18.
the gallops of the horses were thunderous
nawfal decked in full armor
his slayer of men’s breasts sheathed upon his hip
and riding beside him
the purpose of this quest
the madman imprisoned in the prince’s form
he still wore the shirt he tore
vowing to not change his clothes
until they were exchanged for wedding garbs
or rags for the desert
these two were followed by whatever men
could be gathered in the moment’s haste
not a preferred number
but nawfal feared any delay
would result in the loss of his prince
besides,
perhaps the surprise of a sudden threat
would overcome any insufficiency in number
and they were fighting for love
would that not warrant fate’s favor
it was not long before they reached a ridge
overlooking the camp of layla’s clan
being within sight of his beloved again
invigorated the prince and the madman
nawfal had his men erect their tents
and sent a messenger with a scribed note
the courtesy of a precursor to the vernacular
of armed force
“i, nawfal,
the destroyer of armies,
am ready to reduce your people
to dust and ashes lost in these desert sands
surrender what i demand:
layla, the beautiful
that i may unite her
with the only man who deserves her hand
send me this sweet nectar at once
that his thirst may be quenched within the hour
otherwise we will settle the matter
bloody swords and arrows”
before the hour was half full
the messenger returned with a reply
“your demands forsake the ways of good arabs
our beloved layla is no meal to be pouched
if your human arms are long enough to reach the moon
and cool enough to bear the flames of the sun
come forth with your swords
and we will teach you how cheap plates
are shattered to pieces”
nawfal became enraged
the prince receded,
the madman ready to stand
yet he remained seated as nawfal
dictated a second and last demand
“will you join the countless other fools
who met the grave’s regret
at the blade of my sword
there is no shelter
from this raging tempest upon the hill
surrender layla
or disaster is yours”
the messenger departed again
his second return even swifter
the prince’s eyes despised
to not see a woman’s form upon the horse
or even some lady’s favor
instead
when the messenger bowed before nawfal
he held only the papyrus of the last demand
sent back, ripped in two
nawfal let out a scream
that silenced the entire valley
and then unsheathed his sword
he didn’t even have to say “attack”
his dash toward the enemy camp
was followed by all his men
their roars of fury were met
by the advancing roars of the enemy
only the prince was told to stay behind
for he was not a warrior
and nawfal would not have the purpose of this fight
risk his life in martial inexperience
but the physical distance
was no separation from the din of battle
the unending chorus of feet pounding
horses flying by
metal banging and clanging
men yelling to intimidate
men yelling in fear
the cries of temporal victory
the cries of meeting lasting defeat
the sounds of wounds searing unbearable pain
of limbs severed, breasts broke open
to never close again
even the last gasps of breath
as warm bodies fell to a finality of becoming cold
the horror of watching an empty valley
become a growing lake of blood
the low waters filled with the refuse
of human corpses
as live men fought and moved about
the hush of the stilling waves
accompanied by the bemoaning melody
of women, elders, and children
sounding out their shock and mourning
even witnesses were pulled into unfolding tragedy
the massacre became too much for the madman
his sensitivity overwhelmed
he was prepared to die for layla’s love
but the scene of scores upon scores of men
dying and being maimed for his love
was too much bear
the prince,
who could accept such sacrifice
as a royal dowry paid for a forthcoming gain,
was overtaken by the anguish of the madman
who was suffocating within an illogical mix
of grief and joy
there was joy when an enemy fell
one less obstacle to being with his beloved
yet this same enemy was fighting for layla
earning the grief of her tears
and thereby, his too
for how could he not sympathize
with the sympathies of his beloved
and did she not feel sadness
for every man of her clan who was killed
all his selfish aims were dissolved
within his allegiance to her
even if it stifled him within a confused agony
thus, majnuun’s smile shed conflicted tears
to be in communion with his beloved
until something snapped
in his mind
the prince murdered by madness
the walking corpse abandoning safety
to wander among the carnage
it was not long
before the soles of his boots were made bloody wet
among the swords swinging
arrows flying
blows being thrown
the joy of melancholy boiling forth
in the torments of confused comfort
he cheered as one of nawfal’s men dropped
an enemy to the ground
yet as the warrior lifted his sword
to deliver the death blow
