked, and his body convulsed when his head was removed from his shoulders. Another splashing sound signaled the arrival of Ka'b's head to the bottom of the ditch.

The afternoon's work was gruesome, as the howls of torment filled the air. The limp bodies of beheaded Qurayzi men were tossed into the ditch, rejoining their severed heads in death.

When one batch of families were depleted of all men and pubescent boys, another batch was called for and they joined us. The executioners would rip off their clothes to examine their pubic regions and determine whether they were fit for execution or not.

I watched in mute trepidation, too stunned to form thoughts or fully gather what was happening. The sands in all directions absorbed pools of blood and rainwater.

Thunder roared in the distance and the lightning illuminated the anguish of dying men. I regained enough of my wits to discern that my mother and a little girl were all that remained of family.

Oh ass-footed one, just bray away, we won't leave the desert plain nor ever go astray.