And then one day he heard how the wretch Abu Jahl had insulted Muhammad viciously while he prayed at the Kaaba, raining obscene curses on him and his family, and his nephew had simply taken in the abuse and walked away with dignity. At that moment, Hamza had made a decision. He had taken the powerful bow with which he had famously killed lions and cheetahs in the desert and strode over to Abu Jahl, who was rallying a crowd against the Muslims in the Sanctuary. Without hesitating, Hamza struck Abu Jahl across the forehead with the bow, knocking him to his knees. And then, before the whole city, he proclaimed faith in his nephew’s religion.

And now he sat here, praying as the Messenger had taught him, his knees on the ground, his head bowed in surrender to God. He found peace at Hira, and he could understand why his nephew found solace here. The air was pure, crisp and clear, not filled with the smell of the burning offal of the city. And instead of the cacophony of loud voices, squawking chickens, and braying camels that arose from the streets of Mecca, there was silence. It was a silence so deep, so still, that a man could finally hear the beating of his own heart, the gentle whispers of the soul.

And then the silence of mountain was shattered by a child’s cry.

“Hamza! We need you!”

He turned and saw me scrambling up the rocks like a redheaded spider. My dress was torn from this terrible journey and my face covered in the gray dust that covered the mountain like soot.

Hamza moved to intercept me. He climbed down several sharply inclined boulders that I could never have scaled. We finally reached each other and I collapsed in his thick arms, panting for breath.

“Aisha? What is it?”

I wheezed, trying to get the words out, as my heart beat in my ears.

“My father…Sumaya…They need you…Abu Jahl…Umar…No one can stop them…”

I didn’t make much sense. But I didn’t need to. Mention of Abu Jahl and Umar was enough.

“God will stop them, little one.”

He rose and took my tiny hand and then gently led me down the rocky slope.

4

There was one more death that day.

Hamza carried me on his iron shoulders as I guided him to the hilltop where the three prisoners of Abu Jahl were still tied to the thorn trees. Hamza checked on them and found that only young Ammar still breathed. His father, Yasir, had succumbed to the heat, having never regained consciousness. Perhaps it was the mercy of God that he had died without knowing the horrific suffering his beloved wife, Sumaya, had endured.

While I stood to the side, sucking my thumb in a gesture of insecurity that should have been long behind me, Hamza released Ammar, who immediately sank to his knees, his body shaking with shock. Hamza poured water from his cowhide flask directly into Ammar’s mouth, but the lad barely moved to drink it. His eyes never left the corpses of his parents. The Prophet’s uncle then untied the bodies of Sumaya and Yasir and laid them side by side.

“Can you walk?” Hamza asked Ammar gently. “If so, come with me back to Mecca. We will bring a party of believers to bury your parents.”

Ammar shook his head.

“I’ll stay with them.”

Hamza nodded. He put a comforting hand on Ammar’s shoulder, but knew there was nothing he could do or say to ease the young man’s pain. So he turned to me.

“You are very brave,” he said, rustling my hair affectionately.

“We have to go! Talha and my father need us.”

Hamza lifted me on his shoulders and stormed off toward Mecca. I looked back to see Ammar stroking his mother’s hair, his eyes staring ahead, vacant.

IN THE END, HAMZA arrived when he was no longer needed. Umar had beaten Talha to a bloody pulp but had spared him his life. Even the fiery son of al-Khattab was unwilling to risk the retaliation of Abu Bakr’s clan, the Bani Taym. Not that he was afraid, he boasted loudly to the crowd that watched him ruthlessly break Talha’s arm. “But this little worm is not worthy of a challenge to my life.” And with that, he had stormed off to get drunk, hoping to erase the memory of Talha’s insult-and his wretched guilt over an infant girl who had lovingly squeezed his finger even as he covered her with stones.

When Hamza heard that Abu Bakr had taken the badly injured Talha to the Messenger’s house, he left the Sanctuary and strode quickly there. I was slow to follow, my young mind still reeling from the madness of the day’s events. As I picked up my pace to catch up to Hamza, I saw an embarrassed-looking Abu Sufyan attempting to convince the grim-faced Bedouin to stay and spend his gold in the marketplace.

“My people have performed their duties and wish to depart,” the Bedouin chief said. “Send your son to retrieve our weapons.”

“But you have just arrived!” Abu Sufyan gesticulated in exagerated surprise. “Come, I will arrange for guest lodgings.”

“That will not be necessary.”

But Abu Sufyan had the persistence of a born merchant.

“You must come to the bazaar in the morning,” he said smoothly. “We recently received a shipment of the finest silk from Persia.”

The Bedouin shook his head.

“My people have no need of silk.”

Abu Sufyan’s frustration was beginning to show.

“But there is so much more that Mecca has to offer!”

The Bedouin grimaced as he looked back to the scene of the bloody brawl just outside the gates of the Sanctuary.

“I have seen today what Mecca has to offer. I wish to see no more.” And with that, he turned his back on Abu Sufyan and rejoined his people, who were already beginning to pack their camels’ bags with food and water for the journey home.

Abu Sufyan shook his head in frustration at the loss of commerce. I turned to rejoin Hamza, when my legs froze.

Walking toward me in all his purple finery was Abu Jahl. His face was calm and undisturbed and there was not a shred of evidence that he had just ruthlessly killed an innocent woman.

For a moment a mad terror engulfed me. Had he seen me running down the hill? Would he now seek to kill me to cover up his crime?

Abu Jahl approached and my heart skipped a beat.

And then he walked right past me, blissfully ignorant of a redheaded child who had seen the depth of his evil up close.

Abu Jahl walked to Abu Sufyan, who was still scowling over lost business

“More incidents like today’s will drive away pilgrims,” Abu Jahl said with a disapproving tut of his tongue. “If these renegades persist in challenging us, the Pilgrimage will end. Without the Pilgrimage, we will be without trade. And without trade, Mecca will vanish into the sands.”

Abu Sufyan nodded.

“This has gone too far. It is time to act.”

Abu Jahl smiled, his eyes gleaming.

“I agree.”

As the two walked away in quiet converse, I managed to regain strength in my knees and I ran off to the House of the Messenger.