While permanent safety had been secured in the North, on the side of Africa the danger was constant and menacing. The wild tribes of the Desert had never forgotten with what facility their forefathers had traversed the strait and subjugated a populous and extensive monarchy. The covetous eye of the half-naked Mauritanian robber, whose prowess had at times prevailed over the discipline of the Roman legions, was ever turned towards the beautiful cities of Andalusia, with their teeming bazaars, their prodigious wealth, their palaces furnished with every appliance of luxury, their lovely and fascinating women. The instinct of conquest, the presentiment that one day the exploit of Tarik would be repeated, were inspired by hope and encouraged by tradition. It was not the masses alone who cherished these ominous aspirations. The princes of the various dynasties who, at different periods of its history, swayed the destinies of Al-Maghreb, had, without exception, regarded the riches of the Peninsula as lawful spoil, if not actually as a part of their patrimony. Its condition—political, social, religious, commercial—was as familiar to them as the domestic polity of their own dominions. Their spies were to be found in the great emporiums of trade, in the most sequestered hamlets, in the ranks of the army, in the corridors of the palace, even in the bed-chamber of the khalif. Unknown and often unsuspected, their influence had been felt in many a bloody insurrection, in the decisive moment of many an eventful day. Never for a moment did they abandon the long-nourished project of conquest; never did they renounce the ambition—destined unhappily to be realized—of planting their victorious banners and erecting their throne on the banks of the famous Guadalquivir. Since the assumption of the suzerainty of the African provinces bordering on the Mediterranean by Abd-al-Rahman, the maintenance of that dignity had caused no inconsiderable drain on the treasury of the khalifate. Immense sums were annually transmitted to maintain troops, to support the pretensions of feeble vassals, and to bribe barbarian chieftains to refrain from ravaging the lands of their neighbors. No compensation was offered for the expense incurred except the negative and uncertain one implied by the temporary restraint of Berber invasion.
The attention of the Fatimites had been some years before directed towards the East, and, after a short and victorious struggle, the princes of that dynasty were enabled to remove the seat of their empire from the sandy plains of Mauritania to the inexhaustible Valley of the Nile. A great danger to the Ommeyade Empire of Spain was therefore apparently removed. At this time, Hassan-Ibn-Kenun, the last survivor of the Edrisites, exercised a precarious sovereignty over that portion of the African coast of which Tangier was the capital. A nominal vassal of Al-Hakem, his loyalty was largely dependent upon the fears excited by the encroachments of his neighbors, and when Abu-al-Fotuh, the representative of the Fatimites, invaded his dominions, the allegiance of Ibn-Kenun was, without hesitation, transferred to the Khalif of Egypt.
The revolt of Ibn-Kenun, and the alarming progress made by the Fatimite viceroy, impressed upon Al-Hakem the necessity for immediate and decisive action. With his customary diligence, he issued orders for the departure of a strong military and naval force to punish the treason of his vassal and overawe the fickle and perfidious chieftains of Africa. The object of the expedition was Tangier, the seat of the court and the residence of Ibn-Kenun. The Ommeyade fleet blockaded the harbor, and the troops, having encountered the enemy near the city, after a sharp engagement gained a decisive victory. But this success was of short duration. In the land of Al-Maghreb, swarming with active and warlike barbarians, the recruiting of an army was a matter of trifling difficulty. The Desert hordes, allured by the expectation of plunder and the excitement of arms, crowded to the camp of the Edrisite prince, who soon found himself once more able to tempt the fortunes of war. Another battle was fought; the troops of the Khalif sustained a demoralizing defeat; their general, Ibn-Tomlos, was left dead on the field, and the survivors who escaped the spears of the Mauritanian cavalry sought security behind the battlements of Tangier. The effect produced by this victory on the venal and inconstant people of Africa was serious. The reputation and the power of Ibn-Kenun received an extraordinary impulse. The petty vassals who for years had enjoyed the bounty of the Khalif hastened to renounce their allegiance. From far and near, along the sandy highways towards the camp of Ibn-Kenun, trooped the ferocious tribesmen whom no prince had yet been able to conciliate, and no government been able to civilize. No territory, except that occupied by a few fortified towns, remained loyal to Al-Hakem; even these places were in a state of siege; and it was evident that, unless energetic measures were taken to retrieve the disaster, the war-cry of the Berbers would soon be heard on the plains of Andalusia.
