It is quite conceivable that a man of fanatical temperament should feel himself called upon to effect the conversion of his fellows to what he believes to be the true faith, even at the cost of his kinsfolk's blood; but unfortunately for the Visigothic prince, his interests so coincided with his principles that worldly people not unnaturally suggest that the desire to wear his father's crown had as much to do with his action as the desire to convert his father's subjects.
When Spain from Aryan became Catholic, Seville became the Metropolitan See, and Leander its Archbishop. He was succeeded in that office by his brother Isidore, a much better man than he, and renowned as a doctor of the Church and writer on things generally. But by the end of the seventh century the primacy had passed to Toledo, and before the next century was fourteen years old the last of the Visigoths had reigned over Spain.
After the victory over Roderic near Jerez, Tarik, the Moorish commander, marched straight upon Toledo. The reduction of Seville he left to his superior officer, Musa. The citizens offered, it is said, a stout resistance, and then retired to Beja, on the other side of the Guadiana. During the absence of the Moorish commander they recovered the city, only to be dispossessed and finally subjugated by his son, the famous Abd-el-Aziz, the Abdalasis of Spanish story. Thenceforward for 536 years Seville was known as Ishbiliyah, one of the fairest cities of Islam.
When Musa was recalled to Damascus his son remained beside the Guadalquivir (as the river Bætis had now come to be called). He espoused, according to tradition, Roderic's widow, Exilona, who, legend says, had originally been a Moorish princess. For a brief period he dwelt in splendour in the old Acropolis, near where the Convent of La Trinidad now stands. But his enemies had been busy far away at the khalifa's court. While he was in the act of prayer in the mosque he had built adjacent to his palace, the messenger of death appeared. Exilona was left a second time a widow, and to the aged Musa was shown, months later, the lifeless head of his valiant son. Under Abd-el-Aziz's immediate successors the seat of government of the latest province of the Moslem Empire was transferred from Seville to Cordova. From all parts of the East, but especially from Syria, men came flocking to Andalusia. Quarrels arose as to the partition of the conquered land between the Berbers, who had composed the hordes of Tarik and Musa, and the new Saracen settlers. Finally it was decreed that each tribe or nationality should be allotted that region which bore the most resemblance to its original place of abode. Under this arrangement Ishbiliyah was assigned to the people of Homs, the ancient Emesa, a Syrian town on the Orontes. (We are reminded of the parallel between Macedon and Monmouth.) But in the course of time the original derivation of the Spanish Moslems was half forgotten, and the classification was rather into pure-blooded Arabs and Muwallads or half-breeds.
Here at Seville the young Abd-er-Rahman arrived, to restore the empire of his forefathers, the Umeyyas, and under these walls the horde of the Abbassides was cut to pieces. Yet despite the prosperity she enjoyed under the Western Khalifate, the city murmured against Cordova, and more than once essayed to throw off the yoke. In Abdullah's reign (888-912) a chief named Ibrahim Ibn Hajjaj assumed semi-regal state at Ishbiliyah. When he rode forth he was attended by five hundred cavaliers, and he ventured to wear the tiraz, the official insignia of the amirs. He was a liberal patron of the arts and letters. "In all the West," exclaimed a delighted bard, "I found no noble man but Ibrahim, and he was nobility itself! When you have once lived within his shadow, to live elsewhere is misery." Such flattery did not delude Ibrahim into too great a confidence in his own power. He readily submitted to the great khalifa, Abd-ur-Rahman III., by whom the city was greatly favoured. The channel of the Guadalquivir was narrowed and deepened, the palm-tree introduced from Africa, and the city adorned with gardens and fine edifices. The splendour of the court of Cordova was reflected on Seville, which became famous as a seat of learning. In those days flourished Ahmed Ben Abdallah, surnamed "El Beji," or "The Sage," the author of an Encyclopædia of Sciences which was long esteemed a piece of marvellous erudition.
Some strange and unexpected figures about this time flit across the stage of Andalusian history. The Northmen, or "Majus" as they were called by the Arabs, appeared in the year 844 off Lisbon. After spreading dismay through Lusitania they sailed their long ships southwards to Cadiz, and disembarked. They vanquished the khalifa's troops in three pitched battles, and penetrating into Seville sacked the rich city from end to end. Luckily they remained but a day and a night, and after sustaining several desperate attacks from the inhabitants of the country, with varying results, they retired overland to Lisbon, where they re-embarked. They came again fifteen years later, and this time sailed up the Guadalquivir, burnt the principal mosque, and threw down the Roman walls. Then they made sail for the eastern coasts of Spain, where they were attacked and routed by the Saracen fleet. An army of demons must these strange uncouth pirates have seemed to the Andalusians, who knew not whence they came nor to what race of men they belonged.
On the break-up of the Western Khalifate in 1009, the shrewd and powerful kadi, Mohammed Ben Abbad, secured the sovereignty of the city for himself and his descendants. He contrived to give his usurpation the appearance of legality. He espoused the cause of an impostor who personated the deposed khalifa, Hisham, and pretended to govern the city in his name. His power once firmly established, Ben Abbad disposed of his puppet, and announced that the khalifa was dead and had designated him his lawful successor. For the second time Seville rose to the rank of an independent State.
The dynasty of Abbad, emulous of the glories of Cordova, outshone all the other rulers of Spain in elegance and culture. The city was adorned with beautiful gardens and buildings. Learning was held in honour, and the amir disputed the palm with a swarm of fellow-poets. Walking one day with his courtiers, on these very banks of the Guadalquivir, the Amir Mut'adid-billah observed the water lying glassy beneath the waving light. He improvised a line comparing the surface of the stream to a cuirass, and called on the poet Aben Amr to complete the verse. This the laureate found some difficulty in doing, and to his chagrin he was anticipated by a girl of the people standing by, who contributed these lines: