you advise is best for this life,” he retorted. “But I will
have nothing to do with such underhanded schemes,
neither yours nor Muawiya’s. I do not compromise my
faith by cheating, nor do I give contemptible men any
say in my command. I will never conɹrm Muawiya as
governor of Syria, not even for two days.”
Yet by the time the Battle of the Camel was won, four
months had passed; Muawiya was still governor of Syria,
and he still had not pledged allegiance. By the time he
ɹnally replied to Ali’s demands for obedience, he was
openly hostile. “Ali, be ɹrm and steady as a fortress,” he
wrote, “or you will ɹnd a devouring war from me,
setting wood and land ablaze. Othman’s murder was a
hideous act, turning the hair white, and none can settle
it but I.”
Ali’s response, as Muawiya had intended, was fury.
“By God, if Muawiya does not pledge allegiance, I will
give him nothing but the sword!” he swore, even as his
aides counseled caution.
“You are a courageous man,” said one, “but you are
not a warmonger.”
“Do you want me to be like a hyena cornered in his
lair, terriɹed at the sound of every loose pebble?” Ali
retorted. “How then can I rule? This is no situation for
me to be in. By God, I tell you, nothing but the sword!”
Yet his aide had read him well. Ali was the best kind of
warrior, one who hated war. Especially civil war. He had