The Khalif was not unconscious of his danger. From every province of his dominions he summoned his bravest troops and his most experienced generals. The supreme command was entrusted to Ghalib, whose skill and valor had been signalized in the recent campaign against the Christians, and who was solemnly admonished, on peril of his life, to return victorious. It was not, however, to the uncertain event of battle that the Khalif unreservedly committed the destinies of his empire. The mercenary character of the Berber sheiks, always the partisans of him who bribed them most liberally, or who bribed them last, was what Al-Hakem depended upon, far more than upon either the tactics of his general or the courage of his soldiers. A great treasure was placed at the disposal of Ghalib, and he was instructed to spare no pains to detach from the army of Ibn-Kenun every chief of influence, without regard to the numbers of his following or the extravagance of his demands. In case he succeeded, he was ordered to conduct the family of Ibn-Kenun to Cordova. Having landed in safety, Ghalib studiously avoided a general engagement. His advance was impeded by the flying squadrons of Ibn-Kenun, who used every artifice to bring on a battle; but the cautious Ommeyade general, knowing that the fate of his sovereign, as well as his own life, depended on the issue of a conflict, had decided to trust to the secret and more certain means of corruption. Through the medium of trusty messengers, magnificent weapons, costly garments, and heaps of gold were clandestinely displayed before the greedy eyes of the Berber chieftains. Their constancy was not proof against this exhibition of wealth. They even competed for the infamous distinction of first deserting the standard of their commander; and, in a few days, Ibn-Kenun, abandoned by all but a handful of his old retainers, saw himself compelled to take refuge in a strong castle built on the summit of an isolated mountain called the Eagle’s Rock, where he had, in prudent anticipation of a reverse of fortune, already conveyed his harem and his treasures.
The drafts of Ghalib on the royal treasury excited the astonishment and consternation of the Khalif. Such enormous expenses had never before been incurred in the conduct of a campaign; and Al-Hakem, suspecting that all of the public money had not been used to corrupt the Berbers, and that much of it had been diverted into private hands, determined, for the purpose of investigation, to send an officer experienced in matters of finance and clothed with almost despotic authority, who should not be confined to the mere duties of treasurer, but should also exercise the high and responsible functions of a general and a councillor of state. The individual selected for this delicate mission was Ibn-abi-Amir, a name of both glorious and sinister associations, which now appears for the first time in the annals of the Hispano-Arab domination. He was accompanied by a select body of troops commanded by Yahya-Ibn-Mohammed, Viceroy of the Northern Frontier, whom Al-Hakem, still fearful of the issue of the African campaign, had sent to reinforce the army of Ghalib.
The siege of the rebel fortress was pushed with energy, but its defences were so formidable that four months elapsed before the garrison could be brought to terms. Then the most favorable conditions were granted; the personal safety of the soldiers was guaranteed and their property kept inviolate; and the main article of the instructions of Al-Hakem, touching the conveyance of the Edrisites to Cordova, was acceded to, though not without manifest reluctance, which, however, was of little moment under circumstances where protest and resistance were equally unavailing. With the capture of the Eagle’s Rock terminated the campaign in Africa. The remaining Edrisite princes, who had seen with dismay the sudden disappearance of the host of Ibn-Kenun, lost no time in making terms with the representatives of the Khalif. The entire region of Mauritania enjoyed a profound but delusive peace. The Berbers had retired to their solitudes to enjoy the reward of their treason, and to watch for another opportunity to dispose of their services to the highest bidder. The Fatimites, content with their recent acquisitions, left the administration of their African possessions to a viceroy, and, fascinated with the attractions of their new home on the Nile, did not seem, for the moment, desirous of prosecuting any further schemes of imperial aggrandizement.
Ghalib, escorting his illustrious prisoners, more than seventy in number, now returned to Cordova. From the hour of his landing at Algeziras, his march assumed the appearance of a military triumph. The line of march was obstructed by the throngs that, attracted by the novelty of the spectacle, had assembled from far and near. Every town and hamlet through which the cavalcade passed rang with the exultant shouts of a vast and excited multitude. The rich attire of the captives; their noble and dignified bearing; the romance attaching to the story of the foundation of their house; their descent from the family of the Prophet, certainly remote and probably fictitious, provoked the curiosity, if it did not excite the sympathy, of the elated populace, who only saw in their humiliation another addition to the glory of their sovereign. When the capital was approached, the Khalif came forth to meet the guard and their prisoners. As soon as his presence was known, Ibn-Kenun dismounted, knelt before him, and kissed his hand. Ghalib and his officers were received with all the honors due to men who under arduous circumstances have achieved success; the princes were conducted to a fortified palace in the city, and their attendants distributed in different localities, where their safe-keeping could be assured; the body-guard of the chief, consisting of seven hundred warriors of approved valor, was incorporated into a division of the army, and Al-Hakem could now congratulate himself that his decision and energy had compelled the respect of his enemies and had procured for his dominions the benefits of universal peace.
