Tales of the Marvellous and News of the Strange (Hardcover Classics) (45 page)

She called for her son Taghlib, who was then thirteen and, after combing his hair, she put on his head Miqdam’s cap and gave him his stick. She told him: ‘Go to Miqdam, the emir of the Arab, the chief of this clan, for he is your father. Present your respects and kiss his hand and his mouth, then sit on his lap and say: “Father, do you remember when
you were at such-and-such a time in Wady’l-Siba in the desert? You passed by such-and-such a place, where there were tents, and on your way you came to a tent which you entered. In it you found a girl who was there alone. You raped her and you gave her this cap and this stick. She is my mother, and you are my father.” ’

Taghlib went off to look for al-Miqdam and he started to go through the ranks of people who were admiring the beauty of his appearance until he reached Miqdam. He took his hand, kissed it and put his arms around his neck, while Miqdam was astonished by how handsome he was. He felt a stirring of emotion and asked: ‘Who are you?’ at which Taghlib repeated what his mother had told him to say. Miqdam felt instinctively that this was his son and he turned to the boy and exclaimed: ‘What a good uncle you have and what a good father!’ He then recited:

God has shown my son to me, and he is like

The Pleiades above the other stars.

He who wrongs me will meet wrong in return,

And those who injure me will find I injure them.

Those who use violence will meet it in return,

While those who plant good seed will find the harvest good.

He repeated: ‘What a good uncle you have, and how excellent is your father!’ He then called out to tell his clansmen to return home, saying that no wrong had been done to their emir that day. With Taghlib in front of him he went to Haifa’ ’s tent and when Sakhr saw him he jumped up to unsheathe his sword, reciting:

Is Miqdam not acquainted with my might,

And with the vengeance that I feared I could not take?

Out of a sense of honour I held back,

Planning to move with prudence and no haste.

I then paid back the author of the crime

With what was even worse than what he did.

He came forward, brandishing his sword and reciting:

Tell Sakhr’s clan of the grave dangers that he met,

But I have cleared away their shame and mine,

Searching through difficult and narrow ways.

It was Miqdam who was at fault,

But I surpassed all men in what I did,

Taking his sister in the dark of night,

Although no blame can be attached to her.

When Miqdam saw Sakhr with the drawn sword in his hand he called out: ‘Sakhr, do not bring harm on yourself, for you have done me no wrong.’ Taghlib then entered the tent and told his uncle to relax because Miqdam, his father, had admitted what he did and had sent away the clansmen whom he had collected. He added: ‘He had wanted to burn you to death, but I brought him the clues that he recognized.’

Miqdam then took Sakhr by the hand and led him from Haifa’ ’s tent, with Taghlib going on in front, and on reaching his own pavilion he called for the qadi who was there in the camp. When he had gathered the chieftains and leaders of his clan, he asked Sakhr for al-Khansa’ ’s hand, and Sakhr agreed to the marriage, after which Sakhr asked for the hand of al-Haifa’, which Miqdam granted to him. Everything was then regularized. Miqdam provided banquets, and both couples remained enjoying the pleasantest and most luxurious of lives.

After some years had passed Taghlib had become the most handsome of young men, a champion rider who answered the calls of the distressed and the lost. His reputation spread. His mother al-Khansa’ collected a large amount of money, which she distributed amongst fighting men, winning them over to support her and her son, whose authority they accepted and who all obeyed him. As a result the other Arab tribes were in awe of them. She supplied her husband with wealth and won support from her clansmen, with whom she shared dangers, while her father and brothers joined her, and their original friendship was restored. Sakhr was a generous provider of food and drink, and both high and low from far and near collected around him.

After things had gone on like that for a long time Sakhr heard of a horse in the tribe of Mazin, to whose owner he was prepared to offer a thousand dinars of red gold. He took the money and went there to the man, Dhu’aiba al-Mazini, who entertained him generously. Sakhr handed over the purchase price, took the horse and started back to his own people. When the leading men of Mazin heard of that they went to Dhu’aiba and said: ‘Were you not rich enough to allow you to do without selling a horse which used to protect us from the hostility of our foes? In particular, it is a man from Rabi‘a, our enemies, who has got it, and this is something that we cannot agree that you should do.’

