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 Copyright © 2020 by K. Alex Walker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without
written permission from the publisher.

For more information, address:

K. Alex Walker
Sage Hill Publishing
1101 East Cumberland Avenue
Ste 201H-93513
Tampa, FL 33602
info@sagehillbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be assumed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
NO FEELINGS ALLOWED
A Contemporary Romance Novel
K. ALEX WALKER
Sage Hill Publishing
 CONTENTS

Content Notice
Acknowledgments

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue

No Feelings Allowed - Playlist

Also by K. Alex Walker
About the Author
 CONTENT NOTICE

No Feelings Allowed explores heavy themes including Intimate

Partner Violence among straight men, the damaging stereotype of
the brutish, dangerous, and rapist black male, and that stereotype’s
impact on the legal system, public opinion, public denigration,
individual identity, and individual self-worth.
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special Thanks to:

Adriano Augusto Design
Happy Edits - Editing & Proofreading
This is my love letter to the black men with good intentions and kind
hearts, big smiles and warm hugs, large brains and a desire to be
loved, who might have spent the majority of your life being ignored
for these qualities no matter how much they bled from your heart.

This is my open letter to my nephews, innocent and sweet, who the

world judges without seeing the hugs you run up to give me, even
as teens when I thought by now you’d be embarrassed by your
quirky aunt. I am grateful for the smiles, the purpose, the joy, and
the happiness you’ve brought to my life.

Dear black men,

This is for you.
My dear nephews,
This is for you.

You are good.

You are loved.
You are treasured.
And all that you endure, my dear? My love? It will one day bear fruit.
Just keep holding on.
 CHAPTER ONE

This is scandalous.
Fingertips skimmed the inside of Samantha Norwood’s thigh.
Warm breaths traveled over the lower portion of her stomach,
reaching her navel.
This is madness.
Strong fingers traced her jawline, her temple. An even stronger
tongue stroked hers, probing her mouth. This was, apparently, a
kiss, but she’d never been kissed like this. This was an entire
exploration. He wasn’t kissing her for pleasure. He was kissing her
so she forgot every other man in her nearly four decades of life
who’d ever attempted anything remotely resembling a lip-to-lip
exchange.
“OB, I—”
“Shh.” He smiled against her mouth. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Both men were drunk.
So drunk.
They had to be.
It was the only way to explain why two friends, who’d sworn up
and down this would never happen, were both there with her, one of
them between her legs and the other’s mouth treating her to
something that should never again, in life, be classified as a kiss.
And why this wasn’t their first time doing it.
She’d been joking, mostly, when she’d told her best friend,
Tamika Boone, that a threesome with two men was one of the goals
on the bucket list she’d created after receiving her cancer diagnosis.
She was a preacher’s daughter. Their church had thrown a virginity
pledge dance when she was sixteen, and she’d solemnly sworn to
her father she wouldn’t “give it up” unless she had a ring on her
finger.
And, she’d kept that promise.
It was just too bad the ring went from shiny and polished to
bloody and tarnished in the blink of an eye.
OB Daniels and Miguel Reyes.
They were friends of Carson Hollister’s, Tamika’s boyfriend. She
met OB and Miguel at a party on Christmas Eve several months back
that OB had thrown for Carson for landing a multi-million-dollar book
deal. She’d watched them toss back drinks all night until, eventually,
they became tangled in a silent competition about which one would
be better for her.
Miguel was the crooner type, promising her days filled with
romance and pampering in a way that made her think of
Shakespeare and sonnets.
OB was…not like that.
Sam arched her back, a moan stretching from the bottom of her
toes up and out through her mouth when Miguel dipped his tongue
inside her.
OB sucked on her neck, and his long fingers were splayed across
her stomach, making light, light erotic circles on her skin. She’d
assumed, after everything she’d had to deal with over the course of
the last decade, she would have lost her ability to feel desired.
However, right now, she felt desired, sexy, treasured, and
beautiful.
OB’s lips left her neck, and she opened her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked. “Still with me?”
Christ, she’d never seen a man more fine.
Considering she wasn’t a huge football fan, that night at Carson’s
party was the first time she’d ever so much as seen him despite him
making regular media and public appearances. He also had a
memoir published through Boone Publishing, Tamika’s company, so
Tamika had tried to warn her that OB was no “regular-looking” man.
 She’d assumed it was hyperbole.
There was no true warning for a jaw that could cut steel, full lips,
skin she wanted to sip slowly on a cold day, and unexpectedly gentle
eyes. For a man this hard, she would have never expected any
semblance of softness. When he looked at her, simply looked at her,
it made her feel cared for.
But both Carson and Tamika had warned her that, as a woman
who casually walked around with her heart on her sleeve, it was
best she steer clear of OB, a man virtually guaranteed to shred it.
They’d warned her over and over.
And over.
The funny thing about hearts was, they didn’t have ears.
“Samantha, you still with me?” he repeated.
“Yes.” She almost screamed when Miguel sucked on her clit. “I’m
with you.”
OB laughed and pulled her top off over her head. With a deft flick
of his wrist, her bra was off. The first few times they’d done this,
she’d kept her bra on…until OB started teasing her through the
fabric, licking and biting until quarter-sized wet spots were left
behind.
Remaining covered up top had immediately become a thing of
the past. The more skin she showed, the more places they had to
kiss, lick and—her back arched again—suck.
Miguel raised his head, thumb sliding over her clit. “You are so
damn sweet, Sam. Where’ve you been hiding knowing good and
damn well I’ve been looking for you?”
She laughed, eyes lowering. “Out of your age range.”
“We’re, what, nine years apart?” Miguel flicked his thumb at OB.
“Ten in his case. And, trust me, age difference doesn’t apply in this
situation.”
Miguel was also extremely attractive, his skin clear and olive.
While OB had long dreadlocks that dipped past his shoulders, Miguel
kept his wavy hair cut short. Both had amazing smiles, deep voices,
and bodies that couldn’t have been more carved even if they’d been
made of stone.
 OB was born in Chapel Hill, like Carson, to African-American and
Senegalese parents. Miguel moved from the Dominican Republic to
North Carolina when he was eight and was now a wide-receiver for
the Carolina Panthers, OB’s former team. OB attended college on
both academic and football scholarships at the University of Alabama
and moved back to North Carolina after he was drafted.
He’d shocked the football nation when he chose to retire at the
height of his career before the age of thirty since his name had
already come up in Hall-of-Fame talk when he’d only been in his
second year in the league. According to all the analysts, he would
have easily broken Jerry Rice’s record for most receiving yards
during his NFL career. This was all according to YouTube, Wikipedia,
and the information Sam was able to glean from Carson and Tamika.
To this day, no one knew why he left it all behind. They’d
assumed it would be in his book, but there’d been little to no
mention of it.
“You done playing around down there?” OB asked. “You know
the point of eating pussy is for her to come, right?”
Miguel rolled his eyes and lifted his thumb from her clit. “You’re
lucky I love me a nice pair of titties.”
Sam held her breath as they switched positions. The fact that a
second man was about to work her just seconds after the first made
her picture a locker in hell with her name on it next to Ted Bundy’s.
OB didn’t immediately dive in.
This was a man with experience.
A man who knew his way around a woman’s body.
He started with his fingers, dipping them in her wetness and
slipping them around the spot that throbbed and silently keened for
his attention. Every few strokes, he let his thumb and index finger
land on the sensitive organ, pinching slightly. Each time, she hissed
and bit down into the tender flesh inside her mouth. The maneuver
made her even wetter, the sheets beneath her soaked and her inner
thighs slick.
The entire time he played, he kept his gaze locked with hers, and
those eyes made her feel like after this was over, he’d treat her to
dinner and tell her there was no one else in his life but her. That
there would never be anyone else for him but her.
Miguel’s warm mouth covered her nipple.
“Oh my god, Mi-guel.”
Her breaths couldn’t come fast enough.
“I like my name on those lips,” Miguel said, sucking on the
perked up bud. He flicked his tongue over the sensitive tip, drew
slow circles around her ruched areola, and sucked again.
Then, OB lowered.
His warm breath came as a prelude, mere seconds before his
tongue, firm, met her aching clitoris.
There was no getting used to this—the heaviness that spread
from deep inside her through her pelvis, the increased tingling in her
nipples, the coiling just below her navel, and the way her clit pulsed
and warmed over as if each pass of his tongue was a pleasurable
swat with an open palm or leather whip.
In the beginning, he’d been first on “cunnilingus duty,” but within
seconds he’d have her bucking and coming before Miguel had a
chance to so much as glance between her legs.
After the second time it happened—and the fact that afterward,
she’d curl into a ball and beg for at least twenty-four hours’ worth of
reprieve—Miguel took the first “shift.”
Miguel was good at what he did, but he was no OB. All it took
was a few swipes, a few swirls, and she was racing toward orgasm.
OB inserted two fingers into her body without removing his lips
from the prison they’d made around her clitoris. Heat spread across
her face, chest, and stomach. Then, the two fingers left and were
replaced with that freakishly long tongue of his, in and out, spearing
her entrance.
“OB, yes. Oh…yes. God, yes.”
Her hips rotated and gyrated, tears running down the side of her
face.
He sucked harder.
Miguel’s tongue flicked faster.
At this point, she should have been used to it, but she was about
to come harder than she ever had in her life.
 She looked down, a quick and innocent glance, needing to see
him. No matter how much or how long she looked, she never quite
got her fill. She was very attracted to him, too attracted to him, and
quite possibly halfway in love with him.
OB caught her gaze and winked.
The dam broke.
Pleasure flooded her body. Her orgasm blanketed itself in a
second, simultaneous surge when OB moaned and fused his mouth
to her sex. Even if she’d tried to hold back, she wouldn’t have been
able to. Everything she had, she gave, and he took it all.
They continued until she jerked, shivered, and pulled away.
Miguel smiled down at her, his thumb stroking the underside of
her left breast. “You are so cute when you come.”
OB licked his lips clean and said nothing.
Her gaze darted between them. She knew what her end goal was
supposed to be, but after something like that, she’d never be able to
handle it.
Not with OB as one of the men.
They’d spent more time together these past several months than
either Carson or Tamika knew, and he hadn’t spent all of it between
her legs. He’d call her up and ask her to dinner, a movie, or an event
around town. She’d call him up and invite him to her office, out for
lunch, or to her house to test a video game or play Dominoes.
Each and every time, he’d kept himself restrained, but she wasn’t
sure she wanted him to any longer. For a man who was supposed to
be a risky gamble when it came to matters of the heart, a man who
left mascara-stained cheeks in his wake, he’d followed her lead the
entire time. There’d been no kissing or sex outside of these
moments.
“You good to tuck yourself in?” OB asked.
Sam, suddenly self-conscious now that her brain appeared to be
working again, reached for the sheets crumpled at the bottom of her
feet and covered herself up to her breasts.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
“Sam, you are so cute,” Miguel said in that crooning, svelte way
of his that would make her identify him anywhere. “You may not
realize it yet, but you’ll be my girl.”
Miguel knew.
He was the first person she’d told.
According to him, it didn’t make any sense that she’d developed
feelings for OB when he was clearly the saner choice, but
considering what they’d been doing, she’d felt it necessary to at
least mention it.
If OB hadn’t been in the picture, if she’d never seen him, talked
to him, or spent a day with him, she wouldn’t have hesitated to take
Miguel up on his offer. She wouldn’t have hesitated to be on the
sidelines at all his games, clapping when he made a huge play and
cringing whenever he got even the smallest hit.
The hope was that as long as she didn’t sleep with OB, he would
stay enough out of her heart to avoid doing serious damage when
he, inevitably, broke it.
He tipped his head in the direction of the door. “Let’s go, Miguel.”
“You can go,” Miguel said. “I’ll stay.”
“Guel…”
“Fine.” Miguel gave her one last, lingering look. “See you later,
Sam.”
OB slapped his hand on Miguel’s back and ushered him toward
the front.
When she heard the door close, she armed her alarm system,
headed to the bathroom, and sat in front of her vanity mirror.
It was no longer a shock to her system when she removed one of
the many wigs she’d bought during her time in chemo. Her t.w.a.—
teeny weeny afro—was growing back in as soft, beautiful curls.
She’d only worn her hair out twice as it was something she wasn’t
comfortable doing just yet, but she pictured styling it with gel and an
off-center part. It would be cute with the pair of large hoops she
recently bought.
It could be.
She’d been in remission less than a year, and when she wasn’t
waking up covered in sweat after dreaming her oncologist had made
a mistake and she wasn’t yet out of the woods, she was scrutinizing
her features in the mirror. Her complexion was finally back to normal
and her cheeks and body were filling back out, but she didn’t feel
like the same woman she’d been before.
She felt off. Some days, undesirable. And, a significant part of
her feared that change was permanent.
Logically, she knew she shouldn’t need a man to tell her she was
beautiful in order to feel that way again, but she’d needed to hear
the word said with a deep timbre more than she cared to admit.
Her phone buzzed in the other room, and she hopped up to take
a peek at it.

