Late one afternoon he arrived in the rich pasture-lands surrounding the city.  The air of peace and prosperity, the lowing of herds and bleating of sheep, delighted him; and, though weary from his journey, it was with a light heart that he urged his flagging horse between the long groves of palm-trees until the city came in sight.

His martial spirit glowed as he noted the heavy out-works, and the strength of the citadel Al Kamus, which, built on a high rock, and towering ragged and black against the orange sky of the setting sun, seemed to the young soldier almost impregnable.

He was welcomed at the gates as another recruit to the gathering forces, and, on his request, was at once directed to the house of the chief, Kenana Ibn al Rabi, a man reputed to be exceedingly wealthy.  Here he was courteously received by Kenana and his wife Safiya; and, in a long conference, he informed the chief of the numbers and zeal of Mohammed’s army, urging upon him the immediate strengthening of the city, as it was highly probable that the prophet would not long desist from making an attempt upon a tid-bit so tempting as that which Khaibar presented.

That evening an informal council of war was held in the court-yard of the chief’s house.  Al Hareth, a brother of Asru, a man who, although an Arab, had been appointed to high office, and had proved himself one of the most distinguished commanders of the Jewish colony, was present; and, among others, Asru himself entered.

“Asru!” exclaimed Manasseh, delightedly, hurrying him aside to an arbor, “you here!  I thought I had become separated from you all in that ill-fated storm.  Where are Amzi and Yusuf, know you?”

“Gone to Mecca with Abu Sofian’s remnant of an army—­as miserable and hang-head lot of fugitives as ever disgraced field!” said Asru contemptuously.  “By my faith, it shamed me to see our brave friends in their company, even for the journey!”

“Why did they go to Mecca?”

“Because they were firmly convinced that Mecca will be the next point of attack,” said Asru, “but methinks they shall find themselves mistaken.  Mohammed will keep Mecca as a sort of sacred spot, dedicated to his worship—­and the worship of Allah!” with infinite scorn.  “But Khaibar is a pomegranate of the highest branches, too mellow, too luscious, too tempting, to elude his grasp.  Yes, Manasseh, Khaibar will be his next point of attack.  However, I am truly glad that Yusuf and Amzi have gone home.  The Jews and Christians in Mecca will be safe enough for some time to come, and our friends are getting too old to endure much fatigue of battle.”

“Aye, Asru, you and I are better fitted to face the brunt of the charge and the weariness of the march.  The work of Yusuf and Amzi should be milder, though not less glorious, than ours.”

“You say well,” returned the other, with kindling eye.  “Asru, for one, can never forget what they have done for him.”