THE ERA OF THE EMIRATES

The euphoria of victory drained off the very last drop of compassion from the hearts of the Abbasids as their swords sheared the heads of the Umayyads, with no distinction between old and young, male or female.  Their soldiers combed the country, routing up whoever was still in hiding.  They  had their priorities, though, and at the top of their list were three brothers who were still at large.

One of the three brothers was finally caught and executed. The other two remained on the run, taking the darkness of night for cover.  They had little trust in the Abbasids who had proclaimed amnesty for those Umayyads who surrendered.   When they reached the Euphrates river,  the two brothers jumped into the water, narrowly escaping the swords of the Abbasid soldiers.  The younger brother could not make it to the other bank. When he returned he was met with a blow of a sword which severed his head and sent it rolling down the muddy waters of the river.  When the older brother reached the safety of the other bank, he did not wait for his clothes to dry.  He started his long march which took him to north Africa through Palestine and Egypt.  The year was 750 AD.

His name was 'Abd ar-Rahman ibn Mu'awiya ibn Hisham ibn 'Abdul-Malik ibn Marwan ibn al-Hakam, who was to become the first Amir (Prince) of the independent state of Al-Andalus, and who was to be known in history as "Saqr Quraish", (The Eagle of Qureish), 'Abd ar-Rahman ad-Dakhil.

Upon his arrival in Qairawan, 'Abd ar-Rahman was warned that the  wali (governor) of the province was awaiting him, hardly with good intentions.  He could not understand the reasons behind such an attitude. He had not yet heard of the prophesy of the Jewish fortune teller at the court of the wali of Qairawan who had warned the wali against a one-eyed son-of-kings with two braids of hair falling on his shoulders, who was to come from the east and create a kingdom in the west.

Apprehensive of the intentions of the wali, 'Abd ar-Rahman continued running.. It seemed to him that his destiny was to stay on the run.  His wanderings took him from one village to the other and from one tribe to another, once in the open, but mainly under the cover of night, while the agents of the wali were after him.

Not even the Nafza tribe, from which his mother came, were  prepared to run the risk of affording him shelter and, in his quest to find his rightful place, 'Abd ar-Rahman realised that there were too many odds against him in Al-Maghrib. He had no support from anyone other than his faithful servant Badr, who had followed him from Damascus, and who was to play a significant role in his life later on.

Finally his wanderings took him to Ceuta, the same little harbour from which Tariq ibn Ziyad had set sail with his army to invade the Iberian Peninsula, and the same place where Balj ibn Bishr and his Syrian soldiers were besieged by the Berbers until they were allowed to cross the straits in that eventful venture, which saved the Arab forces from  the Berbers and their Christian allies in Al-Andalus.

Once in Ceuta, 'Abd ar-Rahman did not look back in the direction of the sands of Al-Maghrib.  It was too treacherous for him.  The wali in Qairawan was preparing to proclaim the independence of Al-Maghrib, thus closing the door in the face of the Abbasids.

With this in mind, and the prophesy of the Jewish fortune teller still alive in his memory, the wali was certainly not going to relax his grip and close his eyes to the hazards posed by the existence of a contestant within his own den. 'Abd ar-Rahman knew this only too well, and while sitting on his favourite rock on the beach in Ceuta, 'Abd ar-Rahman's eyes did not focus on the gentle waves that were lapping his feet. His eyes seemed to be glued to the opposite shore while his brains were busy trying to chart the course of his future, perhaps in the new province across the Straits.   He knew what was going on there and was aware of the agony of it's teething problems, an agony which was destined to last for most of the eight centuries of it's life, even as a state.

The prophecy of the Jewish fortune teller was not the only prophecy to usher the destiny of 'Abd ar-Rahman towards the throne.  While combing the beach, 'Abd ar-Rahman was reflecting on the events he had been through since his childhood. The memories of the massacre of his family, especially of his younger brother at the hands of the Abbasid soldiers by the river Euphrates, persisted vividly in spite of his efforts to banish them into oblivion.  It was during one of those moments that he remembered another prophecy.  He had just arrived with his two brothers at the palace of his grandfather al-Khalifa Hisham ibn Abdul-Malik, who was taking custody of his three grand children following the early death of their father.  Upon their arrival at the palace, an old man, not knowing who they were, took one look at 'Abd ar-Rahman, got him off his horse, hugged him warmly and turned to his companions saying that the boy was destined to make history and that he was to be a king.

To 'Abd ar-Rahman, those two prophesies and his several miraculous escapes from the claws of death could not be dismissed as a mere coincidence, and he knew only too well that if he was destined to wear the crown, that would not be in Al-Maghrib, but over there, across the straits.

 Day after day, 'Abd ar-Rahman's eyes, while sitting on his favourite rock on that beach strip in Ceuta, were glued to the shores of Al-Andalus where the stage seemed ideally set for the fulfilment of his dreams.  The country was torn by internal strife, with no central authority to hold the reins of government, for the authority of the government was challenged by the rebels, while the diversity of interests, political, tribal and ethnic, rendered the political arena dangerously vulnerable to the slightest military challenge.  As-Sumail, the un-crowned king, had been besieged by the rebels in his fortified castle at the northern city of Zaragoza while the puppet wali was in no position to extend a helping hand, being busy fighting the Basque so far away from his threatened capital.  Nor would he have done so, had he been able to, for he would have been much better off without the indignation of being a puppet in the hands of As-Sumail.

 To 'Abd ar-Rahman, that situation was yet another of the many miracles destiny was bestowing on him to fulfil his role in life.  As for the physical means necessary to finally realize this episode of his destiny, that was nothing more than a trivial detail for him.  All he needed was a handful of trusted supporters, and that was not difficult to rally among the Umayyad fugitives already in Al-Andalus.  The real thrust would come from the legitimacy of his cause.

It took Badr, his servant, very little effort to convince the Umayyad leaders in Al-Andalus to support his master in his endeavours to revive the Umayyad rule, and took 'Abd ar-Rahman less time to cross the straits upon the return of his servant.  Badr's  assurances of the loyalty and readiness of his people left Abd ar-Rahman with hardly any hesitation.

'Abd ar-Rahman was warmly met  by his future aids and supporters on 24 August 755 in Almunecar, to the east of Malaga,. Little time was wasted in formalities. Briefing sessions over, the Umayyad prince and his supporters concentrated on the preparation of detailed plans for the creation of the Umayyad state in Al-Andalus, which ultimately proved to be the golden era in the history of the Arabs in the Iberian Peninsula.

In the north, As-Sumail was trying in vain to repel the savage attacks of the combined Berber/Yemeni forces against his fortress, while part of the forces of the wali were busy trying to repel the attacks of those combined forces against Cordoba, and the other part was engaging the Basque in the north.  In the following spring, and having failed to bring As-Sumail to his side against the rebels, 'Abd ar-Rahman began his campaign by capturing  Seville in March 756, then headed  toward Cordoba with a small army of two thousand strong.

When the awesome news of 'Abd ar-Rahman's attack came to the ears of As-Sumail and the wali, who was still fighting the Basque, their already exhausted forces were ordered south towards Cordoba, and when the two armies finally came to grips, the fresh forces of 'Abd ar-Rahman registered their first victory, and with little effort captured Cordoba in May 756. The corner stone was laid for the Umayyad era which started as an Emirate and ended as a Caliphate.