majnuun placed his body over the fallen one
shielding the wounded
“what are you doing
why are you not on the hill
and why are you protecting the enemy”
“can they truly be enemies
when they fight to protect my beloved”
“but we are wagering our lives
so you can be with her”
“yet she cries for them
and so my tears join hers
even as i am filled with joy
that you remove this enemy to our love”
then he laughed
a deranged, extended cackle
that echoed the depths of his madness
“you are mad”
the warrior rushed away
disgusted
yet majnuun continued the discourse
with his absence
“and so too this arm
whose insanity is scarred by cowardice
too afraid to end this life and, thus, this war
oh, i would kiss the hand of every man
who lives and dies
to grant and deny me
the boon of my love”
and so he kissed the bloody hand
of the fallen man
whose eyes were now lost
in that irreversible stare of death’s approach
then off he went
to intervene in more of this battle’s episodes
for there were more lives to be won and lost
or at least let go of
within the testimony of his lunacy
* * *
if the time and place of death
were not predetermined by allaah alone
little chance he would have had
of walking off the battlefield alive
yet that hour and place was not then for majnuun
and destiny’s grace kept him from wounds
it also didn’t hurt that his princely facade
made him unrecognizable to layla’s clan
who remembered him as a majnuun
uncouth and dressed in rags
they would have surely killed him
if they knew he was among them
grace also kept him from nawfal’s sight
whose eyes were occupied
with mowing a lawn of corpses
toward that lady
he had heard so much of
yet had never seen
with his own eyes
although real,
she was nothing more than an idea
to many on that battlefield
but in the foolish haste of war
many fight for ideas
that are no more real than
conceived figments in their minds
tides of great loss washed upon both shores
even layla’s uncle received blows so severe
one of his arms was rendered permanently limp
a dead limb hanging above this lake of death
the competing struggles against struggle
tipped not any advantage to either side
such that
when the orange-red hue of the setting sun
exhaled its diminishing light
twilight’s darkness brought the fighting to an end
neither party could claim victory
only mounting losses
which could not be fully accounted for
within the night’s paucity of light
* * *
night fell
the sleep of the exhausted
entwined with the insomnia
of the wounded and the anxious
majnuun kept vigil the night
upon the blood-drenched sand
still wet and smelly
under the clouded nocturnal shadows
his hands, his pants, his face
were tinted by shades of a darkening crimson
he sat among the pungent corpses on the battlefield
the ones that could not be gathered before darkness
ended their retrieval
time,
it became an imprecise blur
within the infringing presence of death
stifling all feeling for life
yet this was not disturbing in any way
to the walking corpse of the prince
the madman actually found comfort in it
as dawn’s light effaced the night’s veiling
nawfal’s scouts returned with disheartening news
word of their surprise attack spread to nearby clans
who sent men of their own to fight against
what no self-respecting clan would tolerate
knowing his chosen course
went against the code of honor
and that the numbers were now severely against him
wisdom suggested a compromise
so his messenger he sent
to offer a path to abandon further bloodshed
for now
“let our swords rest,
for our grief and wounds are still fresh
but i still seek what i demand
name your price,
even if it be limitless treasures,
and peace will be our accord
otherwise,
let us depart from the battlefield with bitterness
and with no promise
to not return to arms for the prize sought”
it was no surprise
when the messenger returned
relaying that the request to pay for layla
was rejected
no self-respecting clan could concede
to brazenly selling off their women for riches
but the offer to cease hostilities for now
was accepted
the losses were sudden and great
and the clan wished to not add another single body
to the mass graves they would have to dig
so nawfal had his men disassemble their camp
and had men retrieve majnuun
from the lake of drying blood
along with any remaining corpses
whose exposure upon the battlefield
continued their stiff cries for a grave
then they departed
but things were not the same
the madman now reigned the house of the prince
making the prince a captive locked in
a hidden dungeon
whose tortured screams could only be heard
in the unspoken recesses of the madman’s mind
and nawfal’s men
they refused to forget
how this same majnuun dishonored their loyalty
on the battlefield
although none spoke a word of it to nawfal
it hampered their commitment to majnuun’s cause
another casualty of war
❍ ● ❍