Read The Great Arab Conquests Online
Authors: Hugh Kennedy
The Great Arab Conquests (5 page)
The next stage was the collection and writing down of this oral material. It is not easy to say exactly at what stage this occurred because Arabic, like English, uses expressions like ‘He says (in his book)’ so verbs of speech may actually refer to writing, but the process was certainly begun during the eighth century. These collections seem to have been made for antiquarian reasons, to preserve the record of the early years of Muslim rule in Iraq or Egypt when the memories were fading and there was a risk that much of this important story would fall into oblivion. The practical considerations that had led to the preservation of these traditions in the first place had, by now, become largely irrelevant, but of course the collections assembled by these editors necessarily reflected the purposes of the earlier narrators.
The ninth and early tenth centuries saw a vast explosion of writing and book production. The introduction of paper to replace parchment (dried animal skins) as the main writing material
1
meant that writing became both quicker and cheaper. Historical writing increased as part of this, reflecting a growing demand for historical information, both in the circles around the courts of the caliphs and among the wider literate society of Baghdad and the rest of Iraq. In Baghdad, where there was a real book trade, it became possible to make a living writing for a wider public, not just for a rich patron. Knowledge became professionalized, in the sense that men could make a career out of it.
1
meant that writing became both quicker and cheaper. Historical writing increased as part of this, reflecting a growing demand for historical information, both in the circles around the courts of the caliphs and among the wider literate society of Baghdad and the rest of Iraq. In Baghdad, where there was a real book trade, it became possible to make a living writing for a wider public, not just for a rich patron. Knowledge became professionalized, in the sense that men could make a career out of it.
Knowing your history, being an authority, could lead to an appointment at court. The historian Balādhurī, whose
Book of Conquests
is one of the main sources on which we rely, seems to have made a living as a
nadīm
or ‘boon-companion’ at the Abbasid court. Every boon-companion was expected to bring some knowledge, expertise or talent to the party: some were poets, some authorities on quaint or unusual Arab vocabulary or the characteristics of different geographical areas. Surely Balādhurī owed his position to the fact that he knew so much about the conquests and other areas of early Islamic history, for he was a great authority too on the genealogies of the ancient Arab tribes. This was all despite the fact that he does not seem to have come from an important family and was not himself a descendant of the participants. The greatest of these compilers was Tabarī (d. 923). He was a Persian who came from a landowning family in the area along the south shores of the Caspian Sea. He spent most of his adult life in Baghdad and became a great authority on two of the most important areas of Muslim learning, the interpretation of the Koran and the history of Islam. He seems to have lived a quiet bachelor life, subsisting off the revenues of his family estates, which were brought to him by pilgrims from his homeland as they came through Baghdad on their way to Mecca and Medina. He made it his task to collect as much as he could of the writings of his predecessors and edit them into one mighty compilation. He also attempted, with considerable success, to order it. He adopted an annalistic framework in which the events of each year were recorded under the number of the year. He was not the first Arab writer to use this method, which may in turn have been inherited from the Greek tradition of chronicle writing, but no one else had used it to present such a vast amount of information. In many ways, his work made the individual publications of his predecessors redundant and virtually all later accounts of the history of the early Islamic world in general, and of the Muslim conquests in particular, were based on his mighty opus.
Book of Conquests
is one of the main sources on which we rely, seems to have made a living as a
nadīm
or ‘boon-companion’ at the Abbasid court. Every boon-companion was expected to bring some knowledge, expertise or talent to the party: some were poets, some authorities on quaint or unusual Arab vocabulary or the characteristics of different geographical areas. Surely Balādhurī owed his position to the fact that he knew so much about the conquests and other areas of early Islamic history, for he was a great authority too on the genealogies of the ancient Arab tribes. This was all despite the fact that he does not seem to have come from an important family and was not himself a descendant of the participants. The greatest of these compilers was Tabarī (d. 923). He was a Persian who came from a landowning family in the area along the south shores of the Caspian Sea. He spent most of his adult life in Baghdad and became a great authority on two of the most important areas of Muslim learning, the interpretation of the Koran and the history of Islam. He seems to have lived a quiet bachelor life, subsisting off the revenues of his family estates, which were brought to him by pilgrims from his homeland as they came through Baghdad on their way to Mecca and Medina. He made it his task to collect as much as he could of the writings of his predecessors and edit them into one mighty compilation. He also attempted, with considerable success, to order it. He adopted an annalistic framework in which the events of each year were recorded under the number of the year. He was not the first Arab writer to use this method, which may in turn have been inherited from the Greek tradition of chronicle writing, but no one else had used it to present such a vast amount of information. In many ways, his work made the individual publications of his predecessors redundant and virtually all later accounts of the history of the early Islamic world in general, and of the Muslim conquests in particular, were based on his mighty opus.