The inconstancy of fortune did not, however, permit the Khalif long to enjoy the leisure and the satisfaction to be derived from the indulgence of his literary tastes and the triumph of his arms. His health, impaired by intense and constant application to study, broke down. An attack of apoplexy admonished him that he must renounce the cares of state, and the conduct of the government was henceforth committed to his vizier Moshafi. The latter, a veteran and accomplished statesman, signalized his advent to uncontrolled power by the institution of many radical and greatly needed reforms. The department of finance, which had become the seat of corruption, was reorganized and administered with prudence and economy. The discipline of the army was improved. The former viceroy of the northern frontier, the gallant Yahya-Ibn-Mohammed, was recalled from command in Africa and reinstated in his former office, a measure that insured the tranquillity of the Christian states, which had recently developed symptoms of agitation, in several instances culminating in acts of open and destructive hostility. The interests of the Khalif in Mauritania were confirmed by the appointment of two native princes whose fidelity could be depended upon; and, by this stroke of policy, the vizier was enabled to remove all the Arab troops, except the garrisons of a few cities, to points where their services would be far more advantageous to the government, and, at the same time, less expensive to the treasury. The entertainment of the Edrisites, who maintained a pomp little inferior to that of the royal family itself, was a source of constant perplexity and annoyance to the economical minister. At length, profiting by the discontent induced by a sedentary life and a vigilant espionage ill-disguised under an appearance of liberty, he succeeded in persuading Ibn-Kenun to allow himself and his followers to be transported to Tunis, with the understanding that they should never again set foot on the soil of Mauritania. When the preparations for departure had been completed, the thrifty vizier partially indemnified the treasury for the expense caused by the involuntary guests of the Khalif by unceremoniously appropriating a large piece of ambergris, of immense value, which Ibn-Kenun considered the most precious object of all his possessions. After landing at Tunis, the exiles proceeded to Alexandria, where for many years they enjoyed the hospitality and protection of the Fatimite Khalif. From this time the princes of the Edrisite family are no longer prominent in the revolutions of Northern Africa.
While Cordova was, by far, the most populous and magnificent city of Moorish Spain, it was indebted, in no small degree, for its superiority to the prestige derived from its position as a place of pilgrimage and the religious centre of the khalifate. Even in the eyes of the most implacable enemies of the Ommeyade dynasty, a sacred character invested the Western metropolis as the seat of one of the most famous shrines of Islam. Far more intense was the feeling of reverence in the minds of the devoted adherents of that dynasty. There was the throne of the Commander of the Faithful, in whose person the pious believer recognized not only the representative of a line of princes whose genius had added vast provinces to the Moslem empire, but also the venerated successor of the Arabian Prophet. From its gates had gone forth armies which had traversed the natural boundaries of the Peninsula, had occupied the fairest portion of France, and had repeatedly abased the pride of the scoffing infidel. Everywhere were visible significant tokens of Mussulman triumph and Christian humiliation. Its warehouses were filled with the plunder of churches. The inmates of monasteries were exposed by hundreds for sale in its markets. Its mosques had been raised by the labor of Christian captives. From the ceiling of the Djalma, the pride of all true believers, were suspended the bells of the Cathedral of Santiago, which even the vaunted power of the patron saint of the Asturias had been unable to save from the sacrilegious hand of the Moslem. No capital in Africa or Asia enjoyed a larger measure of military glory. No city in all the wide realm of Islam was so renowned for the munificence of its rulers, the wealth of its religious foundations, the learning and eloquence of its theologians, and the pomp of its worship.
On the right bank of the Guadalquivir stood the Great Mosque, in the eyes of the Mohammedans of Africa and Spain superior in sanctity to all other temples, save only the Kaaba. Founded by the first Abd-al-Rahman, fully as much from political motives as through religious zeal, it had been embellished by the wealth, the taste, the rivalry, and the enthusiasm of nine generations of sovereigns, having at their command the resources of one of the richest and most flourishing countries of the globe. By its erection, the power of the Western Khalifate had been established upon a firm and enduring basis, and the permanent independence of its dynasty assured. The more or less intimate relations hitherto maintained with the Moslem empires of Asia were severed; the nominal allegiance due to the monarchs of Damascus and Bagdad, persistently asserted by peremptory edicts and occasionally conceded by the rendition of a precarious tribute, was forever renounced. The aims of the founder, dictated by a political sagacity savoring of almost superhuman wisdom, were finally realized; and among the subjects and tributaries of the House of Ommeyah, proscribed by the rulers of Arabia, the sanctuary of the Mosque of his capital usurped the place once occupied by the temple of Mecca, the scene of the humiliations, the perils, and the triumphs of the Prophet. Thus, by a masterstroke of policy, which appealed alike to the worldly ambition and the religious pride of the people, was consolidated the authority of a new and progressive race of kings. Its associations especially struck the imagination of the pious Mohammedan. It occupied the site of the principal church of Gothic Cordova, which, in its turn, had been built upon the ruins of a Pagan temple. The stones of its foundation had been transported from Narbonne. The earth in which they were embedded had been stained with infidel blood. Christian prisoners, chained together, had painfully borne these materials for a distance of two hundred leagues, and others had for generations labored upon its walls. The spoil of many a successful campaign had contributed to enrich its interior. On all sides, golden inscriptions and trophies of conquest attested the glory of the princes of Islam and the invincible prowess of their armies. The Great Mosque is not merely an epitome of architecture, wherein are disclosed adaptations of the artistic ideas of many widely separated nations,—the manifestations of a spirit which could appropriate and combine in exquisite harmony the columns of the Roman, the capitals of the African, the arch of the Syrian, the mosaic of the Byzantine, the battlements of the Persian,—it is an eloquent testimonial to the genius which could enlist the ordinarily baneful influence of superstition in the cultivation of literature and the diffusion of knowledge. For this splendid temple played no unimportant part in the intellectual advancement of Mohammedan Spain, as well as in the civilization of barbarian Europe.