'Abd ar-Rahman proved himself, in no time, to be made of a different fabric from that of the other rulers who had preceded him.  His ambitions knew no limits.  He was certainly not made to be second to anyone, no matter who.  He had an unshakeable conviction that he was the legitimate heir to the Umayyad caliphate which derived it's right to succeed Prophet Muhammad by virtue of the supremacy of the tribe of Quraysh, the most noble of the noble tribes of Arabia to which they belonged.  He also believed in himself.  He knew what he wanted, and knew how to achieve it.

There was little time to waste, for the dangers confronting him were grave, and they were many. 'Abd ar-Rahman's priorities were clear.  The first and most urgent was the need to create a professional army that was strong and well trained, with complete and singular loyalty to him personally.  To this end, he personally hand-picked his soldiers and commanders and painfully supervised their training. To 'Abd ar-Rahman, nothing was to be left to chance.

Abd ar-Rahman had three major enemies to reckon with, two of whom were on the threshold of his throne.  The first was the wali and his supporters who were fighting for what they considered their legitimate de-facto right. The second, the Christians who were struggling for the right to their own land.  The third was the Abbasids, along the Eastern shores of the Mediterranean, who laid claim to the inheritance of the province from the previous caliphate.

The second priority of 'Abd ar-Rahman was the creation of a new society free of fanaticism and tribal feuds, served by a government able to instil social justice and equality.  He wanted to see his people live like one big family, with love and peace in that territory which was endowed with abundance and beauty. But he also knew that in that territory, the soil of which was already saturated with blood, and it's air with hatred, preaching alone would never suffice.  So his approach was based on a two pronged policy, the olive branch and the sword.

Circumstances, however, soon determined the final choice. He was forced to draw his sword, and it was his destiny to keep it drawn for over twenty years, hardly ever returning it to it's sheath, and hardly ever sleeping with both eyes shut.  One day trouble came from the deposed wali, the other, from As-Sumail.  No sooner had he put off a rebellion in Toledo than another erupted in Seville, until one day, in 761, Beja, in the south west of the country (Portugal), hoisted the black banner of the Abbasids.

This was, by far, the most serious challenge the young prince had yet faced.  But what made it even more serious, was the fact that it had attracted all the other factions outside the sphere of the central authority, and united yesterdayís  enemies  in one army, be it even under the leadership of the Abbasids; and so the Qaisis joined forces with the Yemenis and the Fihris with the Berbers, despite their conflicting interests. Different groups had different reasons for wanting to get rid of the Umayyads.  Some were dissatisfied by the way the Umayyads had been running the affairs of Al-Andalus. Others, especially the ambitious adventurers, felt that the presence of a strong ruler belonging to the royal Umayyad family meant the end of their chances in ever grasping power.

The enormous disparity in strength was not, however, to discourage the strong man of Cordoba.  Wasting no time, 'Abd ar-Rahman mobilised his relatively small, but well trained army, and marched towards Beja.  But the good training of his army proved not a match to the great numerical superiority of the united rebel forces, and consequently he was forced to retreat and take refuge in the invincible fortress of Carmona to the north east of Seville, where he and his army were besieged for several months until their supplies were depleted.  But again, 'Abd ar-Rahman was not to yield to despair, and the time he had spent under siege was not idly wasted.

'Abd ar-Rahman was quite aware of the helplessness of his situation, but he was also aware that the forces surrounding him were convinced that sooner or later the gates of the fortress would open up and the white banners of surrender would be hoisted therefrom.  But when the gates of the fortress did finally open, the waiting rebel soldiers outside saw no white flags but the flashing swords of the besieged army as they were reaping their heads by the thousand, including that of their leader, Al-'Ala' ibn al-Mugheith al-Yahsubi.  Following this disastrous blitz, the survivors of the massacre ran as fast, and as far away as their feet could carry them, describing with horror, as they ran, what that Umayyad demon had done.

But what 'Abd ar-Rahman had done, he wanted the caliphate in Baghdad to know of.  He wanted it to be a warning.

So he collected the severed heads of the leaders of the rebellion, attached name-tags to their ears, despatched them secretly to Qairawan, now within the grip of the Abbasids, and had them distributed, under the cover of night, along the dark alleys of the town. The following morning, the frightening sight of the severed heads created havoc, the echoes of which were soon to be heard in Baghdad.  When the details came to the knowledge of Al-Mansur, the Abbasid Khalifa in Baghdad, he praised God for "creating a sea between us and that demon".

However, the story of the severed heads did not seem to have created a deterrent strong enough to harness the ambitions of stubborn heads soon to emerge from the debris.  'Abd ar-Rahman's sceptre was however quick in adding them to the ever growing pile of heads of those who had tried to grab the throne from him.

For years this state of affairs continued.  Rebellion after rebellion erupted and was crushed. Conspiracy after conspiracy was forged and foiled, and heads rolled by the thousand. One wondered whether the stench of the dead had become part and parcel of the daily life of the people of Al-Andalus.

 But the troubles did not emanate only from individuals. The Berbers moved again.  Their previous experience seemed not to have provided an adequate deterrent. Again they were crushed and so was their leader Al-Fatimi.

Those and many other rebellions, master minded by certain Arab and Berber leaders afforded little time for 'Abd ar-Rahman to think of the dangers posed by the nationalistic tendencies which were growing rapidly among the Christian resistance movement in the north, nor of the designs of Charlemagne for the expulsion of the Muslims from the European soil by leading the Christian forces in a kind of a crusade to that end.  It was even said that an alliance was struck between Charlemagne and the Abbasid Khalifa Al-Mansur with that aim in mind.

But although there is no evidence to confirm this, there is adequate  evidence of a conspiracy involving Charlemagne and two of the Arab governors of Al-Andalus, Al-A'rabi of Barcelona and Al-Ansari of Zaragoza.  The plan was for Charlemagne to proceed to Zaragoza first.  But when he arrived there with his forces in 778, he found the gates of the city shut off. For, in the meanwhile, Al-Ansari, the governor had withdrawn from the alliance.  So Charlemagne had no alternative but order his troops back home with the idea of concentrating on a defensive rather than offensive strategy on his own soil, as a measure against possible reprisals from 'Abd ar-Rahman. While retreating through the Roncesvalles pass his rear-guard was attacked by Basque elements and the army supplies looted.

So 'Abd ar-Rahman's good luck was manifested again by the collapse of this extremely serious conspiracy.  He did not even have to go through the trouble of punishing the two rebels, for they liquidated each other soon after.

Twenty years had passed since 'Abd ar-Rahman, the Immigrant, the Eagle of Quraysh landed on the shores of Al-Andalus.  The black hair of the young prince had turned grey, and throughout this transformation, his ears had heard nothing but sabre rattling, his eyes had seen nothing but blood oozing from the necks and his nose had smelt nothing but the odours of horses, the sweat of soldiers and the stench of corpses.  But when finally his iron grip unified the nation, and law and order finally prevailed, the lance shrank into a chisel, the arrow dwarfed into a pen and the sabre softened into a fiddle stick, and for the first time since Tariq ibn Ziyad had set foot on the Iberian soil, the Islamic conglomeration began moulding into nation-hood.  And amidst all this, 'Abd ar-Rahman's memories often carried him back to Damascus, his home, which he had to abandon over thirty years before, while sinking in a whirlpool of blood.  Blood here and blood there, and to ''Abd ar-Rahman, it seemed sometimes that his destiny was kneaded with blood.

