Work in Progress - Alex at Target Practice
Today’s offering is a peek at fourteen-year-old Alex three weeks into the 635 AD siege of Damascus. The excerpts I present via my newsletter are out of order and involve mostly quiet scenes. I don’t want pivotal moments to give away too much of the story. I do want you to have an idea of the world I’ve inhabited every free moment of the last few years. (Okay, more than a “few”!)
Here he is:
Alex balanced atop the parapet, taking aim at another rat as it scurried over the refuse heap growing outside the city. The sun, still visible beyond the western mountains, cast long oak shadows beside the Chrysorrhoas River skirting the wall’s northern perimeter.
Slinging blocked other thoughts from his mind.
The water sludged past. Winter rains no longer rushed down from the Anti-Lebanon. The snowmelt was gone.
Eighty thousand people created a lot of filth in three weeks.
His sling whirled. Buzzards circled and fussed overhead, chasing off smaller carrion crows, none of them brave enough to land while he pelted the more obstinate rodents. There was little danger of running out of targets or of becoming the victim of a Saracen arrow, although he was visible to anyone who might care to look. There had been no engagements since the first few days of the siege. Commander Thomas had conceded it was better to wait for relief than lose more men in failed sorties.
For now, everyone waited. They waited in the agora and temnos, in every available market stall or shop. They waited in the corners of his home. Uncle Nathan, with his wife, her sister, and their combined children, waited everywhere Alex turned.
Spring warmed to summer, but the evenings remained cool. The late afternoon breeze swept in from the Houran steppe, fluttering through his hair. A rumble, like distant thunder, rose from the Saracen camps. The chanting flowed over him, spilling down, invading the city.
Alex struck the next rat so hard it tumbled from the rubbish pile, splashing into the river. It floated slowly by—unmoving.
A crunch startled him. Alex yelped and spun to find Hassan behind him. When he’d recovered his balance, he said, “I didn’t hear you approach.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t spying on you. You were absorbed in your target practice.”
Alex jumped down from the parapet to greet his friend.
Joining Alex at the wall, Hassan said, “I was coming from the armory and thought I might find you up here.” He surveyed the oasis beyond the river. “My father wonders if they can still be bought off. He frets the loss of profits, but more so, the risk that his routes will be absorbed by others. He wondered if your father or the bishop had mentioned to you—or if you’d noticed signs of negotiations.”
“I haven’t heard of any.” Alex had rarely seen his father since that day in the citadel yard, and Peter rushed between the hospital, the services, and extra vigils. “Of course, Commander Thomas has forbidden contact not involving himself.”
“The commander is not a Damascene.” Hassan leaned out, looking at the refuse-clogged river below. “You haven’t chosen the best view.”
“At least no one yells at me up here.”
Hassan now spent most of his time helping the governor manage the refugees camped in the agora while Alex assisted the bishop with the sick and wounded in the cathedral yard. They also served as messengers, broke up squabbles, and brought serious conflicts to the leaders. In the frenzy, they'd not spoken together for days.
Another rumble reached them from the Believer’s camp.
“What are they doing out there? It sounds like an enormous djinn mumbling in his sleep.”
“How would you know?” Hassan laughed and turned his ear to the sound. “They’re praying. Five times a day they stand together, side by side, and recite in unison.”
Alex observed his friend. Hassan’s beard was filling in. The angled sun highlighted his changing silhouette. It was strange to see his boyhood playmate becoming a man.
Hassan continued, “I’ve seen them perform their prayers even when guarding the gates. They do some complicated prostrations and turn their heads from side to side. As one.”
“Who are they praying to?”
“Allah.”
“Allah? Like ʼĔlāhā? The name the Bedouin use for our God?”
“Yes, I believe it is the same.”
“So are they Christians?”
“I’m not sure. There seem to be similarities, but differences as well.”
“Do they have an intercessor? What do they believe about Christ?”
“I don’t know whether they are like my people—believing in one nature, or like yours—believing in two. Or another way altogether. But they only pray to Allah.”
“How do you know this?”
“Their Prophet, Mohammed, was Bani Quresh, like my father. Khalid al-Walid is also Quresh. And General Abu ‘Ubayada. So, we have heard things about these Believers for several years. News travels with the caravans. Father does not bother himself with the details of their beliefs—I’ve had to press him to find out what he knows. His only concern is that nothing interferes with the trade. They warred among themselves until a year or two ago. That complicated getting caravans across the Hijaz.” Hassan pulled his cloak tighter. “Father never imagined they would come this far.”
The sun dipped below the mountains to the west, shadows merging to dusk. The Saracens’ cookfires cast an eerie glow under the oak and walnut canopy. Alex could not imagine a faith without an intercessor. He’d only begun his life’s path and knew he had need of one.
The Ghouta grew dark and silent. Alex and Hassan stood motionless together, overtaken by the nighttime vigilance—the awareness that their voices would carry, their figures outlined against the night sky, unable to see the nearest Saracen lurking among the trees.
I hope you enjoyed that snippet. The good news is that I am editing the fourth of my five point-of-view characters. The bad news is, I’m running a month behind on my goal. I aim to have the entire doorstop to the developmental editor sometime this summer. But I still need a full pass to address continuity, chapter breaks, etc. Whew!
Hi Lausanne, I saw Alex on the title and thought you might have a good recommendation for Alexander III of Macedonia? Specifically, I am looking for reference to him mining gold and silver or melting his stores to pay up his armies; also I have heard that he also conquered parts of South Asia? I am trying to see how that fits with the evolution of coinage. Thanks!
Hi Lausanne, Was Syria at its height in 635 AD or on the wane, thus the siege? In the British Museum I was entranced by the Syrian room and the docent explained how powerful they were and how they led the world for a long while w/ their innovations. Also the entrance to the room and everything in it were simply incredible.