OB: Hey, you still up?

Sam: Yeah. About to take a shower.

She stepped into the shower enclosure and took her time under
the hot stream, but she didn’t know how long she’d last if the water
didn’t stop pelleting her in places where she was still mildly aroused.
That damn OB.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
There was no way he didn’t know how she felt, no way he didn’t
read it all over her face whenever she so much as glanced at him.
Maybe this was fun for him like when she’d tutored her high school’s
star point-guard, Kelce Majors, in algebra in the eleventh grade.
During every session, he’d comment about how many times he’d
thought about “kissing her pretty lips.” When he walked with his
friends in the hallways, he suddenly had no idea who she was.
Other than the fact that she was no longer a virgin—barely—and
was now the founder of a multi-million-dollar gaming empire, she
was still very much like that quiet girl who’d routinely disappeared
among the general student population of George McLaurin High. The
girl with the “soup coolers” who was loved by all her math teachers
but ate lunch alone and was too naïve to effectively bully.
Shaking off the memories of her pathetic youth, Sam shut off the
faucet, stepped out, and wrapped herself in the plush robe she kept
hung nearby.
Her doorbell rang and, even on a doorbell camera lens, OB
Daniels was perfection.
She slipped her wig back on, disarmed the alarm system, and
went to the door. When she opened it, before she made eye contact,
she took in his taut, chiseled arms in his dark shirt, his flat stomach,
and the way his jeans hugged his muscular thighs.
He was back.
It was late.
A little voice screamed for her to suggest that he leave before
something happened, but the more it screamed, the weaker the
voice became.
“Everything okay?” she asked. “Did something happen?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Does it have to do with Carson or Mika?”
“No. Can I come in?”
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. The threshold of her
home was her last stronghold.
“Sure.”
He stepped inside and she shut the door behind him, taking a
few seconds to rearm the alarm system. She also needed the extra
seconds to prepare herself for looking up at him again, especially
now that his scent had found a home in her nostrils. Plus, there was
the way he towered over her, and the fact that she could feel him
staring.
“Samantha?”
Between her legs gave a small jolt. “Hmm?”
He held out his hand. She stepped forward and slipped her
fingers through his.
They walked to the living room where he lowered onto her navy
blue sectional and dragged her down on top of him. Something was
happening and she didn’t know what, but considering it had landed
her on his lap with his arms around her, she wouldn’t be analyzing it
tonight.
“You go back to work tomorrow, don’t you?” he asked.
 Her cheek rubbed against his shoulder when she nodded. “Yeah,
but it won’t be the same as before. I’ve scaled way back in my
duties. It was supposed to be during treatment only, but things are
going so smoothly, I’ll probably keep it that way.”
“How are you feeling about it? I mean, it’s been,” his eyes rolled
to the ceiling, “almost two years?”
He’d been paying attention more than she realized.
“Yes.”
“You’re not putting in a full day tomorrow, though?”
“I only have one meeting.” She ran her fingers through the roped
strands of his hair. “I got wind of this game that somehow made it to
development, and I’d like to address the team responsible. They
have their weekly meetings tomorrow, and I’m popping in for a
visit.”
He shifted, bringing her forehead to his cheek, and although it
was an incidental movement, her heart still fluttered behind her
ribcage. It felt good to be held. He’d seen her naked and he’d done
things to her with his fingers and tongue, but this type of closeness
felt more intimate.
“OB, you didn’t come all the way back here to ask me about
work.”
He pushed out a quick laugh. “I didn’t come all the way back. I
never left.”
Sam spread her fingers against his chest and pushed up. All the
lights in the lounge were off, but she could see the outline of his
face in the glow from the light coming from her bedroom.
“You’ve been out there this whole time?”
“I sit out there for a while every time I leave. It’s just that this
time,” he shrugged, “I couldn’t convince myself not to come back to
the door.”
His heart thrashed underneath her palm and hers responded in
kind, matching his pace.
“You did something.” He ticked his head to the side. “I wake up
thinking about you. I go to sleep thinking about you. Your eyes, they
stay with me all day and your mouth,” he stroked her bottom lip with
his thumb, “is perfect. So damn perfect.”
 Her tongue darted out just as he lowered his hand.
“You came back to ask me to sleep with you,” she said. “That’s
why you’re flirting.”
“You think this is me flirting?”
“Then what is it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She switched positions so she straddled him and hooked her
fingers behind his neck. “Try me.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
He tried several more times, opening and closing, and it went on
for an agonizing minute before he finally found whatever words he’d
been searching for.
“Okay, so I do want you.”
“Here we go.”
“But, hear me out.”
“Is this a competition type of thing?” She searched his face to
see if she could find the truth should he decide to lie. “You and
Miguel talked and bet on which one can get me in bed first?”
He had the nerve to look upset.
Offended.
“Uh, no. Why? Did you sleep with Miguel?”
“Would that be any of your business?”
“Yes.”
That same desire, which had been a foreign concept for so long,
swarmed through her like she’d swallowed a beehive. She wanted to
ask why, but knowing she wouldn’t get the answer she wanted to
hear, she kept her curiosity to herself.
“Do you want me?” he asked. “Do you want me like I want you?”
Yes.
One hundred times, yes.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“How you want me.”
She lowered her gaze to his mouth. He’d kissed her not even two
hours ago and yet, she craved it like their lips had never touched.
 It would be different to kiss him like this, just the two of them. If
she kissed him like this, she would lose her head.
“Like I said, you did something.” He tapped his temple.
“Something that makes you stay up here. With that being said, I
would be a lying man if I said I didn’t think about having you in
the…what’s the best way to put this…biblical sense.”
Her chest heaved underneath the robe which she realized
covered her still naked body. If it hadn’t been for the thick, fluffy
fabric, he would have seen the way her nipples had turned into
pebbles. Then again, she was sitting on his lap. There was no way
he couldn’t feel the heat emanating from between her legs
somewhere along on his midsection.
“And if I do?”
He jolted back. “Wait…what?”
“You’re…why do you sound surprised?”
“Because you’re supposed to say ‘No, OB. I only see you as a
friend.’ That way, I’d tuck my tail and leave and resign myself to
getting over whatever this thing is I have when it comes to you.”
Only a man who regularly broke hearts was this good at
penetrating them. If he’d charged in and demanded that she “give it
up,” she definitely would have sent him packing. Somehow, he knew
that, so he used this method—getting into her head. Making her feel
desired and wanted. The only question that lingered in her mind was
how certain he was it would work.
She kissed his cheek. “Come to bed with me tonight, OB.”
“Samantha,” he groaned, eyes closed, “I can’t do this to you.
Don’t let me do this to you.”
“But I want you to do it to me, the way only you know how.
Come on, OB. You know I want you.”
Those romance novels she’d been reading appeared to be paying
off if the bulge growing beneath her was any indication.
“I really can’t.” It was what he said, but his hand fiddled with the
tie on the robe.
She angled her hips so her heat pressed directly against his
erection. He pulled in a harsh breath of air, dove for her neck, and
sucked hard.
 “Why not?” She held onto his shoulders for support against the
onslaught of his tongue. “You don’t want me?”
“Of course, I do, but I won’t be able to stop.” He sucked again
and, when she cried out, he soothed the spot with a long lick.
“You’ve got me all fucked up in the head, you know that?”
He was trying to get a rise out of her. They’d known each other
roughly eight months, and this was a man who’d once walked out to
his car and found several different pairs of panties on the hood. He
wasn’t fucked up in the head. He wanted something he hadn’t had
yet.
She currently wasn’t mentally capable of doing anything to stop
him.
His palm came into contact with the skin on her stomach,
sending a buzz through the length of her body, rough against
smooth. She arched her back, pushing her breasts toward him, and
the robe fell away, exposing both globes for his view. He stared at
them like he’d never seen them before. Like he hadn’t just had them