However, 'Abd ar-Rahman had no regrets and no undue weight on his conscience.  He had not singled out the colour of red from the rainbow, rather, the other colours had been screened off from his spectrum too early in life, before he could even distinguish one from the other.  The only sense of pity he had was towards himself. For in spite of all his political, military and administrative accomplishments, he was unable to maintain a friend to comfort him when his tired limbs could finally stretch in peace; not even his own servant Badr.  For they all became too weary of his moods and had to abandon him for their own safety, and it was then that the lion turned dove, and his roaring melted into faint expressions of yearning for his home and his people back in Damascus in paradoxically sweet warm poetry, certainly not consistent with the image forced on him by circumstances.

But before yielding to his premature old age, 'Abd ar-Rahman managed to lay down the foundations on which the Umayyad state was established.  For the first time since the Arab conquest of the Iberian peninsula, a central administrative structure was set up, covering all aspects of government.  To entrench those accomplishments, a strong and well trained professional army was created, and a palace was built on the outskirts of Cordoba, along the lines of his grandfather's palace in Damascus, and carrying it's name, Ar-Rasafah,  and the famous mosque of Cordoba  founded in 786.

 'Abd ar-Rahman was only fifty four years of age when he felt his time was coming to an end, and it was only then that he began thinking of the issue of succession.  He had eleven sons and nine daughters. All, but one, Suleiman, the eldest, were born from his Spanish wife.  The logical choice would have been Suleiman, being the eldest. Suleiman was born in Damascus prior to the escape of his father, then brought to Cordoba when it was deemed safe for him to undertake such a journey.

However, Suleiman, unlike his half brother Hisham, was not considered by his father as capable, serious and educated, as his second son Hisham, to bear such a great responsibility as head of a state like Al-Andalus in the circumstances which then prevailed.  So, while all his other troubles seemed to have been resolved, the only dilemma that faced 'Abd ar-Rahman, during his last days, was the problem of succession.  The man of decision was unable to take a decision on that issue during his life time, and finally preferred to leave it to chance.   A very primitive idea came to his mind.  He called one of his other sons, 'Abdullah, and handed over to him his ring and instructed him to hand it over to either Suleiman or Hisham, whoever arrived first after his death. Should Hisham be the first, he told him, he had the virtues of piety, integrity and the consensus of the people.  Should Suleiman be the first, he had the virtue of his age, his gallantry and the love of the Syrians for him.  The first to arrive from where they were holding office, was Hisham.  He took the ring and became the second  emir of the Umayyad state of Al-Andalus.

It was in the year 789 when 'Abd ar-Rahman passed away after having set the foundation of the Umayyad state in Al-Andalus which was to last nearly three centuries.  However, 'Abd ar-Rahman, whose calculations throughout his life, as a man and as a ruler, were always characterised by a high degree of precision and far sightedness, had not imagined that his failure in deciding on the issue of succession would bring so much trouble to his successor.

For as soon as the new emir Hisham ibn 'Abd ar-Rahman sat on the throne, the throne began rocking underneath him as his half brother Suleiman, who considered himself the rightful heir to that throne, declared a rebellion in Toledo, where he had held the post of governor.  To make things even more painful for Hisham, the other brother Abdullah, who had handed over to him their father's ring upon the latter's death, had joined the rebellion declared by Suleiman.

Hisham, who was then thirty three years of age, reacted swiftly and firmly against his two brothers, and in no time was in Toledo crushing the rebellion and banishing the two brothers to Al-Maghrib.

From the outset, Hisham demonstrated an ability to be decisive and unbending. He very cleverly capitalised on the gains accomplished painfully by his father, who was able to tame the rebellious heads and prostrate all the trouble makers in the state.  This, however, did not preclude minor attempts in Zaragoza and Tortosa by some individual adventurers and by the Berbers in Ronda.  But these were by no means of the same magnitude of the ones that faced his father, and were not difficult for him to subdue.  This tranquillity thus enabled him to concentrate on the enemy in the north, who always tended to take advantage of the take-over periods and attack the Arab out-posts while the new ruler was still busy sorting out the inheritance.  To abort possible threats against the Arab state, Hisham carried out regular campaigns against the resistance strongholds in the north, sometimes as a punishment for attacks on the Arab out-posts, but most often, to remind the Christian kingdoms  of the omnipotent presence of the Arabs and their ability to strike whenever and wherever it was deemed necessary for the safety and security of the state.

Hisham's era was characterised by tranquillity.  His quiet placid nature and his piety certainly contributed toward the creation of an atmosphere of reconciliation and stability in the country, and his love for science, culture and theology attracted him to the scientists, theologians and scholars who eventually became his permanent companions.  After the day's work Hisham opened his doors ajar letting in those friends to join him in his intellectual indulgence.

In the world of Islam, and especially in the eastern Muslim countries, a number of theological schools of thought were evolving with diversified interpretations of the Qura'an and of the teachings of Prophet Muhammad, and those interpretations, especially those of Anas ibn Malik, were carried to al- Andalus by travellers returning home after their pilgrimage to Mecca, and by students studying in those countries.  Hisham's closest associates, the "faqihs", (Islamic jurists), spared no effort in spreading the Maliki thought in the land and rendering it official through its adoption by the ruler. Hisham never realised the impact that his association with those "faqihs" was likely to have on the state of affairs in the country as time passed by, nor did he imagine the extent of problems that his successor was likely to inherit as a result of their growing influence.

For as a natural result of his daily association with the faqihs, their influence in the court gradually grew into rather uncontrollable dimensions.  Such influence however, was not void of positive aspects.  For thanks to them,  Hisham made the teaching of Arabic mandatory in all schools, Muslim and Christian.  The result of such a policy was felt later on, when it brought closer the two main factions of society through the medium of language, and consequently enhanced their amalgamation into one cultural entity. Another positive result of that association was the priority Hisham attached to the completion and expansion of the great mosque of Cordoba which had a dual role in the life of the country namely, worship and education.  For the great mosque  eventually offered university facilities where various disciplines were taught.

Otherwise, Hisham's era witnessed little development or change, and history remembered him as a humble, generous, pious and tender-hearted ruler, never failing to share with his people their joy or their sorrow, never allowing injustice to be administered neither on the poor nor on the rich.

Hisham died quite young in 796, not much over forty, and was succeeded by his son Al-Hakam I ibn Hisham , known as ar-Rabdi. Al-Hakam was twenty six when he sat on his father's throne.  He did not realise what was hidden for him under that throne, nor the immensity of the dangers  which eventually threatened the very existence of the state and the continuity of the Umayyad rule, had it not been for certain qualities which Al-Hakam inherited from his grandfather Abd ar-Rahman and by-passed his father.  For, unlike his father he was a man of action, courage and determination and certainly not lacking in cruelty.

Al-Hakam's first problem came to him from his two uncles whom his father had banished to Al-Maghrib. The second problem came from the enemy in the north, as well as from adventurers and fortune seekers who, as usual took the opportunity of the installation exercise of the new ruler to launch their campaigns and try their luck.  Hisham's two uncles, Suleiman and Abdullah, had  never given up the hope of regaining the right of  Suleiman ,the eldest son of Abd ar-Rahman to the throne of Al-Andalus.  So they both crossed the straits and headed towards Cordoba with a group of supporters, hoping to overthrow al-Hakam. But that futile attempt cost Suleiman his life, whereas his brother, Abdullah fled to Zaragoza in the hope of waging his offensive from there with the help of Charlemagne.  Al-Hakam, however, managed to immobilise him by appointing him governor of Valencia.

