Джеймс Миченер - The Source

In a sense, the old pagans were right. It was not by chance that the altar of the basilica stood over the spot where Baal had reigned, but rather by the sensible logic that pervaded all religions: the Jews had borrowed from the Canaanites, and the Christians had borrowed from the Jews. Now there was approaching from the desert a newer religion that had borrowed even more extensively from both Jew and Christian, but all went back to those primitive urgings which had found expression in Baal, and before him in the primogenitive divinity of all, the mysterious and self-effacing El.

But harsh judgment was at hand for the pagans. Muhammad had differentiated sharply between “the people of the Book,” which included Jews and Christians, and those who knew no Book, the pagans. The former would always have an honorable place in the Arab religion; the latter were to be offered either conversion or extirpation, and word of this final choice had filtered through to Makor, so that the pagans knew that when the Arabs came clattering down the road a moment of decision was upon them.

In the hours of waiting the citizens of Makor made their various decisions. The orthodox priests of Byzantium wanted to defend the town, but the schismatic Christians, whom they had abused for so long, let it be known that they would refuse to fight; indeed, they welcomed the coming of Muhammad, for they suspected that under the Arabs they would know greater toleration than they had under the Byzantines. The Jews looked forward to another dispersion; where they would go this time they did not know—perhaps overland to the newly forming countries of Europe. In the meantime their community was divided between those who held that the widow Shimrith should be forced to marry her brother-in-law Aaron, and those who felt that in view of that man’s rape and probable murder she should be exempt. To the warring Jews the advent of the Arabs was merely another incident which they hoped they could survive. But to the pagans the new religion represented the end of the road, and they waited in terror.

In this demoralized condition the little town of Makor prepared to confront the Arabs, who came united as no preceding conqueror had ever come, unified by one religious ideal as none had been unified before. It was a most curious chance of history that the Arabs arrived when they were strongest, in the throbbing flush of self-discovery and unification, and that they reached Makor when it was at its worst and weakest. In nearly six hundred years no one had thought to rebuild the town walls or to dig out the well.

Why had such sterile days befallen a civilization once capable of producing men like Tarphon the gymnasiarch, Timon Myrmex the architect, Bishop Eusebius and the young Jew Menahem ben Yohanan, honored in church history as St. Mark of Antioch? The only logical explanation was that the Greek concept of life had simply run out of inspiration. After nearly a thousand years of control its polity had become rigid, its art moribund and its military capacity deficient. Even its marvelous new religion, Christianity, which Greeks had molded upon the divine presence of Christ and the theological statesmanship of Paul, had grown formalized and sterile, bringing to its Palestinian followers neither security nor inspiration. Christians inclining toward the more liberal policies of Rome were tyrannized; those who clung to Egypt were persecuted; while the poor Nestorians were periodically tortured, one emperor after another convincing himself that if he could only punish the Nestorians enough he could stamp out their abominable heresy. It was in this faltering and pathetic posture that Hellenism was required to confront the rising power of the Arabs. The consequence was bound to be humiliating and perhaps in the interests of world history it was proper that it should be so.

Now Abd Umar, the servant of Muhammad, brought his squadron out of the swamp and ordered all to remount camels for a gallop to the Damascus road, where he had barely time to notice that the wintry sky had cleared and was flecked with clouds, when scouts reported that the olive grove of Makor lay ahead and the town must be close at hand. The tall slave ordered his camel to kneel, and when the beast had done so, dismounted and ordered forty of his best men to do the same. The swift and rested horses were brought forward, and swords were unsheathed while the unnecessary camels were led to a grazing area off the road. Abd Umar, adjusting his striped and many-colored robe and tightening the cords of his headdress, sat easily upon his small sand-colored horse, his long legs looking awkward as his feet fitted themselves to the basketlike stirrups, and in this position of battle he surveyed his men, knowing that he had no need to address them in words of courage. He gave only one battle command, “Kill no one,” after which he wheeled his horse, spun in a tight circle and started galloping down the road; but at the bend where he first saw the unprotected town, he also saw, to the left of the road, a sight which distracted his attention and reminded him of the confusions he was encountering on this cold, damp afternoon. At the edge of the olive grove stood an ordinary farmhouse: the owners tilled a small plot of land, raising grain which they sold to the groats maker, and such farms had always constituted the backbone of Jewish Palestine, and Roman as well; but to the hard-riding Arab the little establishment was an affront. Like most men from the desert he held in contempt any man who would tie himself to a piece of land instead of remaining free to roam wherever trade or battle took him. Farmers were the despised creatures of this world, the cowards, the conservatives, the shameless ones who knew nothing of sword or camel, and for Abd Umar suddenly to find that the town he was about to invade was the center of such farmers was repellent. Even more than the trees and the swamp, this farmhouse unsettled him … made him ill at ease in ways he could not have described.

But much as he despised the farmhouse he could not keep his eyes from it, so as he galloped toward the town that loomed ahead on the foreboding hill, Abd Umar glanced sideways at the menace and swore that if he succeeded this day in capturing Makor, he would destroy every farm within the radius of a day’s journey. He remembered that the Koran mentioned little about farming but spoke at length regarding merchants and warriors; yet even as he rode past the farmhouse he realized that his initial idea of burning such places was ridiculous; he was talking like Abu Zeid and was ashamed of himself. The Arabs had come out of the desert to bring Muhammad to strange lands, and the customs of those lands must be respected, insofar as they did not controvert the teachings of the Prophet. But even this philosophical concession did not erase from Abd Umar’s mind the contempt he held for whatever men lived inside that miserable house. “If this is a town of farmers,” he muttered to himself as he galloped toward Makor, “it’s hardly worth conquering.”

A lieutenant leading a contingent of men sped past, shouting, “Abd Umar, I shall ride into the town first.” The ex-slave understood that his subordinate was trying to protect him from the first flight of arrows, but he held the offer to be humiliating and spurred his sand-colored horse until he was again in his lead position, and in this formation the Arabs galloped up the winding road and into the town. There was no first flight of arrows, nor any, and within a few exhilarating moments the Arab horsemen had stormed unopposed into the heart of the town and were milling about the square before the basilica, wondering what to do next.

The easy conquest had caught Abd Umar by surprise: he had supposed that in the first clash of swords his brain would clear and he would sense what steps to take, but when the citizens refused to fight and merely presented themselves like cattle, he was caught off guard and was as perplexed as his men. Then, as his own horse whinnied in agitation at the sight of so many people, he remembered the instructions of the Koran and he shouted to one of his lieutenants, “Tribute, on the backs of their hands,” and Arabs who could speak Greek dismounted to instruct the Jews and Christians that in accordance with the Koran they were to kneel, bow their heads and offer tribute on the backs of their hands held out parallel to the earth, in the humiliating posture reserved for slaves.