The speaker pressed his hand down on Muhammad’s mouth, while another drew the sword and plunged it several times into the prostrate form. They watched until the last convulsions ceased; then piously observed: “Our Lord have mercy on him! There is no power nor might save in Allah, the High, the Tremendous!”

“By Allah, he could bite!” observed his first assailant, shaking blood from his right hand. The palm was bitten through. He stopped to bandage it; and then they made a litter with their spades and so conveyed the body back to camp with wailing.

“The darling of our souls is dead,” they chanted. “Slain by the infidels, whom we repulsed. Our brother, Abdul Câder, too, is wounded in the hand.”

The lie was quite transparent, yet it passed unquestioned. The high commanders shrugged and let it go. There were a hundred men concerned, with Allah knew how many sympathizers. They dreaded a stampede of all the conscripts in the camp.