They continued trying to press him until he mounted a horse, put on
his armour and, taking the money with him, he rode up to Sakhr, who had dismounted to rest by a brook. He told him that his clansmen had objected to the sale of the horse and he had had brought back the money. Sakhr was to take this in return for it, as this was causing a feud between him and his clan. Sakhr refused, saying that, although this would have been acceptable before the sale, the horse was now his, and the money belonged to Dhu’aiba. ‘But I can easily return it to you in a different way,’ he said, ‘and if you come to my camp with me you can have all the money and the horse in the presence of my clan, whereas if I give it to you now everyone will think that I was overtaken by weakness, and you took it from me by force.’ Dhu’aiba said: ‘I cannot go with you, so take the gold and hand over the horse.’ ‘The horse is mine and you have the right to the gold. You are trying to wrong me, and I shall refuse to agree.’ Dhu’aiba said: ‘Whatever happens, you are not going to stop me from taking this horse.’

Sakhr said nothing but saddled and bridled his horse, put on his breast-plate and mounted, reciting these lines:

Dhu’aiba, you will find against what champion you come.

Will you wrong me and rob me of my fame?

My spear is long and with my Indian sword

I split men’s skulls and cut their bodies through.

I could not then enjoy my life or take my share of wine.

On guard, Dhu’aiba, for before your goal

Gnawing disasters rise up in your way.

The sons of Malik have no equal amongst clans.

I swear that you will find no love from me,

For I think you the lowest of the low.

Will you insult me and take off my horse,

When I still hold my straight spear in my hand?

How shall I raise my head if you confront me with a frowning face?

On hearing this, Dhu’aiba became angry and said: ‘Sakhr, had you said anything else, I would have gone back, but you have challenged me.’ In reply to Sakhr’s lines he recited:

Sakhr, you shall learn which of us will be

Cast down above a mound of sand.

When I am hunted by the fates of death

I press my enemy with a scorpion’s sting.

Do you question the merits of my clan?

I swear that this is something very strange.

The leaders of my clan will hear of me

That I, Dhu’aiba, am a champion,

Although you are a stubborn warrior,

Yet, thanks to love, I am a grim lion,

They may hear otherwise that I have fallen prey to beasts.

Each charged the other, and, after a lengthy fight, in an exchange of blows, it was Sakhr who thrust first, with his spear striking Dhu’aiba’s chest and coming out through his back, Dhu’aiba was hurled down and lay weltering in his blood. When he fell his horse strayed back to the Banu Mazin, and when it was seen coming back without a rider it was realized that Dhu’aiba must be dead. Voices were raised, and both men and women wept, while mothers and children raised cries of lamentation. All the clansmen mounted and rode out against Sakhr, whom they found resting by a stream.

When he saw them he knew that they must be looking for vengeance and jumped into his saddle, tightening his girths and putting on his breast-plate. Before he had finished he had been surrounded and he turned to ask the Mazinis what they wanted to do. For their part they asked him what had happened to Dhu’aiba. He told them: ‘His folly got its own reward.’ They said: ‘Sakhr, after killing our chief, are you going to escape with your life? Far from it! We shall leave you as a hamstrung prisoner.’

‘Fight fairly,’ Sakhr told them, ‘and come out against me one by one.’ ‘Damn you,’ they said, ‘will anything less than your blood be enough for us?’ He then recited:

The scum of Mazin came out to trick me,

Saying that they had come to cut me down.

They did not know my sword was my defence,

Whose blows split skulls, and my Rudaini spear.

A foolish wretch of theirs had done me wrong

And, as he should have guessed, he is now buried in the earth.

Banu Mazin, do not come out to meet me in a fight;

For war’s chances are varied. It may be

Before you reach me you will be destroyed.

For I am Sakhr, war’s true father, and Malik,

My father, fought with you before my birth.

I shall pour death for anyone who comes.

Sakhr then charged a man called ‘Ammar son of Salim with a terrifying shout, and after a confused fight they exchanged two blows. Sakhr’s was the first to land, and it left ‘Ammar hurled down and weltering in his blood. Sakhr rode off with his spoils and he recited:

Tell Rabi‘a from me I stoke the fires of war,

And strike down foes with my sharp-pointed spear.

