Ali himself was nearly killed. Arrows fell so thick and
fast around him that as one witness said, “his two cubs,
Hasan and Hussein, were hard put to fend oʃ the shafts
with their shields.” They urged Ali to move faster so as
to avoid being so exposed. His famed reply, the epitome
of heroic sangfroid in the face of battle, was an augury
of what was to come.
“My sons,” he said, “the fateful day will inevitably
come for your father. Going fast will not make it come
later, and going slow will not make it come sooner. It
makes no diʃerence to your father whether he comes
upon death, or death comes upon him.”
But death would not come upon Ali at Siɽn. As the
sun rose on the Friday morning, the ɹeld was all but
won. The Syrian line was not holding, and the Iraqis
were slowly but inexorably advancing, despite their
losses. It was only a matter of time—another few hours
at most—until Ali’s forces could claim a deɹnitive
victory, or so it seemed.
Amr persuaded Muawiya that what could not be won
by might could nonetheless be won by guile.
Unburdened as Muawiya was by any aspiration to
spiritual leadership, he should feel free to make whatever
he saw as the best use of faith. So the command was
given: not to retreat, and certainly not to surrender, but
to bring several parchment copies of the Quran. These
were distributed among Muawiya’s top cavalry, with