History of the Moorish Empire in Europe, Vol. 2 (of 3)

by S. P. Scott

Their desertion by Ibn-Hud and the intelligence of his tragic death struck the citizens of Cordova with terror. Notwithstanding his pusillanimous conduct, they had still hoped that he might ultimately effect their deliverance. Now, however, there was no one to whom they could turn for succor. News of the important enterprise in which the King of Castile and Leon was engaged had already spread to the most distant settlements of the Christian territory. Citizen and peasant, noble and mountaineer, braving the inclemency of an unfavorable season and the dangers of swollen torrents and flooded highways, hastened to the seat of war. The dismay of the besieged increased with each shout which announced the arrival of a new detachment at the Castilian camp. The Christians made frequent and desperate attempts to carry the place by storm. The garrison was worn out with the fatigue it was compelled to undergo; and the effeminate and disorderly populace were ill-qualified to perform the duties of soldiers. Walls and towers were tottering under the blows of the military engines. The suddenness of the attack had found the city, which, nominally protected by a truce, dreamed of nothing less than a siege, entirely unprovided with supplies. Food became scarce. It was manifest that the inevitable destiny of the ancient metropolis of the Ommeyade khalifate could not long be postponed. Actuated by motives of self-preservation and humanity, the Moorish authorities determined to make terms with the King, and to avoid if possible the awful calamities which had been visited upon so many of the unfortunate cities of Andalusia. The capitulation was made under the distressing conditions usually imposed in such cases upon the vanquished. The inhabitants were required to abandon everything and to depart from the province. As the long and weeping train of penniless exiles passed out of the gates on one side the conquerors entered on the other. It was with the greatest display of military and ecclesiastical pomp that the Christians took possession of the famous Moslem capital. The old walls echoed the tread of mailed squadrons, the stirring notes of the trumpet, and the solemn chants of the clergy, who, in all the splendor of glittering vestments, jewelled censer, and crucifix, occupied the post of honor in the procession. The royal standard of Castile and Leon was planted on the highest tower of the fortifications. It was with wonder, not altogether unmingled with reverence, that the ignorant and ruffian soldiery viewed the exquisite beauty of the Great Mosque,—the shrine which, venerated as a sanctuary, had invited the pilgrimage of the devout of distant nations; the temple which had been enriched by the emulous munificence of the most opulent and polished princes of Europe; the edifice which, alone of all the marvellous architectural creations of the Hispano-Arab age of gold, had survived intact the fury of religious discord, the tumult of revolution, the extinction of dynasties, the destruction of empires. Amidst the vicissitudes of invasion, conquest, and revolt, a veneration akin to idolatry had always invested the Djalma of Abd-al-Rahman. The exterior still glowed with the warm and brilliant coloring of the Orient. The court-yard still exhibited in its diversified horticulture the capricious taste of the Andalusian gardener. Inside, the presence of the myriads of pious worshippers who had trodden its interminable aisles in the course of five eventful centuries had left few permanent traces. The pattern of the elegant pavement was partially effaced. Within the Mihrab—the centre of the little sanctuary which looked towards the temple of Mecca—a channel deeply worn in the marble floor indicated where countless pilgrims, in imitation of the ceremonies of the Kaaba, had seven times made its circuit on their knees. These, however, were the sole but eloquent testimonials of the continuous devotion of fifteen generations. The walls were hung with that richly embossed and decorated leather whose name indicated the Ommeyade capital as the place of its invention and manufacture. The ceiling sparkled in the semi-obscurity with its gilded pendentives and silver stars. Upon the arches of the Mihrab appeared in untarnished beauty the dazzling mosaics which had been the pride of the Byzantine artisan. The treasures of the mosque, the mimbar, or pulpit, the chandeliers, lamps, and censers, were all, save one, in their accustomed places. The most precious object of Moslem reverence, the Koran of Othman, regarded as the talisman of Spain, had been carried away to Africa by the Almohade monarch, Abd-al-Mumen, and with its departure, according to the superstitious belief of the devout, had vanished the last warrant of the security of Moslem power. That ornament of the Mihrab—the relic stained with the blood of a martyred khalif, the first of a race whose martial energy and literary endowments were destined to dignify and honor the royalty of Islam—was now in the hands of foreign and inappreciative barbarians. From the ceiling were suspended the bells of the church of Santiago, placed there by the great Al-Mansur, significant trophies of the victorious career of that most renowned of Moorish commanders. But once before in its history had this splendid temple, which, in public estimation, was inferior in holiness only to the mosques of Mecca and Jerusalem, been desecrated by the presence of the infidel. Now, however, it was eternally lost to the religion for the celebration of whose rites it had been founded. The Mussulman pilgrim, attracted by the reputation of its sanctity and the fame of its unrivalled magnificence, could henceforth no more invoke the name of the Prophet within its venerable walls.

