As the truth finally sank into our souls, the claws of panic released their grip on our hearts, and then the flow of tears began in earnest.

Tears of loss, but not of despair.

We knew now that the journey of Muhammad had come to an end.

But the journey of Islam was just beginning.

Book Four. Birth of an Empire

1

Muhammad was dead, but the Ummah was very much alive and in desperate need of leadership. The next several hours were chaotic, as word spread through the oasis of the Prophet’s passing and various factions attempted to assert their own agendas. And then word came to the Masjid that the tribal elders of the oasis were gathering in the ancient meeting hall of the Bani Sa’idah, where they had forged their ever-shifting allegiances in the days before Islam. The old clans of Medina were apparently planning to choose one of their own for the leadership of the community, and they had pointedly met without inviting any of the immigrants from Mecca, those who had stood by the Prophet from the beginning.

Upon hearing this, Umar flew into a new rage and grabbed my father by the arm, urging him to go and intervene before a decision was reached that would tear apart the Ummah. A Companion named Abu Ubayda, a respected Muslim from the tribe of Quraysh, joined them as they turned to face this new crisis. As my father and the other men hurried along to the old meeting hall, a thought flashed through my mind that Ali would likely have desired to attend as well. He had retired to grieve in his house with Fatima and their sons, and Talha and Zubayr were with him. For an instant, I wondered if I should send a messenger to Ali’s house to inform the others of the tribal conference under way. And then I felt that old flash of bitterness at Ali’s betrayal, and the thought quickly fled my mind.

UMAR PUSHED HIS WAY through the heavy bronze doors that had been closed as the elders of the oasis gathered to discuss what to do now that the Messenger of God was dead. The issue that they had all been avoiding for the past several months could no longer be tabled, and a successor to the leadership of the community had to be selected.

And it was an issue that remained as contentious as it had always been. Umar scowled at the sight of the tribal chiefs arguing angrily, each selfishly asserting his own claims to power. The room was packed and tempers were clearly rising as the rival tribes of Aws and Khazraj jockeyed for position. The Prophet had spent years working master-fully to bring these disparate and antagonistic peoples together, and the moment he was gone, they were ready to backslide into old feuds and enmity.

Abu Bakr stood beside him, looking at the loudly arguing men with sadness. Umar knew that his friend’s heart was broken to see the cruel divisions of the past reassert themselves. Abu Bakr had always seen himself as a doting father over the Muslim community, and it must have been agonizing for him to watch people he loved like children fighting bitterly, the civility of the recent years torn apart with the opening of old wounds that only Muhammad had been able to heal.

The stone hall was held up by dozens of sturdy pillars, and Abu Bakr leaned against one to steady himself.

“Listen to me, my brothers,” he said. But his hoarse voice was lost in the tumult of dispute and heated emotion. The old man took a deep breath as if trying to find the energy to speak over the maddening roar of the crowd, and then tried again, but to no avail.

Umar felt his blood pound in his ears, and then he strode forward into the middle of the room and raised his thick hands above his head.

“Silence!” he cried out with such thunder that the windows shook. A pall instantly fell over the startled crowd and all eyes were upon him. He noticed that some of the tribal leaders were surprised, even irritated, to see that the Meccan immigrants had learned of this semisecret council. But if any wished him to leave, none had the courage to say so now.

Umar turned to Abu Bakr and nodded. The old man strolled forward into the room, his back hunched over more than usual, as if his bones could no longer hold up the weight of responsibility that he had carried for so many years.

“Listen to me, brothers,” Abu Bakr said, his voice hoarse but clear. “We are at a dangerous moment, when Satan will seek to mislead us, to tear apart what God has brought together. It is the time for measured judgments, not decisions made in the heat of passion.”

At Abu Bakr’s carefully chosen words, Umar felt the tension in the crowd ease slightly. Abu Bakr continued, gently praising the Ansar, the natives of Medina who had taken in the Prophet and his sorry band of refugees a decade before. He acknowledged that had it not been for the generosity of men like the tribal elders who were gathered here now, Islam would have died. Instead, the religion had prospered and had conquered all of Arabia, and Medina had gone from a backward and forgotten town to the capital of a new nation. A nation that was now facing new threats, from both rebels within and the great powers on its borders. What was needed now was a leader who could hold together the disparate tribes and guide the Muslims through the uncertain days ahead.

“Medina is the capital of Arabia, but the nation’s heart remains in Mecca,” my father said slowly, his eyes peering at the faces of the elders. “If the Arab nation is to remain unified, its leadership must remain in the hands of Quraysh, the only tribe that has the prestige and the resources to keep the smaller tribes united under its command.”

Abu Bakr’s words were met with silence. Then a tribal leader named Sa’d ibn Ubadah stepped forward. He was the head of the Abu Sai’dah clan, in whose hall they were meeting, and he had been one of the most prominent candidates for leadership whose name was being bandied about by the council before Abu Bakr had spoken. Umar tensed, knowing that Sa’d held in his hands the ability to rip apart the Muslim community or to bring it together

And then, to Umar’s surprise, the tribal elder chose the latter.

“You’re right,” the gray-haired Sa’d said, nodding to Abu Bakr. “The men of Medina have played their part in the destiny of Islam, and it is a hallowed role for which we will be remembered. But our hands are too small to hold the reins of Arabia.”

It was a stunning admission and a capitulation of authority that would have been unthinkable years before. At that moment, Umar realized that the Prophet’s legacy was very much alive and their people would survive. Islam was like the sea-even when the surface appeared torn apart by the storms of time, at its heart it remained calm and serene.

There was silence for a long moment. And then other chieftains stepped forward and nodded, accepting the truth of Abu Bakr’s words and joining Sa’d in renouncing their claims to power.

And then Umar felt Abu Bakr take his hand and pull him forward and he turned to see that the old man had done the same with their friend Abu Ubayda.

“I offer you these two men from Quraysh, men of nobility and character who can keep the Ummah united and spread the message of Islam to the world,” Abu Bakr said, holding Umar and Abu Ubayda’s hands high. “Pledge your allegiance to whichever you will.”

Umar was shocked, and he glanced at Abu Ubayda, who looked utterly terrified. Neither of these men had expected that Abu Bakr would nominate them for the leadership of Islam. Umar felt tears welling in his eyes at his friend’s loyalty and belief in him, this gentle old man who had no ambitions of his own, no desire for power over others. A man of such honesty and integrity that the Prophet had named him As-Siddiq, the Witness to Truth, and had trusted him as his sole companion in the cave while the assassins hunted him in the desert.