This first great Turkish empire was not destined to last. Disputes among the ruling family led to civil war and by 583 the western Turks had separated from their eastern cousins and a separate Turkish khaganate had been established in Transoxania. The Turkish khagan T’ung Yabghu was still a great ruler in 630 when a Chinese Buddhist pilgrim called Hsüng-tsang came through his territories and met him in person, but shortly after that he was murdered and the western khaganate began to fall apart. By the time the Arab armies arrived at the beginning of the eighth century the leader of the Turks, Türgesh Khagan, was a nomad chief acknowledging the overlordship of the Chinese emperor. Despite the break-up of their empire, when the nomad Turks of Transoxania allied with the local Iranian princes, they provided what was perhaps the fiercest opposition the early Muslim armies ever encountered.
It was into this mosaic of warlike peoples and cultures settled in a vast and variegated landscape that the first Arab military prospectors arrived in the early 650s.
The earliest Arab incursions across the river were simple raiding expeditions, designed to extort tribute. The Arabic sources often present such raids as real conquests and the subsequent resistance to more systematic attacks are presented as rebellions against Muslim authority. These first raids reached as far as Samarqand, but they encountered stiff resistance and the Arab armies withdrew before the onset of winter. This withdrawal allowed the local people some respite, and we are told that the ‘Kings of Khurasan’ met and joined forces, agreeing not to attack each other, but to exchange information and cooperate against the invaders.
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Such cooperation was to prove rare in the years to come.
One Arab death in these early years of Arab incursions across the river had unexpected but lasting consequences. It is said that among the Muslims killed at Samarqand in the first raids was Quthm, son of al-Abbās, the Prophet Muhammad’s uncle.
13
Quthm not only had the coveted status of Companion of the Prophet but he was also his first cousin. Despite his lineage and exalted connections, he was remembered for his humility and his refusal to accept more than a normal share of the spoils for himself and his horse. His memory has been revered among the Muslims of Central Asia and, however modest his real achievements, he is seen as having brought something of the charisma of the Prophet’s immediate circle to these far-off lands, a direct link between Muhammad and the Muslims of Transoxania. The legend arose that he had not died but lived on in his tomb, deep in the ancient mud-brick walls of Samarqand. He was called the Shāhi Zinda, the ‘Living King’, and in the Timurid period (late fourteenth and early fifteenth century) his grave became the centre of a complex of tombs where the princes and above all the princesses of Tamerlane’s court were buried. Their mausoleums with their turquoise and blue-tiled domes remain among the most refined and exquisite examples of Persian architecture and decoration to be found anywhere.
In 671 Ziyād b. Abī Sufyān, governor of Iraq and all the East, arranged that 50,000 men from Iraq, mostly from Basra, should move to Merv to relieve pressure on resources. Until this time, Arab armies had come to Khurasan on an annual basis, returning to Iraq each winter, leaving only a small force to defend the city. The arrival of this large number of Arabs as permanent residents transformed the Muslim presence in the area. There may well have been more Arabs settled in Merv and the surrounding small towns and villages than in the whole of the rest of Iran. They were hungry and ambitious for wealth and adventure: these men were to form the core of the Muslim armies invading Transoxania.
The appointment of Salm b. Ziyād as governor of Khurasan in 681 meant the incursions across the Oxus became more frequent and deliberate. He set about his preparations in a methodical fashion, raising an army of several thousand men from the Arab settlers. Many of these were volunteers who wanted to take part in the
jihād
but not all were overwhelmed by enthusiasm: one man
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told later of how he went to the
dīwan
(register of troops) to enlist for a forthcoming expedition but when the clerk asked whether he wanted his name put down, ‘for it is a mission in which there will be holy war and spiritual merit’, he lost his nerve and replied that he would seek the decision of God and wait. He was still waiting when the list closed and his wife asked him whether he was going. Once more he replied that he was waiting for God to decide, but that night he had a dream in which a man came to him and said that he should join up for he would be prosperous and successful, which proved more enticing than the spiritual benefits. The next morning he went to the clerk and found a way to enlist.
We have few details about the expedition apart from the fact that Salm was the first man to winter across the river, probably in Samarqand, with his men. The army attacked Khwārazm and extracted tribute before crossing into Soghdia, where they made peace. According to the Bukhara tradition, Salm attacked the city and obliged the queen, Khātūn, to sue for peace, but the details are very confused.