in his mouth.
He gripped the back of her head and their mouths came
together, hungry and hot. She thrust her fingers through his dreads
as he stood, carried her to the bedroom, and lay her on the
mattress. The robe fell off somewhere along the way.
Her skin was still damp in some places. Her nipples were so hard,
it was close to painful. She ached for him. She’d never understood
the phrase before but her body pulsed, begging for his touch, his
tongue, and for him to sink all the way into her.
OB straddled her, a knee on either side of her body, and pulled
his shirt off over his head. He’d been out of the league a little over a
year, but it didn’t appear he’d given up the workout routine. His
arms had cuts that showcased muscles everyday men couldn’t have
possibly possessed. And it all looked so smooth. She wanted to
reach up and touch him, but she didn’t dare move with the way he
stared at her.
He was inked from left his shoulder to his wrist and across one
side of his chest. She had a rose vine tattoo that started underneath
her collarbone and extended down her left arm, one of the first
things she’d gotten once her divorce was finalized.
He left the bed, eyes still locked with hers, and stepped out of his
pants and underwear. “See?” He nodded downward. “My dick’s
already hard. Just thinking about you and my shit gets hard.”
It took her a moment to comprehend the statement. She was too
busy trying to figure out where he thought he was going to put that
thing.
“So, you know I’m divorced,” she prefaced.
His fingers traveled along her slit. “Yes.”
“And, you know it took some years before it was finalized. During
that time, I was hyper-focused on my career. Plus, I didn’t want to
jump into something else before I closed the chapter on my
marriage. Right after that, I had to deal with Lou.”
She saw his expression soften without him having to look up at
her. He hated talking about her illness almost as much as she did, so
he’d helped her find something else to call it. She’d had leukemia, so
they called it “Lou.”
“I haven’t made much time for intimacy.”
That made him look up. “You haven’t had sex since your
divorce?”
“No.”
She’d been waiting for a second marriage, but when Lou showed
up, she realized how silly it had been to wait, so she’d made it her
mission to get some once she was in the clear. After meeting OB, he
became the only man she’d wanted that “some” from.
“I’m sure plenty of men have wanted to fuck you,” he said.
“Feeling has to be mutual for it to happen.”
He slipped a finger inside her. On command, her body arched. He
then tried two fingers and her body suctioned them, tight, which
made his head fall back and his eyelids flutter.
“Jesus.” He’d murmured the word so low, she almost didn’t hear
it. “This isn’t going to end well.”
“For who?”
“Either one of us if I mess around and fall in love with you.”
 She swore she heard her heart sigh, all breathy and rushed like
an enamored Southern belle.
“OB, you don’t need say things like that.” Lie number one. “I
promise I won’t get all emotionally attached.” Lie number two. “I
know you don’t like that sort of thing.”
“Oh, you ‘know’ that?”
He lowered his head.
Oh God.
That tongue.
That damn tongue.
In an instant, he’d pushed her legs wide, parted her with his
fingers, and flicked his tongue over her clit.
When his tongue wasn’t playing with the little organ that
promised death by ecstasy, it was slipping inside her, taking turns
with his fingers. His mouth treated her like a piece of fruit, and the
way he groaned his pleasure and lost himself in his task, it made her
want to taste herself. She’d never imagined any part of her body
could be this sweet and yet, he made her feel like a starved man’s
first meal.
“You are so good at this.”
His laugh vibrated against her flesh. “Helps when your woman
tastes the way you do.”
“I’m ready for you, OB.”
He sucked on the bud and her hips shamelessly bucked.
She assumed he would rise, slip on a condom, and get to
business.
But, no.
Not this man.
He lavished and licked while stroking her with those two fingers
until she was nothing but a creamy, shuddering mess.
When he finally rose, he was already wearing a condom. She
didn’t see when he put it on, but for the last minute or so, she’d
seen nothing but the back of her eyelids.
He climbed over her.
She held her breath in preparation, but he lowered his head and
kissed her, so sweet and tender, she whimpered and thrust her arms
around his neck.
He smiled against her mouth, raised her hips, and sunk his way
in.
“Ahh…Samantha.”
Even if she’d had sex two weeks ago, this was still a lot of man
to handle.
“I’m hurting you, baby?” he asked, voice strained.
“No, I just…” she moaned, part pleasure and part pain, “have to
get used to this again.”
“I’ll go slow. Tell me if I hurt you.”
And he did go slow, giving her his length inch by inch. While he
burrowed his way into her body, he resumed those tender, head-
spinning kisses, and with each kiss, her muscles relaxed. He could
make any woman feel loved with a kiss. Fall in love from a simple
kiss.
“Fuck, Samantha.” He kissed the side of her face, her cheek, her
mouth. “I knew you’d be like this.”
She was so full with him, it was like he was in her throat.
He eased out just as slowly, pulling out only part of the way
before pushing back in. This time, there was only pleasure.
“There it is.” She nodded. “Oh, you feel so good, OB.”
He groaned, eased out, and thrust, several times, until she’d
relaxed enough for him to catch a rhythm.
“Say my name again.”
“OB.”
“Tell me you want this dick.”
“I want this dick.” She felt molded to him. “I love this dick, OB.
You feel so good.”
“You’ve been wanting this too?”
He spoke as if he could barely get the words out, and she
couldn’t believe it was her body bringing so much pleasure to this
large, beautiful man.
“Yes. I’ve been dreaming about it.”
A moan rumbled from his chest. His pelvis crashed against hers.
“I’ve been fantasizing,” she continued. Of having him in the
shower, on the stairs, against walls. “Touching myself.”
 He grabbed her wrists in one hand and held them above her
head. “You touch that pussy when you think about me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what, Samantha?”
“Yes, I touch myself when I think about you.” Her entire body
hummed. “I pretend it’s you licking me…biting me…making me come
all over you.”
He growled. “Not good enough, Samantha. Tell me,” he snapped
his hips, “exactly how,” he thrust so hard she slid on the mattress,
“you play with your pussy.”
She’d never had it this good.
She’d had no clue it could be this good.
“I suck on my dildo and pretend it’s your dick.” A remnant of
shame tried to poke its head in, but desire shut the door in its face.
“I ride it and scream your name. I fuck myself with my fingers, and I
lower the showerhead spray to my clit and come thinking about you
eating my pussy.”
Pleasure rippled through her in small explosions all building
toward one massive release. OB was right; this wouldn’t end well.
But he was wrong when he’d said it wouldn’t end well for either of
them.
“Samantha,” he groaned, “you’re beautiful.”
Her heart gave an unexpected tug.
“And you…this pussy is so damn good…”
She was so gone, she thought she heard him mumble the words
“are perfect.”
He steadied himself on his elbows so that only his hips pivoted,
driving into her steadily. This man had to be in the Guinness Book of
World Records under Most Skillful Stroke. His body control, his pace,
his attention…no wonder he broke hearts. No wonder he was
walking dynamite.
“OB, I’m gonna come.”
“Mmm.” He sucked on her bottom lip. “Come for me, Samantha.”
The way he said her name…
She shattered into pieces, nipples hard and back bowed. As her
climax made its way through her body, she held onto him. He
paused, his forehead pressed against hers and their chests touching.
Words left his mouth, but she wasn’t in the state of mind to
comprehend them.
Then, he was moving again, pulling every last bit of her orgasm
from her body. Not long after, he grunted, body stiff as he jerked
and pulsed at her entrance. She watched the grimace of pleasure
that covered his face as if he was spilling his entire soul.
Don’t fall in love.
Don’t fall in love, Sam.
After a few moments, he lowered. She wrapped her arms around
him, fingers again in his hair. He kissed her jaw, her mouth, her
neck, and the warm space between her breasts.
When they separated, she held her breath. After all that, she’d
now have to spend the night wrapped up alone in cold sheets. If she
hadn’t been raised the way she had, perhaps she would have been
able to accept this for what it was without feeling like hot wax would
be torn from her spine the minute he left.
He went to the bathroom. When he returned, he climbed into
bed next to her.
“You’re staying?”
“Samantha, I couldn’t leave you right now if I tried.”
She wanted to know what it meant. She wanted to analyze the
statement, make a diagram, but he felt so good against her, she fell
asleep the minute he drew her close.
 CHAPTER TWO

A meeting room table full of men and women lay in front of her, and
yet Sam wasn’t the one who had sweat on her brow. While she’d
stepped back from her duties at the company, she didn’t completely
relinquish control. She couldn’t. She loved the industry too much.
She did, however, reduce her responsibilities to where she only
had to be in the office a couple once per week and attend one
virtual meeting a month.
What had started out as a video game obsession when she was a
child, she’d turned into a gaming software giant empire on par with
Electronic Arts, Epic, and Rockstar. She’d named her company Two-
Twelve after a bible verse her father used to hammer into her,
before she understood what role society expected her to play based
upon the vagina it also seemed to prohibit her from talking or
thinking about.
Two-Twelve’s first game, an open-world, action-adventure release
following the journey of Hannibal of Carthage during the Second
Punic War thrust the company from startup phase to investors
leaving drag marks in concrete to get a piece of their success.
Her father used to complain about her obsession with video
games when she was younger, reminding her that she should have
been reading her bible to learn how to be a good wife.
He still complained.
It was just in a different way.
 “Samantha, don’t cause trouble. A married woman should be
concerned only with how she may please her husband.”

“Samantha, a married woman is bound by law to her husband as

long as he’s living. John came to me and repented his sins. Yet, you
still walked out on your marriage.”

“Do you really expect another self-respecting man to want you now?
Leviticus 21:13.”

