Iberian Peninsula, AD 753
Important areas as marked.
Chapter One: Part I
If you are come to the end
in the stillness of the battlefiield
and the struggle for peace
takes not a little suffering,
how much more a solitary throne?
–Azalaïs de Narbona, Queen of Spaña, writings from the Fourth Roman War[1]
Abd ar-Rahman watched from the beach as Temam’s men lifted the wrapped body of Salim over the side of the dhow. Three of them slogged through the surf careful to make sure no water soaked the wrappings around his compatriot. The false dawn of the sky was slowly being replaced by the light that would be the true rising of the sun in the east, from the direction of his homeland. Behind them Bedr was also making his way up the beach with the few possessions they had.
“Where are we?” he said to Temam turning to look up the beach and to the shoreline. “There is nothing here.”
“The town is several miles over, I thought it best not to bring you ashore into the middle of the docks with a comrade already dead,” he answered. “To the west lies Mālaqah but it is best that we keep your whereabouts secret from the governor for now. There are expectations that the Zaragozans will revolt and if they do, we can use it to our advantage once he goes to put down the insurrection. For now we can place you safely in the town.”
The prince nodded. “As soon as we have treated Salim as he deserves we will begin.”
“There is no time to spare, my prince,” Temam urged him quietly. “ There is no time to mourn beforehand, or wash him or make a proper kafan.”
He clenched his left hand into a fist and it was only by a force of will that he relaxed it. “I can at least say the salat for him,” he answered roughly. “I failed in my duty to keep him with me and see us through to our victory, I cannot fail in this last duty for him.”
Temam looked a little dismayed but said nothing while Abd ar-Rahman went over to where Temam’s men were.
“Bedr, help me,” he said after looking at the shrouded form for a moment.
Taking the body from the others, Abd ar-Rahman and Beder carefully turned it to qibla. Meanwhile, Temmam called his men over and spoke to them quietly. They went up a little ways from the shoreline into the more solid ground while one went back to the boat to gather some other tools. Bedr and the prince carefully took the body up the beach to them and held the shrouded body as the men began to dig.
One dead already for me, he thought. We only just arrived but I led him to his death. He felt a flash of grief for Salim but then..
…no there are two.
*********
The last scenes in Damascus were a horror.
When the news of the approach of the Abbasids were known, all of Damascus had gone into an uproar and in accordance with the messengers sent by Al-Saffah, they began a search for all the Umayyads so they could hand them over to save themselves. He had been warned a short time before and gathered up his brother and his son Sulemeyn and tried to flee but they were trapped and his brother had fallen trying to save Sulemeyn, shielding the boy with his body as he was hacked to pieces. He drew his sword and would have died fighting to reach the body of his son against the mob until his arms had forgotten strength and his lungs air. It was only when Bedr returned with Umniyah and Salim that he consented to leave. He mastered himself as he looked into the yes of his sister and they went out from the city, escaping in the confusion as a general riot began. They fled into the desert through the night. It was moonless, and stars glittered above them like diamonds on the dreaded banner of Abbas. He didn’t know when they stopped. There was no spring, only the water they brought with them. Just himself, Salim, Bedr and Umniyah his only living sister.[2]
He fell to his knees in the sand, his body all over blood and letting the sword fall from him while he covered his face with his hands to hold back a lamentation. When he could content himself with weeping quietly he pulled himself up to sit on the sand while Umniyah did the same on a rock nearby. Her clothing was filthy and her head scarf was torn beyond use. He saw her grab it and hurl it to the ground as she hung her head letting the hair hide her face. But it could not hide the blood already on it and the rest of her. In those last moments she had taken up a weapon to help win their way free and shown herself able to handle a knife and even lift a sword though not well. She was shaking and Bedr threw his own coat around her, covering her hair and the rest of her soiled clothes.
He did not know what to do, the pain was so great. He sat there feeling completely numb while Salim stood staring at maybe the last of the Beni Umayya.
“Get up,” Salim said angrily.
Abd ar-Rahman looked up to see the other man striding toward him.
“I said get up!” Salim snarled.
When he did not rise fast enough, Salim pulled him to his feet then struck him with his fist so quickly that Abd ar-Rahman did not see it coming. The prince staggered back dropping his sword but then anger surged up, breaking through the ice around his heart. He clenched hands into fists and took a step towards Salim.
