“Welcome, Zuqla.” Qassem embraced him.
“I was never against you,” said the shepherd fervently. “My heart was always with you, and if I hadn’t been afraid, I would have been one of the first people to join you. As soon as I heard that Sawaris had been killed—God send him to Hell!—I hurried to you, and I drove all your enemies’ sheep ahead of me!”
Qassem looked at the mass of sheep in the clearing between the huts, where the women were watching and chatting delightedly, then laughed. “It is legitimate to take them, considering the property of ours they have stolen in the alley.”
In the course of that day, an unprecedented number of people joined Qassem, strengthening the general resolve and bolstering morale. But Qassem woke up early the next morning to a strange uproar. He immediately went outside and saw his men coming toward his hut, quickly and with worried looks on their faces.
“The alley has come for revenge. They are massed below the passage.”
“I was the first to go out to work,” said Khurda. “I saw them when I was just a few steps away, and I ran back. Some of them chased me and hit me in the back with rocks. I began to shout for Sadeq and Hassan, until a group of our brothers came to the top of the passage. They saw the danger, and threw rocks at the attackers until they withdrew.”
Qassem looked over at the opening of the passage and saw Hassan and some of the men standing there, clutching rocks. “We can hold them off there with ten men,” he said.
“Coming up there will mean suicide for them,” said Hamroush. “Let them come up if they want.”
The men and women crowded around Qassem until all the huts were empty. The men brought their clubs, and the women had baskets of bricks that had been kept ready for a day like this. The first rays of light shone from the clear sky.
“Is there any other road to the city?” asked Qassem.
“There is a road to the south, two days’ walk from the mountain,” said Sadeq grimly.
“I don’t think we have more than two days’ worth of water,” said Agrama.
An uneasy murmur ran through the crowd, especially from the women.
“They have come for revenge, not a siege,” said Qassem. “If they surround us, we’ll head for the other road to break the siege.”
He began to think, keeping his face serene, for every eye was upon it. If they were besieged, they would have the greatest trouble bringing water by the southern road. If his men attacked them, could they be sure of success against such men as Lahita, Galta and Hagag? What destiny did this day have in store for them? He went back to his hut, and returned holding his club. He walked over to Hassan and his men at the opening of the passage.
“None of them will dare to come any closer,” said Hassan.
Qassem stepped to the mountain ledge and saw his enemies gathered in a crescent-shaped formation in the desert, far out of rock-throwing range. Their sheer numbers were frightening, but he was unable to make out any gangsters among them. His gaze moved over the empty space to the mansion, Gabalawi’s house, immersed in silence, as if oblivious to his children’s struggle for his sake. How desperately they needed his supernatural strength, to which this place had submitted in the past. Perhaps he would not be assailed by anxiety, had it not been for Rifaa’s murder so near his ancestor’s house. He felt an urge, deep inside him, to shout “Gabalawi!” at the top of his voice, as the people of his alley did all the time, but he heard the voices of the women nearby, and turned to look around. He saw the men spreading out over the mountain ledge and watching their enemies, and the women heading for the same spots. He shouted for them to come back, and shouted again when they hesitated. He ordered them to prepare food and do their usual chores, and they obeyed him.
Sadeq came over to Qassem. “That was the right thing to do. The most worrisome thing for me is the power of Lahita’s name over us.”
“The only thing we can do is strike,” said Hassan, shaking his club. “It will be impossible for us to go out and earn livings now that they know our hiding place. The only thing we can do is attack.”
Qassem turned his head to look out toward the mansion. “What you say is true. What do you say, Sadeq?”
“Let’s wait until nightfall.”
“Waiting will only hurt us,” said Hassan. “And darkness won’t help us in battle.”
“So what’s their plan?”
“To force us to go down to them.”
Qassem thought that over. “If Lahita is killed, victory is assured,” he said, looking from one man to the other. “If he falls, Galta and Hagag will battle it out to succeed him.”
As the sun rose higher, the gravelly ground blazed with the heat that radiated everywhere.
“Tell me, what will we do?” said Hassan. He meant: about the siege; but before anyone could answer, there was a shout from a woman in the square, immediately followed by other shouts.