 Al-Hakam also realised that there were always ways to overcome one's enemies or at least neutralise them, with minimal cost, provided one was endowed with appropriate qualities; and Al-Hakam was certainly not lacking in this context. He was shrewd, cunning and courageous, and above all, cruel. His strategy was simple: win the confidence of the leaders of the Toledo rebellion, and then liquidate them with minimal sacrifice on his part. To win their confidence, al-Hakam dismissed the Arab governor, as a gesture towards the leaders of Toledo and a proof of his determination to address their problems and  alleviate their grievances. So he appointed a new governor in 807 from Huesca, a Muwallad by the name 'Amrus, with a mandate to attend to their special needs.  'Amrus played his role with intelligence and efficiency, and was soon to win the peoples' unshakeable confidence.  One of his first priorities was to build an invincible fortress within the city for its protection and that of its people against unforeseen dangers.  No one suspected the real motive.  If anything, they hailed the undertaking as a step toward self rule.

When all arrangements for the execution of the plot were finalised, 'Amrus signalled al-Hakam who despatched his son at the head of an army northward in the direction of Toledo, but not to Toledo itself. An announcement was issued to the effect that the army was heading north to quell a suspicious movement beyond Toledo.  The army by-passed Toledo but soon turned back hoisting the banners of victory over the fictitious enemy whose revolt was duly quelled. For good order's sake, word was sent to the governor of Toledo that the army would be camping for the night on the outskirts of Toledo. Amrus gathered the leaders of the city and announced that as a matter of courtesy and for the sake of good relations with the central authority, he was going to meet the young prince at his camp, and that a similar gesture on the part of the leaders of Toledo would likewise be welcome and advisable.

The delegation was most courteously met by the prince whose charm overwhelmed them. They even insisted on him to visit their town and see their invincible fortress.  Amrus seized the opportunity and invited the prince and his generals to a banquet in the fortress, where all the leaders and notables of Toledo would be there to welcome the prince and his entourage.

When the leaders arrived amidst pomp, torch light and music, they were ushered in, one by one, through a door behind which was a narrow platform leading to a ditch. Receiving the guests behind the door were two executioners with heavy sharp swords with which they efficiently struck the necks of individual guests as they entered, and then dumped them down the ditch.  When the last guest entered  through the fateful door, the ditch containing the beheaded bodies of the leaders of Toledo was neatly covered with earth and with them was buried their revolt.

Having rid himself of the dangers posed by his uncles and by the Toledo rebels, al-Hakam turned his attention towards state affairs.  But not for long.  There emerged another problem yet which he had to contend with before attending to his normal duties, and this one proved far more dangerous and pressing than that of Toledo.  This danger was posed by his father's closest friends, the "faqihs", whose influence had grown to intolerable dimensions during his father's time.  But al-Hakam had from the outset felt uncomfortable about the extent of that influence, and made no effort to conceal that discomfort.

Al-Hakam had quite a different outlook to life than that of his father.  He, as already mentioned, was closer in character to his grandfather.  He had a strong personality and was not to accept the custodianship of the "faqihs" and religious leaders, as his father did.  He was not a strict adherent to religion, rather, he was a worldly man who attached a certain degree of importance to the satisfaction of his sensual needs.

A man of this character could never remain captive to theologians nor to their strict rules of conduct, and the doors his father had kept ajar for this group of people was firmly shut, and opened only to a well chosen group of a completely different type. It was only normal for the now out-of-favour group to grudge and plot.  A campaign was soon launched with the aim of blemishing the image of the prince among the poorer people of Cordoba, where, as is always the case, the influence of religious demagogy is strongest, and where religion is instinctively used as a weapon that is difficult for the ruler to suppress, let aside destroy.  The campaign continued systematically and viciously and a plot aiming at the overthrow of the Emir was finalised, but was discovered at the very last moment as a result of a miscalculation.  The conspirators had tried to involve one of the relatives of the Emir in the plot, thinking that certain old family feuds with the Emir would induce him to participate.  It seemed those feuds were not deep enough for this relative to venture in a plot of this magnitude against the ruler; and rather than joining forces with them he revealed the whole plot to the emir. At dawn, the day after, there were over seventy corpses hanging on their crosses outside the palace walls.

Al-Hakam was not the type of man who would leave things to chance.  He knew only too well that further attempts were forthcoming. For the blow those religious groups had suffered by being stripped of their influence in the royal court, was too much for them to accept, and if one attempt had failed they were likely to strike again.  So vigilance around the palace was intensified and fortifications further strengthened.

As expected, the surviving leaders of the plot continued conspiring, and one day, while al-Hakam was out on a hunting trip, an attempt was made on the palace.  When word came to al-Hakam he rushed back home and again crushed the revolt and its leaders with even more fervour than he did the previous time.  It then became evident to the remaining leaders that any further attempt would have to be subjected to better scrutiny and well designed preparations, and should be delayed until al-Hakam felt more relaxed, thinking perhaps that the whole idea of plotting against him had been completely abandoned.

They waited nearly twelve years before they decided that the time was ripe for the final blow.  In the meanwhile they left no stone un-turned to blemish the reputation of the ruler. This campaign was aimed at ar-Rabd, a poor suburb across the river, where the poor working class lived under destitute conditions. In circumstances like those, it is never too difficult to arouse the feelings of hatred and fury of the needy and discontented, nor is it too difficult to sway the masses if the word of God is cleverly used and cunningly interpreted. And the 'faqihs'' were certainly not wanting in the art of articulating the commandments of the Creator and His Messenger in the way that suited their schemes.

Thus al-Hakam was branded as a heretic who had abandoned the teachings of Islam, and forsaken the righteous path pursued by his pious father, and therefore deserved to be destroyed.  They were waiting for a spark, wherever it might come from.  One day a little incident took place which could have passed unnoticed in normal circumstances, had it not been intelligently and shrewdly utilised.

The spark was finally triggered off in 818 when the sword of one of the Emir's soldiers fell on the head of a blacksmith in ar-Rabd, following an argument over the sharpening of the soldier's sword. Against the background of hatred for the ruler, and consequently, for his agents, fury struck the multitudes of inquisitive passers-by, and their fury was instantly utilised by the self-appointed religious leaders who wasted no time in leading them across the bridge to the palace. Thousands upon thousands of angry crowds surrounded the Palace, armed with anything they could lay their hands on. The scene from the top looked frightening. But Al-Hakam was not the type to panic.  He hand-picked a few of his best cavalrymen and sent them off cutting their way like darts through the stunned crowds, then across the bridge towards ar-Rabd.

The Cordoba Bridge

Not realising what that handful of cavalrymen were up to, the angry crowds continued battering the gates of the palace while shouting abuse at the Emir, until they saw smoke rising to the sky above ar-Rabd.  It was only then that they had realised what the mission of those few soldiers was, and as quickly as they gathered, they dispersed across the bridge in an effort to save their families and homes.

But that was not the end of the Rabd revolt.  For as soon as the crowds dispersed, the palace guards were sent off with a mandate to massacre the leaders of the revolt and anyone else they might encounter in the process. Once again at dawn, the day after, no less than three hundred bodies were exhibited outside the palace gate, not to mention those who were slain by the soldiers and left on the streets.  But again, that was not the end. Al-Hakam was bitten three times, and was not to be bitten again.  He loaded the whole population of ar-Rabd on boats and deposited them on the shores of Al-Maghrib across the Straits.

