honored him as the grandson of the Prophet, the times
called for a strong leader—a man of experience and
action, not a man of intellect.
And as was his way, he sweetened the pot. If Hasan
abdicated his claim to the caliphate, Muawiya would
ensure that he was amply compensated, in both the short
term and the long. A large payment would be made to
him from the Iraqi treasury, along with Muawiya’s oath
that on his own death, he would name Hasan as the next
Caliph.
Hasan was tempted. He knew he was no warrior, and
longed for the peace and quiet of days spent studying in
the mosque. He could also see how ɹckle those who
supported him could be. He had watched as his father
had been diminished in stature by the Iraqis, stymied at
every turn. If they now held Ali up as the highest ideal,
they could change their minds again just as quickly.
Indeed, as he mulled Muawiya’s oʃer, it was the Iraqis
who would decide him.
They had gathered for what they thought would be a
ɹery sermon calling them to war. But Hasan was not the
inspirational speaker his father had been. A mild speech
defect forced him to speak in a slow monotone, with
each word given equal weight. He had gravitas but
lacked ɹre, and this was clear as he took the pulpit to
preach not what the people wanted but what he believed: