But hope can be as evanescent as it is inspirational. The
Kufans had families to care for, livings to make, lives to
protect. They could recognize a superior force when they
saw it.
Their governor, the son of the infamous Ziyad, was
about to become still more infamous himself. Like his
father before him—like any tyrannical ruler at any time,
in fact—Ubaydallah knew how dangerous hope can be,
and knew equally well how to quash it. There was no
question of his ever allowing Hussein to reach Kufa,
none either of Muslim’s ever leaving the city alive.
“Do not expose yourselves to death,” he told the
Kufans. “If you shelter this man, you will taste the evil
you have earned.” And with the stick well established, he
introduced the carrot: a large bounty on Muslim’s head.
Nobody in Kufa entertained the slightest doubt as to
exactly how Ubaydallah might wield the stick. Those
who had displeased him in the past had been crucified in
the camel market, their bodies left there to rot as their
homes were demolished and their families turned out
into the desert. The twelve thousand men who had so
loudly and bravely pledged to ɹght alongside Muslim
under Hussein’s command were quickly reduced to only
four thousand, then to three hundred, then to a mere
handful. Within the space of a single day, Muslim found
himself alone.
He had gone from house to house, knocking on barred