In a few days there was no one to be seen where the Rabd was, for the Rabd was completely erased from the face of the earth.    Some eight thousand of them settled down in Al-Maghrib, while the rest, some fifteen thousand marched on eastward.  Their march finally took them to Alexandria, Egypt, which fell into their hands temporarily until they were overcome in 828 by the Abbasid forces.  The odyssey of those unfortunate people finally ended in the island of Crete, where they established a kingdom which lasted for more than a hundred years until recaptured by the Byzantine army in the year 961.

However, the problems of al-Hakam by no means ended with the crushing of the Rabd revolt.  For in the midst of continuing unrest and conspiracies within his own house, it was only natural for the enemy in the north to seize the opportunity of internal strife in order to attack the remote garrisons which were far away from the Arab military concentrations. In fact a number of campaigns were carried out against those outposts, some under the leadership of Louis, the son of Charlemagne, culminating in the irrevocable loss of Barcelona in the year 801, and the signing by the Arabs of an armistice with Charlemagne covering the areas bordering Gaul (France).  Other campaigns were carried out by the Christian king Alfonso, one of which took him as far as Lisbon in Portugal, which fell into his hands in the year 798, then recaptured by al-Hakam in the year 810.

With this background of internal strife and  attacks from the Christians in the north, al-Hakam was in no position to accomplish much.  However, the best thing he offered to the Arab rule in Al-Andalus, for years to come, was the appointment of his son Abd ar-Rahman as his successor, thus enabling him to sit on the throne peacefully, without the need to walk over heaps of skulls, as was often the case when the issue of succession was not resolved during the life of the ruler.

Al-Hakam's era came to an end with his death in 822, after twenty five years punctuated by conspiracies, revolts and blood-shed. In this sense it was not much different from what was witnessed by most of his predecessors. Like most of his predecessors, he was also active in his campaigns against the enemy who was continuously pecking at the extremities of the state.  Otherwise history did not show many entries to his credit in it's books.

But with all the grave problems which faced him almost continuously, al-Hakam managed to express his worldly whims through the introduction of the seeds of luxury into palace life, a trend which was to continue in the palaces of Andalusian rulers till the last day of the Arab rule in Al-Andalus.
 

When 'Abd ar-Rahman II sat on the throne of the emirate in the year 822, the swords of his father were still smeared with the blood of conspirators and adventurers who had tried over and over again to pull down the pillars of the central government in Cordoba.  The internal strife had already exhausted the obstinate adventurers who had tried in vain to step to power over his remains. So when 'Abd ar-Rahman took over the reins, there was relative calm, with the exception of a  few attempts by greedy heads, as well as a number of tribal clashes and odd uprisings in Toledo, Merida, Mallorca and Algeciras in addition to occasional unrest by the Berbers. However, by Andalusian standards of the time, those problems were not of a magnitude to cause undue alarm, and were  crushed swiftly and efficiently. Thus tranquillity and peace prevailed throughout the land. There was, however one major event which caused a great deal of concern to the state namely, the attempt by the Normans to invade the country in the year 844.

In that year, the Norman forces arrived in their war vessels, first in Lisbon, where they were beaten off by the Arab defences, then in Seville, where they came to grips with 'Abd ar-Rahman's forces and were again beaten off, but not before causing extensive damage to the city and losing a number of vessels themselves.  This attempt, however, caused bells of peril to ring in the ears of 'Abd ar-Rahman regarding the need to reinforce the Arab naval forces.

The Normans, however, convinced of the determination of the Arabs to defend the integrity of the state were soon to send an ambassador to make amends and establish friendly relations with the Arab ruler, a gesture which was soon reciprocated, marking the first diplomatic exchange with a foreign state.

The following years were marked by peace, tranquillity, prosperity and tolerance until, in the year 850, a serious event threatened the cohesion of the Andalusian society, where the various elements, Arab, Berber and Christian, had enjoyed the freedom of religion and worship in an atmosphere of blissful tolerance and openness. This atmosphere, of course, was instrumental in the rapid increase in the number of Christians who were adopting the Arab way of life, their culture, and their traditions, and consequently becoming more involved in the Arab social life, and thus benefiting from the opportunities of participation in public life on equal footing with the Arabs.

As already noted, two categories of Christians had associated themselves with the Muslims.  The first was the category of Christians who had adopted Islam or were born to Christian mothers and Muslim fathers.  Those were the muwallads. This category, which had completely fused into the Muslim society to the extent of adopting Arab genealogies, soon out-numbered the Muslims of pure Arab stock.  By the tenth century the fusion became almost complete and there was no racial distinction of any importance.

The other category was that of the arabized Christians, the mozarabs who had retained their religion but adopted Arab culture, language and traditions.

There appeared to have been more than one motive for this association, the most important of which was perhaps the admiration they had for Arab culture in the absence of a local alternative which was within the reach of the common people.  For although Seville had a flourishing cultural movement which was started by Isodore prior to the Muslim invasion, the doors to that culture were controlled by the ecclesiastical and ruling elite, and only those associated with this elite were granted the privilege of benefiting from this movement. Thus the multitude of Christians found little in their Iberian culture to command their admiration. In fact, even though the Muwallads, who had completely fused in the Muslim society had suffered at times from the superiority shown by the Arabs over them, deep inside them they knew they had scarcely an argument against that.

It was not surprising therefore that displeasure was often voiced by Christian writers and ecclesiastical authorities regarding the attitude of this category towards the foreign invaders and their culture who, they claimed, had become so conversant with the Arab language and literature and increasingly contemptuous of the beauty of their Christian literature, a trend which caused concern among the clergy for fear that a growing number of their congregation was detaching itself steadily from their own society and religious practices, and were therefore becoming more vulnerable to conversion to Islam.

It was against this background that the clergy developed a strategy based on addressing the emotions of their people through the concept of martyrdom.

The tactic to be followed was based on religious provocation leading to punishment, and the punishment in such matters, as they knew very well, was death, even for a Muslim.

The first provocation took place after the morning prayers on the first day of Eid-al-Fitr, the Muslim feast celebrating the end of the holy month of Ramadan, when a priest by the name of Perfecto approached two Muslims as they were emerging from the mosque and invoked a discussion about religion, which led to a comparison between Muhammad and Christ, culminating in insults poured by Perfecto against Muhammad and Islam. The two men denounced Perfecto to the authorities. When he was brought before the competent judge he did not deny the charges. Moreover, in spite of repeated efforts by the judge to extract an apology from Perfecto, in order to avoid inflicting the penalty of death against a cleric, and thus cause an unnecessary cleavage between the two major elements of society, Perfecto insisted on his statements. He was adamant upon martyrdom, and thus was executed.

The brain behind this strategy was a young priest by the name of Eulogio. Eulogio rejoiced. He wasted little time in capitalising upon this gain, and seeing the extent of indignation and fury felt by his congregation and by the Christian elements of society, he launched a campaign to mobilise the religious feelings of the mozarabs against Islam, and soon the list of martyrs rose to eleven including a young girl called Flora.

Flora had been born to a Muslim father and a Christian mother.  When the father died, the mother brought Flora up according to strict Christian ideals. Then when she met Eulogio, she was greatly influenced by his ideas, and was soon to become a candidate for martyrdom. Flora had a friend of the same age by the name of Maria. The two young ladies were soon enlisted by Eulogio and began playing the role assigned to them with diligence as a result of which, they were brought to trial. Being women, the judge exceeded his normal limits in an effort to extract an apology or an expression of repentance. But the glory of martyrdom was stronger than life to them, and notwithstanding the clarity of the law concerning such a crime, the judge sentenced them to imprisonment rather than death. Neither did they keep silent behind  bars. For it seemed Eulogio's words continued  seeping through those bars filling them with more defiance and determination. When their abuse could not be tolerated any further, the judge finally ordered their execution in November 851, thus adding their names to the list of saints.

