who are dying of thirst? Fulfil what you have promised or else this madman shall return to the desert where you foundhim. Bring Layla and me together or else I shall put an end to my wretched life!’
Chapter 18
M ajnun’s words were like flame-tipped arrows; Nowfal’s heart was like wax. Nowfal knew that he had to act immediately. Exchanging his robes for a suit of armour, and his goblet for a sword, he went to work without delay. Within the hour, a hundred horsemen — all of them skilled in the art of battle — had been gathered together under Nowfal’s banner.
Nowfal rode at the front, his hair streaming in the wind like the mane of lion possessed, and Majnun rode at his side. After a while, they reached the outskirts of the camp where Layla’s tribe had pitched their tents. Nowfal ordered his men to dismount and set up camp. Then he sent a herald to the head of Layla’s tribe with this message:
‘I, Nowfal, hereby state my intention to wage war on you. My troops are assembled and we are ready to fight you to the very last man until we are victorious. There is only one way out for you, and that is if you bring Layla to me; if you refuse to obey, then the sword shall decide between us. I am determined to hand Layla over to the one man who truly loves her, the one man in all the world who is worthy of her. That is my goal.’
Ashort time later, the herald returned with this reply:
‘We have duly taken note of what you have said. Our word on the matter is this: Layla is no plaything to be had at will by whoever so desires. However beautiful the moon may be, it cannot be reached by everyone who falls in love with it. Do you wish to steal what is not rightfully yours? Are you waging war on us for the sake of something to which you have no right? Do you dare to ask the impossible, and then threaten us with death when we deny it you? You demon from hell! Then ride against us, if you will, and put us to the sword, if you are able!’
His anger rising, Nowfal sent a second message:
‘You pathetic fools! Are you blind? Do you not see how powerful we are, and how sharp our swords? Do you really think that you can resist us? Can a few, ill-equipped wretches hold back a tidal wave of steel and fury? Come, see reason while you are still able! Do what we ask and spare yourselves, otherwise disaster will overwhelm you!’
But again the herald returned with a rejection that was couched in terms of abuse and derision. Nowfal was fit to burst with rage. Tearing his sword out of itsscabbard, he gave his men the signal to move forwards. Their blades glinting in the sunlight and their fists punching the air, Nowfal’s men descended like a flock of hungry vultures on to Layla’s camp.
The clash of steel on steel, the terrified whinnying of horses, the shouts and the screams and the bloodcurdling cries of the wounded. The thrust of dagger into breast, of spear into thigh, of axe into skull. The sobs of the women and children, huddled together in their tents. The severed limbs, the heads torn from their bodies, the flesh trampled under foot and hoof. The blood running in rivulets, turning the earth below scarlet, purple, black. And everywhere the bittersweet stench of death …
Among the men, only Majnun did not take part in the fighting. Was not this harvesting of limbs, this massacre, for his sake? Yet he stood to one side, his sword sleeping in its scabbard, and looked on helplessly. His inaction was not out of fear or cowardice; no, it was much more terrible than that. He could not move because he was, quite literally, pulled between the two camps: he was sharing the suffering of both sides. Every blow of the sword, every thrust of the dagger, be it from friend or foe, struck him. Abandoning his weapon, he threw himself into the thick of the fighting, praying to God and imploring the warriors to lay down their arms and sue for peace. But few could hear him, and those who did hear him would not listen. It was a miracle
Chapter 18
M ajnun’s words were like flame-tipped arrows; Nowfal’s heart was like wax. Nowfal knew that he had to act immediately. Exchanging his robes for a suit of armour, and his goblet for a sword, he went to work without delay. Within the hour, a hundred horsemen — all of them skilled in the art of battle — had been gathered together under Nowfal’s banner.
Nowfal rode at the front, his hair streaming in the wind like the mane of lion possessed, and Majnun rode at his side. After a while, they reached the outskirts of the camp where Layla’s tribe had pitched their tents. Nowfal ordered his men to dismount and set up camp. Then he sent a herald to the head of Layla’s tribe with this message:
‘I, Nowfal, hereby state my intention to wage war on you. My troops are assembled and we are ready to fight you to the very last man until we are victorious. There is only one way out for you, and that is if you bring Layla to me; if you refuse to obey, then the sword shall decide between us. I am determined to hand Layla over to the one man who truly loves her, the one man in all the world who is worthy of her. That is my goal.’
Ashort time later, the herald returned with this reply:
‘We have duly taken note of what you have said. Our word on the matter is this: Layla is no plaything to be had at will by whoever so desires. However beautiful the moon may be, it cannot be reached by everyone who falls in love with it. Do you wish to steal what is not rightfully yours? Are you waging war on us for the sake of something to which you have no right? Do you dare to ask the impossible, and then threaten us with death when we deny it you? You demon from hell! Then ride against us, if you will, and put us to the sword, if you are able!’
His anger rising, Nowfal sent a second message:
‘You pathetic fools! Are you blind? Do you not see how powerful we are, and how sharp our swords? Do you really think that you can resist us? Can a few, ill-equipped wretches hold back a tidal wave of steel and fury? Come, see reason while you are still able! Do what we ask and spare yourselves, otherwise disaster will overwhelm you!’
But again the herald returned with a rejection that was couched in terms of abuse and derision. Nowfal was fit to burst with rage. Tearing his sword out of itsscabbard, he gave his men the signal to move forwards. Their blades glinting in the sunlight and their fists punching the air, Nowfal’s men descended like a flock of hungry vultures on to Layla’s camp.
The clash of steel on steel, the terrified whinnying of horses, the shouts and the screams and the bloodcurdling cries of the wounded. The thrust of dagger into breast, of spear into thigh, of axe into skull. The sobs of the women and children, huddled together in their tents. The severed limbs, the heads torn from their bodies, the flesh trampled under foot and hoof. The blood running in rivulets, turning the earth below scarlet, purple, black. And everywhere the bittersweet stench of death …
Among the men, only Majnun did not take part in the fighting. Was not this harvesting of limbs, this massacre, for his sake? Yet he stood to one side, his sword sleeping in its scabbard, and looked on helplessly. His inaction was not out of fear or cowardice; no, it was much more terrible than that. He could not move because he was, quite literally, pulled between the two camps: he was sharing the suffering of both sides. Every blow of the sword, every thrust of the dagger, be it from friend or foe, struck him. Abandoning his weapon, he threw himself into the thick of the fighting, praying to God and imploring the warriors to lay down their arms and sue for peace. But few could hear him, and those who did hear him would not listen. It was a miracle
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