Last King of Kings

Chapter 72: The final nail in the Arab coffin

After a few weeks, Rostam led the Persian army out of Hajr to conquer Mecca and Medina – the most important cities in the whole Arabia. There was barely any resistance – people were tired of sending their loved ones to die for a purpose they no longer shared. Village by village, town by town Rostam, together with Piruz, Jaduya and Jalinus learned of the fact that these people definitely aren't their enemy. Even though he disagreed with their religion, even though he felt only negative emotions towards Islam, what he saw weren't bloodthirsty Muslims wanting to murder and destroy Iranian culture. He saw common folk, who had nothing to do with war and wanted no change in that. Settlements were lacking young men – Rostam knew why. He decided to spare them from raiding and looting. He could bear many things, but this wasn't something he wanted to take responsibility for.

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Khalid looked over his army. He didn't feel the joyous emotions he felt at the beginning of the campaign. Where he destroyed the Persians, battle after battle. How he killed Hormozd, the first Persian to oppose him, in a duel. He felt the happiness of defeating the heathen enemy, all in God's name. But was that truly worth it? In the end, he achieved nothing, was back in Arabia, where he started, but without his men and without money. He had this thought before al-Quadisiyyah, too. He can't win every battle. His spree of defeating a numerically superior enemy had to come to an end someday. And that day was when he lost at al-Quadisiyyah.

It was unfair, now that he thought about it. But reality was, often, unfair. Intolerant. It stabbed you in the back as often as it could. But he brought it all upon himself. If they never attacked the Persians, they would live freely, without worries, worshipping anyone they could. They wouldn't have to worry about the massive army just at their doorstep. Nothing would be like it is now. But those thoughts were only thoughts. He couldn't change the past. The only thing he could do was to face it, and accept the consequences.

And so he did, as he was looking down from a hill into a valley, where the massive Persian army was being gathered. His own army numbered barely 10000 soldiers. Persians easily had five times that number – and it most likely wasn't even their full force – they must've left a chunk of it as garrisons. Khalid gulped. This was going to be his hardest battle of his life. He tried to keep up the appearance of a confident general, but deep down, he knew one thing clearly. That he doesn't stand a chance.

Rostam saw the Arab encampment as he was observing the surrounding terrain. He guessed that there can't be more than ten thousand men in the Arab ranks. He knew nothing about the quality of their army, but he knew that he'd be able to defeat them, no matter what. But perhaps it didn't have to come to this. It didn't take to be a genius to understand the manpower issues Arabs had. And perhaps this issue could be exploited. Rostam called his commanders, but mainly people like Jaduya and Jalinus, to discuss their next move. This battle wasn't something they could lose – it was merely about minimizing their losses in soldiers and equipment. And Rostam proposed an interesting idea.

Early in the morning, a messenger from the Persian side arrived. When Khalid realized, who it was, he was flabbergasted. The man wore a linen tunic, over it he had lamellar chest piece with a typically stylized helmet. Of course, he wasn't alone. Number of Aswaran and Cataphract riders serving as his bodyguards. But it was madness. Khalid thought whether the person standing before him even knew Arabic language, but he soon understood. In that very moment, a younger man emerged from the crowd of heavily armed riders and Khalid realized his mistake. He realized that he had lost even before he knew it.

While Rostam was in the background, only serving as a proof that they want to talk, it was the man before him doing all the talking. Usama ibn-Zayd. There was no Arab who didn't know his name. The Arab soldiers were bewildered and confused. Some were anxious. Not only when looking at the overwhelming Persian army, but also when looking on the man supposed to be prophet's direct descendant. Not many knew he was merely adopted, and that only made any convincing easier to do. Usama spoke up.

"Arabs, my fellow Muslims, my fellow believers, my brothers. Do you see any reason, any purpose in such a needless bloodshed? Where exactly did our lord command us to go and spread his word through some barbaric violence? Where did he tell us to give up our lives in his name, on foreign soil fighting foreign men? Where in Quran is it written that we should needlessly continue this senseless Jihad against our neighbours? Aren't we supposed to love them? Aren't we supposed to accept them for what they are, with whatever differences that stand between us? Persians are much better than us in this case. Have you seen it? Their Empire? They do not force their religion on anyone. They do not enslave or kill anyone because of their religion. Thousands of Muslims, Christians and others live peacefully, protected by the Persian armies and their Shahanshah. And it was exactly this common cause that made them victorious against our armies, sent by the bloodthirsty Caliphs. Do the people who send our fathers, brothers and sons die on the battlefield for some unreasonable cause really deserve to lead us? Do the people that has twisted our Lord's teachings really deserve our respect? I don't think so. That is why I supported Persians. That is why I met their Shahanshah and negotiated an agreement between us. Shall you not resist, Persians won't harm you. Shall we accept them, we are allowed to keep our faith and dignity. Shall you oppose them, though, I won't be responsible for anything that might happen. So, what do you say, my brothers? Do you really want to die here a senseless death, knowing it will change nothing? What do you say, General Khalid?"

A wave of murmur was sent through the Arab soldiers. One couldn't discern whether they were agreeing or disagreeing, but the fact that they were talking about it was concerning at least. It spoke about their morale. Khalid himself was on the edge. He knew that accepting it, Persians would most likely keep their word. But he also knew what it would mean to himself. They couldn't let him live, at least not like he was now. He was a person with too much of an influence. If they wouldn't kill him, they would most likely imprison him or exile him. Neither of those sounded very good to Khalid. But he already knew that this battle was lost. Even if he forced the soldiers to fight, most of them would desert as soon as they would get the chance.

He saw the despair in his soldiers' eyes, and the determination in the eyes of the Persians. He knew he had to make a choice, and he even knew what choice. But it was a hard one.

"Usama ibn Zayd, General Rostam Farrokhzad, I Khalid ibn al-Walid, with all my authority surrender before the Persian army on the condition that none of my soldiers will be harmed, that they will be treated fairly and as your own. That they will be fed, clothed and later discharged and let go as free men."

Without nowhere to go Khalid made the hardest decision he could. He knew that he'll lose everything this very moment, and that he could've either fought and died, or now he could only be captured and die. And if death was unavoidable for him, he might as well deliver it on his own. And so, after announcing the surrender of his army, Khalid, in full view of everyone pulled out his scimitar, pressed the tip to his stomach, and made one final blow.

Usama didn't have time to react before he saw what was unfolding before his very eyes. Although Khalid and him followed different views and held different opinions, he considered him a friend, for as a man, he was honourable and just, as any man should be.

Rostam observed the whole happening with a difficult expression. There was a longing deep inside him, hoping that he could meet and talk to this Khalid, this man who was the most brilliant general Rostam ever saw. But those hopes were now crushed. No matter who you were and how powerful you were, when faced with insurmountable odds, many would break and fold, instead of standing up and fight. And when you have no support even from your allies, it's hard finding support within yourself. Khalid could always win his battles not only thanks to his brilliance as a commander, but also due to the morale and faith his soldiers had in him. Only today, it wasn't the case.

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The remaining several thousand men in the Arab army showed no sign of resistance. They let the Persians disarm them so easily one would never even guess they were former soldiers. Rostam felt a strange bitterness in his mouth. As if he felt anger upon those men, who couldn't care less about a foreign army invading their homes.

They gave Khalid a proper burial – not Zoroastrian one, but Muslim one. Usama himself led the rites. No one except Usama knew Khalid personally, but each and every one of them knew that he was an exceptional man who will be remembered by history.

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