The vast edifice was almost deserted as the Christian procession, headed by the greatest prelates of Spain, filed slowly through its portals. A few of the attendants peered curiously from behind the pillars at the splendid array, whose appearance was the ominous signal of the final suppression of the Mohammedan faith in the Peninsula. Amidst the prayers of the priests and the shouts of the soldiery, the cross was raised upon the cupola of the Mihrab. In accordance with the prescribed ceremonies of the Roman Catholic ritual, the edifice was cleansed of the abominations presumed to have infected it under the ministrations of another and a hostile belief. The mosque was dedicated as a cathedral, whose see was enriched with donations of some of the most valuable estates of the conquered territory. In pious retribution for the sacrilege which had appropriated them, the bells of Santiago were returned to the church from which they had been taken upon the shoulders of Moorish captives. The latter, as they painfully traversed the extensive regions that separated the plains of Andalusia from the cheerless Galician solitudes—regions which once trembled at the very mention of Moslem heroes—might well reflect upon the transitory character of religious faith and the instability of human greatness.

The compulsory evacuation of Cordova struck a blow at its prosperity from which it never recovered. With natural advantages enjoyed by few communities, it remains to this day the most poverty-stricken and stagnant of the great cities of Spain. Its vitality is preserved by the wealth and resources of its ecclesiastical establishment alone. Its markets are deserted, its thoroughfares grass-grown and silent. A grotesque and tawdry church rises in the very centre of the mosque of Abd-al-Rahman, impairing its symmetry, and furnishing an eternal monument to the folly and prejudices of a fanatical priesthood. The banished population carried with it a thrift and an industry which centuries have not been able to replace. Many arts, brought to a high degree of perfection, disappeared with its expulsion. The walls begun by the Cæsars, and greatly extended by the princes of the House of Ommeyah, embraced within their circumference the original area of the once populous Moslem capital. Time, however, had dealt severely with that far-famed city. Entire quarters had been depopulated by the fury of rebellion, the vicissitudes of political fortune, the ravages of conquest. Streets, formerly crowded with merchants and brokers of every clime, were impassable from the accumulated rubbish of demolished houses. The alcazar, which adjoined the mosque, was a dismantled ruin. The rage of the populace and the vandalism of African invaders had swept away the palaces whose number and elegance had awakened the admiration of every beholder. The villas of the suburbs had disappeared. The lovely gardens, in whose culture and preservation had been exhibited the utmost perfection of horticultural art, were now impenetrable thickets, from whose tangled depths, here and there, rose a heap of fallen columns or a broken horseshoe arch. Under the khalifate, the Valley of the Guadalquivir was so thickly settled as to present the appearance of one vast community, and from Cordova to Andujar countless villages attested the fertility of the soil and the thoroughness of its cultivation. At the time of the Christian occupation this region had become a desert, and a desert it has since remained. For the intelligence and energy of the Moslem were substituted the sloth and ignorance of the monk; ecclesiastical councils, in which were solemnly discussed the alleged inspired origin of absurd dogmas, usurped the place of the literary assemblies of the khalifs; and the monastery and the episcopal palace, with their secret crimes and open vices, rose upon the ruins of institutions of learning whose instruction had developed the greatest minds of Europe, and whose influence and principles had dignified even the papal throne.

