Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

Mohammed turned, leaving the harsh words hanging in the air, and stalked off into the night.

The next day, each man in his army was assigned to a squadron or qatiba by lot, without regard for clan or nation. Henceforth, each man would eat, drink, ride, and sleep only with his qatiba-brothers. The Tanukh, Quraysh, and Ben-Sarid troopers-by necessity-were parceled out as officers and commanders. Jalal was placed in command of the left wing of the army, what Mohammed termed the maisarah and Shadin the right or maimanah. Had the brash youth Khalid been with them, Mohammed would have set him to command the scouts, foragers, and outriders. Instead, he placed Ben-Sarid in command of the muqaddama. For himself he retained command of the core of heavy armored cavalry, the qalb. So ordered, the army continued riding north through the harsh land.

– |The house of the governor of the port was a simple two-story affair, set back from the shore a hundred feet or so. Mohammed stood on the roof of plaster and mud over interleaved timbers. At some time in the past the governor's wife had erected a sunshade of striped linen held up on wooden poles. Today it was welcome, for the heat of summer was beginning to make itself felt. The sun was a brassy disk in a pale white sky, and even the waves of the sea seemed flattened and subdued. Sahaba messengers squatted in the shade, waiting for Mohammed's word. His bodyguards were downstairs, sleeping in the cool recesses of the house's common room and triniculum.

Mohammed shaded his eyes, peering out to sea. Bright-colored triangles in red, blue, and green could be made out on the horizon. A fleet was coming up from the south, making slow headway with the mild wind. Within the day the ships would make landfall in the port, carrying unknown cargoes and news from Yemen or San'a or India. Ben-Sarid's outriders had seen them first, down the coast, and had hurried back with the news. Mohammed was unsure as to whether he considered this a good omen or not. The loot of the port was in hand, most of it already packed onto mules and camels. He had little drayage for more, though he could be supremely lucky and find that a shipload of Indian water-steel blades was about to fall into his hand.

He doubted it, though. Most likely it would be more pepper and cotton and bolts of raw silk. He scratched his beard in thought, wondering if there was anything else that it could be.

Bah! Shadin's men are in place. They know the plan. We shall just see what we shall see.

The new war banner, a triangular pennant of green cloth with a crescent moon and a white saber marked on it, flapped slowly in a desultory breeze. Mohammed looked at it as he turned to go downstairs, shaking his head in amusement. Jalal had been quite proud of it when a contingent of the men presented it to Mohammed the day before they had attacked the port.

"A crescent moon?" Mohammed had not liked the symbol. It reminded him of the statue-crowded temples that infested the cities of northern Syria. "What does that mean?"

Jalal had grinned and stroked his curly salt-and-pepper beard. "It is the moon that watched us go forth from Mekkah, my lord. You say that the merciful and compassionate one watches us always; well-he watched us from the moon that night."

– |A sixty-foot coaster, lateen-rigged and showing a high prow and stern, drifted close to the stone quay. The ship was painted with cracking light blue paint and ornamented with yellow and black eyes facing forward. Sailors in turbans and loincloths leaned on the railing, long poles in their hands. A pair of long sweeps, driven by the hollow beat of a drum, had edged the ship into the harbor. A dozen more merchantmen just like it were also crowding into the bay. Two of Shadin's men were on the pier, reaching for the first rope to be thrown from the ship.

Mohammed stood in shadow, just inside the open double doors of the warehouse at the end of the pier. The building had been emptied out and was now filled with his men. The small Imperial garrison had been overwhelmed in the initial attack-many of them had still been in bed, sleeping off a night of drinking-when the Sahaba had swarmed over the walls and through the southern gate of the town. The legionaries were now living on bread and water in the basement of the governor's house and their lorica segmentata were providing a brace of Mohammed's men with badly needed armor. The Quraysh did not think he would need men armored from head to toe in spangenhelm-style helmets and full armor for today's work, but it never paid to underestimate one's enemy, even unsuspecting sailors and merchants at the end of a long haul up from the ports of Aden and Abyssinia. Most, like the crews of the dhows that were coming into the harbor, would be more interested in drink and food and women than girding their loins for war.

The coaster bumped against the quay and settled. Shadin's men tied the ship off to the stone buttresses that served as mooring poles. On the ship, the sailors clustered on the central deck, and a long plank walkway appeared. It dipped in the air and then fell, rattling, to the stone pier. A man dressed in a flamboyant orange hat shaped like an inflated octopus with tassels coming off it strode down the springy walkway. When he reached the shore, he fell onto his knees and kissed the earth. Behind him a crowd of men were piling off the ship, their legs wobbling. Some of them had spears.

Mohammed hissed, and the Sahaba in the warehouse tensed. There was a faint rattle of metal on metal as men drew their swords or put arrow to string on their bows. At Mohammed's side, Shadin was whispering quick orders to his runners. Two boys slipped through the press of men in the dark warehouse.

"Bowmen, front." Shadin's growl seemed loud in the enclosed space, but Mohammed knew that no one outside could hear. "Make ready to charge."

On the quay, men continued to pour off the boat. Another coaster had tied up at the next pier to the south, and more men were debarking. They had swords, spears, and bows as well. Mohammed felt a sick queasiness in his stomach. An army was debarking on the docks, and he had only Shadin's maimanah to face them. Jalal, the heavy cavalry, and the scouts were all up in the hills behind the town, learning to fight in formation. The Quraysh clapped Shadin on the shoulder and moved up to the edge of the door. The armed men on the dock were moving forward carefully, their spears a thicket in front of them. The captain in his ebullient hat was at their head, looking about carefully. The town remained sleepily quiet, dozing in the sun.

Mohammed squinted at the bright light. The fellow in the hat seemed to be peering back at him.

"Hello? Is anyone around?" The voice sounded familiar, but it was out of context here.

Mohammed grunted in surprise as the sea captain took off the orange bladder and wiped sweat from a high and noble brow. The Quraysh stepped out of the warehouse and slid his saber back into its sheath with a ting of metal on metal. The sea captain and his men started with surprise to see the figure appear before them.

"Are you lost?" Mohammed's voice rang off the storefronts and stone walls of the harbor. "This is not Yemen and San'a! You will have to turn around and go the other way." He raised his hand and pointed south.

The sea captain laughed in surprise, showing bright white teeth and a neatly trimmed black beard. He swept the fantastical hat into a flourish and bowed, going down on one knee. Some of his men knelt as well, though others were looking around in suspicion, their faces clouded with uncertainty. Mohammed strode forward, and the warehouse at his back suddenly vomited armed men. The men on the quay backed up hurriedly, taken aback by the appearance of grim-looking Sahaba.

"I am not lost," declared Khalid Al'Walid in a loud voice as he tossed the hat into the water. "I am returned from the south, from San'a and Yemen! Just a little early, is all."