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

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