The parties were, in reality, those of Mohammed and the emissaries of Medina, who at once opened negotiations.  After the salutations were over, they extended to Mohammed a formal invitation to Medina.

“We will receive you as a confederate, obey you as a leader, and defend you to the last extremity, even as we defend our wives and children,” said the spokesman.

“For your gracious invitation accept my most hearty thanks,” said Mohammed.  “My work is not yet ended in Mecca, yet ere long I hope to pay at least a visit to you, O believers of Medina.”

“But,” said the leader, “if you are recalled to your own district you will not forsake us?”

“All things,” replied Mohammed, “are now common between us.  Your blood is my blood.  Your ruin is my ruin.  We are bound to each other by the ties of honor and interest.  I am your friend and the enemy of your foes.”

He then chose twelve of the men to be the especial heralds of his faith, and all, placing their hands in his, swore fealty to him in life and in death.

“If we are killed in your service, what shall be our reward?” asked one of the number.

“Paradise!” cried the prophet.  “Vales of eternal rest and felicity, odors of sweet spices on the air, blessed spirits to—­”

“Hold!” cried a voice from the air above.  “Who are you, Mohammed, who can dare to promise that which belongs to the Creator alone?  Impostor, take heed!”

It was only Yusuf, who, in his anxiety to discover if the gloomy vale were indeed the nest of some daring mountain chief, had noiselessly descended to an overhanging ledge, and had heard the last confident assertion of the prophet.

But the utmost consternation fell upon the Arabs below.  Some, believing the voice to be that of a demon of the rock, were seized with sudden panic; others shouted excitedly, “Spies! spies!” and the assembly broke up in confusion, all scurrying off, leaving Yusuf and his guide again alone on the rock.

“Amzi!  Amzi!” shouted the priest, with a forlorn hope that his friend might have lingered behind the fleeing party; but the only response was the beat of hoofs flying in every direction, and the dull thud of the camels’ padded feet.  There was nothing better to be done than wait until morning, so Yusuf and the guide lay down on the hard rock for the rest of the night.

For some time after this affairs seemed to be at a standstill.  Mohammed still continued to preach, now from the hill Safa, now from the knoll El Akaba at the north of the town.

His wife, Cadijah, had died some time before, and he had since married a widow, Sawda, and become betrothed to a child, Ayesha, the daughter of his friend and disciple, Abu Beker.

But events in Mecca were fast hastening to a crisis.  Abu Sofian, still the most mortal enemy to Mohammed and his religion, had succeeded Abu Taleb in the government of Mecca, and no sooner had he become head of the state than he determined to crush Mohammed, and exterminate his religion at any cost.  A plot for the assassination of the prophet was formed.  Several of the tribe of the Koreish and their allies were appointed to kill Mohammed, in order to avert the blood-revenge of Mohammed’s immediate kin, the Haschemites, who, it was thought, would not dare to avenge themselves upon such numerous and such scattered foes.