In the same year that Muhammad b. al-Qāsim was taking Daybul and pressing on up the Indus valley, the Berber commander of the Muslim outpost at Tangier, Tāriq b. Ziyād, was making plans to lead his men across the Straits of Gibraltar to southern Spain. It is not surprising that he was looking in that direction - the Rock of Gibraltar
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and the hills behind Tarifa are clearly visible from the African coast. The prospect of conquest and booty must have been very tempting, and there were many Berbers newly converted to Islam who would hope to benefit from their new status as conquerors rather than conquered.
Tāriq may have been aware that there had recently been a major political upheaval in the Visigothic kingdom of Hispania. The Visigoths had conquered the Iberian peninsula in the fifth century. From their capital at Toledo they had ruled one of the most successful of the Germanic kingdoms, which had taken over the lands of the western Roman Empire. Though the kingdom had been in existence for almost three centuries, there is no indication that it was feeble or decadent. It is true that the cities were small and comparatively undeveloped and that much of the countryside seems to have been very sparsely populated, but the monarchy was strong and successful and there was no tradition of internal rebellion or separatist movements. The church was well established and a long series of councils held in Toledo testified to the vitality of its organization and activities.
On the face of it, the idea that a small group of Berbers with a few Arab officers could attack and destroy this formidable state was most implausible. The kingdom was undergoing a short-term crisis, however. In 710 King Witiza had died. He had left adult sons, but for reasons that we do not fully understand the throne had been seized by Rodrigo, a noble who may or may not have been related to the royal house. The sons of Witiza, and their friends and allies, were powerful and resentful. Rodrigo had had no time to establish his authority before the Muslims invaded. Tāriq also had more immediate reasons for planning his invasion. The men he commanded were mostly Berbers who had joined the Muslim army in the previous few years. It is most unlikely that any regular system of payment had been introduced to reward them for their allegiance to the new faith. If he was to retain their loyalty, he needed to find a source of revenue quickly. Spain was the obvious area where this could be done.
In the earliest Arabic work to describe the conquest, the history of Ibn Abd al-Hakam,
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considerable prominence is given to the story of ‘Julian’. This mysterious figure is said to have been lord of Ceuta, a port city just to the east of Tangier which may still have been under Byzantine overlordship. According to the chronicler, ‘Tāriq wrote to Julian, paying him compliments and exchanging presents. Now Julian had sent his daughter to Rodrigo [the Visigothic king of Spain], for her education and instruction, and Rodrigo had made her pregnant. When this news reached Julian, he said, “I do not see how I can punish him or pay him back except by sending the Arabs against him”.’ He then goes on to describe how Julian transported some of the men one evening and sent his ships back to the African coast to bring more the next. The people on the Spanish side did not pay them any attention because they were just like the merchant ships that were often going to and fro. Tāriq came in the last boat and the fleet remained at Algeciras while the Muslim army marched north, just in case anything went wrong and they had to be rescued. It is impossible to know whether there is any truth in the story or indeed whether ‘Julian’ ever existed. It does not come from the usual repertoire of Arabic conquest narratives, however, and it may reflect the reality of a widespread discontent with Rodrigo’s kingship.
It was probably in April or May 711 that Tāriq embarked his small force in boats to take them across the straits. The force was unlikely to have been more than seven thousand men, of whom only a small minority were Arabs. The intention may have been simply to launch a large-scale plundering raid. Once across, the Muslims were able to take the ‘Green Island’, where the port of Algeciras stands today. This was to be a base but also allow them to retreat to the African coast if events turned out badly.