Her initial plan had been to retire before she was forty and travel
the globe with the love of her life, but the love of her life turned out
to be a something she still couldn’t refer to as a man.
John Grant had started out as doting and sweet. Caring. She’d
even believed that her father, although intense in his delivery, had
been on to something when he introduced her to John.
They married when she was eighteen, him twenty-five. She
attended college to get her engineering degree as a married woman
while he worked day and night to grow his congregation.
And, he’d succeeded.
It was virtually guaranteed he would have become as renowned
as he was due to his good looks and “charming” personality.
However, the higher he climbed on the rungs of his career ladder,
the more insidious he became, eventually morphing into a faithless
snake.
He’d tried using scripture to get her to “fall in line” because she’d
decided to pursue a business opportunity with a fellow engineering
grad instead of tucking away her degree to wait on him barefoot and
pregnant. When that didn’t work and she’d chosen to focus first on
growing Two-Twelve, without a child in her uterus and with her
shoes still on her feet, he’d taken to using his fists.
One time.
He’d hit her one time and, when she gathered her bearings,
she’d retaliated with punches, scratches, and bites. She’d then
grabbed whatever things of hers could fit in a gym bag and left that
Another random document with
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saddle. It was close to this that Omar laid the foundation of the
Mosque which, to this day, bears his name.[329]
Mahometan tradition gives no further
detail respecting this memorable visit. But Christian tradition regarding
we are told by Christian writers that Omar Omar’s visit to Jerusalem.
accompanied Sophronius over the city, visited the Jerusalem,
various places of pilgrimage, and graciously inquired into their
history. As the appointed hour came round, the Patriarch bade the
Caliph to perform his orisons on the spot where they chanced to be,
namely, the Church of the Resurrection. But he declined to pray
either there or in the Church of Constantine, where a carpet had
been spread for him—alleging, as the reason, that if he were to pray
there, his followers would deem it their duty to oust the Christians
and take possession of the church for ever afterwards, as a place
where Moslem prayer had once been offered up. He also visited
Bethlehem. There, having prayed in the Church of the Nativity, he
gave nevertheless a rescript to the Patriarch who accompanied him
on the pious errand, securing the Christians in possession of the
building, with the condition that not more than one Mussulman
should ever enter at a time; but the stipulation, we are told, was
disregarded, and a Mosque was eventually erected there, as well as
on the site of the porch of the Church of Constantine.[330]
Whatever truth there may be in these
traditions, Omar did not prolong his visit to Omar returns to Medîna.
Jerusalem or its environs. Having settled
the matter for which he came, he proceeded to divide Palestine into
two provinces; one of which he assigned to the government of
Jerusalem, and the other to that of Ramleh. He then returned by the
way that he came to Medîna.[331]
Thus was Syria, from the farthest north
to the border of Egypt, within the space of Causes which facilitated the
three years, lost to Christendom. One conquest of Syria.
reflects with wonder at the feeble resistance offered by the Byzantine
power, both military and naval, and by its many strongholds of
antiquity and renown, to this sudden inroad. The affinities of the
Syrian Bedouins to the Arabian nation facilitated no doubt the
conquest. There was also an element of weakness in the settled
population; for luxurious living had demoralised the effeminate race
and rendered it unable to resist the onset of the wild and fanatic
invaders. Still worse, they had no heart to fight. What patriotic vigour
might have still survived, was lost in religious strife. Sects rejoiced
each in the humiliation of the other; and, as is usual in such
controversies, the finer the distinction, the more inveterate the hatred
thereby engendered. Loyalty was thus smothered by bitter
jealousies, and there are not wanting instances even of active
assistance rendered to the enemy.[332] There may have been among
some, even a sense of relief in the equal though contemptuous
licence given, by the toleration or haughty indifference of the
conquerors, to all alike. But there was a still deeper cause, and that
was the growing decrepitude of the Roman empire. No vigour
remained to drive back the shock of barbarian invaders. And while
northern hordes could by degrees amalgamate with the nations
which they overran, the exclusive faith and the intolerant teaching of
Islam kept the Arabs a race distinct and dominant.
The conquerors did not spread
themselves abroad in Syria, as in The Arabs did not settle in
Syria to the same extent as
Chaldæa. They founded no such Arabian in Chaldæa.
towns and military settlements as
Bussorah and Kûfa. The country and climate were less congenial,
and the beautiful scenery, of the land of brooks of water and depths
springing out of valleys and hills, the land of vines and fig-trees and
pomegranates, the land of oil-olive and honey, offered fewer
attractions to the Arabian races than the heated sandy plains of the
Tigris and Euphrates, with their desert garb of tamarisk and groves
of the familiar date. They came to Syria as conquerors; and, as
conquerors, they settled largely, particularly the southern tribes, in
Damascus, Hims, and other centres of administration. But the body
of the native Syrians remained after the conquest substantially the
same as before; and through long centuries of degradation they
clung, as to some extent they still cling, to their ancestral faith.
 We read in later days of the Ordinance
of Omar, to regulate the conditions of Humiliation of Jews and
Christian communities throughout Islam. Christians.
But it would be a libel on that tolerant Ruler to credit him with the
greater part of these observances. It is true that the stamp of
inferiority—according to the Divine injunction, Fight against the
people of the Book, Jews and Christians, until they pay tribute with
their hands and are humbled[333]—was branded upon them from the
first; but the worst disabilities of that intolerant Ordinance were not
imposed till a later period. Introduced by degrees, these gradually
became, through practice and precedent, the law of the land. At the
first the exactions of the conquerors, besides the universal tribute,
were limited to the demand of a yearly supply of oil-olive and other
food, and the obligation to entertain Moslem travellers on their
journey for three days at a time. But when the Caliphate was
established at Damascus, its pomp and pride could no longer brook
the semblance even of social equality, and hence the badge of an
inferior race must be shown at every step. The dress of both sexes
and of their slaves must be distinguished by broad stripes of yellow.
They were forbidden to appear on horseback; and if they rode on
mule or ass, their stirrups must be of wood, and the saddle known by
knobs of the same material. Their graves must be level with the
ground, and the mark of the devil placed on the lintel of their doors.
Their children must be taught by Moslem masters; and the race,
however able or well qualified, was proscribed from aspiring to any
office of high emolument or trust. Besides the existing churches
spared at the conquest, no new building must be erected for the
purposes of worship; free entry into all their holy places must be
allowed at the pleasure of the Moslem; no cross must remain in view
outside, nor any church bells rung. They must refrain from
processions in the street at Easter and other solemn seasons; and in
short from anything, whether by outward symbol, word, or deed, in
rivalry or derogation of the royal faith. Such was the so-called Code
of Omar.[334] Enforced with less or greater stringency in different
lands and under different dynasties, it was, and still remains, the law
of Islam. One must admire the rare tenacity of the subject faith,
which, with but scanty light and hope, held its ground through weary
ages of insult and depression, and still survives to see, as we now
may hope, the dawning of a brighter day.
I have spoken of the loss of Syria as
the dismemberment of a limb from the The East cut off from the
Byzantine empire. In one respect it was West.
something more. For their own safety, the Romans dismantled a
broad belt of country on the borders of the now barbarian Syria. The
towns and fortresses were razed, and the inhabitants withdrawn.
And so the neutral zone became a barrier against travel to and fro.
For all ordinary communication, whether social, religious, or
commercial, the road was closed. The East was severed from the
West.
‘The abomination of desolation’ wept
over by Sophronius stood in the Holy Silence of Byzantine
Place. The cradle of Christianity, Zion the historians.
joy of the whole earth, was trodden under foot, and utterly cut off
from the sight of its votaries. And all is told by the Byzantine writers
in a few short lines. The pen of the Christian annalist might well
refuse to write the story of cowardice and shame.
 CHAPTER XXI.
RISING IN NORTHERN SYRIA.

A.H. XVII. A.D. 638.