“We’re being attacked from the other side!” someone shouted.
The men abandoned the ledge and ran toward the southern side of the square. Qassem commanded the defenders at the passage to be even more alert, ordered Khurda to have capable women join the defenders of the passage, then ran, with Sadeq and Hassan on either side of him, to the center of his men in the square. Lahita was visible to all of them, leading a large gang of men coming from south of the mountain.
“He distracted us with his men, so that he could make his way around the mountain, to attack us by the southern road,” raged Qassem.
“He is walking into his own death!” shouted Hassan, his massive body swelled up with enthusiasm.
“We must win, and we will win,” said Qassem.
His men spread around him like two strong arms as the advancing force came closer, clubs in the air, looking like a patch of thorns. As they came nearer into view, Sadeq said, “Galta isn’t with them. Neither is Hagag!”
Qassem realized that Galta and Hagag were leading the siege below the mountain, and guessed that they would attack the passage no matter what it cost them, though he confided his suspicions to no one. He took a few steps forward, brandishing his club, and his men gripped theirs.
Lahita’s crude voice rang out. “You’ll never get a burial service, you sons of whores!” he shouted.
Qassem and his men sped forward to attack, and the others flung themselves forward like a hail of stones, until their clubs clashed together, and raging and clamor grew loud. At the same time, bricks were launched at attacks below by the women defending the opening of the passage, but every one of Qassem’s men was locked in battle with an enemy attacker. Qassem and Dingil fought hard and artfully. Lahita’s club landed on Hamroush’s collarbone, breaking it. Sadeq and Zainhum fought long and hard, but Hassan lashed out with his furious club, and Zainhum dropped. Lahita struck Zuqla, knocking him over. Qassem was able to wound Dingil on the ear, and the man screamed and retreated, then slumped over. Zainhum made a fierce lunge at Sadeq, but Sadeq speedily made a thrust at his belly that stopped his hands, then made a second thrust that dropped him. Khurda fought off Hafnawi, but Lahita crippled his arm before he could savor his victory. Hassan aimed a blow at Lahita, but he dodged it nimbly and raised his club to strike back. Before he could, Qassem swung his club, and their clubs clashed; like the wind, Abu Fisada came in to deliver a third blow, but Lahita butted him with his head and broke his nose; Lahita looked like a force that could not be resisted. The fighting grew fiercer, with the clubs batting one another relentlessly, a flood of curses and obscenities, and blood spurted in the fiery sun. Each side in turn lost men who dropped to the ground. Lahita burned with rage at this heroic resistance, which he had never expected, and redoubled his forays, his blows and his cruelty. On the other side, Qassem ordered Hassan and Agrama to seize the opportunity to join him attacking Lahita, to destroy the backbone that gave the attackers strength.
One of the women defending the opening of the passage suddenly came to shout, “They’re coming up with dough boards for shields!”
The mountain men’s hearts froze.
“You’ll never get a burial service, you sons of whores!” shouted Lahita.
“Win before the criminals come up!” Qassem shouted to his men.
He went for Lahita, flanked by Hassan and Agrama. The gangster met him with a terrible blow he deflected with his club. Agrama wanted to anticipate him with a blow, but the gangster hit him on the chin, and he sprawled out on his face. Hassan jumped in front of him and they exchanged two blows; Hassan threw himself on him, and they were locked in a deadly struggle. The women at the passage began to scream, and some of them started to flee, endangering the position. Qassem quickly sent Sadeq and several men to the mountain ledge, then charged at Lahita, but Zihlifa blocked his way, and they engaged in violent combat. Hassan pushed Lahita back with all his strength, and he took one step back. He spat in Lahita’s eye, roared and kicked him, crippling one of his knees. With lightning speed, Hassan attacked him, hunched low, and butted him in the stomach like a raging bull; the tyrant lost his balance and fell backward. Hassan knelt over him and slammed his club over his neck with both hands, pushing it down with all his strength. Men hurried over to defend their gangster, but Qassem and some of his men fought them off. Lahita kicked his feet, his eyes bulged and his face was bright with blood. He began to choke. Suddenly Hassan leaped up to stand over his powerless adversary, and swung his club in a wild, furious blow, smashing Lahita’s skull, killing him.