“Stop it!” Umniyah shouted at him. “What good does it do!?”
And it did stop him, he stood staring at Salim.
“Thank you,” he said grudgingly and the other man nodded. “I… have nothing, but thank you.”
“What do you want?” Salim had asked him putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Revenge,” he said at once. The word ignited something in him, a fire much more comforting than the surge of energy that had raced through him in the escape.
“Then you do not want enough!” Salim said firmly. “How will you take it? Will you challenge Al-Saffah to a duel? Will you lead the broken armies to victory? Will you storm Damascus alone or with the two of us?” he said with a gesture to the silent Bedr.
“Then what would you have me do?” he answered bitterly. “Hide in the deserts and be a nomad? I would be master of where I stood then.”
“No different than now,” Umniyah said. “The same as any of the rest of us my brother. As you said, we have nothing. Maybe it would have been better to surrender.”
“No,” he said firmly. He knew that much, maybe the only thing. He bent to pick up his sword. “Don’t you want revenge too? What if we are the last?”
“I want to live,” she said standing up to him. She approached his height which was remarkable and put her face close to his. Already the eye Salim had hit was swelling shut and his head was still ringing from the blow a little. “My brother I am yours to use, but I am not going to throw my life away in a useless assault on the sons of Abbas. Don’t you dare go to Harran.”
Harran and the Jazira, where the last elements of their supporters here were rallying with whatever family members they could find, trying to make a final stand.
“You know me well.”
“It is because we are the same,” she said turning her face away. She gracefully accepted water from Bedr.
“If your goal is revenge, my prince,” Salim said, “Then think how best to achieve it. Why do you think we stayed with you? Is it because we desire to be hunted when we could hand you over as any of the others. Think what your head would be worth.”
“Are you to set upon me?” he asked wearily. He drew back but did not raise his sword.
“My life would be simpler then,” he said, “ but I could no more do that than I could fly.”
“We are hardy men, and a woman,” Bedr said. “But you’ll surely need other allies.”
“…and armies,” Umniyah said.
“You too?” Abd ar-Rahman wondered.
“Brother, I warned you against Harran because it is in my heart. I wish to strike back but who will remember us if we die that way? Al-Saffah’s poets? If I am to advise you, then I counsel a different way.”
He looked around at each in turn, “If this is my court, then so be it but we must think.”
They did not stop of course. They could not afford to, but they did talk and think and walk as the madness of the last hours in Damascus lifted from Abd ar-Rahman and his compatriots. With Salim, Badr and his sister Umniyah he took thought that night to what to do. They chose to make for Egypt via Palestine instead of Harran. As they had known, it was soon overrun and a price was put on the heads of any member of the Beni Umayya. In particular the major branches of the line were sought, noticeable because of the red tint to their hair that both he and his sister bore.
But while they hid in Palestine by those few who cared for his family, word came that he was being sought by the Egyptian governor to be handed over to the Abbasids for their own preservation. Thus they risked a dangerous trek across Egypt hiding, always hiding lest anyone spy them out until they left and entered the lands of Ifriqiya.
Here in the Maghreb, his mother’s blood proved to be a blessing for he was recognized as at least part Berber, and not simply killed or driven off. The time he had spent with his mother was beneficial as well in that he knew the Berber customs and their language, and they traveled west until they approached the domains of Ibn Habib who was the leader of the his mother’s people the Nafza, in the west of the land.
_________________________________________
Footnotes for Chapter One: Part I
[1]Character from the ongoing timeline, inspired by the Azalais de Porcairagues.
[2]Historically, Abd ar-Rahman and his family fled to the Jazira for some time. It was when his younger brother was captured and put to death that he escaped, swimming the Euphrates with his son while Bedr (and in some versions Salim) and his sister went on ahead. This change of events is why he goes west a little earlier than OTL. There is no information on what happened to Sulameyn–after surviving the Euphrates, he disappears from the narrative.
Author’s Notes:
In the quoted bits that lead off each chapter I’ll hint at things that happened later on that are somewhat relevant or discuss the events of the chapter. I would hope to finish chapter one by the end of the year. There are other important things happening in my life right now but my optimistic view is that after chapter, I can produce 1 chapter per month. Chapters will probably be split up into several parts (this is 1 of 3) for easier digesting. So basically 3 updates a month.
Prologue: The Crossing
During the Caliphate of Marwan ibn Muhammad ibn Marwan, known as Marwan al-Himaar the last Caliph of the House of Umayyah, Abu al-‘Abbas rose against him and was proclaimed in Kufa. At the Battle of the Zab the lancers of Caliph Marwan broke on the shield wall of al-Saffah (the Shedder of Blood) and were invariably defeated and Damascus the capital, fell. Marwan was put to death in the fifth month, Jumada al-awwal, 132 AH (spring of AD 750). Everywhere the members of this proscribed family were seized and put to death without mercy. Few escaped the searchers of ‘Abbas. A youth named Abd ar-Rahman the son of Mu’awiyah the son of Caliph Hisham Abd al-Malik was almost the only prince of that house to escape and he never ceased running as he escaped to the west…
–Al-Makkari, from the The Breath of Perfume from the Branch of Green Andalusia and Memorials of its Vizier Lisan ud-Din ibn ul-Khattib
AD 753, Sebta in the Maghreb.[1]
“I see nothing, prince,” Salim called to him. The man’s voice was raw and harsh in the stillness of the night, and even in the fickle moonlight that barely glanced off his draw sword the tense lines of his body could be clearly seen.
Abd ar-Rahman did not answer. He was tired, feeling the weariness in his bones at last. He dared not close his eyes, for he would again see the rivers of blood as his family was massacred; the head of his brother only 13, and the corpse of his son, newly 4, down in the dust as they escaped Damascus. Around him now were the ruins of the Romans, hiding them from the searchers that he could feel coming closer and he prayed to Allah for a little more time. The building was larger than most, with a broken dome open to the sky and even in the night the vegetation on the walls could be glimpsed. When he placed his hand on the wall it felt different than the rest, and he realized it was the ruins of a cross, long broken in the downfall of the rebellion of his mother’s people. He might have been more familiar than most of the Berbers with the cross. He had been groomed to rule but had questioned too much, compared too quickly similarities and difference with the Christians, and so he was passed over, a last resort. Too much time with his mother, they said.
Salim tensed and Abd ar-Rahman moved his hand to his sword.
“Are they coming?” he called to Salim, more breath than tone in his voice.
In answer Salim ran back and Abd ar-Rahman wasted no time in joining him as they fled through a ruined wall at the back of the church. As they fled he could hear the hooves of the horses as the agents of Ibn Habib bearing the light-eating banner[2] approached not even bothering to hide their coming. They wanted him to feel fear.
In this, they succeeded.
They wasted no breath speaking and instead ran as hard as their legs could maintain for the shoreline. The Berber horsemen would need to dismount to make their way safely through the ruins and those precious moments could not be wasted. Breaking free of the ruins, they scrambled down an embankment onto the beach as the clouds began to clear and the light of the moon played across a sea that was empty.
“There is nothing here,” Salim said. He sounded defeated and Abd ar-Rahman could not in conscience blame him for doing so. Distant shouts foretold the situation would soon become desperate. Abd ar-Rahman drew his sword and turned with his back to the sea.
“They are at a disadvantage, they must capture us,” he said. “When their hands grasp for us, they shall be relieved of them.”
“Brave words with both of our lives,” Salim spat.
For a bondsman, a servant to respond such was insult, but Abd ar-Rahman knew he was barely above that himself for now.
“Do you wish to turn on me?”
“No!” Salim said. “But I wish to live to see you gain revenge.”
“So do I,” Abd ar-Rahman replied. “But I fear that may be too much to hope for just now.”
Ahead of them a dozen men were approaching while the light glittered off their swords and spears. Salim and Abd ar-Rahman stood with their backs to the sea with their swords drawn as the Berbers approached. He saw several of them had bows strapped to their backs.
“You cannot escape,” their leader shouted to him. “It would be best for you to surrender.”
“A master of observation corners us,” Salim muttered.
“It would be best for you if we surrender, you mean,” Abd ar-Rahman shouted in return. “I recognize you Tashfin.”
“So what if you do?”
“Why would I hand myself over to you after what I have already gone through?”
“Do you mean that women I slew who tried to hide you? That was your doing and no one else’s.”