When it became evident that the death penalty was only enhancing the desire for martyrdom, and thus playing into the hands of the clergy of Cordoba, 'Abd ar-Rahman asked the Christian religious leaders of the country to call for an ecclesiastical council to consider the dangerously deteriorating situation and take the necessary steps to put an end to it.  The council of top ranking representatives of the church from various parts of the Peninsula came out with a statement denouncing provocative behaviour and appealing for tolerance and mutual respect of religious beliefs. Eulogio, however, turned a deaf ear to the appeal of his superiors and continued his campaign with even more vigour.

Peaceful endeavours having failed, 'Abd ar-Rahman reluctantly ordered him jailed, not executed. He meant to deny him and his followers the honour of martyrdom and the continued use of that lethal weapon. Then soon after, and as a gesture of good will, the Emir ordered his release provided he left Cordoba for good.  But Eulogio, who had enjoyed the taste of success of his strategy, was soon to return to Cordoba and resume his campaign. 'Abd ar-Rahman had no alternative now but to take him to court where he was sentenced to death in 859, thus crowning the list of martyrs with the name of their leader, Saint Eulogio.

With the disappearance of Eulogio, the movement subsided, but not without leaving its stain on Muslim-Christian relations. The flower of goodwill, which had spontaneously bloomed was now withering, and was never to be fully  revived to its previous vigour.

Otherwise, and with the exception of routine campaigns against enemy positions in Astoria and the Basque areas, Abdul-Rahman's era was one of relative tranquillity and openness, and even witnessed diplomatic exchanges between Cordoba and Constantinople.

There was, however, another front, away from the main land, which kept 'Abd ar-Rahman occasionally busy, namely, the Balearic Islands: Mallorca, Menorca, Ibiza and Formentera, which had played quite an important role in protecting the eastern flanks of the Arab state of Al-Andalus from possible surprises, and later on, in engaging the crusader forces sailing towards the Holy land from both Gaul and Italy.

To understand better the involvement of 'Abd ar-Rahman in the affairs of these islands, it is worth probing into the historical background of the Arab involvement in what the Arabs of today sometimes call 'the forgotten islands of the Baleares'.

The first contact the Arabs had with those islands was during the Arab invasion of North Africa, long before they set foot on the Iberian soil, when naval expeditions were directed against the Mediterranean islands of Sicily, Sardinia, Malta, Corsica and the Baleares. Those campaigns were, however, not intended for conquest, but for the destruction of the Byzantine forces based in those islands with view of forestalling possible surprise attacks against the Arab forces in North Africa.

The first such campaign against the Balearic islands took place in the year 698, and it's target was Ibiza, followed by another in 703, under the leadership of 'Abd al-Aziz, the son of Musa ibn-Nuseir, the commander of the Arab forces in North Africa, and later, the governor of Al-Maghrib.   The third campaign against Ibiza was under the leadership of 'Abdullah, the second son of Musa in 708, followed by a fourth campaign, this time against Mallorca, also under his leadership. This campaign, however, took the shape of conquest, following which a pact was forged between the Arabs and the rulers of the islands granting them some sort of self rule under the protection of the Arabs, a pact which was respected to some extent until abrogated by the rulers of those islands in the wake of their alliance with Charlemagne in 778 during the reign of 'Abd ar-Rahman I.

Since then, the supremacy over the islands alternated between Charlemagne and the Arabs until finally re conquered by the Arabs in 820, during the reign of 'Abd ar-Rahman II who concluded another pact with the islands, only to be abrogated after a while.  It was then decided by Abd ar-Rahman to dispatch a formidable fleet of 300 vessels in the year 848, with the aim of teaching those islands a lesson that would be difficult to forget. But the lesson was actually forgotten sooner than Abd ar-Rahman had thought.  For Abd ar-Rahman passed away shortly after.

But leaving aside sabre rattling, in search of the other side of 'Abd ar-Rahman's personality, a pleasant surprise emerges. For behind the cold armour there was warmth, and under the mask of brutality 'Abd ar-Rahman concealed a high degree of intelligence and sensitiveness, and when he felt he was finally able to sleep with both eyes closed, he focused his attention on construction. It was, thanks to him, that statehood was finally institutionalised, society organised and a whole life style drawn for both the ruler and the ruled.  For anyone to be able to accomplish this against the bloody background in which Al-Andalus found itself in since the Arab conquest, one had to have a minimum of rare qualities.  'Abd ar-Rahman had more than just that.

Through his exceptionally versatile personality, 'Abd ar-Rahman was able to upgrade the rather austere Spartan society to relative affluence, and to transform a make-shift sort of administration into a modern institutionalised government, which provided the population with modern services as well as legislation for the proper administration of justice; and soon schools, roads, bridges, public baths, water points, street lights and clinics were being built and enjoyed by more and more people. Above all, the sense of satisfaction and tranquillity, after years of strife and bloodshed, seemed to the people to offer a healthy alternative.

Like his grandfather Hisham, 'Abd ar-Rahman opened his doors for  scholars.  But unlike the companions of his grandfather, those of 'Abd ar-Rahman did not include the hard core "faqihs'" nor the religious jugglers and demagogues.  'Abd ar-Rahman was very careful in his selection of companions.  The stress on quality was quite evident, be it among scholars, scientists, men of letters or arts.  With that drive, and through the council of his companions, 'Abd ar-Rahman sowed the seeds of a cultural, scientific and architectural movement which paved the way for the  formidable prosperity which Al-Andalus was to witness during the reign of this Prince and later on during the golden days of his name sake, Abd ar-Rahman III. And in the process, 'Abd ar-Rahman certainly did not over look the needs of the ruler for a certain level of luxury to suit the image of that emerging powerful state.

But how did that colossal leap happen in a territory which had been torn by revolts and civil strife and drowned in pools of blood and tears. How was that distant isolated Arab able to realise all that great artistic, literary and scientific enterprises which eventually grew into epic dimensions placing Al-Andalus, in the unchallenged position of leadership on the road of civilisation. And why did some historians refer to the era of 'Abd ar-Rahman as the "Days of the Bride".

Abd ar-Rahman's exceptional qualities of tolerance, piety, goodness and generosity were being matched by those of his people.  A sense of blissful existence prevailed throughout the land and was enjoyed by the population at large, and contrary to many a ruler throughout history,  Abd ar-Rahman had no fear of the intellectuals neither had he any sense of inferiority towards them.  He opened up to them and they gave their best.

When 'Abd ar-Rahman eventually opened up to evolution,  Al-Andalus was not isolated from the rest of the world.  Contacts with the Arabs of the east had in fact never ceased, and the caravans between the eastern and the western flanks of the empire continued plying between east and west carrying goods and transporting people who travelled either for trade or for pilgrimage, or in pursuit of knowledge. For beyond the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, it was Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasids, that caught the imagination of scholars and artists in al-Andalus. It was there that the great books of the Greeks, Indians and Persians were being translated, their theories elaborated and their culture digested and synthesised, and it was there that one of the world's greatest libraries, Dar-el-Hikmah was established. The news of those developments and accomplishments were regularly carried to Al-Andalus by the returnees who also often carried back with them new books and art objects and recited the latest poetry and song they heard in Baghdad.
 

