This indeed was the case.  As Mohammed came in full view of the citadel he cried out:  “There, O believers, is the eyrie to which ye must climb.  But victory has been promised us.  Angels shall again lend us their invisible aid.  Therefore have courage, O believers!  Remember that for each of those vile infidels slain, a double joy awaits you in paradise.  Know ye that every drop of an unbelieving Jew shed is as the crystal drops of nectar of paradise to the happy follower of Mohammed, the prophet of God.  And fear not that ye be slain in this combat, O faithful!  Ye will not be slain except your appointed time has come, when ye must in any case die.  Remember that to be slain in battle for the cause of Islam is to reap a glorious reward!”

Then, mounting the great rock, he called with a loud voice:  “La illaha il Allah!  Mohammed Resoul Allah!” (There is no God but God!  Mohammed is the prophet of God!)

And while the fanatics below prostrated themselves he prayed long and loudly.

Then the tents were pitched and the siege began.  For many days it lasted.  So abundant had been the supplies of food, and so numerous the droves of animals brought into the city, that those within the walls had no fear of famine.  But so complete was the devastation of the country that the prophet’s troops began to suffer for want of food.  Yet they waited, as a suitable time of attack had not arrived.  In the meantime they were engaged in digging trenches as a protection to the troops.

Manasseh and Asru were much together.  They had become like brothers, and night after night they met on the citadel and looked out over the strange scene that was presented to the inhabitants of Khaibar every evening during the siege.  For, daily, just as the sun was setting, the whole Moslem army, with the prophet praying loudly at its head, set out in solemn procession, then proceeded round and round the city until seven circuits were completed, as in Tawaf at the Caaba.

Many among the more superstitious Jews of Khaibar and their few Koreish adherents felt a thrill of awe as they looked upon this ceremony, fearing that the prophet was again practicing his arts of enchantment upon them; but the performance never failed to bring the smile of scorn to Asru’s lips.

“Blind fanatics!” he exclaimed one evening.  “A precious set of idiots!”

But Manasseh looked serious.  “Asru,” he said, “of course, I do not believe in all this; yet there is a something solemn in it to me.  It makes me think of the seven circuits made about Jericho, when the priests blew upon the trumpets and the walls fell.”

“Ah, but the voice of Jehovah gave the order then; now,”—­and he smiled contemptuously—­“the commanding voice is that of Mohammed, the peaceful Meccan trader, anon the gentle prophet of Allah, anon the blood-thirsty vulture and cut-throat robber, destroyer of life and liberty.”

“Verily, Asru the Moslem soldier has completely changed,” returned Manasseh, smiling.