And in a world where gold was flowing in rivers, corruption and venality began to set in. Complaints arose over the self-serving conduct and brutality of some of the Umayyad governors, but the Caliph himself did not hear of the growing unrest until the sparks of discontent had become a raging fire.

For Uthman had made one terrible mistake in choosing his own inner circle. He had appointed a young cousin named Marwan ibn al-Hakam to serve as an adviser. Both Marwan and his father had the dubious distinction of being cursed by my husband, who had expelled them from Arabia because he saw in their hearts the disease of grave treachery. They had remained in exile until Uthman took power. Feeling great sorrow for his kinsmen, the old man had pardoned them and recalled them to Medina in the hope of rehabilitating them. It was a foolish mistake, motivated by the softness of his heart, for the moment the bitter young man returned, he quickly sought to achieve power over those who had humiliated him. Using honeyed words and feigning humility, Marwan rose to power as Uthman’s personal scribe, thereby becoming responsible for writing-and reading-all of the Caliph’s correspondence. Using his newfound power, Marwan began issuing commands under the Caliph’s seal without his knowledge, furthering the interests of corrupt members of the Umayyad clan while keeping word of the growing unhappiness in the empire from the old man’s ears.

But even if Uthman remained oblivious to the rising cries of discontent, word was rapidly spreading to others in Medina, and our alarm at the deteriorating situation began to grow. My brother Muhammad, now a handsome and passionate young man, had emigrated to Egypt and had become embroiled in the political strife there. He was an idealistic youth who was ready to fight against injustice wherever he saw it, and his status as the son of Abu Bakr gave him immediate standing among the Egyptians. Within a short time, my brother became a vocal leader of the opposition, and he gained the support of Amr ibn al-As, the revered conqueror of Egypt, whom Uthman had displaced as governor in favor of his own kinsman.

The unrest in Egypt soon boiled over into rioting, during which the Umayyad governors brutally suppressed the protesters. Muhammad sent several letters to Uthman demanding that he address the grievances of the Egyptians, but they quickly disappeared into the void through Marwan’s machinations. Convinced that the Caliph had himself become corrupt, my young and idealistic brother led an armed band of rebels to Medina to demand Uthman’s resignation.

It was a foolish act, the tactic of a young and misguided man who wanted only to do the right thing. For that, I hope he is one day forgiven. But the one person I cannot forgive in the drama that subsequently unfolded is myself.

I WAS NOW A woman in my forties and I thought I had gained the wisdom necessary to intervene in these dangerous affairs of state. As word of the uprising in Egypt came from my brother, I went to Uthman to plead with him to replace the corrupt governors who were fomenting chaos. Marwan attempted to deny me an audience, but when I stormed inside Uthman’s palatial home, his guards stepped aside, afraid to lay a hand on the Mother of the Believers.

When I saw Uthman, he looked old and very tired. I could see a hint of confusion in his eyes as he looked at me for a long moment. It was as if he did not recognize me, a woman he had known from birth. Even though my face was veiled, my golden eyes still sparkled. But his mind soon cleared and he smiled, his face still beautiful despite the weight of decades. He listened to me patiently for some time, but I could tell that he did not understand what I was saying. And then I realized to my horror that Uthman had absolutely no idea that the situation in Egypt had changed, that there were men marching in the streets of the province calling for the ouster of his appointed envoys. He kept looking to Marwan for confirmation, but that wily rat shrugged as if this were all news to him. At the end of our audience, Uthman politely rose and asked me to give his regards to my mother, Umm Ruman, and all blood drained from my face.

My mother had been dead for over twenty years.

I left the Caliph’s manor with dread in the pit of my stomach. Not only was Uthman being manipulated by corrupt officials, he appeared to be suffering from dementia. The future of the empire was at stake and I had to act fast.

I BEGAN TO SPEAK to the elders among the Companions. Talha and Zubayr, who were revered by the community as two of its greatest war heroes, were sympathetic to my concerns but were wary of openly challenging the Caliph. I finally turned in frustration to Ali, who sternly warned me to stay out of political affairs.

“You are playing with a sharp sword, my Mother,” he said. “It is a weapon that could cut you in turn.”

My face grew red at what I perceived to be his condescension, and I stormed out of his house. I returned to the Masjid and shared my concerns with the other Mothers, but they all joined Ali and the other elders in warning me to stand back. Ramla was especially caustic in her words, which was no surprise, considering that she was the daughter of Abu Sufyan and a kinsman of Uthman. Umm Salama was kind but firm, saying that our place as the Mothers of the Believers was to teach and nurture the Muslims. Politics was the domain of men. Even Hafsa, who had gone from a bitter rival to a close friend over the years, was nervous and refused to commit herself to supporting me against the Caliph.

Angered by my failure to drum up support among my peers, I decided to turn to the masses. I began to appear regularly in the marketplace, standing veiled but proud and calling out to the men to pressure Uthman to step down. It was a dangerous act of rebellion in the heart of the city, and only my honored status as the Prophet’s wife kept me from being arrested by the Caliph’s men. As I shared my concerns with the people of the city, I lit a fire that I hoped would smoke the old man out of his home and cause him to see the truth of the world. But it became a fire that soon threatened to consume everything I had worked for my entire life.

For my brother Muhammad arrived with hundreds of armed and angry young men from Egypt and the rebellion I had sought to incite suddenly became a terrifying reality.

MUHAMMAD MET WITH ME and explained that he did not seek violence, but he was willing to defend himself and his men. Realizing that my young brother’s veins ran hot with the fire of justice and that his emotions were ruling his reason, I tried to mediate. I arranged for a private meeting with the Caliph, who listened patiently to the litany of complaints from the Egyptians-how Umayyad officials were stealing from the local treasury, how wealthy and well-connected criminals were being pardoned in exchange for bribes while the poor suffered the lash, how taxes were being levied unfairly on the populace without their consent. Such behavior might be the norm of other nations, Muhammad argued with passion, but we were the servants of God. If the Ummah turned a blind eye to injustice, the incredible wealth and power God had given us would be taken away,

Uthman nodded throughout the meeting, but his eyes looked glazed and I wondered how much of my brother’s speech the old man truly heard or understood. But in the end, the Caliph surprised me by agreeing to Muhammad’s request that the Umayyad officials in Egypt be replaced. And then he summoned the wretched Marwan to draft a letter to that effect, removing the Umayyad governor and replacing him with my brother. I saw Marwan’s eyes narrow, but he complied. I read over the letter myself to make sure that he had obeyed the Caliph, and I saw no irregularities in it. The parchment was signed by Uthman and sealed in wax with his insignia, and Muhammad rejoiced. He had come to Medina prepared for a fight, and the Caliph had instead given him everything he had asked for.