I drew my sword and furrowed my brow, an imposing figure on the huddled and cowering Jewish family in their shed. 'Amr put a hand on my arm and shoved me back, ever the obedient soldier.

"This is not to be a massacre," 'Amr scolded me, voice firm. He put himself between me and the cowering family. 'Amr and Mundhir had returned from Syria for a number of assignments to be carried out in Arabia and would return days later.

The Khalifa's son, 'Ubayd-Allah ibn 'Umar, a man after my own heart, almost as tall as his father and just as short-tempered, mocked him to his back by mimicking his words with a cartoonish tone. I would have laughed had my mind not been elsewhere.

The mother was sobbing, and the eldest of the children, who could not have been any older than ten, stood shielding her and his siblings, trying to look as intimidating as he could.

"Hey," Mundhir called out in his soft voice. He had an undeniable charm. He tossed a handful of dirhams at the mother's feet. "It's enough for the journey. I'll stand watch over your house for the night, but I can't help if you're caught yet lingering in the city come morning."

"Where are we to go?" the mother sobbed.

"Jerusalem is on the brink of surrender," 'Amr chimed in. I had informed 'Umar of the persecution of Jews and Miaphysite Christians at the hands of tyrannical Roman rule. Jews had not been allowed into their holy city for many a year now; one of many Roman decisions 'Umar sought to remedy.

I sheathed my sword and beckoned for the Nubian and 'Ubayd-Allah to follow me to other sheds. There were yet Jewish families that had not evacuated the city of Fadak, contrary to the Khalifa's orders. 'Umar sought to cleanse Arabia of all non-Muslims.

Pagans were not to be tolerated whatsoever, in any corner of the Caliphate.

Jews and Christians, however, were deemed People of the Book, or people of dhimma, subject to the protection of the Muslim Khalifa in return for certain social restrictions that included the payment of a special poll tax, the jizya, as well as a land tax. These restrictions were first imposed by Muhammad upon the Jews of Khaybar following their subjugation.

Another faith that shared this status were those of Zoroastrian faith in Persia, known to the Arabs as fire worshippers or 'majus'.

However, these People of the Book were not allowed to remain in the plains of Arabia, however. 'Umar had dispatched me with a number of other individuals to ensure such communities were given the choice of conversion or expulsion.

The most prominent havens that housed significant Jewish communities were in Khaybar as well as Fadak, which was where were harrying the families then. Their evacuation was long overdue. We had given them three weeks' notice to pack their belongings and leave.

"You will not be as shadow," 'Umar was firmly against the idea of personal guard. I followed 'Umar, and the Nubian subsequently followed me – much to the Khalifah\'s vexation. "I have no need of mortal protection, nor do I wish for a reign of tyranny."

So, 'Umar was always keen to be rid of me by setting me to one task or the other. The Nubian would naturally follow. I managed to convince him into uttering the shahada before 'Umar, so now he was a genuine convert in the eyes of the masses. I doubted he understood what Islam even was. He spoke little, and when he did, it was in the Greek tongue. He knew not a word of Arabic. I wondered if he had any gods for himself.

'Umar also deemed it an opportunity for me to prove that I no longer harbored any Jewish loyalties. He did not know I never identified as such. I have been schooled in the teachings of the Arab religion as well as Judaism and Islam, yet it was the gods and the gods only that lodged in my heart.

In the eyes of men, I was a convert of Jewish ethnicity, yet in my heart of hearts resided Hubal and the true Allah of the Arabs, his three daughters, and dozens of other deities of the ancient Arab tribes.

I moved on to the next shed, my patience tried.

My mother would be arriving in Yathrib at any moment, but these damned dogs kept me far from the city. Why couldn't they just leave?

I ground my teeth through the rage and kicked down a door, greeted by the screams and shrieks of women and children beyond. A man leapt at me and I swatted him aside with my elbow, sending him sprawling across the chamber. I was not as massive as the Nubian or as 'Umar, yet I towered over most men and twice across the chest as any. I had not yet reached my twentieth year.

"Fuck off out of the damn city!" I unsheathed my sword and waved it in their general direction, which only prompted more cries. "Quit crying and go!"

"Hanthalah!" 'Amr's voice rang from outside the shed. The Nubian stood silent and looming next to me.

"Move! Now!" I directed my rage at the Jews. Perhaps in another life I would have deemed this sorry lot my people, yet the gods were capricious, and fate was a flimsy thing. I had not spent much time among the Jews of my tribe, and the time I did was wrought of mistreatment.

'Amr elbowed me in the ribs and moved to shove me away from the women and children. The Nubian's eyes widened, and he grabbed 'Amr by the shoulder.

"Stay your hand," I told him, and he immediately relinquished his hold on 'Amr. He was an odd fellow.

The latter spun, scowling and snarling, apparently about to reprimand the Nubian. But then he froze, and his expression softened. His shoulders slumped and he blinked a number of times. Both men remained entrenched in one another's eyes for some seconds before 'Amr finally shook himself from his stupor and turned to face me, his furious expression returning.

