The Day 4,300 Saints Told a Jewish King “No”

History loves warlords. Statues get built for rulers with blood on their swords. But the real legends? They’re the ones who wouldn't bow. Not to fire. Not to steel. Not even to kings.

In the sixth-century city of Najran, over four thousand believers looked at a tyrant’s threats, looked at death itself — and refused to flinch.

At the head of this defiance was an old man named Arethas. White beard, ninety-five years old, unshakable faith, and courage that no empire could buy. That day, he didn’t just die. He became a saint.

St. Arethas and 4299 martyrs with him

The ruler of that region was a power-hungry Jewish king named Dunaan. His court was stacked with Jews and pagan sun-worshipers. His agenda was simple: erase the name of Christ from his realm.

Najran, a thriving Christian city, refused to give in. Dunaan laid seige to the city, and then swore “by God and the Law” that he only wanted taxes. “Open the gates,” he said. “And I won’t attack your faith.”

They opened the gates. He walked in like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Then the mask fell.

He chained the city leaders — including St. Arethas, the respected magistrate and war-captain — looted their homes, and even desecrated the grave of their revered bishop, tearing up his tomb and burning his remains. He built a giant bonfire and threw in hundreds of clergy, monks, and nuns. He sent criers through the streets: “Renounce Christ and adopt our law—or die.”

The Jewish king mocked Christ openly: “He couldn’t even save Himself on the cross.” Arethas answered for the people—calm, exact, and crystal-clear: Christ truly suffered in His humanity, truly worked wonders as God, and is confessed as one divine Person. Christ is Lord. Period.

The king tried bribes. He tried threats. He tried theology at sword-point. The city’s answer didn’t budge.

Then came the blood.

Women and children were herded out first. The nuns—fiery and fearless—insisted on being executed before the married women: “We took the first places in church; we will take the first crowns here.” Mothers pressed forward, children tugging at their sleeves, shouting “Me first—cut off my head!” It stunned the executioners. It stunned the Jewish king.

One scene still scorches the page: a noble widow named Syncleticia, young but steel-spined, stood before the king with her two daughters. He promised her palaces and comfort if she would “stop calling on the Crucified ‘God.’” She laughed at his “honors,” called him out for blaspheming the very Lord who had given him breath, and watched as her twelve-year-old daughter spat in the tyrant’s face. The guards cut both daughters down in front of their mother, then shoved a cup of their blood to her lips. She lifted her eyes to heaven and called it a sacrifice: “Lord, I offer You my daughters—pure victims from my womb.” Then she, too, went to the sword.

By the end of the day, St. Arethas and 4299 with him had become holy martyrs.

At one point during the day, a courtier had tried arguing, “Doesn’t your Scripture say not to revile a ruler?” St. Arethas didn’t blink. He cited the prophet Elijah’s rebuke of king Ahab and answered with a line that ought to be blazoned onto the memory of every Christian:

“Anyone who reverently honors God does not break the law when he rebukes an evil king for his ungodliness.”

This isn’t anarchism. It’s hierarchy rightly ordered. God first. Then kings.

News of the city’s slaughter shot across the sea. In Constantinople, the Emperor Justin wrote to the Archbishop of Alexandria and urged him to send a request to King Caleb (Elesbaan), leader of the kingdom of Aksum (modern day Ethiopia). The archbishop prayed, called on numerous monks to intercede with prayers, and urged King Caleb to mobilize his forces.

King Caleb was already burning to go, but it was winter. He prepared with cold patience, putting together 120,000 troops, 70 ships, and 60 refitted merchant vessels.

At sea they encountered a daunting obstacle: a narrow, rock-choked strait guarded by a massive iron chain which the evil king Dunaan had stretched across the passage. It should have resulted in disaster.

Instead, a storm hit.

Not a wrecking storm — an assisting storm. Waves lifted up and rose “like mountains,” snatched the ships, and carried them over the rocks and chain as if God himself were putting His hand under the keels. One ship hung on the chain — then the water swelled and lifted it clear. The chain itself tore loose. King Caleb and his fleet poured through.

On shore, the enemy lines cracked. Routed units ran. The warriors of Aksum conquered Dunaan’s capital, seized his palace, captured his queen, and took control of his throne.

Then King Caleb brought swift justice. The Jewish tyrant Dunaan, who had sworn false oaths, burned churches, and mocked the Crucified One was executed.

King Caleb didn’t stop at victory. He rebuilt the churches, honored the relics and graves of the martyrs, freed the Christians, and appointed St. Arethas’s surviving son as military governor. He set up a righteous viceroy, enacted church and civil laws, and reconsecrated the land for Christ. Bishops and priests arrived from Alexandria to spiritually care for the survivors.

Then the king did the most shocking thing of all.

He walked away.

St. Caleb sent his royal crown to Jerusalem, slipped out of his palace at night dressed like a beggar, and became a monk. For fifteen years he prayed in a bare cell — no wine, no oil, a flatbread every three days, sometimes a few figs or dates — until he died in peace. The man who had wielded the sword for Christ laid it down at Christ’s feet.

St. Arethas and his people didn’t die for a party or a tribe. They didn’t die for comfort, wealth, or cultural clout. They died because Jesus is worth more than life.

And here’s the knife-edge question: if 4,300 ordinary believers could walk into fire for Jesus, what excuse do we have for folding under social pressure, internet mockery, or the convenience of a quiet life? We waffle over a job post, a PTA squabble, or a mean comment. They stared down pits, torches, and blades — and said “No.”

Their creed wasn’t theoretical. It was confessed in blood:

• Christ is Lord — one divine Person, fully God and fully man

• Kings have to answer to God — and a faithful Christian may rebuke a wicked ruler without breaking God’s law

• The Church remembers her dead — not as victims, but as victors whose blood is the seed of the Church

St. Arethas and the 4299 martyrs with him are commemorated on October 24. Light a candle that day. Say a prayer. Tell your kids about these holy saints, beginning with St. Arethas himself.

And if you ever wonder whether the Church should “stay out of it,” remember the holy saint, King Caleb. Sometimes the holiest thing a baptized ruler can do is put on armor, cross the sea with his armies, and stop the persecution of Christians. And sometimes the holiest thing he can do after that is to take off the crown and go to a monastic cell.

Either way, the last word didn’t belong to the wicked Jewish ruler.

The last word belongs to the King of Heaven — whom no tyrant can threaten and no blade can silence.

Read more about King Caleb in the following articles:

A King Who Went to War for the Cross

St. Caleb's War Elephants