In the sixth year of Omar’s Caliphate, a

desperate effort was made by the Rising in Northern Syria.
Byzantine power, and at one moment not
without some prospect of success, to shake off the Moslem yoke and
recover possession of Northern Syria.
The movement is attributed by tradition
to an appeal from the Christian tribes of Romans by sea support
Mesopotamia, which when the Roman attack of Mesopotamian
Bedouins. a.h. XVII. a.d.
army retired into Asia Minor, besought the 638.
Emperor to save them from falling under
his adversary’s sway. Although the Moslem frontier on the side of
Cilicia was tolerably secure, yet the seaboard to the west, and the
desert border on the east of Syria, were both vulnerable. Most of the
strongholds of Mesopotamia, it is true, had already fallen into the
hands of Sád;[335] but the wandering Bedouins were not controlled
by these, and with few exceptions the numerous Christian tribes still
looked for support to the Persian or the Roman empires. The
maritime power of the Romans was yet untouched. Cæsarea with its
naval supports remained proof against landward attack; and the
whole sea coast was kept unsettled by the hope, or by the fear, that
the Roman fleet might at any time appear. The Emperor now
promised the dwellers in Mesopotamia that he would second their
efforts by way of the sea. An expedition was accordingly directed
from the port of Alexandria upon Antioch; while the Bedouins
gathered in great hordes around Hims. Thus seriously threatened,
Abu Obeida called in Khâlid from Kinnisrîn, and every garrison that
could be spared from the south. But the enemy was still too strong to
be dispersed by the force at his disposal, and so he sent an urgent
summons for assistance to Medîna. Thereupon Omar ordered Sád
to despatch a strong column from Kûfa under Cacâa for the relief of
Hims without a day’s delay; and likewise to effect a diversion by
sending other columns against Rickka, Roha, Nisibîn, and such like
strongholds in Upper Mesopotamia. Meanwhile the Romans landed
from their ships. Antioch threw open her gates to them; and
Kinnisrîn, Aleppo, and all the chief towns in the north, were in full
revolt. Abu Obeida called a council of war; Khâlid was for giving
battle, but he was alone in that view. Abu Obeida, feeling too weak to
cope with the now combined forces of the Bedouins and Romans,
retired within the walls of Hims, and, hemmed in by enemies,
awaited the succour now advancing from Kûfa. So grave did Omar
himself regard the crisis that, quitting Medîna for the second time, he
journeyed to Jâbia, intending to march in person with the
reinforcements northwards. But while on the journey, a change had
already come over the scene. The vigorous movements in
Mesopotamia so alarmed the Bedouins for the safety of their homes
in the desert, that they began to forsake the Roman cause. Seeing
now his opportunity, Abu Obeida issued
from the fortress, and after a severe Abu Obeida puts the Romans
engagement routed the enemy, who fled in and Bedouins to flight.
such confusion that, even before the arrival of Cacâa, they were
totally dispersed. Omar returned from Jâbia to Medîna. He was
delighted at the result; and he specially commended the alacrity of
the Kûfa column:—‘The Lord reward them,’ he wrote to Sád, ‘for their
ready gathering and their speedy march to the succour of their
beleaguered brethren.’[336]
It was the last effort of Constantinople
to expel the invader from Syria, and the Campaign in Mesopotamia
yoke plainly now was not to be shaken off. and Asia Minor. a.h. XVII.
a.d. 638.
The expeditions undertaken for diverting
the nomad insurgents had also the effect of reducing Mesopotamia
to its uttermost limits. But not content with this, the infant faith,
becoming conscious of its giant strength, began to stretch itself
towards the north. The successes in Mesopotamia were followed up
by a campaign in Asia Minor, under distinguished leaders; and the
name of Iyâdh, the general-in-chief, under whom even Khâlid did not
disdain to serve, begins to figure in the brief Byzantine record.[337]
Nisibîn,[338] Amida, Harrân, Roha, and all the strong places lying
along the northern frontier were taken or recaptured, and even
Armenia was overrun.[339]
Most of the Bedouin tribes in
Mesopotamia embraced Islam. There were Christian tribes in
exceptions, and the story of the Beni Iyâdh Mesopotamia.
Iyâdh.
The Beni

is singular. They migrated to the north and

found an asylum in Roman territory. But Omar, nettled at their
disappearance, and fearing lest they should remain a thorn in his
side, demanded their extradition from the Byzantine Court, on pain of
the expulsion of all the Christian tribes living under his protection.
And the Emperor, unwilling to expose these to ill-treatment, complied
with the demand.[340] Equally remarkable is the tale of the Beni
Taghlib. They tendered their submission to
Welîd ibn Ocba, who, solicitous for the Beni Taghlib allowed to pay
adhesion to Islam of this great and famous tithe.
race, pressed them with some rigour to abjure their ancient faith.
Omar was much displeased at this,—‘Leave them,’ he wrote, ‘in the
profession of the Gospel. It is only within the bounds of the
Peninsula, where are the Holy Places, that no polytheist tribe is
permitted to remain.’ Welîd was removed from his command; and it
was enjoined on his successor to stipulate only that the usual tribute
should be paid, that no member of the tribe should be hindered from
embracing Islam, and that the children should not be educated in the
Christian faith. The tribe, deeming in its pride the payment of ‘tribute’
(jazia) an indignity, sent a deputation to the Caliph:—They were
willing, they said, to pay the tax if only it were levied under the same
name as that taken from the Moslems. Omar evinced his liberality by
allowing the concession; and so the Beni Taghlib enjoyed the
singular privilege of being assessed as Christians at a ‘double Tithe,’
instead of paying Jazia, the obnoxious badge of subjugation.[341]
The last place to hold out in Syria was
Cæsarea. It fell a last in the fifth year of Fall of Cæsarea. a.h. XVII.
a.d. 638.
Omar’s Caliphate. Amru had sat long
before it. But, being open to the sea, and the battlements landward
strong and well manned, it resisted all his efforts; and although Yezîd
sent his brother Muâvia with reinforcements from Damascus, the
siege was prolonged for several years. Sallies persistently made by
the garrison, were driven back with equal constancy. In the end, as
we are told, by the treachery of a Jew, a weak point was discovered
in the defences. The city was carried by storm, with prodigious
carnage of the wretched inhabitants. Four thousand prisoners, of
either sex, were despatched as part of the prey to Medîna, and there
distributed in slavery.[342]
Khâlid had again the misfortune to incur
the displeasure of Omar. He came back Khâlid brought to trial. a.h.
from the campaign of Iyâdh greatly XVII. a.d. 638–9.
enriched with the spoils of war. In expectation of his bounty, many of
his old friends from Irâc flocked to him on his return to his
government at Kinnisrîn; and amongst these was Asháth, chief of the
Beni Kinda, to whom he gave the princely largess of one thousand
pieces of gold. Again, at Amida in the east, Khâlid had indulged in
the luxury of a bath mingled with wine, the odour whereof as he
came forth still clung about him. On both charges he was now
arraigned. About the second, there could be no question; the use of
wine, even externally, was a forbidden thing, and Khâlid forswore the
indulgence in it even thus. The other offence was graver in the
Caliph’s eyes. Either the gift was booty of the army; or, if Khâlid’s
own to give away, he was guilty, even on that supposition, of
culpable extravagance. Whichever was the case, he deserved to be
deposed from his command. In such terms a rescript was addressed
to Abu Obeida, and sent by the hands of a courier charged to see
that the command was fully carried out. Khâlid was to be accused
publicly; his helmet[343] taken off; his hands bound with his head-
kerchief; and so arraigned he was to declare the truth.
With Abu Obeida this was an
ungracious task; for to the now degraded Khâlid arraigned at Hims for
warrior he was beholden for all his victories malversation;
in Syria. But the Caliph’s word was law. And so he summoned Khâlid
from his seat of government, proclaimed an assembly in the great
Mosque of Hims, and, standing in the pulpit, placed Khâlid in the
midst. Then the courier put his master’s question—From whence the
money given to Asháth came? Khâlid, confounded at the unexpected
charge, made no reply. Pressed by his friends, still he remained
silent. Abu Obeida stood himself embarrassed, and a painful pause
ensued. At last Bilâl, privileged as the Muedzzin of the Prophet,
stepped forth, and with stentorian voice cried, ‘Thus and thus hath
the Commander of the Faithful said, and it is incumbent on us to
obey;’ so saying, he unwound the kerchief from the head of Khâlid,
bound his hands therewith, and took off his helmet. The great
warrior, to whom Islam owed its conquests, stood as a felon before
the congregation. Bilâl repeated the question, and Khâlid at length
replied, ‘The money was my own.’ At once Bilâl unbound his hands,
and, replacing the helmet on his head, wound the kerchief around it
as before, and said, ‘We honour thee still, even as we did honour
thee before, one of our chiefest captains.’ But Abu Obeida was
silent; and Khâlid, stunned by the disgrace, stood speechless and
bewildered. Abu Obeida had not the heart to tell him of his
deposition; but, without sending him back to his seat of government,
spoke kindly to him as to one who still had his confidence. Omar
understood the delicacy of Abu Obeida’s position, and himself
summoned Khâlid to Medîna. Prompt to
obey, though sore at heart, Khâlid first summoned to Medîna,
returned to Kinnisrîn; and both there and at
Hims, bidding adieu to his friends and to the people, he complained
openly and bitterly of the ingratitude of a prince who scrupled not to
use him in his times of difficulty, but cast him aside when, through his
aid, he had reached the summit of his power. Arrived at Medîna, he
reproached the Caliph: ‘I swear that thou hast treated despitefully a
faithful servant to whom thou owest much; and I appeal from thee to
the whole body of the Faithful.’ ‘Whence came that money?’ was
Omar’s only answer. The question was repeated day by day; till at
last, galled by the charge of unfaithfulness, Khâlid made answer
thus: ‘I have nought but the spoil which the Lord hath given me in the
days of Abu Bekr, as well as in thine own. Whatever thou findest
over 60,000 pieces, hath been gained in thy Caliphate; take it if thou
wilt.’ So his effects were valued, and the estimate reaching 80,000,
Omar confiscated the difference. But he
still affected to hold the great general in and there mulcted and
honour and regard. Accordingly, he sent a deposed.
rescript to the various provinces, announcing that he had deposed
Khâlid, not because of any tyranny or fraud, but because he deemed
it needful to remove a stumbling-block out of the way of the people,
who were tempted to put their trust in an arm of flesh, instead of
looking alone to the Giver of all victory.
So closed the career of Khâlid. The first
beginning of Omar’s alienation was the Khâlid dies in neglect. a.h.
affair of Mâlik ibn Noweira, followed by acts XXI.
of tyranny in Irâc, which grated on his sense of clemency and justice.
But these acts had long since been condoned; and therefore his
conduct now was ungenerous and unjust. He used the ‘Sword of
God’ so long as he had need of it, and when by it victory was
secured, he cast it ungratefully away. Khâlid retired to Hims, and did
not long survive. His manner of life when in the full tide of prosperity
may be gathered from the brief notice that in the Plague (of which
mention will soon be made) forty of his sons were carried off. The
remainder of the family took refuge, like many others, in the desert.
Soon after, in the eighth year of Omar’s Caliphate, the great general
died. In his last illness he kept showing the scars which thickly
covered his body all over—marks of his bravery and unflinching
prowess. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I die even as a coward dieth, or as the
camel breatheth its last breath.’ His end illustrates forcibly the
instability of this world’s fame and glory. The hero who had borne
Islam aloft to the crest of victory and conquest, ended his days in
penury and neglect.[344]
 CHAPTER XXII.
EXPULSION OF JEWS AND CHRISTIANS FROM ARABIA. THE
CIVIL LIST OF OMAR. SLAVES OF ARAB BLOOD MADE FREE.