Rodrigo was campaigning against a Basque rebellion in the far north of his kingdom. When he heard of the Muslim raid, he hurried south, pausing at his residence at Cordova to gather more men. Like Harold of England and the Anglo-Saxons at the battle of Hastings in 1066, his army must have been exhausted by long marches to confront the invaders. Tāriq pursued a cautious policy. Rather than pushing on to attack Seville or the Guadalquivir valley, he kept close to his base and requested reinforcements from Africa; 5,000 more Berbers arrived, giving him a total of perhaps 12,000 men. He is also said to have been joined by some of the partisans of the sons of Witiza, opposed to the new king. The role of the Visigothic ‘opposition’ is controversial. From a modern Spanish point of view, it is easy to see that, if they did indeed aid the Muslim invasion, they were traitors. On the other hand, they, like most of their contemporaries, probably saw the Muslim invasion as no more than a raid, which would last a summer season at most. They could not have known that Muslims were to rule parts of the Iberian peninsula for the next 800 years.
The Muslim invaders may have enjoyed some support among the Jewish communities of the Iberian peninsula. This too is a very controversial issue with obvious contemporary resonances. The reality is that we have no hard evidence for this at all. We know that the Visigothic kings had introduced increasingly harsh anti-Jewish legislation, ending with the edict that they should all be converted to Christianity. It would be natural, therefore, for the Jews to welcome the Muslim invaders as potential liberators. There is no indication that this legislation was ever enforced, however, and there is absolutely no evidence that any Jews gave the Muslims active support.
The decisive battle was fought near the little town of Medina Sidonia. The exact site of the conflict is not known but it is generally believed to have been on the little river Guadalete.
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Accounts of the battle are very sparse. The Latin Chronicle of 754 simply observes that ‘Roderick [Rodrigo] headed for the Transductine mountains [location unknown] to fight them and in that battle the entire army of the Goths, which had come to him fraudulently and in rivalry out of ambition for the kingship, fled and he was killed. Thus Roderick wretchedly lost not only his rule but his homeland, his rivals also being killed’.
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The Arabic sources say that the battle took place on 19 July 711 and, like the Chronicle of 754, suggest that divisions within the ranks of the Visigothic army allowed the Muslims to triumph when the partisans of Witiza’s son Akhila turned and fled.
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The details will never be certain but the main point is clear: Tāriq and his men inflicted a massive defeat on the Visigothic army, the king was killed and the rest of the army dispersed in disarray.
Tāriq then led his men to the east along the Guadalquivir valley, heading for Cordova. At Ecija, where the Roman road crossed the River Genil, he encountered the first resistance and he took the city by storm. In the interests of speed, he then divided his forces.
Seven hundred men, all of them mounted, were sent to Cordova under the command of the
mawla ū
Mughīth. The fall of Cordova, soon to be the capital of Andalus, is recorded with some circumstantial, and probably fictitious, details in the Arabic sources.
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When Mughīth was approaching the city along the south bank of the Guadalquivir river, his men captured a shepherd who was looking after his flocks. They brought him to the camp and began to interrogate him. He said that the city had been deserted by all the leading citizens and only the governor (
bitrīq
) with 400 guards and some non-combatants (
du
c
afa
) remained. On being questioned about the defences, he said that they were in good order except for a breach above the gate that led to the Roman bridge across the river. That night Mughīth led his men across the river and attempted to scale the walls with the aid of hooks, but it proved impossible. They returned to the shepherd, who guided them to the breach. One of the Muslims scaled the wall and Mughīth took off his turban and used it to pull others up. Soon there were a considerable number of Muslims on the wall. Then Mughīth came to the Gate of the Bridge, which was then in ruins, and ordered his men to surround the guards on the walls. Then they broke the locks and Mughīth and his men were soon inside.
When the governor (called
al-malik
in this account) heard that they had entered the city he fled with 400 of his men east to a church in which they fortified themselves. Mughīth laid siege to it. The resistance went on for three months until one day Mughīth was told that the governor had fled on his own, intending to establish a stronghold in the mountains behind the city. Mughīth set off in single-handed pursuit and caught up with him when his horse fell into a ditch and threw him. Mughīth found him sitting on his shield, waiting to be taken prisoner. ‘He was’, the chronicler goes on to explain, ‘the only one of the kings of al-Andalus to be taken prisoner. All the others either made terms for themselves or escaped to distant regions like Galicia.’ Mughīth then returned to the church. The defenders were all executed but the governor’s life was saved so that he could be sent to the caliph in Damascus.
