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dangerous Kain. He is the waning crescent, blacksmith and musician; he, too, has his devotees.

Hubal and Kain look down on Grandee and poet as they stroll. And the Nabataean proto-Dionysus, He-Of-Shara; the morning star, Astarte, and saturnine Nakruh. Here is the sun god, Manaf! Look, there flaps the giant Nasr, the god in eagleform! See Quzah, who holds the rainbow ... is this not a glut of gods, a stone flood, to feed the glutton hunger of the pilgrims, to quench their unholy thirst. The deities, to entice the travellers, come—like the pilgrims—from far and wide. The idols, too, are delegates to a kind of international fair.

There is a god here called Allah (means simply, the god). Ask the Jahilians and they’ll acknowledge that this fellow has some sort of overall authority, but he isn’t very popular: an all—rounder in an age of specialist statues.

Abu Simbel and newly perspiring Baal have arrived at the shrines, placed side by side, of the three best-beloved goddesses in Jahilia. They bow before all three: Uzza of the radiant visage, goddess of beauty and love; dark, obscure Manat, her face averted, her purposes mysterious, sifting sand between her fingers—she’s in charge of destiny—she’s Fate; and lastly the highest of the three, the mother-goddess, whom the Greeks called Lato. Ilat, they call her here, or, more frequently, Al—Lat. The goddess . Even her name makes her Allah’s opposite and equal. Lat the omnipotent. His face showing sudden relief, Baal flings himself to the ground and prostrates himself before her. Abu Simbel stays on his feet.

The family of the Grandee, Abu Simbel—or, to be more precise, of his wife Hind—controls the famous temple of Lat at the city’s southern gate. (They also draw the revenues from the Manat temple at the east gate, and the temple of Uzza in the north.) These concessions are the foundations of the Grandee’s wealth, so he is of course, Baal understands, the servant of Lat. And the satirist’s devotion to this goddess is well known throughout Jahilia. So that was all he meant! Trembling with relief, Baal remains prostrate, giving thanks to his patron Lady. Who looks upon him benignly; but a goddess’s expresson is not to be relied upon. Baal has made a serious mistake.

Without warning, the Grandee kicks the poet in the kidney. Attacked just when he has decided he’s safe, Baa! squeals, rolls over, and Abu Simbel

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