15
Salm had taken his wife with him and in Samarqand she gave birth to a son whom she called Sughdī (Soghdian) in memory of his birthplace. She sent to the wife of the lord (
sāhib
) of Soghdia asking to borrow some trinkets for the baby and she sent her her crown. When the Muslim army retreated, Salm’s wife took the crown with her.
16
This shows that relations between the Arab and Iranian upper classes were not always hostile and that the wives of the enemies saw themselves as equals, though history does not preserve the Soghdian queen’s reaction to the permanent loss of her crown.
Any plans Salm may have had to continue the conquest were brought to an abrupt halt by the chaos that engulfed the caliphate after the death of Yazīd I in 683. Salm’s family had been leading supporters of the dead caliph, and he now abandoned Khurasan to make his way back west, wanting to join in the discussions about the succession. The Arabs in Khurasan were left with no official leader and the tribal rivalries, which had been contained by the governors, flared up with astonishing ferocity. Three main tribal groups were represented in Khurasan - Mudar, Rabī
c
a and Bakr b. Wā’il - and they now began a fierce struggle for control of the province. Abd Allāh b. Khāzim of Mudar took power in Merv. He ordered the death of two of the leaders of Rabī
c
a. Now there was blood between the groups and war was inevitable. All the rivalries of tribal Arabia during the
jhiliya
reap peared in this distant outpost of the Muslim world, given added intensity by the competition for the wealth of the conquered lands. These seventh-century conquistadors began to slug it out among themselves.
Rabī
c
a and Bakr fled from Merv south to Herat and established themselves in this ancient city, pursued by Abd Allāh. The fugitive tribesmen swore there was no place in Khurasan for Mudar. For a full year they confronted Abd Allāh’s forces. When Abd Allāh finally broke through their lines, there was a massacre. He swore that he would execute all prisoners brought to him before sunset, and he was as good as his word. It was said that 8,000 Rabī
c
a and Bakr were slain. Things in Khurasan would never be the same
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and feuds between Arab tribes were fought out with unremitting ferocity, even as Muslim armies were conquering new areas. When news of the massacre reached distant Basra, the original home of many of these men, it provoked a new round of inter-tribal violence in the city.
18
Abd Allāh was now master of Khurasan, responsible to no one but himself, but trouble was brewing. He felt he could dispense with the support of the powerful tribe of Tamīm: members of the tribe and their allies were humiliated, and two were flogged to death. In revenge they captured Abd Allāh’s son Muhammad, who had been put in charge in Herat. As he lay bound in their camp that night, they sat about drinking, and whenever one of them wanted to urinate, they did it over their prisoner. They killed him before dawn.
19
Humiliated and vengeful, Abd Allāh struck back and the inter-Arab war was renewed with added intensity. There was still room, however, for some of the old chivalry. Abd Allāh was a man around whom stories grew. In one of these he agreed to single combat with one of the opposition leaders called Harīsh.
20
‘They skirmished with each other like a pair of stallions’ until Abd Allāh was butted by his enemy’s head. It was only the fact that his opponent’s stirrup snapped and he dropped his sword, which enabled Abd Allāh to escape, galloping back to his own lines, clinging on to the neck of his horse.
21
In the general fighting that followed, Abd Allāh’s men were victorious and he caught up with his opponent, now deserted by all but twelve of his men, holed up in a ruined fortress, determined to defend themselves. Abd Allāh offered peace. His enemy was to leave Khurasan, and was to be given 40,000 dirhams and have his debts paid. As they discussed the terms, the bandage around Abd Allāh’s head, which protected the wound inflicted on him in the single combat, blew off. Harīsh bent down to pick it up and replace it. ‘Your touch is much more gentle than your touch yesterday,’ joked Abd Allāh, to which Harīsh retorted that if only his stirrup had not broken, his sword would have made a fine mess of Abd Allāh’s teeth. So, laughing, they parted and, like any good Bedouin, Harīsh composed a poem about his lonely struggle.
Carrying a spear all night and all day
Has kept the bone of my right hand out of joint.
For two years my eyes have not closed at any resting place,
Unless my fist made a pillow for me upon a stone.