Tāriq himself headed for the capital, Toledo. This seems to have been largely abandoned by its inhabitants: according to the Chronicle of 754 the archbishop, Sindered, ‘lost his nerve and like a hireling rather than a shepherd, and contrary to the precepts of the ancients, he deserted Christ’s flock and headed for his Roman homeland’.
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Ibn Abd al-Hakam’s only contribution to the history of the taking of the Visigothic capital is the story of the sealed room which, like the story of Julian, has been passed down in history and legend. According to this there was a room (presumably in Toledo) with many locks. Every king added another lock on accession and none opened the room. Rodrigo, on becoming king, insisted on opening the room. On the wall they found pictures of Arabs and there was an inscription which said that, when the room was opened, these people would conquer the country.
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Tāriq may have pushed on along the road that led to the Ebro valley, perhaps taking Guadalajara before returning to winter in Toledo. Meanwhile his superior, the governor of Ifrīqīya, Mūsā b. Nusayr, decided to join in what was looking like a very profitable venture. The next spring, of 712, he gathered an army of 18,000 on the coast opposite Gibraltar. This was a very different force from the one Tāriq had led the year before. The majority of them were Arabs. It included some
tābi’ūn
(followers, that is men who became Muslims in the generation after the Companions of the Prophet) and leaders of the main Arab tribes. In June 712 the army crossed to Algeciras. Rather than hasten to meet up with Tāriq in Toledo, Mūsā seems to have decided to consolidate the area of Muslim rule in the south. He began with some smaller towns, Medina Sidonia and Carmona, before turning his attention to Seville, one of the largest cities on the peninsula. Resistance does not seem to have been very prolonged and the Visigothic garrison evacuated the city and withdrew to the west.
Mūsā then went north along the Roman road to the city of Merida. Merida, now a medium-sized provincial town, had been one of the main capitals of Roman Spain and the impressive classical ruins still testify to its wealth and status. In early Christian times it had become the centre of the thriving cult of St Eulalia. Here the Muslims encountered much more serious resistance than they had in Seville or Toledo. It seems that Mūsā was obliged to lay siege to the town through the winter of 712-13 and that the city did not finally surrender until 30 June 713. Mūsā then set out to meet up with Tāriq, but before he did so he sent his son Abd al-Azīz back to Seville, where resistance had broken out. Mūsā advanced east along the Tagus to the Visigothic capital at Toledo, now held by Tāriq. Here he forced his subordinate to hand over the treasury and the riches he had confiscated from the churches. The Arab sources are, as often, very interested in the booty and its distribution. In this case, they report the rivalry between Tāriq and Mūsā. The focus of conflict was the ‘Table of Solomon’, kept in a castle outside Toledo. This was immensely valuable, made as it was of gold and jewels. It had been taken by Tāriq but Mūsā insisted that he should have it. Tāriq reluctantly agreed to hand it over but took off one of the legs and fixed an imitation in its place. Mūsā installed himself as a veritable sovereign in the ancient city while Tāriq retired to Cordova in high dudgeon.
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As with the story of Julian, this clearly legendary material may point to wider political tensions, in this case the rivalry between Tāriq and his Berber followers and Mūsā and his largely Arab army.
The next spring (714) Mūsā set out again, heading for the Ebro valley. At some point during that year he took Zaragoza, where a garrison was established and a mosque founded. In the course of that summer, he also took Lerida and headed off up the Roman road that led to Barcelona and Narbonne.
The caliphs in Damascus were often very suspicious of successful conquerors, fearing, perhaps rightly, that they might escape from government control. The death of Walīd I in 715 meant that Mūsā b. Nusayr, like Muhammad b. Qāsim in Sind, was removed from office and brought back to Iraq to be punished. Both Mūsā and Tāriq were ordered to come to Damascus. Before they left, the two generals made an attempt to subdue the areas around the northern mountains. Tāriq took Leon and Astorga and then moved on over the Cantabrian mountains to Oviedo and Gijon. Many of the inhabitants abandoned the cities and fled to the mountains of the Picos de Europa.