However 'Abd ar-Rahman's interest in science, literature and art had developed long before he sat on the throne of Al-Andalus, when he  sent one of the most learned men of Al-Andalus, Abbas-ibn-Naseh to Baghdad to survey the latest scientific accomplishments and copy the translated books written by the great Greek, Persian and Indian masters, which he in turn had reproduced in Cordoba. It was also through this early contact with the developments in Baghdad that 'Abd ar-Rahman was able to adopt, upon his ascension to the throne of the Umayyad state, the administrative and organisational systems already developed and applied there.

With this background of openness and eagerness to develop his society in Al-Andalus, 'Abd ar-Rahman opened the doors wide for anyone with promising ability, and soon his companions included the best scientists, poets, artists and scholars, including Abbas-Ibn-Firnas, the famous scientist of Al-Andalus, who had developed a process of manufacturing glass from a certain rock found in the country,  invented  a number of astronomy instruments, besides being the first man ever to fly, be it only for a low altitude not exceeding a hundred feet.  Among such great men of the time also was Yahia-al-Ghazal, the first Arab diplomat in the history of Al-Andalus, who undertook two important diplomatic missions, one to the Norman king,  following the first Norman aborted campaign, in return to the visit by a  Norman ambassador, and the second to the Byzantine capital.  However one of his most reputable companions, who had a great influence on his life and on the social and artistic life of the country was one by the name of Ali-ibn-Nafe', better known as Ziryab.

Ziryab had come from Baghdad where he had studied music at the hands of Ishaq al-Mawsili, the great master of music and song at the court of al-Khalifa Harun ar-Rashid, who was known for his admiration, among other things, of music and song. Al-Mawsili's fame did not emanate from the fact that he was the Caliph's most cherished musician-singer-companion, but because he had an exceptional talent and was an innovator in the field of music and song.

Ziryab, who was of Persian origin, was the favourite apprentice of al-Mawsili. He was able, at an early age, to prove himself as one no less talented than his master.  One day the Caliph expressed his desire to hear a new voice, and al-Mawsili knew no one better than that of his pupil.  When the Caliph heard the pupil sing and play the oud lute he was in ecstasy, and could hardly conceal his admiration of Zireyab, not only for his musical talent, but also for his mannerism and his excellent cultural background.

Al-Mawsili who at the beginning felt proud of having produced someone able to win the admiration of Harun-ar-Rashid, suddenly had cold feet;  and once out of the palace advised his pupil, with a tone hardly void of a threat, to leave Baghdad and go as fast and as far away as he could without ever thinking of returning to Baghdad.  Ziryab had no choice.  He ran as fast as he could, and his feet took him to Qairawan, in north Africa, where he hoped the wali  would afford him sponsorship and protection.  But the wali showed little interest.  So he wrote to Al-Hakam the Amir of Cordoba who invited him to his court, but died befor Ziryabís arrival.

It took 'Abd ar-Rahman one audition to realise what a great treasure he had just acquired, and immediately ordered quarters to be set up for Ziryab next to his own in the palace. Thanks to his refined taste, his sensitiveness and ability to converse with those at the top, not to mention his great talent for music and  poetry,  Ziryab was quickly able to win the heart of the Emir who expressed his admiration by showering Ziryab with his generosity.  Soon the palace was to witness the most extravagant festivities as Ziryab's tunes and songs were echoing with the tinkles of wine glasses, and the manifestations of ecstasy and elevation.

But those were not all the qualities Ziryab was endowed with.  He was handsome, dark and always exquisitely dressed, and thus his nick-name, Ziryab,  a black singing bird.  Ziryab also demonstrated a great deal of elegance in his mannerism and in his dealing with people, and was thus able to influence the taste of people he associated with. In fact Ziryab became the model gentleman in the land, and was imitated in everything he did, even in his hair style, his attire and in the use of  al-mirtak, a deodorant against body odours.  He also introduced a good number of new dishes into the Andalusian cuisine,  as well as new food products like asparagus and artichokes.

His first and foremost talent was, however, in the field of music and song, where his influence in musical refinement and innovation was to be felt by many generations of musicians not only in Al-Andalus, but throughout the Arab empire at large.  This influence was not restricted to technique only, but included innovations to the instruments used.  He was the one who had introduced a fifth string to the 'oud.

Ziryab's musical talent was fortunately inherited by his children who all became famous singers and musicians, and in the course of teaching his own children, Ziryab established a conservatoire, where hundreds of pupils studied the art of music and singing, and carried his musical message from generation to generation, till the last days of the Arab rule in Al-Andalus.  In fact, many a student of history had ranked this handsome dark singer musician as the one single person who had the greatest influence on the social progress witnessed by Al-Andalus since the Arabs set foot in that country.

Among the other personalities which had a great influence on the life of 'Abd ar-Rahman was a Basque concubine, whom he called Taroub.  'Abd ar-Rahman's love for Taroub was so immense that he had closed his eyes to her growing influence in the palace as well as in the administration of state affairs. To consolidate her power in the palace, Taroub made it a point to give him a son he called 'Abdullah.  Naturally, Taroub was anxious to have 'Abd ar-Rahman nominate 'Abdullah as heir to the throne of the emirate.  But 'Abd ar-Rahman, feeling his time was coming up,  selected one of his other sons,  Muhammad, from among his eighty children, as successor.  This naturally angered Tarub to the extent of conspiring with the emir's personal physician to poison him.  But although the physician uncovered the plot to his master,  'Abd ar-Rahman's love for Taroub was too strong for him to inflict punishment on her.

When 'Abd ar-Rahman finally passed away in 852, after thirty years of rule, the palace staff kept the news of his death from spreading. They shut the palace gates pending a decision on the succession to the throne, as most of the palace staff were in favour of 'Abdullah, the son of Taroub, who, in the hope of securing their allegiance, never overlooked their needs.

However, the chief of the palace staff was finally able to convince the rest against such a plan in view of the great risk involved.  A messenger was thus sent to Muhammad, the legitimate successor,  announcing the death of his father the Emir, and handing the ring of the ruler to him.  Muhammad,  disguised as a woman for fear of the ruthlessness of Taroub, had to use secondary lanes across Cordoba to the palace where he was proclaimed the fifth Emir of the Umayyad dynasty in Al-Andalus

When Emir Muhammad ibn Abd-ar-Rahman sat on the throne of the emirate following the death of his father, he could not understand why that throne, which his father had established on the most solid foundation, suddenly began rocking underneath him before he was able to find a comfortable sitting position thereon.

True, Emir Muhammad, like all previous rulers, was well acquainted with the normal trend which followed the death of the ruler,  when fortune seekers as well as the Christian kingdoms in the north tended to jump at the opportunity afforded by the take-over formalities of the new ruler, in the hope of realising deeply entrenched political or military ambitions or settle old accounts otherwise difficult during the life of a strong ruler. But Emir Muhammad, like most of his subjects, seemed to have believed that his father had once and for all, consolidated the Umayyad rule, crushed all the greedy heads and created the stability and social integration necessary for the immunisation of the state against serious internal disturbances.

However, the dye of those rosy expectation soon faded away when the brightness of reality finally shone through the hazy mist of illusion.  Tribal differences evidently were too deep rooted to be eradicated,  and effective amalgamation of the population into a coherent society proved far more difficult to achieve than hitherto believed.

