Marwan who both drew the sword and poisoned it. Yet
others that it had all been engineered from afar by
Muawiya, the powerful governor of Syria, whose
rumored reinforcements never arrived.
All that can be said for certain is that the third Caliph
was assassinated by persons both known and unknown,
with both the best intentions and the worst.
The torn and blood-stained shirt Othman had been
wearing when he was killed was to have a long life.
After the assassination, someone—nobody is sure exactly
who—had the foresight to take it, together with Naila’s
severed ɹngers, and wrap the remains carefully for a
journey. The next morning, as all of Medina buzzed with
the news that the rebels had acclaimed Ali as the new
Caliph, a small, somber caravan set out on the seven-
hundred-mile ride to Damascus, and in one of the
saddlebags, they carried with them that shirt and those
fingers.
Was it the Syrian-born Naila who had sent them? Or
Marwan? Or Umm Habiba, the only Umayyad among
Muhammad’s widows and the sister of the Syrian
governor, Muawiya? Whichever it was, the purpose was
clear: the grisly relics would serve as a powerful call for
revenge. When they arrived, Muawiya ordered them
displayed in the main mosque in Damascus, and there
they would remain for a full year.