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Updated: June 17, 2025
Then he bent again, and laid his forehead once more against the ground. Mrs. Armine drew back. She did not know exactly why, but she felt for an instant chilled in the burning sunshine. "Hamza is praying," she said to Ibrahim, who stood calmly by the carpet. "Suttinly!" he replied. "When Hamza stop, him pray. Hamza is very good donkey-boy." Mrs. Armine asked no more questions.
As soon as the armies were in sight of each other, three champions came out from among the idolaters, Otha son of Rabia, his brother Shaiba, and Al Walid son of Otha; against the first of these, the prophet sent Obeidah son of Hareth, Hamza against the second, and Ali against the third: Hamza and Ali slew each his man and then went to the assistance of Obeidah, and having killed his adversary, brought off Obeidah, who, however, soon after died of a wound in his foot.
The party was led by Hamza, whose soldier qualities were only at the beginning of their development, and probably consisted of a few Muslim horsemen on their beautiful swift mounts and one or two spearmen, and possibly several warriors skilled in the use of arrows. They sallied forth from Medina and went to meet the caravan as it prepared to pass by their town.
Behind marched or rode the flower of Islam's warriors and statesmen Abu Bekr, Omar, Hamza, and Zeid, whose names already resounded through Islam for valiant deeds; Abdallah, with Mahomet's chosen leaders of expeditions; the rank and file, three hundred strong, regardless of what perils might overtake them, intent on plunder and the upholding of their vigorous faith, sallied forth from Medina as soon as they could be equipped, and took the direct road to Mecca.
Armine began to feel afraid of Hamza, even afraid of his prayers. That was strangely absurd, she knew, because she believed in nothing. Baroudi now let himself sink down a little, and rested his cheek upon his hand. Somewhere he had learnt the secret of European postures. There had been depths of strangeness in his singing. There was a depth of strangeness in his demeanour.
She had never had any conversation with Hamza. She had never heard him say any English word yet but "yes." But to-night she had an uneasy longing to get upon terms with him. For he was Baroudi's emissary in the camp of the Fayyūm. "Are you glad to be in my service, Hamza?" she said. "Are you glad to come with us to the Fayyūm?" "Yes," he said. She hesitated.
Now there's the other sitting-room to see and then shall we be off to Denderah with Hamza, while Ibrahim sees to the arrangement of everything?" "Yes. Or shall we leave the other room till we come back, till it's getting twilight? I don't think I want to see quite everything just at once." "You're becoming a regular child, saving up your pleasure. Then we'll start for Denderah now." "Yes."
Ali, Abu Bekr, Hamza, Omar, Zeid, every one of his followers, felt the force of his affection continually upon them, and were bound to him by ties that neither misfortune nor any unworthy act of his could break. And their devotion was called upon to suffer many tests. Mahomet was self-willed and ruthless, subordinating the means to the end without any misgivings.
But now, in this pause, he had time to think of Hamza. As he came out upon the balcony the Egyptian turned round to look at him. Hamza was dressed in white, with a white turban. His arms hung at his sides. His thin hands, the fingers opened, made two dark patches against his loose and graceful robe.
It was Hassan's eternal voice. Isaacson jerked himself up from the rail. "Ask if the lady expected an answer," he said. "They don't speak English, I suppose?" "No, my gentlemans." He spoke in Arabic. A sailor replied. Hamza always prayed. "The lady him say p'raps you writin' somethin'." "Very well." Isaacson sat down, took a pen and paper. But what should be his answer? He read Mrs.
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