My coat is of iron, and when night brings sleep,
My covering is the saddle of a full-grown stallion.
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That is how the Bedouin liked to remember their heroes: tough, solitary, self-reliant, brave. It was this spirit which was to take Arab armies to the frontiers of China.
There could be no joking, however, with the men who had killed his son, and Abd Allāh pursued them with relentless ferocity. They took refuge in a mud-brick fortress in the little town of Mervrūd, on the banks of the Murghab river. The defence was led by one Zuhayr, who was bold and adventurous, leading sorties along dried-up river beds to launch surprise attacks on Abd Allāh’s men, swearing that he would divorce his wife if he did not break Abd Allāh’s lines. On one occasion Abd Allāh had ordered his men to put hooks on their spears to catch in Zuhayr’s chain mail and pull him down. Four spears duly hooked on to his armour but he was too strong for them; pulling away, he wrenched the spears from their grasp and returned to his fortress, the captured spears dangling from his armour as trophies.
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The year-long siege took its toll and the fugitives were on the point of surrender. Zuhayr urged them to come out fighting and break through Abd Allāh’s siege lines, then, he said, their way would be as clear as the Mirbad, the great open square in the centre of their home town of Basra, a thousand kilometres away. But he could not drum up enough support among the defenders, who chose rather to surrender and put their trust in Abd Allāh’s mercy. They opened the gates and came down. Their hands were bound and they were brought before Abd Allāh. The story goes that even now he was prepared to be merciful, but his surviving son Mūsā, standing beside him, was relentless: ‘if you pardon them,’ he told his father, ‘I will fall on my sword so that it comes out of my back!’ So one by one the prisoners were killed in the traditional Arab form of execution; a swift, hard sword-blow on the back of the neck was all it took. Only three were spared when some of Abd Allāh’s men interceded for them.
When it was Zuhayr’s turn, Abd Allāh wanted to spare him and even give him an estate to live on. ‘How can we kill a man like Zuhayr? Who will there be to fight the enemies of the Muslims? Who to protect the women of the Arabs?’ But again Mūsā showed his ruthlessness, asking how his father could kill the female hyena and leave the male, kill the lioness and leave the lion. The demands of vengeance were more important than the safety of the Arabs in this remote, hostile land; he would even kill his own father if he had participated in his brother’s death. So once again, Abd Allāh was swayed by his implacable son. Zuhayr had one last request, that he should be killed separately from the rest of the defenders. ‘I commanded them to die as honourable men and come out against you with drawn swords. By God, had they done so they would have given this little son of yours a fright and made him too worried about his own life to seek vengeance. ’ So he was taken aside and executed separately.
As long as civil war raged in Syria and Iraq, the heart of the caliphate, Abd Allāh ruled Khurasan as his private dominion, but by 691 the Umayyad caliph, Abd al-Malik (685-705), was firmly in control in Damascus and determined to restore the power of the central government. Part of his plan was to establish effective rule over Khurasan and its unruly Arab warriors. He began to negotiate, writing to Abd Allāh, offering very reasonable terms: for seven years he would enjoy the revenues of the province as his ‘food’ (
tu
c
ma
). But Abd Allāh was too proud to accept terms, ordering the messenger to eat the caliph’s letter as a gesture of contempt. At the same time, the caliph began to make contact with possible rivals in the province. They were encouraged to rise up against the tyrant. Abd Allāh began to panic and left the capital at Merv to try to join his son Mūsā in Tirmidh. On the way he was intercepted by his enemies. The battle was over by midday. Abd Allāh was pinned to the ground by a spear point while a man sat on his chest and prepared to kill him, in revenge for the death of his brother. Abd Allāh was not quite finished yet. He spat at his assailant, hissing that the man’s brother had been a mere peasant, not worth a handful of date stones, while he, Abd Allāh, was the leader of the tribe of Mudar. Defiant to the last, he was killed and his head cut off. A local man reported seeing his body, tied on to the side of a mule, with a stone on the other side to balance it. The head was sent to the caliph. Many certainly rejoiced in his death but his own tribesmen mourned him sadly as a brave and generous chief. ‘Now only barking dogs remain,’ one of their poets said. ‘After you, there is no lion’s roar on earth.’
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