 It would be a gross injustice, however, to blame individuals for their strong tribal affiliations,  for in the absence, in those days, of nationally minded leaders who could instil national pride and ideals into hearts of their subjects, and afford them the security they needed and the sense of belonging they aspired for, tribal conglomeration seemed their only recourse.  In fact, history had many stories to tell about rulers who actually encouraged tribalism and invoked social friction among the various factions of their subjects to suit their interests.  The rulers of Al-Andalus were no exception.  Consequently the Andalusian society was left like a patch of mosaic with no glue to hold the various pieces together on a solid foundation.

As usual, Toledo was the vanguard in the series of revolts that erupted,  and the Christian kings in the north never missed any opportunity to encourage any movement that was likely to weaken the central government and to gnaw the weakened extremities of the Arab domain.

Emir Muhammad ibn 'Abd ar-Rahman wasted no time in quelling the revolt of Toledo, by leading the army himself in 854.  But the muladies and mozarabs, whose leaders were brutally massacred not very long before by his grandfather al-Hakam,  and whose status never actually improved since then,  never gave up their resistance.  If anything,  such resistance was stepped up in the wake of spreading unrest in various parts of the country.  However, those who reaped the fruit of such revolts in Toledo were not the muladies nor the mozarabs but the Berber tribe of Banu dhi n-Nun who soon proclaimed their independence from the Arab state with the approval of the Emir.

Being busy himself putting down other revolts elsewhere, the Emir obviously preferred to lose Toledo to the Berbers rather than to the muladies or the mozarabs whom he could not trust anyway. Little did the Emir know that the fall of Toledo meant the fall of the first corner stone from the structure of the central government, which in turn lead to the successive fall of many an important pillar, thus posing a serious threat to the very integrity of the Arab state in Al-Andalus.  For while the forces of the central government were busy putting off the fires of the Toledo revolt,  other fires raged in Zaragoza, Batajos, Ronda, Huesca, Algeciras, Reyyo, Santaver, and others.  However, the most serious of all was the revolt of 'Umar Ibn Hafsun which erupted in the year 881,  and which neither emir Muhammad nor his successor Al-Mundhir were able to subdue.  Furthermore, this succession of revolts which caused a state of instability in the country had encouraged the Normans to make another attempt at invading the land in the year 859, but were again beaten off after losing two thirds of their fleet.

With all this, as well as his regular campaigns against the Christian kingdoms of the north, the Emir was in no position to accomplish much in the social and cultural spheres. Hence his reign which lasted thirty five years, was characterised by virtual cultural sterility.

The new emir, Al-Mundhir ibn-Muhammad, who took office in the year 886, inherited an intolerable amount of problems which seemed rather impossible to resolve as the country became increasingly fragmented, while ambitious adventurers were gnawing the body of the state like hungry wolves.  This is not to mention the conspiracies within the emir's own palace orchestrated by his father's chief minister,  who was finally exposed and executed.

Al-Mundhir's greatest dilemma was Ibn-Hafsun, the muladie rebel.  Ibn Hafsoun's influence covered a wide area, and he become by then the leader,  par-excellence, of a movement aiming at independence from the Arab state of Al-Andalus and, as such, mustered a wide support especially from the muladies who rallied around him forming a revolutionary structure, completely integrated economically and militarily.

Al-Mundhir never gave up his struggle against this fierce obstinate rebel, and while laying siege against his strongly fortified fortress Babistro, near Malaga,  Al-Mundhir suddenly died under mysterious circumstances before completing his second year of office,  which lead some historians to believe that his death might have been instigated by his own brother 'Abdullah.

The evaluation of historians of Al-Mundhir in spite of his short-lived rule, was quite favourable.  He was hailed for his wisdom, generosity, courage, decisiveness and his love for culture and learning.  In fact, it was thought by some that, had Al-Mundhir survived one more year, he was likely to have put an end to all the revolts that were raging in the country.

The succession of his brother Emir 'Abdullah ibn  Muhammad to the throne of the emirate was not contested by any member of his family, as the general situation in the country was  such  that no one felt it was worth the venture.

Ibn Hafsun, who represented the most serious dilemma to both his brother and his father, continued his rebellion against 'Abdullah, who was soon compelled to come to terms with him by signing an armistice, which 'Abdullah needed to enable him put his house in order and prepare himself for a decisive confrontation with that rebel.

The armistice however, was as expected, short-lived, and the war waged by Ibn Hafsun against the central government continued.  But realising that he would not be able by himself to overthrow the central government, Ibn Hafsun sought the support of outside forces, including the Abbasids of Baghdad, the arch enemies of the ruling Umayyad dynasty in Al-Andalus.  Thus he declared his  allegiance to the Abbasids from the pulpits of the mosques in the area under his control.  He also established relations with the Aghalibids of North Africa as well as with the Christian king of Galicia, in an effort to overthrow  'Abdullah.  When all these measures proved futile, he went as far as converting back to Christianity in 899 with the hope of winning the favour of that king.  When later on the Aghalibids of North Africa were over-thrown by the Fatimids,  Ibn Hafsun wasted little time in declaring his allegiance to them. Then when the Arabs of Seville announced their insubordination, as will be seen later, Ibn Hafsun joined forces with those rebels against the central government.  However, in spite of all his efforts, Ibn Hafsun was unable to break the back-bone of the central government nor was the latter able to do more than neutralise him.

All in all, more than thirty serious rebellions followed in various parts of the country,  most of which were waged  by the muladies and mozarabs.  In most cases such rebellions were instrumental in reunifying the Arabs, at least for as long as the threat was there, after which the struggle for power inevitably resumed.  It happened again in Seville when the Arabs united and crushed the revolt of  the muladies and mozarabs who formed the majority of the population there. But once that was accomplished, the three major families in the city drew up their swords against each other for the control of the city, until the final blow was dealt by Ibrahim ibn Al-Hajjaj.  Having settled the issue, Ibn Al-Hajjaj offered the Emir in Cordoba peace terms including self rule of Seville and Carmona. The offer was readily accepted.

Ibn al-Hajjaj wasted little time in setting up his own government and creating his own army, while builders and artisans were busy erecting a luxurious palace which was to witness extravagant festivities as well as intellectual encounters comprising some of the most respected poets, scientists and scholars in the land.

Naturally this fragmentation had a drastic effect on the integrity of the central government whose influence had shrunk and ended at the gates of Cordoba the capital, which was being subjected to attacks and looting by the forces of Ibn-Hafsun and others.

To make things even worse for this unfortunate emir, two of his sons were fiercely competing over the succession to the throne of the emirate.  The emir, who had a clear preference for his son Muhammad was finally convinced by his other son Mutraf that Muhammad was plotting to overthrow him, and consequently Muhammad was put behind bars until his brother managed to have him killed before their father discovered the truth. The truth was, however unveiled soon but Mutraf had managed to escape before justice was administered. But not for long. For Mutraf conspired with the enemies of his father to overthrow him, but was soon captured and executed.  The inter-family executions did not, however stop at that. The Emir's own brother Qasim was also executed for having conspired against him.

Ironically, historians have described 'Abdullah as a pious, God fearing, benevolent and just ruler, who spent a great deal of time praying.

 'Abdullah, however, took one step which made up for all his vices namely,  his choice of 'Abd ar-Rahman, the son of his son Muhammad. Perhaps without knowing it, his choice was destined to change the course of Andalusian history, if only for a while, halt the down-slide of the Umayyad rule just before reaching the abyss, and upgrade it's status to the level of caliphate, the status which the Umayyads had lost following their overthrow by the Abbasids of Baghdad over a hundred and sixty years before.