“Then we must take the eastern path through the Najd,” Abu Sufyan responded, reaching for a copper jug to lower into the well.

“The Najd is a barren waste with few wells!” Abu Lahab hissed. “Even our sturdiest camels risk death in that terrain.”

Abu Sufyan filled his jug and then took a long drink.

“It seems your nephew has us trapped,” he said after a pause. “As long as Medina blocks the northern passes, our trade with the Byzantines and the Persians is at a standstill.”

Abu Lahab leaned close to him, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Your wife is right. We must avenge Badr. We must destroy Muhammad once and for all.”

Abu Sufyan’s jaw flinched at the mention of Hind, but he nodded.

“I agree. Once the winter has passed, we will launch an attack on Medina,” he said, knowing that he really did not have any other choice. “We will gather our finest men and marshal all of our allies. I hope it will be enough.”

Abu Lahab snorted contemptuously.

“What do you mean, ‘you hope’?”

Abu Sufyan shrugged.

“Muhammad is a survivor. For almost fifteen years we have sought to defeat him. Yet he only grows stronger with time.”

Abu Lahab’s tiny eyes narrowed further.

“Well, his reign is at an end. Our men will destroy him!”

Abu Sufyan looked at the fat slug of a man who had never held a weapon his life and shook his head. Abu Lahab was exactly the kind of chieftain he despised. Unwilling to risk his own life but perfectly content to send young men to their deaths.

“Our people fear him,” he said. “Whatever happened at Badr, it has left a dark impression on their minds. The men believe Muhammad is a sorcerer who can control the wind. That he has armies of djinn at his command.”

Abu Lahab laughed, an ugly sound that lacked any humor.

“Don’t tell me you believe that nonsense?”

Abu Sufyan turned his head to face the Kaaba. For so many years, he had felt as if he were trapped in a bad dream, and some voice inside him was saying that it was time to wake up and face the world.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he said with a sigh. “Men whom I have always considered to be sober-minded came back from Badr weeping in terror over the djinn who they say fought alongside the Muslims. Warriors on white horses who emerged from the wind.”

Umm al-Fadl had been listening unobtrusively to their conversation, pretending to be absorbed in the work of filling her water cans. But her ears pricked up at this. She looked at Abu Rafi, who had silently stood at her side, ignored by these noblemen like all low-class workers. But his eyes went wide at the strange story and he spoke before Umm al-Fadl could stop him.

“Those were not djinn! They were angels!”

The chieftains turned and saw the tiny man with the pockmarked face for the first time. Abu Sufyan smirked and turned his back. It was beneath him to address this freed slave who was worth less than the mule droppings that littered the streets of Mecca.

But Abu Lahab was outraged at the stranger’s audacity.

“You! You’re one of them!”

Umm al-Fadl put a restraining arm on Abu Rafi, trying to lead him away from the confrontation. But he shook her off.

“Yes! I am a Muslim, and I no longer fear to reveal it. Not when the angels themselves descend to the Prophet’s aid.”

Abu Lahab’s face turned purple and he looked like an overstuffed grape, ready to burst.

“Let’s see if the angels will descend to your aid!”

And then he grabbed a sharp stone and slammed it into Abu Rafi’s face, knocking out his front teeth. Abu Rafi fell to the ground in pain, but Abu Lahab was not finished. He continued to pummel him until his features had devolved into a mass of blood.

Umm al-Fadl watched the unbridled cruelty with mounting rage.

“Stop it! You’ll kill him!”

Abu Lahab cast an amused look at his sister-in-law. His eyes locked on the curve of her breasts as they always did.

“So what? I am the chief of the clan! I determine who lives and who dies among the Bani Hashim.”

Umm al-Fadl turned to Abu Sufyan, the plea written on her face. But the lord of Quraysh merely turned away with distaste. Abu Lahab kicked Abu Rafi in the crotch, and she could see the poor man crying like a baby.

And then something broke inside of her, like a rusty latch that has kept an old door closed. And like the waters of Zamzam, something bubbled up inside of her that was very cold, very ancient.

She grabbed a tent pole that lay fallen on the ground.

“Abu Lahab!” she cried out in a voice she did not recognize. “Remind me. When you die, who will be the head of the clan?”

Her brother-in-law looked up at her, startled.

“What?”

And then the force that was raging within her took hold of her arm. Umm al-Fadl raised the tent pole and brought it crashing down with terrifying fury on Abu Lahab’s head.

There was a sound like a melon falling off a merchant’s cart and splattering on the cobbled street. Abu Lahab’s skull cracked and a burst of gore erupted from an exposed sliver of brain.

Abu Lahab fell back against the well, his tiny eyes now wide open in shock, as blood and gray tissue streamed out of the wound and down the side of his fat face.

He managed to turn his head and look at Umm al-Fadl, who still held the tent pole in her grasp. Her hand was shaking, but when she spoke, her voice was as clear as the spring waters of Yemen.

“Our debt has been repaid.”

Umm al-Fadl dropped the pole and turned away from the dying man. She wanted to run away, but a crowd was forming around her, staring at her in shock. And then a horrible scream pierced the open plaza around the Sanctuary.

A woman with dirty white hair and a face lined like a shriveled pear burst through the crowd and ran to Abu Lahab’s side.

This was Umm Jamil, his wife, who had a reputation for petty cruelty that made Abu Lahab seem like a diplomat in comparison. She wailed over her bleeding husband, beating her sagging breasts in fury.

“Who did this?” she screeched.

Umm al-Fadl saw her husband, Abbas, push his way toward them. He looked at his injured brother, the head of their clan, and then at his wife. There was no escaping responsibility for what she had done.

“I did,” she said with quiet dignity.

And then Umm Jamil was upon her like a bat, the old woman’s clawlike nails trying to tear her eyes from her skull.

Umm Jamil’s brother, Abu Sufyan, pulled her off Umm al-Fadl and held her forcefully as she screamed vile curses that even drunken men would hesitate to utter.

“If my husband dies, I will have your head!”

Umm al-Fadl turned to Abbas.

“If your husband dies, I believe the question of my fate will reside with the new chieftain of Bani Hashim.”

Abbas was shaken by her words. But she persisted, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it softly.

“What say you, husband? Will you kill me? Or will a blood payment suffice the clan’s honor?”

Abbas dropped her hand as if it were made of live coals.

“You women are all mad.”

He shook his head and walked away, looking very much as if he wanted to wash his hands of the entire affair.

Umm al-Fadl smiled at the elderly witch triumphantly.

“I believe a hundred camels will settle our debt. Don’t you agree?”

Umm Jamil spit in her face.

“I curse you and all the children of your loins!”

Umm al-Fadl wiped off the mucus with her sleeve. She looked one last time at the dying Abu Lahab and his wife, her eyes cold with contempt.

And then she remembered something Muhammad had said years before. At that moment, her resistance was gone and she accepted the truth of the new religion that her nephew had brought.

“There is none more accursed than those who are cursed by God Himself,” Umm al-Fadl said.

And then she recited a verse from the Qur’an that had been revealed years before when Abu Lahab had led the persecution of Muhammad. A verse that she had first heard her nephew recite when Umm Jamil had carried a bundle of thorns and had flung them upon him during prayers. A verse that somehow came back to her memory as if it had been branded into her heart.