Hurr and his men rode alongside, more like an escort
than an enemy detachment. At dusk, with the women
and children tired and thirsty, Hussein gave the order to
pitch their tents just below the bluʃ, within sight of
ɹelds and orchards watered by a branch of the
Euphrates. It was Wednesday, the ɹrst day of the month
of Muharram, and Hussein had reached his destination.
He would travel no farther.
Two mornings later, the third day of Muharram, the
small encampment had been surrounded by an army.
When news reached Ubaydallah that Hurr had allowed
Hussein to travel north instead of arresting him, he had
sent no fewer than four thousand cavalry and archers
out from Kufa, under the command of a notoriously
ruthless general. If Hurr could not do the job, this man
would.
His name was Shimr, a name destined to live on in the
Shia annals of infamy alongside Muawiya, Yazid, and
Ubaydallah. His orders were clear. He was to place
Hussein’s encampment under siege, cutting it oʃ from
all access to the river. In the terrible, stiɻing heat, he
was to allow not one drop of water through his lines.
Thirst would bring Hussein to his knees.
With four thousand trained soldiers against a mere
seventy-two warriors, there was to be no escape. Nor did
Hussein want any. Now that he had reached his ɹnal
destination, he and all those with him would pass from