While the Castilians were prosecuting their important campaign in the West, the genius of the King of Aragon was again asserting itself in the principality of Valencia. Under the lax system of political morality prevalent during the Middle Ages, an insignificant event was not infrequently made the pretext for a protracted and bloody war. Abu-Djomail, Emir of Valencia, for some reason deferred the delivery of tribute to Jaime, his suzerain, and the latter, elated by the conquest of Majorca, determined to make this an excuse to add to his already extensive dominions the most valuable remaining province of Spain. Profoundly politic as well as brave, the King of Aragon obtained the official sanction of Pope Gregory IX. for his meditated design, and the inauguration of a fresh crusade was proclaimed to the bold adventurers of Europe. An extraordinary tax was voted for the pious enterprise by the Cortes of Catalonia; a great army was assembled, and the campaign was begun by the siege of Burriana, a strongly fortified seaport, whose numerous garrison and maritime relations with the neighboring states of Africa promised a long and vigorous resistance. This expectation was verified to the letter. Several months elapsed before the place surrendered. It was midwinter, for the impetuosity of Jaime did not consider, in the attack on an enemy, either the disadvantages of the season or inferiority in numbers. In the conduct of this siege he displayed the qualities of an able commander even more conspicuously than he had done before Majorca. He personally directed the operations of the military engines. He led the troops to the breach. He exercised careful supervision over the camp, provided for the comfort of the soldiers, dressed the wounds of the injured, cheered with words of consolation the last moments of the dying. The severe privations it was called upon to endure damped the enthusiasm of the army. Some of the discontented nobility demanded that the siege be raised. The King refused, even in the face of the imminent desertion of a majority of his troops. While the malcontents remained sullenly in camp, he, supported only by a few faithful followers, skirmished daily with the enemy, who, having learned the condition of affairs, had assumed the offensive. At length the determination of the King prevailed, and the nobles returned to their duty. The siege was thenceforth pressed with redoubled energy, and Burriana was soon added to the long list of Jaime’s conquests. Its reduction caused the immediate surrender of the strong city of Peniscola and of a considerable number of towns in the Valencian territory. The disaffection of the Aragonese and Catalonian nobility was removed by these successes, and their fidelity was confirmed by the immediate investiture of the most distinguished of their number with the larger part of the conquered domain,—a politic measure which increased their military and feudal obligations, while it temporarily secured their attachment and gratitude.

From the day of his accession to the hour when he entered the Moorish capital in triumph, the absorbing desire of Jaime was the conquest of Valencia. The difficulties which presented themselves to the realization of this project only confirmed the resolution of the King. A few miles from the city stood the fortress of Puig. Its impregnable situation and close proximity to the metropolis of the kingdom rendered its possession highly advantageous to an army besieging Valencia. It had fallen into the hands of the Aragonese after the capitulation of Peniscola, and its defences had been greatly strengthened by the Christian engineers. During the absence of Jaime, an army of forty thousand Moslems, commanded by the Emir in person, appeared before it. The garrison was greatly inferior in numbers, but composed of picked warriors never accustomed to count their enemies excepting after a victory. Their intrepidity hardly allowed them to await the approach of the Valencians. They issued from the gates; their sudden and impetuous attack disconcerted their adversaries; and the discomfiture of a host of twenty times their number added a new trophy to the innumerable triumphs of Christian valor. The battle of Puig destroyed the confidence of the Moslems of Valencia, and they never again ventured to encounter their terrible antagonists in the open field.