“Lahita is dead!” he thundered. “Your protector is dead! Look at his corpse!”
Lahita’s unexpected death had a violent effect, as the fighters’ resolution either flared up or waned, and hope and despair drove the bitter fighting. Hassan joined Qassem in his struggle, and not one of his blows failed. Men sprang out and stood firm, and clubs were swung and then brought down. The dust rose and blew away, and combatants were seized by a bloody daze. Their lungs spewed curses, screams, obscenities, moans and menacing yells. Every few moments a man staggered and fell, or retreated and fled. The field was covered with the fallen, and blood glistened in the sunlight. Qassem turned aside to look over at the opening of the passage, which preyed on his mind, and saw Sadeq and his men passing down stones in baskets with a fervid tension that indicated the approach of mounting danger. He heard the women, his wife among them, as they screamed for help. He saw some of Sadeq’s men hefting their clubs in preparation for meeting the enemies who would ascend through the downpour of stones. He assessed the danger, at once started toward Lahita’s body, for the battle had moved away from it as the men from the alley had pulled back, and dragged it behind him toward the opening of the passage. He shouted for Sadeq, who hurried to him, and they both took up the corpse and carried it to the beginning of the passage. They heaved it together and threw it, and it landed, then rolled down and stopped at the feet of the climbers holding the boards, throwing them into confusion.
Hagag’s voice reverberated as he shouted in rage. “Forward! Climb! Death to the criminals!”
“Forward!” shouted Qassem scornfully, with strange self-control. “This is your protector’s corpse, and your other men’s corpses are behind me. Forward! We are waiting for you!”
He gave the men and women a sign, and rocks flew like rain until the attackers’ vanguard halted and then began to retreat slowly, despite the urging of Hagag and Galta. Qassem could hear the babble of argument, protest and complaint.
“Galta!” Qassem called. “Hagag! Come forward—don’t run!”
“Come down, if you are men!” Galta bawled hatefully. “Come down, you women, you bastards!”
Hagag, standing amidst a wave of retreating men, shouted, “I won’t live any longer without drinking your blood, you stinking shepherd!”
Qassem picked up a stone and threw it with all his might. The rain of stones continued, and the retreating wave moved more quickly, until almost everyone was carried along. Hassan came up and wiped the streaming blood from his forehead.
“The battle’s over,” he said. “The survivors have fled south.”
“Call the men to follow them!” said Qassem.
“You’re bleeding from the teeth and chin!” Sadeq pointed out.
He wiped his mouth and chin with his palm, spread it out and saw that it was bright red.
“They killed eight of us,” said Hassan sadly. “Our survivors are badly wounded and won’t be able to move.”
He looked down through the hail of stones to see his enemies racing through the end of the passage.
“If they had kept coming, they wouldn’t have found anyone to resist them here,” said Sadeq. He kissed Qassem’s bloody chin and said gratefully, “Your brain saved us!”
Qassem ordered two men to stand guard at the top of the passage, and sent others to pursue the retreating force and to reconnoiter, then walked back, between Sadeq and Hassan, as they limped wearily and heavily to the square, on whose surface nothing was left but corpses. It had been a massacre, and what a massacre! Eight of his men had been killed, and ten of his enemies, not counting Lahita. None of his living men had been spared a broken bone or wound. They had made their way back to their huts, where the women began to bandage their wounds, while the huts of the dead were loud with shouts and sobs. Badriya came, grief-stricken, and had them come into the hut so that she could wash their wounds, then Sakina came carrying Ihsan, who was shrieking with tears. The sun, at its zenith, flung its fire below as the kites and crows circled and dipped in the hot air, which reeked of blood and earth. Ihsan did not stop crying, but no one paid attention to her. Even the giant Hassan seemed to be tottering.
“God have mercy on our dead,” murmured Sadeq.
“God have mercy on the dead and the living too,” said Qassem.
Suddenly awakening to a kind of rapture, Hassan said, “Soon we will have victory, and our alley will say farewell to its age of blood and terror.”
“Down with terror and blood,” said Qassem.