The clan of Mazin know that I shall kill them with my thrusts.

But who will tell my kin that I alone

Defend them from the spears of enemies?

He kept on killing or overthrowing his enemies one by one until they launched a concerted charge against him. He began to strike blows throughout their ranks, and when their attack failed he recited:

Banu Mazin, death has fled from the fight.

I am a son of Malik and I fear no blow.

With my Rudaini spear I am a champion.

Every challenger who came against him was killed until a Mazini rider, Waqqas son of Daghfal, came out reciting:

Sakhr, you face a spear thrust that will leave you on the ground.

It piles up corpses and wounds enemies.

No clan that insults me will live on at their ease.

Sakhr charged him, reciting a reply to his lines:

You will learn which one of us is the weakling

And on the field of battle who will be thrown down.

I am the finest fighter carried by a horse
[lac.]

Mazin will find out where it is I stand,

And who is to be buried in the tomb.

Each rider then charged the other, and for a long time they circled round, cutting and thrusting, advancing and retreating, until Waqqas forestalled Sakhr in an exchange of blows and left him lifeless and weltering in his blood on the ground. The Mazinis surrounded him and carried off his corpse on their spear points, taking the horses and wealth that he had with him and making for their people.

When al-Khansa’ heard the news she struck her face, tore her clothes and poured dust on her head, calling out at the top of her voice: ‘Alas for Sakhr, lord and dearest brother!’ In her display of mourning she was
joined by the women of the tribe, who matched the loud cries of grief that she uttered. This was a great misfortune, and al-Khansa’, in floods of tears, began to recite:

I ask God’s pity, Who is merciful,

And I take refuge with Him from this awful news.

You might be happy when you go to sleep,

But before dawn disaster may have struck.

I slept only to be awakened by horsemen

Who came with news they brought me from the east.

They told me Sakhr had been killed, surrounded by his foes,

And he now lay beneath the stones and earth.

From God’s judgements where is a man to flee,

For all men are ruled by His destiny?

I saw Sakhr on his lean sorrel horse,

Calling: ‘Do you want to warn me?’

I saw Sakhr surrounded by his foes,

Like a way-mark, on top of which burns fire.

With horses, spears and swords surrounding him.

The Mazinis showed their hostility;

Death showed itself, but our clan were at home.

Sakhr served as the rock of our defence,

A shelter for us as the pigeons of the house.

But now this fort of ours has been destroyed,

And there is no strong tower or house now left us.

I weep for Sakhr as a dove laments,

Prompted by longing and its cares,

As long as the sun rises, followed by the moon.

My tears will never cease throughout all time,

As long as longing prompts the dove to mourn.

Sakhr, my brother, you had shared my grief,

And did not let my secret be revealed.

You were my helper, hidden in my heart.

May God show you His favour throughout time,

As long as the star of the morning shines.

I shall now slaughter all the Mazinis

And take their free-born women as my slaves.

I shall not let a rider of theirs live

Now that the lion Sakhr is no more.

She asked her husband: ‘What do you think of the great disaster that has afflicted me?’ He told her: ‘You can do what you want, as the Arabs obey you; you have money to scatter and I am behind you.’ At that, she opened her treasuries and dispersed her money, preparing equipment for war, distributing horses and sending out men. She then said to her son Taghlib:

‘My son, how can you bear it now that your uncle is dead? I wish I knew what you feel.’ Taghlib said: ‘Endurance is ill-omened, but I keep this hidden within me. I shall launch an endless war, seizing riders and destroying champions.’

He sent word to his cousins, the Banu Malik, and they answered his call with three thousand riders, after which he raided the Mazinis. They met at a water-hole named al-Munhil and fought throughout a summer’s day. The Mazinis had come close to winning when they were outnumbered by reinforcements of both horse and foot, whose approach strengthened the Malikis. Fighting continued until the two sides separated at nightfall, by which time the Banu Mazin had lost three hundred and the Banu Malik one hundred. Al-Khansa’ sent after them a thousand riders from the Banu Ghallaq and the Banu Khalaf al-Radi. At the sight of them the Banu Mazin raised their war-cry and assembled to fight, being joined by the Banu Dhu’aiba, Jabir and Sulaim, and what followed was a battle of unparalleled ferocity.