Despite the favorable beginning of the campaign, the Aragonese army was daily reduced by desertions, and when, a few weeks afterwards, it encamped before Valencia, it mustered less than fifteen hundred strong. Rarely had an enterprise of such importance been undertaken with so small a force. In addition to its numerical weakness, its efficiency was impaired by a general feeling of suspicion, engendered by a lack of confidence and an absence of discipline. Many nobles abandoned their king, often without notice, taking their retainers with them. Those who remained could not be relied on, and had, in fact, good reason for discontent. The daily winter rains increased the difficulty of military movements and the danger of disease. Few of those who had served in the former campaign cared for a repetition of the experiences before Majorca. The presence of a brave and treacherous enemy rendered increasing vigilance indispensable and magnified the already arduous labors of a siege whose issue, under existing circumstances, could hardly be successful. The pay of the soldiers was in arrears, and the treasure chest, exhausted by unusual demands and plundered by dishonest custodians, was empty. The camp resounded with complaints. The murmurs of the courtiers were not suppressed even in the royal presence. When the King announced his intention to return for the purpose of seeking reinforcements, the remaining nobles declared that they would accompany him and renounce an undertaking which promised nothing but disaster. But relief was at hand from a quarter whence substantial encouragement had already been repeatedly obtained in wars with the Moorish infidel. The crusading spirit, generally nourished by incentives wholly foreign to the principles of religion, which, however, always afforded a convenient pretext for the most flagrant outrages against humanity, was by no means dormant in Europe. Another crusade was proclaimed by the Holy See. The passions of rapacious adventurers were inflamed with the hope of conquest, while the promise of unlimited pardons, indulgences, and booty attracted to the standard of the Cross a motley concourse of criminals, outlaws, and fanatics. France and England furnished almost all of these recruits, who numbered nearly seventy thousand. With such an army, which was constantly supplied with provisions by sea, the ultimate result of the campaign seemed no longer doubtful. To prove to the enemy, as well as to his own followers, his intention not to abandon his position until the city should be captured, Jaime made use of every artifice and expedient at his command. The Christian camp by degrees assumed the appearance and character of a permanent outpost. The quarters of the soldiery were constructed of substantial materials. The Queen, attended by the ladies of the court, arrived and took up her residence in the royal pavilion. Operations were pressed with increasing diligence. The Moors, impressed by these ominous evidences of the unalterable purpose of the besiegers, attempted to negotiate. All the territory between Teruel, Tortosa, and the Guadalquivir—a region of boundless fertility and defended by many strong fortresses, together with a yearly tribute of ten thousand pieces of gold—was offered as the price of peace. The King, conscious of his advantage, declined to listen to any terms of accommodation which did not include the capitulation of the city. The prize almost within his grasp was too valuable to be made the subject of barter. The traveller who to-day traverses the province of Valencia is amazed and enchanted with its productiveness and beauty. Yet what he sees is a comparatively insignificant portion of that which was once under the highest cultivation attainable by any system of agriculture. The density of the population required the greatest economy and labor in the division and use of both land and water. Hills that are now rocky and barren. were, under Moorish occupation, covered to the very summits with verdant terraces. Irrigation, governed by a code of laws which Spanish conceit and prejudice have never been able to repeal, was carried to almost absolute perfection. Every product flourished in a climate not inaptly compared with that of Paradise. The natural resources and accumulated wealth of such a principality were too alluring to permit its long continuance in the hands of those whose skill and patient efforts had founded and perpetuated its prosperity. At the sight of the voluptuous regions of Southern Spain, the Christian of the inhospitable North often forgot his country and the deeds of his heroic ancestors who had wrested with difficulty from the infidel a foothold in the Pyrenees; in the presence of the lovely houris of another faith he sometimes renounced his religion and his God. The Spanish crusades were not characterized by the absurd but sincere fanaticism which was the chief motive that inspired the expeditions to Palestine. No kings or courtiers abandoned home, country, friends, and family to obtain an object of doubtful expediency in the midst of an arid and scorching desert. No misguided multitude, roused by ecclesiastical eloquence, undertook the most interminable of journeys, endured the most horrible of privations for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, which omnipotent wisdom or Moslem valor had left since the reign of Omar, with a single slight intermission, in the hands of the infidel. The warriors who assumed the cross in the Peninsula were men of a widely different stamp from the followers of Peter the Hermit or the vassals of Philip Augustus and Richard Plantagenet. It is true that some of them had served in the Holy Land; but these were not fair representatives of the brave, the chivalrous, the pious crusaders. Their incentives had been mercenary, or they may have sought security for unpardonable crimes in the confused obscurity of a multitude of strangers. The most ignoble designs were concealed by the ample but well-worn mantle of religion. The wealth of the Moorish cities, the seductive influence of the climate when contrasted with the inclement and dreary atmosphere of Central and Northern Europe, the beauty and grace of the Mohammedan women were well known to every nation from Byzantium to Britain. It was no secret, either, that the population of the terrestrial paradise which bordered on the Mediterranean had long since lost the prestige and the strength which had distinguished the armies of the khalifate, and was not fitted to contend with fierce and powerful warriors reared amidst cold and privation, trained to martial exercises from infancy, and whose occupation and pastime alike were war. The accomplishment of the Reconquest would have been long and indefinitely deferred had it depended on the exertions of the Spaniards alone. Credit for the exploits which subdued and eventually consolidated under the Castilian sceptre the Hispano-Arab principalities is in no small degree due to the prowess of adventurers from every country in Christendom. The frenzied exhortations of monkish zealots were not required to excite the passions of the foreign crusader who volunteered in the armies of Jaime and Ferdinand. In his eyes the propagation of the Faith was merely an excuse for pillage. He was conspicuously negligent in the performance of his religious duties, extended experience and observation having thoroughly familiarized him with the inconsistencies and the failings of the clergy, and inspired him with a contempt for that order which he was usually at no pains to conceal. His attachment to the cause of Christ lasted just as long as it was profitable. Such considerations are not applicable, however, to the independent Christian population of Spain. With it the extinction of Moslem domination was a measure of political necessity, of national existence, of individual freedom. For five hundred years the struggle had continued. More than once the petty states which had sprung from the weak and insignificant community established in the Asturias in the face of Moorish triumph, expanded by ages of undaunted resolution and superhuman valor, and finally developed into a number of kingdoms whose mutual antagonisms were the greatest menace to their stability and power, had been on the point of submitting once more in humiliating subordination to Moslem authority, evidenced by the regular and humiliating rendition of homage. Generations of battle had engendered in the mind of the Spanish Christian a sentiment of ferocious hatred against the infidel enemy who had usurped the empire of his ancestors; who had defeated his most valiant sovereigns; to whose harems had been consigned the most beautiful maidens of his race, either as a degrading tribute or as the spoils of war; whose sacrilegious hands had seized the sacred treasures of his altars; who had deposited with exultant shouts within the mosque of his capital the bells whose solemn tones had so often called to their devotions the pilgrims assembled at the holy shrine of Santiago. The grosser passions of avarice and military ambition were, indeed, rarely absent from the motives which prompted the conduct of the mediæval Spaniard. Inherited prejudice, early education, the maxims of his religious guides, all had a tendency to intensify the detestation entertained by him against such as refused assent to the doctrines of his creed. The Castilian despised the knowledge and the intellectual accomplishments which made the Moor immeasurably his superior, but he often reluctantly confessed the bravery of his infidel adversary in the field. This antipathy and intolerance, while openly encouraged by the clergy for professional reasons, were in reality less marked among the ecclesiastics than elsewhere. As their order monopolized the meagre learning of the time, they were better qualified to appreciate the scientific acquirements which distinguished the polished enemies of their faith. As representatives of a system largely maintained by organized hypocrisy, they condemned in public what they often studied with wonder and delight in the luxurious solitude of the convent and the monastery. The prelates as well as the nobles did not disdain to imitate the vices of the Moslem, especially condemned by their religion, their canons, the precepts of their Founder, and the example of the chaste and abstemious Fathers of the Church. The writings of the heterodox Mussulmans were not unfamiliar to the more intelligent and inquisitive members of the Spanish hierarchy. The theological gloom of the episcopal palace was dispelled by the joyous presence of lovely infidels, whose caresses were more attractive to the clerical voluptuary than the monotonous ceremonies of the mass, and whose suggestive dances, relics of the licentious diversions of Pagan antiquity, were frequently performed for the delectation of saintly visitors in the most retired apartments of the ecclesiastical seraglio.

