Mother of the Believers: A Novel of the Birth of Islam by Kamran Pasha Page A

nearby guards, I heaved myself higher until my skinny body was lying flat on the sill. Then, with the impossible dexterity of youth, I managed to squeeze through the window opening and tumbled inside.
    I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the dark interior. I was on the floor of what appeared to be a circular walkway overlooking the central assembly chamber. Doors spread out to either side, leading to smaller meeting lounges. For an overly inquisitive girl, this vast building, with its many passages, doors and mysteries was a treasure trove of discovery. But I had a self-appointed mission tonight and exploration would have to wait for another day.
    The sound of voices pulled me toward a wood railing made of expensive acacia imported from the Sinai. I peered through the lattices that had been designed in swirling geometric forms—stars, octagons, and other pretty shapes that I didn’t recognize—and peered down on the meeting in progress.
    I immediately recognized most of the men as tribal chiefs who had come to my father’s house at various times to plead with him to end his preaching and abandon the new religion that was undermining their trade. My heart froze at the sight of Abu Jahl, dressed in robes of rich blue, a black velvet vest covering his broad chest. Of course he would be here. His decision to elevate the persecution of the Muslims to murder had been the basis of tonight’s emergency council.
    And then I saw something that surprised me. Among all the men with their bright turbans and ceremonial daggers tied to leather belts was seated one woman.
    Hind bint Utbah, the wife of Abu Sufyan and daughter of one of the most powerful chieftains of Quraysh. I had seen her before in the marketplace, examining jewelry or rows of cloth with an expert eye. Unlike the other women of Mecca, she did not haggle over prices. She immediately knew what an item was worth and never asked the merchant. She would the name the price, and there would be no argument. The traders often gave her an extra discount in a kind of backward negotiation where they sought to gain more in Hind’s favor and political patronage than they lost on their merchandise.
    She had a proud, steady walk, graceful and terrifying at once, like a lioness in motion. She was the tallest woman I had ever seen, easily dwarfing many of the men in the room. Her hair fell to the small of her back in waves, the dark locks fashionably streaked with henna. Her skin was olive and glistened like a polished mirror. But it was her eyes that always caught my breath. Yellow green like a cat’s, piercing in their intensity. They exuded pride and disdain, as well as a clear hint of danger. Whatever demons hid behind Hind’s cruel gaze, it was safer to leave them undisturbed.
    “Muhammad’s followers have become a grave problem for the people of Mecca,” Abu Sufyan proclaimed, his voice booming with authority. “It is time that we take action.”
    Abu Jahl stepped forward smoothly.
    “Today the first of their blood was spilled. More must follow if we are to put an end to this.”
    The crowd murmured its assent and I saw Hind smile. And then I noticed that there was a friend among the gathered nobles.
    The Messenger’s uncle Abbas rose. While he had not embraced our faith, he was always kind to Muslims and we counted on him to be a voice of reason among the lords. A role that he was clearly alone in tonight.
    “It is time for patience, not hasty deeds,’” Abbas said, his silky voice seeking to quench the fire that had been ignited by Abu Jahl.
    But his sympathies were an open secret among the chiefs, and Abu Jahl turned to face Abbas with a cold eye.
    “Is it patience that stays your hand, or cowardice?”
    Abbas bristled with the pride of his clan, the Bani Hashim. He walked right up to Abu Jahl until their beards were almost touching.
    “You dare call me a coward? How much courage does it take to kill an old woman tied to a tree?”
    Abu Jahl’s handsome smile suddenly