The early morning mist clouding the horizon had already been dispelled by the touch of the rising sun, leaving the air cool and dry, as diaphanous as hidden intentions suddenly exposed. Overnight, the Christian faithful had strewn the road from the Mount of Olives to the Holy City’s Eastern Gate with palm fronds. Monks, priests, and bishops with ornate accoutrements, many of them carrying crosses, had assembled to head a huge procession. They mingled with those of the Prophet’s Companions who had accompanied Umar, Conqueror and Redeemer, on his desert trek from Arabia. To forestall being swamped by Christians, it had been decided that all male Believers would enter the city. Even Ka’b thought that would be enough. Still he left me behind at the camp with the servants and the women for that momentous entry. I was a mere slip of a boy at the time, old enough to want to be a man but not old enough to understand anything. “Too dangerous, too dangerous,” he kept on muttering when I pestered him for permission to accompany him.