"If you are unable to perform this properly, I would see you return to Madinah." Amr scolded me.

"You are not in command here."

"Yet it is in my power to inform the man that is of your deeds."

I let out a deep breath and returned my sword into its scabbard. Amr's expression eased to that of a sympathetic one.

"She will return sooner rather than later," he said. "Of that I promise you. You need not be impatient."

"I've waited a decade."

"Then what is another few days?"

I nodded, letting out a deep breath. I moved past 'Amr and into the shed to resolve the issue of this particular family.

In truth, my mother's return was not the sole topic occupying my mind. I knew where Yazid's siblings were.

___________________

The wagon lurched to a stop before the Khalifa's shed, the silk curtains of the enclosure it bore – the hawdaj ruffling softly. The Nubian were by my side, ready to share in one of my rare moments of joy.

'Amr and Mundhir were dispatched north again, to partake in the ongoing siege of Jerusalem.

'Umar lingered inside the shed with visitors, occupied with matters of the state. With him was Anas ibn Malik, the timid young man.

My stomach fluttered with anticipation as the curtains of the hawdaj parted. The rider dismounted to help those inside follow suit.

I had not prepared myself for the magnitude of the moment.

I had dreamt of rescuing the woman known only to me by the epithet Umm Ezra for years, my mother. I offered myself into slavery to procure her own freedom. And here, the fruit of such a deal was unraveling. For once, I would succeed at something. For once, the gods were good.

There she stood, just as I remembered her as a child. Her kindly face was wrinkled despite her surprising few years, her eyes round and her figure full and pasty figure. Yet, she was hunched as though years of struggle weighed her down.

Tears welled in my eyes, clouding my vision. I shook with every inch of my body as she walked over deliberately. I vaguely noticed there was another woman, face veiled, clambered down the camel as well. But I paid her no heed.

Mother walked toward me with a limp, the veiled woman at her arm supporting her every step. When she managed to hobble her way to me, we embraced, sobbing in one other's arms.

For the first time in my life, I allowed myself some measure of weakness. I felt a child again.

"Who is the girl?" I nodded to the young woman that had escorted her off the hawdaj.

"She is a woman flowered. Four and ten this winter. And your future wife."

I gave her a blank look. "I have no need for a wife."

I remembered Martha and all the dreams we did not share. Her final moments, cowering and terrified, her blood staining my fingers.

You are the Devil.

"But it is my wish for you to bear my grandchildren," tears glistened in her eyes then and she pursed her lips. I assumed she was remembering Ezra.

"I do not even know her name. I don't even know who she is."

"Zaynab bint Dawood. And you do know her."

"I do not recall a woman bearing that name."

"Because the last time you saw her, she was no woman at all. This is your uncle Dawood's daughter. She was claimed by the same man as me."

I glanced at this woman who called herself kin, this Zaynab. Dawood did have a daughter, five or so years old when our tribe was massacred. I remembered her as a squalling brat, an insufferable nuisance to my ears.

Now, she was bony, sleek and covered from head to toe in a dark gown. Her face was covered in a niqab, a garment of chastity that existed predominantly among the Jewish and Bedouin tribes even before the advent of Islam.

"If you wish it, Mother," I replied, though I was not eager to wed this faceless individual, who yet lurked in my mind as an annoying child. "Yet I stand Muslim now. How is such a union possible?"

Umm Ezra's frown deepened. She had not smiled once since she stepped out of the hawdaj. I swore vengeance on this man who stole her joy. Her frequent bouts of coughing worried me as well.

"She stands gentile now as well," Mother spoke with venom. "A most disappointing revelation."

"My conversion bears no veracity, Mother," I immediately put in, eager to please her. "It is merely an act of self-preservation."

That did not seem to evoke any positive emotions from her either. "You forsake the religion of your people for greed."

"I stand no gentile, Mother," I lied. "Yet, it was necessary in order to secure your life."

"It is true that your master has expelled all Jews from Arabia?" she asked. She coughed again.

I hesitated before answering. "It is. And you need to feign conversion as well. No slave or non-Muslim is allowed to stay within the vicinity of the city for more than three days."

"Persecution and expulsion seem to be inevitable fates for our people, wherever we dwell. Whenever we draw breath."

"Mother, do not let these bleak years come in the way of a future filled with the laughter of children and the joy that is yet to come."

Umm Ezra broke into a fit of coughing before steadying herself.

"There is no joy in this life. Only birth, the relief of death and all the misery in between."

I opened her mouth to protest, still overwhelmed with emotion, but the moment was soiled when a shrill voice called out from behind her.

"Mother?"

"Mother," it called out again, more incessant than the last.

I looked over her shoulder to find that a young boy had slipped from between the curtains of the hawdaj. He was lean and lithe and there was a spring to his step that reminded me of Mundhir. Despite his youth, his eyes were sharp and aware. The mark of a one who lived as a Bedouin.

Mother?