The Moslem force was downcast. The uncertain issue added point to the invectives of Sád’s accusers, and, what was still harder for him to bear, the reproaches of Selma. As during the day, seated by her lord, they watched the lines swaying in deadly conflict to and fro, she exclaimed bitterly, ‘O for an hour of Mothanna! Alas, alas, there is no Mothanna to-day!’ Stung by the taunt, Sád struck her on the face, and pointing to Asim and his band, said, ‘What of Mothanna? Is he to be compared with these?’ ‘Jealousy and cowardice!’ cried the high-spirited dame, faithful to her first husband’s memory. ‘Not so, by any means,’ said Sád somewhat softened; ‘I swear that no man will this day excuse me if thou dost not, who seest in what plight I lie.’ The people sided with the lady; but (tradition adds) Sád was no coward, and he lived the contumely down. [Sidenote: II. Day, called _Aghwâth_.] The morning was occupied with the wounded and the dead; and the day was advanced before fighting was resumed. Just then the first column of the Syrian contingent came in view. It was led by Cacâa, a host in himself, who hurried forward with a thousand men, leaving Hâshim to bring up the main body of five thousand more, the following day. By a skilful disposition Cacâa magnified his force, in the eyes both of friend and foe. He arranged his men in bands of a hundred, each following at a little distance behind the other. Advancing, he saluted Sád and his comrades, and bade them joy of the coming help. Then calling upon the rest to follow, he at once rode forth to defy the enemy. Dzul Hâjib, the hero of _the Bridge_, accepted the challenge. Cacâa recognised his foe; and crying out, ‘Now will I avenge Abu Obeid and those that perished at the Bridge,’ rushed on his man and cut him lifeless to the ground. As each of Cacâa’s squadrons came up, it charged with all the appearance of a fresh and independent column across the plain in sight of both armies, shouting the Takbîr, which was answered by the same ringing cheer, _Allah Akbar_, from the Moslem line. The spirits of the Arabs rose, and they forgot the disasters of yesterday. Equally the heart of the Persians sank. These saw their heroes slain, one after another, at the hands of Cacâa and his fellows.[271] They had no elephants this day, for their gear was not yet repaired. Pressed on all sides, their horse gave way, and Rustem was only saved by a desperate rally. The Persian infantry, however, stood their ground, and the day closed with the issue still trembling in the balance. The fighting was severe and the carnage great. Two thousand Moslems lay dead or wounded on the field, and ten thousand Persians. All night through the Arabs kept shouting the names and lineage of their several tribes. There was shouting, too, in the Persian camp. And so, encouraging themselves, each side awaited the final struggle.[272] [Sidenote: III. Day, called _Ghimâs_.]