Incentives other than those inspired by disinterested piety had great weight with the majority of the Spanish clergy. The Church, through the diligently fostered fears and the misdirected liberality of its superstitious adherents, was always the greatest beneficiary of a successful campaign against the Saracen. The lucrative precedent for the accumulation of treasure, eventually consumed in the construction and adornment of the palatial religious houses of the Peninsula, whose number and magnificence, although sadly diminished, are still sufficient to excite the envy of Catholic Europe, had already been established. The annual contributions bestowed by royal munificence or wrung from individual poverty were but a pittance when compared with the booty to be secured by the Church militant at the capture of a single Moslem city. Uncanonical considerations were, moreover, no insignificant inducements to the martial ecclesiastic to abandon for a time the cope for the cuirass. The formal and traditional obligations of his order were but lightly regarded by the Castilian or the Leonese prelate. His vow of poverty had long been forgotten amidst the boundless epicureanism of elegant luxury, magnificent furniture, expensive and gaudy raiment, priceless jewels, the possession of horses whose purity of breed moved the envy of the greatest nobles, the parade of trains of slaves whose physical attractions were indisputable proof of the taste and incontinence of their masters. The Spanish hierarchy, independent of the Papacy from the early days of Gothic domination, was far from presenting in its polity the nice distinctions of official rank and the rigid subordination to superiors exhibited in the profound and elaborate organization of the papal system. Each prelate enjoyed a large share of independence in his own diocese, and recent acknowledgment of the paramount claims of the See of Rome had not abrogated the ecclesiastical prerogatives confirmed by prescriptive right based upon the uninterrupted usage of centuries. The vow of implicit obedience—generally considered an unmeaning formality and unknown in practice under the Visigoths—was for generations after the public submission to papal supremacy disregarded as an imperative obligation of the clergy. Such was the condition of the Spanish priesthood and such the base and inconsistent motives which prompted the overthrow of the most perfect examples of material and intellectual progress which had adorned and instructed Europe since the climax of Roman civilization.

