mountains to the north, and the silt-laden river that had
eddied wide and brown at Kufa ran strong with the end
of the snowmelt.
If they prevailed, all Syria lay before them, and its
crown, Damascus, with its enormous wealth. They had
heard tell of the lushness of Damascus—the canals, the
trees, the exotic fruit, the Green Palace with its marble
forecourts and gem-encrusted thrones and bubbling
fountains. The very idea of fountains! Clear, fresh water
in such lavish abundance that it could be used for mere
amusement? This was worth fighting for.
Thousands of armed men do not march hundreds of
miles to make peace, yet once they reached Siɽn, it was
a matter of honor to each side that it be seen as the
injured party, not the aggressor. For weeks, then, they
held back, engaging only in duels and skirmishes. Even
these almost ritualized encounters were strictly limited,
for when the time for prayer arrived, as it then did three
times a day, the warriors separated and moved half a
mile apart to pray. “As night fell,” one of them
remembered, “we would ride into each other’s camps
and sit down and talk.”
Their commanders talked too. An ornate canvas
pavilion was erected between the two armies, with the
banners of both sides ɻuttering from each corner. Here
Ali’s and Muawiya’s envoys tested each other’s
determination. But Muawiya had a clear advantage in