Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 12

We were on the move almost the very next day.

Mu'awiyah had sent a messenger to the camp to fill in Mundhir, who had been incumbent commander while I was away, on the details.

Our target was a minor sub-tribe of the much larger Ghassanid confederacy. Ghassanid tribesmen were almost all Christian; they had a long history of licking Roman arse, adopting their customs, titles and religion. I remembered a substantial contingent of Ghassanid Arabs on the Roman side at the Battle of Yarmouk, serving as auxiliary troops. Their leader called himself king. Pitiful.

But the Ghassanids were numerous and they dwelled considerable territory to the north of Arabia. Not all of their clans and sub-tribes were identical. Some had been pagan before the Muslim conquests; most retained their Christian religion under the condition of paying the jizya tax while even fewer converted to the now hegemonic Islamic faith. Once a man uttered the shahada, he was bound in faith as well as blood. The penalty for apostasy was death.

The first Khalifa, Abu Bakr, and his lethal general Khalid ibn al-Waleed had hammered that into the brains of the rebellious Arab tribes all too well when Muhammad's corpse was not yet cold.

And so, we were off to investigate this case of a converted Ghassanid clan that committed the heinous crime of disbelieving.

"Nomads, the boy said," Mundhir told me, munching on raw rabbit, referring to Mu'awiyah's messenger. "Whereabouts inconclusive but he narrowed it down to a valley."

"We'll be swimming in blood and tears within the fortnight," 'Abd al-Ka'aba was sharpening his sword with whetstone. There was an eerie gleam to his eye at the mention of slaughter. It gave pause to us all in the command tent.

Piruzan nodded at 'Abd al-Ka'aba's words, ever agreeable.

"We'll have our way with their cattle," my son continued, seemingly oblivious that there were others in the tent. "Their camels and their riches will be ours. Maybe even their children. And then-"

"I think we get your point, boy," I scolded him. He jumped at my tone, embarrassment in his eyes.

Piruzan nodded at that too. I sighed.

In order to secure future spoils in the rich lands of the Romans, we needed to resolve this issue of the pagan chieftain before ibn Qays, Mu'awiyah's other general, did. We needed to get to our destination first.

The Khalifa had sanctioned a raid of the Mediterranean, and its lands were fabled, known for harboring a small fortune in each town. The Mediterranean was the beating heart of Roman trade. And we would rip it out of their chests.

In order to do so, we rode at break-neck speed on our nimblest of mounts. Two hundred men were more than enough for such an expedition, I suspected; any more would weigh us down. We needed to get there before ibn Qays and his ill-trained fools. No concubines were allowed on the march south or any items that would hinder our progress.

And so, at the head of two hundred as well as my most trusted officers – my son, my half-brother 'Abd al-Rahman, Mundhir, Piruzan. There were the lower ranking troops that I held in high regard – Tariq, Mahmud, Sufyan and a dozen other promising talents, we set off to reprimand an infidel.

***

The land was barren; a complete wasteland. The humidity was insufferable, and even though we made good pace, arriving to the land a few hundred acres east of the Jordan River in mere days, food and fodder were nearly depleted. I considered cutting open some of our camels in order to quench our thirst and fill our bellies, but Tariq, my dexterous scout blessed with extraordinary vision and foresight, managed to stumble upon a tributary of the river on one of his forays.

Tariq and several other boys were sent out as scouts again at the break of light. They rode ponies of Turkic breed, known for their remarkable endurance and small size which would facilitate the task of the scouts – to ride to and from the camp site as quickly as possible in order to gather further information about the potential enemy and the surrounding terrain.

'Umar, in the heyday of his reign, had forbidden any Muslim soldier from owning a Turkic horse, considered a luxury, lest such vices corrupt them. 'Uthman was laxer in that department.

The scouts also set forth without any coats of mail or heavy shields as not to be encumbered with burdensome equipment. Only Tariq and one other were armed with a sword, while the others rode away eastward unarmed.

As Arslan was stooped over the Jordan's tributary, drenching the lake of its water, I studied the landscape. It was bleak and sandy with only sparse clusters of trees and patches of grass on the banks of the lake. The area immediately surrounding the Jordan River was known for its fertility, rich soil and exquisite greenery. Why would this band of Ghassanids abandon those lush lands in favor of these bleak plains? They were nomads, after all.

"Ancestral homeland?" guessed Mundhir, taking a sip of beer.

Piruzan nodded, agreeing with any suggestion as was characteristic of him.

"Perhaps they have enemies there," Sufyan chimed in. "Other tribes, more powerful ones, that claim the superior lands."

Piruzan nodded at him as well, his eyebrows raised, his chin furrowed.

"I think we should drown Piruzan in the lake or feed him to the foxes," I said in a monotone voice in order to garner a similar reaction from Piruzan. He nodded in agreement at that too, his mind seemingly wandering. I sighed.

Tariq answered my question a short while later when he returned from his reconnaissance.

"Theirs is a defensible terrain," he reported. "A natural fortification."

"Explain," I said, offering him a skin of water that he snatched gladly.

"To the east of the Bedouin camp is a narrow gorge between two hills. To the west is another hill, looming larger than the others and casting a shadow upon the camp. To the north and south, dense woodland. I'm guessing the area was wooded in its entirety and they only cut down the trees in the center to pitch up their tents."

I stroked my chin in thought, my officers gathering to hear the news.

"Men on the hills either side of the gorge? Sentries? Archers?" I asked Tariq.

He nodded, gulping down some more water.

"About a dozen men either side. Most cripples and old men, all armed with bows, no melee weapons. The same sorry lot on the western hill, but in smaller numbers. Half I'd say?"

"There must be others in the trees."

Tariq nodded. "We caught a glimpse of movement in the southern woods as well as hoarse laughter. My estimate is twenty men, give or take. It would not be unreasonable to assume a similar number lurks through the trees to the north."

Twenty men hidden by undergrowth, bushes, trunks, thorns and all sorts of other elements of nature they could weaponize. It was a perfect strategy to ambush and annihilate a reckless attacker that would plunge headfirst into uncharted woodland.

"We keep riding east," I commanded. We were less than a day's ride from the dwelling. "We skirt the western hill and the northern trees, arrive just east of the valley."

Tariq grinned, understanding my plan. He threw his head back and drained the last of the water in the skin.