The great accession of moral strength secured through the instrumentality of the Papacy enabled the King of Aragon vigorously to assume the offensive. A great fortified camp, whose works defied the feeble and desultory efforts of the besieged, now encircled the city of Valencia. The machines were placed in position, the walls were mined, and intercourse with the Moors on the side of the land effectually intercepted. By the sea, however, communication was as yet comparatively clear, and pressing messages for assistance were sent by the beleaguered Moslems to their brethren in Andalusia and Africa. To these appeals no one responded except the Emir of Tunis, whose squadron was not able to effect a landing in the face of the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. After the departure of the Africans, the Catalonian navy formed the blockade of the port; under the increased exertions of the besiegers the walls began to crumble, and the inhabitants held themselves in constant readiness to repel a storming party. It required no power of the imagination to picture the result of a successful attack by the lawless troops now besieging the city. The melancholy examples of beautiful and populous towns delivered up to pillage were fresh in the mind of every Moslem in the Peninsula. Of all the Christian armies which the Saracens of Spain had yet encountered, that of Jaime contained the largest proportion of foreign adventurers. The native soldiery, seldom accessible to pity, were humane when compared with the fierce and bloodthirsty outlaws who formed the bulk of the crusaders. These considerations were not lost upon the people of Valencia, who could not hope to hold in check much longer an enemy whose numbers, valor, and military resources gave him such decided advantages over a garrison exhausted by prolonged hostilities, whose defences were rapidly becoming untenable, whose provisions were almost exhausted, and which had no prospect of reinforcements or aid from any quarter. Haunted by the dread of massacre, the Valencians proposed terms of surrender, which the prudence of Jaime readily induced him to accord. They were expressly guaranteed against the violence of the troops, a provision which experience had frequently demonstrated to be but a precarious security. Such as chose to remain were promised the undisturbed enjoyment of their possessions, their individual liberty, and their religious faith. All taxes, excepting those ordinarily imposed on the people of Aragon, were to be abolished. To those who preferred to tempt the doubtful fortunes of voluntary exile were conceded their arms and all the portable property they could carry, with the assurance that their Journey through the territory occupied by the Christians might be prosecuted without molestation. The majority of the Moslems adopted the latter alternative. The uncontrollable temper of their enemies, infuriated by the loss of anticipated booty and inflamed with religious hatred, was too great a menace to be lightly braved in the presence of men who would, under the most insignificant pretext, indulge to satiety their ferocious instincts.

Fifty thousand persons abandoned their homes and sought temporary safety beyond the Xucar, which was designated as the new boundary of Christian conquest; a truce nominally of seven years, but whose actual duration was entirely dependent on the capricious indulgence of the victor, was agreed upon, and the royal standard of Aragon was raised by the Moslems themselves upon the battlements of Valencia. It required all the authority of the King to repress the fierce passions of his unruly followers, some of whom did not hesitate to violate the provisions of the treaty and the laws of military discipline by attempts to plunder the helpless and the distressed who had been compelled to yield to the inexorable results of war. The heads of these mutineers, insensible alike to the claims of public faith and the suggestions of humanity, were promptly struck off by the King himself, whose evident intention to maintain inviolate the pledges he had given produced a salutary effect on the turbulent and insubordinate spirits of his command.

The houses and the estates abandoned by their former owners, who preferred exile and penury to the risk of death or oppression, were apportioned among such of the crusaders as had distinguished themselves by the amount of their contributions, the importance of their military service, or the number of the retainers who had followed them to battle. Considerable difficulty was incurred in adjusting the conflicting claims of those who, exaggerating the value of their achievements and the generosity of their donations, demanded an undue share of the reward. Three hundred and eighty knights and nobles were, according to the judgment of the King, deemed worthy of investiture with fiefs derived from the lands of the conquered territory, whose tenures imposed upon each feudatory the obligation of guarding for four months in every year a certain portion of the border. The clergy, as was usually the case, secured by superior dexterity and by the influence attaching to their sacred office the most valuable of the lands affected by the public distribution.