They were coming closer now, the talk had failed to stall them. One of his men dashed forward with a spear but Salim knocked it away and Abd ar-Rahman drove his sword into the man’s chest. By chance it missed the rib and he pulled the blade out easily as the luckless Berber fell to the ground frothing blood at his mouth as a consequence of the loss of the lung. For a moment Tashfin stopped stunned whether at the death or the audacity of his underling Abd ar-Rahman did not know. The Berber lord waved his men forward. The rest of the men advanced in a loose line all at once and now all of them had their weapons at the ready. Tashfin it seemed, did not care if he was a bit bruised as long as he was caught.
“Seize him!” Tashfin shouted.
“Forgive me Salim–” Abd ar-Rahman began when a arrow struck one of Tashfin’s men in the belly and another struck the rock near Tashfin who leaped back.
A quick glance back showed a boat coming fast along the coast line with men standing in it armed with bows and shooting. From the boat leaped a familiar figure, Bedr his freedman armed with his own sword and beckoning him. Never was a sight so welcome to Abd ar-Rahman’s eye as that boat and his faithful follower and with Salim they ran towards the boat and into the surf. A rope of camel hair was thrown towards him by one of the men in the boat and grabbing hold Abd ar-Rahman and Salim pulled themselves into the boat with Bedr close behind, leaving Tashfin on the shore impotently demonstrating his opposition.
“My prince,” Bedr said, his face flushed with excitement, “I have returned for you!”
“Well-met indeed.” Abd ar-Rahman began, clasping Bedr’s hand.
As Salim crowed forward to congratulate Bedr, he made a sudden grunt and fell, an arrow sprouting from his back. Abd ar-Rahman turned to see Tashfin shouting with rage at one of his men, who had drawn his bow–at first he thought because he was too valuable to kill but then he realized it was because the arrow had missed its target. It appeared Tashfin was more content to lose his prize to death instead of distance but now under cover of the archers in the boat the Berbers on shore had to retreat until the boat was well out of range.
But Abd ar-Rahman did not see this as he cradled Salim in his arms.
“I will not see your revenge,” Salim murmured softly.
“My friend,” he said sorrowfully. “I brought this on you. I would that you see it with me.”
May Allah forgive me, and you.”
“I brought this on myself. It was enough,” Salim said. “I did not want to die but Allah waits only on Himself and we must go when he calls but you will rise as the Yahudi[3] predicted.”
He did not say anything more. There was nothing he could say but he held his servant and to be truthful to himself, his friend, in his arms as the moments passed and Salim‘s life drained away. It seemed that time would stand still but then Salim whispered: “I bear witness, there is no God, but Allah.”
Abd ar-Rahman closed Salim’s lifeless eyes. One of the extra sail-cloths was brought and with the help of Bedr, the body of Salim was wrapped tightly in it and placed along the ship where he would not be disturbed. The others watched in respectful silence and it was only when the body of Salim was secure that Abd ar-Rahman turned and faced the men who had come with Bedr. One of them clearly a leader, stepped forward.
“Your servant Bedr spoke the truth. We have heard your call and have come to aid you.”
“What is thy name?” Abd ar-Rahman asked.
“I am Temam,” the other man said.
“And they surname?”
“Abu Ghalib, Father of the Victorious.“
“God is great! May his name be exalted!” Abd ar-Rahman replied. “For if that be the case, then we shall through the power and interposition of the Almighty, conquer that land of yours, and reign over it.”
As they spoke of their plans for the future, a favorable wind rose from the sea, and drove them on and Temam’s men said that it was a sign that Abd ar-Rahman spoke true and was favored. Soon, the coastline was in sight and as the dawn was beginning to make itself known in the east the boat drew close to the rocky beach at Almuñécar, which was east of Málaga.
Temam’s men took Salim’s body and carefully carried it ashore followed by Temam. There would be a burial here near the shoreline as there were none of Salim’s kin to mourn him save Bedr and himself. As Abd ar-Rahman jumped down into the surf and walked ashore, Temam turned from directing his men and called to him again.
“Welcome to Al-Andalus!”
Footnotes for the Prologue
[1]Ceuta
[2]The Abbasid flag was a black banner
[3]Arabic for Jew; Al-Makkari indicates one story that a Jewish soothsayer prophesied Abd ar-Rahman’s rise