A.H. XIV., XV. A.D. 635, 636.

I must now revert to one or two matters

of domestic interest, which, not to break Domestic events. a.h. XIV.,
XV.
the story of external conquest, I have
refrained from noticing before.
Arabia, as the nursery of the legions
destined to wage the wars of Islam, must Expulsion of Jews and
be purged of strange religions. And Christians from Arabia.
accordingly, so soon as victory was secured in Syria and Irâc, Omar
proceeded to signalise his reign by an act of harshness, if not of
questionable equity.
In the centre of Arabia lies the province
of Najrân, inhabited from of old by a Christians removed from
Najrân,
Christian people. Mahomet had concluded
a treaty with their chiefs and bishops, by which the annual tribute of
2,000 suits of raiment secured them safety in the undisturbed
profession of their ancestral faith. Throughout the rebellion they
remained loyal to their engagements, and Abu Bekr renewed the
treaty. Worthy descendants of a martyr race, they resisted the
blandishments of Islam; and as a penalty they must now quit their
native soil, consecrated, in the persecution of Dzu Nowâs, by the
ashes of their forefathers.[345] They were ordered to depart and
receive lands in exchange elsewhere. Some migrated to Syria; but
the greater part settled in the vicinity of Kûfa, where the colony of
Najrânia long maintained the memory of Mahometan intolerance.
The rights, however, conferred upon them by the Prophet’s treaty, so
far as their expatriation might admit, were respected by successive
rulers; and their tribute, with decreasing numbers, lightened sensibly
from time to time. After their removal, no
long time elapsed before the Jews of and Jews from Kheibar.
Kheibar, a rich vale two or three days’
journey north of Medîna, met a similar fate. Their claim was not so
strong as the Christians’; for, conquered by Mahomet, they had been
left on sufferance in possession of their fields at a rent of half the
produce. In return for this partial right from which they now were
ousted, they received a money payment, and then departed for
Syria. Various pretexts are urged for the expatriation in either case.
But behind them all we find the dogma—supposed dying behest of
Mahomet—In Arabia there shall be but one religion. The recruiting
field of Islam must be sacred ground.[346]
The Arabian nation was the champion
of Islam; and to fight its battles every Arab The Arabs as a nation share
was jealously reserved. He must be the the spoils of war.
soldier, and nothing else. He might not settle down in any conquered
province as cultivator of the soil; and for merchandise or other
labour, a busy warlike life offered but little leisure. Neither was there
any need. The Arabs lived on the fat of the conquered lands, and
captive nations served them. Of the booty taken in war, four parts
were distributed to the army in the field; the fifth was reserved for the
State; and even that, after discharging public obligations, was shared
among the Arabian people. In the reign of Abu Bekr this was a
simple matter. But in the Caliphate of Omar the spoil of Syria and of
Persia began in ever-increasing volume to pour into the treasury of
Medîna, where it was distributed almost as soon as received. What
was easy in small beginnings, by equal sharing or discretionary
preference, became now a heavy task. And there began, also, to
arise new sources of revenue in the land assessment and the poll
tax of subject countries, which, after defraying civil and military
charges, had to be accounted for to the Central Government;—the
surplus being, like the royal Fifth, the patrimony of the Arab nation.
At length, in the second or third year of
his Caliphate, Omar determined that the New rule of distribution by
classes of merit.
distribution should be regulated on a fixed
and systematic scale. The income of the Commonwealth was to be
divided, as heretofore, amongst the Faithful as their heritage, but
upon a rule of precedence befitting the military and theocratic
groundwork of Islam. For this end three points only were considered:
priority of conversion, affinity to the Prophet, and military service.
The widows of Mahomet, ‘Mothers of the Faithful,’ took the
precedence with an annual allowance of 10,000 pieces each; and all
his kinsmen were with a corresponding liberality provided for.[347]
The famous Three Hundred of Bedr had 5,000 each; presence at
Hodeibia and the Pledge of the Tree[348] gave a claim to 4,000; such
as took part in quelling the Rebellion had 3,000; and those engaged
in the great battles of Syria and Irâc, as well as sons of the men of
Bedr, 2,000; those taking the field after the actions of Câdesîya and
the Yermûk, 1,000. Warriors of distinction received an extra grant of
500. And so they graduated downwards to 200 pieces for the latest
levies. Nor were the households forgotten. Women had, as a rule,
one-tenth of a man’s share. Wives, widows, and children had each
their proper stipend; and in the register, every infant, as soon as
born, had the title to be entered with a minimum allowance of ten
pieces, rising with advancing age to its proper place. Even Arab
slaves (so long as any of that race remained) had, strange to say,
their portion.
Thus every soul was rated at its worth.
But the privilege was confined most strictly All other nations a lower
to those of Arab blood. A few exceptions, class.
indeed, were made of distinguished Persian chiefs; but the mention
of them only proves the stringency of the general rule.[349] The
whole nation, every man, woman, and child of the militant Arab race,
was subsidised. In theory, the rights of all believers were the same.
‘Ye are one brotherhood,’ said Mahomet at the Farewell pilgrimage;
and as he spake he placed two fingers of one hand upon his other
hand, to enforce the absolute equality.[350] But in point of fact, the
equality was limited to the Arab nation. The right of any brother of
alien race was a dole of food sufficient for subsistence, and no more.
[351]
 A great nation dividing thus amongst
them their whole revenues, spoil, and Principle adopted by Omar
conquests, first on the principle of equal disarms Arabian jealousies.
brotherhood, and next on that of martial merit and spiritual
distinction, is a spectacle probably without parallel in the world. The
rule itself was well conceived. In no other way would it have been
possible to reconcile the jealous susceptibilities of tribal rivalry.[352]
Safwân, Soheil, and other great chiefs of the Coreish, who fell into a
lower class because they had not joined the Prophet till after the
capture of Mecca, refused at first any allowance but the highest: ‘We
know of none nobler than ourselves,’ they said; ‘and less than any
other we will not take.’ ‘Not so,’ answered Omar; ‘I give it by priority
of faith, and not for noble birth.’ ‘It is well,’ they replied; and no
reason but this, unanswerable because already axiomatic among the
Moslems, would have satisfied them. Apart from tribal jealousy, there
were two other sources of danger: first, the rivalry between the
Bedouin tribes, on the one hand, and the ‘Companions,’ or men of
Mecca and Medîna, on the other; and, second, between the Beni
Hâshim (the Prophet’s family), the Omeyyads, and the Coreish at
large;—jealousies which by-and-by developed into large proportions,
and threatened the very existence of the Caliphate; but which, held
in check by the strong arm of Omar, were now for a time avoided by
assuming a spiritual test as the main ground of precedence.
The Arabian aristocracy thus created