Much of the material found in these early Arabic narratives of the conquests takes the form of vivid stories about events. These are not recounted in a continuous prose, as a modern historian would present them, but rather in short anecdotes known in Arabic as
akhbr
(singular
khabr
). Tabarī, and other editors of the ninth and tenth centuries, made no effort to streamline this formula and produce a single linear account. Each of these
akhbr
is a distinct self-contained account, sometimes only a few lines long, sometime three or four pages, but seldom more. The several anecdotes are often grouped together, discussing the same event, or very similar events, but the details are changed: events happen in different orders; different people are credited with the same heroic deeds; the names of the commanders of Arab armies in the great battles of the conquests are not the same. The editors of the ninth and tenth centuries usually avoided making judgements about which of these accounts might be correct. They are frustratingly undecided in their approach and often seem to be simply presenting all the evidence and implicitly inviting the reader to make up their own mind.
akhbr
(singular
khabr
). Tabarī, and other editors of the ninth and tenth centuries, made no effort to streamline this formula and produce a single linear account. Each of these
akhbr
is a distinct self-contained account, sometimes only a few lines long, sometime three or four pages, but seldom more. The several anecdotes are often grouped together, discussing the same event, or very similar events, but the details are changed: events happen in different orders; different people are credited with the same heroic deeds; the names of the commanders of Arab armies in the great battles of the conquests are not the same. The editors of the ninth and tenth centuries usually avoided making judgements about which of these accounts might be correct. They are frustratingly undecided in their approach and often seem to be simply presenting all the evidence and implicitly inviting the reader to make up their own mind.
In many cases the editors give their sources in some detail in the form of an
isnd
, ‘I was told by X who was told by Y who was told by Z who was an eyewitness’. This device was really the equivalent of footnotes in modern academic writing, citing reputable sources. This
isnd
was designed to prove that the material was genuine, and to do that it was important that all the names in the list were men (or occasionally women) of good standing who would not appear to be the sort of people who might sink to making things up. It was also important to show that the people in the chain of information had lived at the right times, so that it would have been possible for them to have communicated this information to the next generation. By the tenth century a whole academic discipline had developed, producing vast biographical dictionaries in which one could look up the details of all the individuals in the chain to check on their credentials.
isnd
, ‘I was told by X who was told by Y who was told by Z who was an eyewitness’. This device was really the equivalent of footnotes in modern academic writing, citing reputable sources. This
isnd
was designed to prove that the material was genuine, and to do that it was important that all the names in the list were men (or occasionally women) of good standing who would not appear to be the sort of people who might sink to making things up. It was also important to show that the people in the chain of information had lived at the right times, so that it would have been possible for them to have communicated this information to the next generation. By the tenth century a whole academic discipline had developed, producing vast biographical dictionaries in which one could look up the details of all the individuals in the chain to check on their credentials.
Modern readers will note immediately that there are some obvious problems with this procedure because it provides few ways of ensuring the reliability of the material, problems of which the people at the time were very well aware. There was clearly a mass of fabricated material about these events in circulation, but the editors of the ninth and tenth centuries had exactly the sort of problems we do in trying to sort out truth from things that were simply invented.
