Page:William Muir, Thomas Hunter Weir - The Caliphate; Its Rise, Decline, and Fall (1915).djvu/261

 232 Moḥammad son of Abu Bekr, in his hate and rage had no such scruples. Running in, he seized him by the beard, and cried, "The Lord abase thee, thou old dotard!" "Let my beard go," said ʿOthmān, calmly; "I am no dotard, but the Caliph, whom they call ʿOthmān." Then, in answer to a further torrent of abuse, the aged man went on,—"Son of my brother! Thy father would not have served me so. The Lord help me! To him I flee for refuge from thee." The appeal touched even the unworthy son of Abu Bekr, and he too retired. The insurgent leaders, now impatient, crowded in, smote the Caliph with their swords, and trampled on the Ḳorʾān which he had been reading. He yet had strength enough to gather up the leaves and press them to his bosom, while the blood flowed forth upon the sacred text. Thus attacked, the faithful Nāʾila cast herself upon her wounded lord, and as she shielded him with her arm, a sword-cut severed several of her fingers, which fell upon the ground. The band of slaves attempted his defence. One of them slew the leader, but was immediately himself cut down. Further effort was in vain. The insurgents plunged their weapons into the Caliph's body, and he fell lifeless to the ground. The infuriated mob now had their way. A scene of riot followed. They stabbed the corpse, leaped savagely on it, and were proceeding to cut off the head, when the women screamed, beating their breasts and faces, and the savage crew desisted. The palace was gutted; and even Nāʾila, all wounded and bloody, was stripped of her veil. Just then the cry was raised, "To the Treasury!" and suddenly all departed.