was recognised by the whole Moslem Omar perpetuates military
world. The rank and stipend now assigned organisation of Arabs.
descended in the direct line of birth. Even rewards given for special
gallantry in the field were heritable.[353] By making thus the revenues
of Islam the heritage of the nation militant, their martial genius was
maintained, and their employment perpetuated as the standing army
of the Caliphate. The ennobled nation, pampered by indulgence,
factious and turbulent when idle, were indeed too often a serious
element of sedition and intrigue. But they were nevertheless the
backbone of Islam, the secret of its conquests, and the stay of the
Caliphate. The crowded harems multiplied the race with marvellous
rapidity; and the progeny were, by Omar’s organisation, kept
sedulously distinct, so as never to mingle with the conquered races.
Wherever they went they formed a class distinct and dominant—the
nobles and rulers of the land. The subject peoples, even if they
embraced Islam, were of a lower caste; and as clients of some Arab
chief or tribe, courted their patronage and protection. Thus the
fighting nation was set apart for the sacred task of subjugating
nations and of propagating Islam; and even after the new-born zeal
of the Faith had to some extent evaporated, the martial fire of the
Arabs as a whole and undivided people was, owing mainly to Omar’s
foresight, kept alive in full activity for two centuries and a half. The
nation was, and continued, an army mobilised; the cantonment, not
the city, their home; their business, war and the camp;—a people
whose hereditary calling it was to be ready to march on warlike
expeditions at a moment’s notice.
To carry out this vast design, a Register
had to be drawn and kept up of every man, Register of all Arabs entitled
woman, and child, entitled to a stipend to a stipend.
from the State—in other words, of the whole Arab race employed in
the interests of Islam. This was easy enough for the higher grades,
but a herculean task for the hundreds of thousands of ordinary
fighting men and their families who kept streaming forth from the
Peninsula; and who, by the extravagant indulgence of polygamy,
were multiplying rapidly. But the task was simplified by the strictly
tribal composition and disposition of the forces. Men of a tribe, or
branch of a tribe, fought together; and the several corps and
brigades being thus territorially arranged in clans, the Register
assumed the same form. Every soul was entered under the stock
and tribe and clan whose lineage it claimed. And to this exhaustive
classification we owe in great measure the elaborate genealogies
and tribal traditions of Arabia before Islam.
The Register itself, as well as the office
for its maintenance and for pensionary The Dewân of Omar.
account, was called the Dewân or
Department of the Exchequer. The State had by this time, as we
have seen, an income swollen by the tribute of conquered cities, the
poll-tax of subjugated peoples, the land and other regular
assessments, the spoil of war, and the tithes. The first charge was
for the revenue and civil administration; the next for military
requirements, which began soon to assume a sustained and
permanent form; the surplus remained (as has been now set forth)
for pensionary and eleemosynary distribution. The whole revenues
of Islam were thus expended as soon, almost, as received; and
Omar took a special pride in seeing the treasury, in accord with this
principle, emptied to the last dirhem.[354] The accounts of the various
provinces were at the first kept by natives of the country in the
character to which they were accustomed—in Syria by Greeks, and
in Irâc by Persians. At Kûfa the use of Pehlevi was maintained till the
time of Hajjâj, when, an Arab assistant having learned the art from
the chief treasurer, the Arabic system of record and notation was
introduced.
We are not told the numerical result of
the Dewân of Omar, but the population of Vast extent of Arab exodus.
Kûfa and Bussora may give us a standard
to judge of the vast exodus in progress from Arabia, and the rapid
strides by which the crowded harems multiplied the race. Arab
ladies, as a rule, married only Arab husbands; but the other sex,
besides unlimited indulgence in servile concubinage, were free to
contract marriage with the women of conquered lands, whether
converts or ‘people of the Book;’ for marriage is lawful between a
Moslem and females of the Jewish and Christian faith. And although
the wives of Arab blood took precedence in virtue of rank and birth,
the children also of every Arab father, whether the mother were slave
or free, Moslem, Jew, or Christian, were equal in legitimacy. And so
the nation multiplied. Looking to these considerations and to the new
drain upon Arabia to meet the conquests in Egypt and Persia (of
which anon), we shall not greatly err if we assume that before
Omar’s death the number of Arabs beyond the limits of Arabia
proper, reached to Half a million, and eventually doubled, perhaps
quadrupled.
Civil administration followed in the
wake of conquest. In Chaldæa, the great Provincial administration.
network of canals was early taken in hand.
The long-neglected embankments of the Euphrates were placed
under charge of a special officer, and those of the Tigris under
another. Syria and Irâc were measured field by field; and the
assessment of the lands, both crown and provincial, established on a
uniform system. In Irâc, the agency of the Dihcâns, or great
landholders, was taken advantage of, as under the Sassanide
dynasty, to aid in the police and revenue administration.
In addition to the armies in the field,
Omar arranged that a reserve of cavalry Reserves of cavalry.
should be maintained at the head-quarters
of the several provinces, in proportion to their resources, ready to be
called out upon emergency. The corps at Kûfa numbered 4,000
lances, and there were eight such centres. Reserves for forage were
also everywhere set apart; and the cost of these measures formed a
first charge upon provincial revenue.
The various Suras and fragments of the
Corân had by this time been compiled into Corân; how ‘collected.’
a single volume. The ‘collecting’ of these
was begun in the reign of Abu Bekr, at the suggestion of Omar, who
was alarmed at the loss of so many of those, who had the Revelation
by heart, in the battle of Yemâma. ‘I fear,’ he said to Abu Bekr, ‘that
slaughter may again wax hot amongst the Reciters of the Corân in
other fields of battle, and that much may be lost of the divine text;
now, therefore, give orders speedily for its collection.’ The
commission was given to Zeid ibn Thâbit, who, as the Prophet’s
amanuensis, had written down much of the revelation from the
Prophet’s lips. At first he scrupled to do what Mahomet himself had
left undone. At last he accepted the task; and seeking out the Suras
and scattered fragments and verses from every quarter, ‘gathered
them together from date leaves, shreds of leather and parchment,
shoulder blades, tablets of white stone, and the breasts of men.’ By
the labours of Zeid, these confused materials were reduced to the
comparative order and sequence in which we now find them; but in
its obscurity and incoherence, the collection still bears traces in
almost every page of the haphazard way in which the pieces, thus
rudely dovetailed, were compiled. The original copy was committed
to the custody of Haphsa, Omar’s daughter, one of the Prophet’s
widows; and during Omar’s Caliphate this exemplar continued to be
the standard and authoritative text of the Corân.[355]