The authors of the original anecdotes of the conquests and the editors were extremely interested in certain sorts of information, annoyingly uninterested in other things. They include numerous verbatim speeches, supposedly made by great men, often before battle is joined. These are reminiscent of the speeches put into the mouths of Greek and Byzantine commanders by classical historians in the same situation. The Arabic narratives, however, often include a number of speeches made by different participants in what is presented as a council of war: the Arabic sources give a picture of a more consensual, or perhaps more debated, process of military decision-making. Obviously, in the absence of stenographers or tape recorders, such speeches are very unlikely to be a true record of what was said. On the other hand, they are certainly authentic documents of the eighth or early ninth century, if not of the seventh. They must reflect the attitudes of the Muslims at that time to these events: the historian cannot simply dismiss them.
Another characteristic of these anecdotes is what has been described as onomatomania, the obsession with knowing the names of the participants involved in events. Of course, this applies only to Arab Muslim participants: the Arabic sources give us versions of the names of the most important enemy generals but that is as far as it goes, opposing armies being simply an anonymous mass. The listing of Arab names is done with loving care and precision, a really scientific delight in identifying men, the tribes from which they came and the groups in which they fought. The problem for the historian is that these lists frequently contradict each other. Furthermore, there are some examples in which later versions of the story seem to have access to more names than earlier ones do. This is deeply suspicious for modern historical sensibilities. The anecdotes seem to grow details as they are handed on from one generation to the next. It is clear that some of this detail is elaborated in response to questions like ‘Who were the main commanders at the battle of Nihāvand?’ No narrator would like to confess ignorance; better to make up some plausible names than reveal the limitations of your knowledge. In other cases, the names are clearly preserved by the descendants and fellow tribesmen of the participants. In the seventh century it was a matter of considerable practical importance. If your father or grandfather had participated in those first glorious battles, Qādisiya in Iraq or Yarmūk in Syria, you benefited in both money and status. By the mid eighth century these relationships had largely lost their practical value. No one, except the members of the ruling family and, sometimes, the descendants of the Prophet and Alī, continued to benefit from this system. By this time people got paid because of the military or bureaucratic jobs they did rather than what their forefathers had done. Nevertheless, being related to these early heroes still carried some social cachet. Among the English aristocracy there is still, according to some, prestige to be derived from the belief that ‘My ancestors came over with the Conquest’, meaning in this case the Norman conquest of England in 1066. Something of the same snobbery, if you like, may have been present among some of these status-conscious Muslims.
Another subject of consuming interest to the early historians was whether towns and provinces had been conquered peacefully (
sulhan)
or by force (
anwatan)
. In the early years after the conquests this was an issue with major practical implications. If cities were taken by peaceful agreement, the inhabitants were usually guaranteed their lives and properties and they were only required to pay in taxation that global sum which had been recorded in the treaties. If they had been taken by force, on the other hand, then their property was forfeit and the levels of taxation much higher. Perhaps most importantly and onerously, the non-Muslim inhabitants would have had to pay the poll tax. We know very little about how towns and townspeople were taxed in the first century of Muslim rule (almost all our material relates to the taxation of rural areas and agricultural land), but the nature of the conquest may have made a significant difference to both the tax status and the security of property of the inhabitants in the early years. Deciding how a city had been conquered and what tribute had been paid could be a matter of crucial practical importance, and it is a subject of obsessive interest to the early historians. In the nature of these things, however, the truth of the matter was often quite unclear. Conquest was often a messy business; some people resisted, others capitulated. In recording it almost everyone had a vested interest in one version of events or another. A variety of convenient fictions were elaborated to explain the confusion. One, of which Damascus is the most striking example, is that different parts of the city fell in different ways at the same time. So in Damascus in 636 we have the Arab general Khālid b. al-Walīd storming the East Gate, while at the very same moment another commander, Abū Ubayda, was making an agreement with the inhabitants of the western sector. The two armies met in the city centre. In this way, the issue of whether Damascus had been taken by force or had surrendered peacefully remained debatable. Another useful explanation was that places were conquered twice; the first time the inhabitants made a treaty and were accorded the privileges of peaceful surrender, but later they rebelled and the area had to be reconquered by force. Antioch in Syria and Alexandria in Egypt were two places where this is recorded. This may of course have happened, even if the ‘rebellion’ was simply a refusal or inability to pay the tax agreed, but we cannot overlook the possibility that such accounts are attempts to reconcile differing versions which are themselves a reflection of disputes over taxation and the fiscal status of conquered areas.
