The Mother of Cities and the Last Jihad
Mecca- January, 1419
(OOC note- I will be using Christian dates throughout the AAR. What it suffers in realism will, I hope, be balanced by the gain in readability.
)
Al-Hasan II, Guardian of the Holy Cities, Sultan of the Hedjaz, Lion of Muhammad and Guardian of the Dar al-Islam, bowed his head in prayer. He was not a bright man. He understood that much. And he was not an energetic man- not even in his childhood had he been partial to the demands of war and statesmanship. But despite his failings, Al-Hasan was well-loved. He was a devout and kindly man, who treated his people well. He had been thinking deeply in the sunset of his life about the path his kingdom would take. His son, Barakat, raised himself beside him. The setting sun blazed into fire, sinking into the Red Sea.
“Honored Father. What are you thinking?” Al-Hasan smiled.
“I am thinking of your excellent plan to reorganize the collection of taxes here in Mecca.” Barakat bowed. “No need, son, for it will benefit the people and the pilgrims of the Hajj as it shall enrich our coffers.” Al-Hasan stretched his back- he found bowing for prayer more onerous with every passing year. “And I have decided to forward your suggestions to the Council of Imams. You are right- the people need more freedom.” Barakat nodded firmly.
“The purpose of Islam was always to set free those who were enslaved, and to make humble those who had stolen what belongs to all.” Al-Hasan arched an eyebrow.
“But does not the Caliph himself pay homage to Timur’s Mongols, who are now Muslims themselves?” Barakat scoffed, curling his lip in disgust.
“They are murderers and
kuffar (OOC- unbelievers). They’re worse than our overlords in Cairo.” Al-Hasan nodded sadly.
“What would you have me do? We cannot hope to stand against the Mameluke army. They stopped the Mongols- our cavalry would evaporate like dew against them.” Al-Hasan chewed his lip, nodding in frustration. An idea suddenly flashed into his head- a plan of delicate balance and subtlety. Could he make it work?
In our world, he decided to swallow it down and defer to his father’s wishes, the moment gone and the opportunity vanished forever. Here and now, though, Barakat opened his mouth, cleared his throat- and spoke.
“Father,” he said, his heart pounding, “I think I know a way out.”