sulhan)
or by force (
anwatan)
. In the early years after the conquests this was an issue with major practical implications. If cities were taken by peaceful agreement, the inhabitants were usually guaranteed their lives and properties and they were only required to pay in taxation that global sum which had been recorded in the treaties. If they had been taken by force, on the other hand, then their property was forfeit and the levels of taxation much higher. Perhaps most importantly and onerously, the non-Muslim inhabitants would have had to pay the poll tax. We know very little about how towns and townspeople were taxed in the first century of Muslim rule (almost all our material relates to the taxation of rural areas and agricultural land), but the nature of the conquest may have made a significant difference to both the tax status and the security of property of the inhabitants in the early years. Deciding how a city had been conquered and what tribute had been paid could be a matter of crucial practical importance, and it is a subject of obsessive interest to the early historians. In the nature of these things, however, the truth of the matter was often quite unclear. Conquest was often a messy business; some people resisted, others capitulated. In recording it almost everyone had a vested interest in one version of events or another. A variety of convenient fictions were elaborated to explain the confusion. One, of which Damascus is the most striking example, is that different parts of the city fell in different ways at the same time. So in Damascus in 636 we have the Arab general Khālid b. al-Walīd storming the East Gate, while at the very same moment another commander, Abū Ubayda, was making an agreement with the inhabitants of the western sector. The two armies met in the city centre. In this way, the issue of whether Damascus had been taken by force or had surrendered peacefully remained debatable. Another useful explanation was that places were conquered twice; the first time the inhabitants made a treaty and were accorded the privileges of peaceful surrender, but later they rebelled and the area had to be reconquered by force. Antioch in Syria and Alexandria in Egypt were two places where this is recorded. This may of course have happened, even if the ‘rebellion’ was simply a refusal or inability to pay the tax agreed, but we cannot overlook the possibility that such accounts are attempts to reconcile differing versions which are themselves a reflection of disputes over taxation and the fiscal status of conquered areas.
Like the issue of who had participated in the conquests, the issue of peaceful or violent conquest no longer had the same resonance when the compilations on which we rely were put together in the ninth and tenth centuries. There is no evidence that the taxation of different areas was determined by the nature of a conquest that had occurred at least two centuries before. By this time these debates were of largely antiquarian interest, or rather they formed part of the general political culture with which bureaucrats and boon-companions were supposed to be familiar. We should not, however, overlook the fact that the survival of this material in the sources long after it had ceased to be of practical utility strongly suggests that it originated in the early years after the Muslim conquest: no one would have had any incentive to make it up at a later date. The details must have been preserved at a time in the early formative years of the Islamic state when they still had a real, practical purpose.
The writers and compilers of these early traditions also seem to have been obsessed with the question of the distribution of booty after a city or area had been conquered. There was never any doubt that pillage was acceptable and the victors were fully entitled to the spoils of war. The point at issue was how it should be divided up among the conquerors. Should everybody get the same amount? Should horsemen get more than foot soldiers? Should men who had participated in the campaign but not the actual battle get a share as well? If so, how much? How much should be sent to the caliph in Medina as his share? This interest certainly reflects the delight with which many of these rough-and-ready Bedouin soldiers seized and made use of the accoutrements of civilized life, but the stories are really about justice and fairness (but only among the conquerors, of course). They like to recount how the booty was divided up justly and transparently, in an open field after the battle before the eyes of all. Such narratives are clearly part of a cult of the ‘good old days’ when the Muslims were all brave and pure of heart and justice was done under the stern gaze of the caliph Umar (634-44). These ‘good old days’ were cherished and developed in a later world which seemed to have lost this early innocence, when the descendants of the original conquerors felt that they were being marginalized and excluded from what they saw as their just rewards. These ancient memories of better times were doubly precious as affirmations from the past and pointers to a better future.
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