What was the great Almanzor thinking about, dying alone in the semi-darkness of the cool chambers of the Medinaceli castle... His bed was surrounded by his loved ones and courtiers. And their grief was great. But death is always lonely. How lonely was the thunderstorm of the Muslim and Christian worlds of 10th century Spain at that moment.
Did he remember his real name? Did he recall the beautiful Subh, to whom he owed his rapid rise? Or did he continue his endless battles, to which he dedicated his life, even on his deathbed?
Muhammad Ibn Abu Amir knew his great destiny from early childhood. His poor parents and grandfather nurtured in him the pride of his lineage, descended from Tariq ibn Ziyad, the conqueror of Andalusia, the winner of the Battle of Guadalete.
He went to Cordoba to seek his fortune, where he studied diligently. The arrogance and haughtiness of the proud youth could compete with his determination and passion for knowledge. He was talented and ambitious. He worked hard as a scribe, writing messages to the Sultan and waiting for that rare occasion when his lucky star would rise.
This star was called Aurora. True, in those days it was given the name Subh. It was she who noticed the bright young man and convinced her husband to give him the position of manager of his estates. And then to appoint him the head of the mint. We will not judge the reasons for such a rapid rise in Muhammad's career. It is not our business. But only seven months had passed since his first appearance at court, when he won the complete trust of the Sultan.
And now Muhammad is the head of the city guard. After a successful expedition to Morocco to inspect the Umayyad troops, Ibn Abi has received the post of commander of the mercenary troops. He is thirty-eight years old. He is full of strength and vanity. His star Aurora still guides him.
Sultan Al-Hakam is dead. Who will inherit the throne? His brother or his eleven-year-old son? It is a time of trouble. Time to act. And he acts. He has ordered the strangulation of Sultan Al-Munjir's brother right in front of his wives. The path to power is open. Hisham, son of Aurora, has been declared Caliph. He, ibn Abi, now rules the Cordoba Caliphate. And she, Subh, is still by his side. Hisham is just a puppet.
A few years later, Ibn Abi will isolate Hisham and his harem in his palace in Cordoba. Anyone who opposes this, anyone who tries to return power to the caliph, will be executed. Ibn Abi, once he has received power, will never let it go.
He is stronger than ever. He is obsessed with war. Twice a year, in winter and summer, he makes military campaigns against Christian lands. Of 57 battles, he has not lost a single one. Now his name is al-Mansur ("al-mansur-billah" - "the one who is helped by God" or "the winner by God's grace"). This is what the people call him, this is what the warriors have named him, who adore him. Christians tremble when they pronounce his name in their own way - Almanzor.
Al-Mansur is attentive to his surroundings. He expels from the army the mercenaries who flocked to the Caliphate from all over Europe. He needed the Berbers who were loyal to him. His army knows no fear or defeat. In his raids, Almanzor captures Leon and Galicia and stops only at the foot of the Asturian Mountains.
Many Christian cities fell before him. Zamora, Salamanca, Leon, Pamplona, Sahagun, Burgos, Rueda and many, many others bowed before his power. The kings of Castile, Leon and Navarre swore allegiance to him. They paid him tribute. He intervened in the conflicts of the Christian crowns in his own interests and cruelly punished the disobedient. He plundered and burned Barcelona.
If it were not for him, history would have taken a different course. When Ramiro III, defeated in the battle for Zamora, declared himself a vassal of the caliphate, the discontent of the barons was so great that they declared Ramiro deposed. The new ruler of Leon became Bermudo III, the illegitimate son of Ordoño III.
The daughter of the King of Navarre, Sancho II Abd, was given as a concubine to the harem of Almanzor as a sign that Navarre recognized itself as a vassal of the caliph and was obliged to pay tribute.
He sowed terror in the hearts of Christians and filled the hearts of Muslims with pride. He drove hundreds of thousands of Christians into slavery and seized untold riches and Christian shrines. He captured and destroyed the city of Santiago de Compostela, the main Christian shrine of Europe. But he spared the tomb of St. James. On the shoulders of Christians, he sent the bells of the Cathedral of St. James to Cordoba.
Was it these images of military exploits that flashed before the dying man's eyes? Or perhaps he shuddered at the scenes of his own cruelty, when he ordered the flaying of his father-in-law, the famous military leader Khalib, for daring to try to return the legitimate power to the sultan? Or was his heart filled with horror at the memory of how he personally executed his son for disagreeing with his decision to declare an heir? There was a lot of blood on his hands.
But he knew that he was at the pinnacle of power of the Cordoba Caliphate, which had risen as never before. He did not know that his decisions, his deeds and his military exploits would exalt the state and bring it down into the abyss. That his reign would be the beginning of the decline of the great Muslim civilization.
He did not know that the Berbers loyal to him, radical Islamists, would destroy enlightened Islam, destroy magnificent palaces and burn libraries. He did not understand that he had released the genie of dark and uneducated radicalism from the bottle, that the Muslim world would now be torn apart by conflicts and internal wars. That the blood of enlightened Muslims would flow in scarlet rivers, mixing with the blood of Christians and Jews.
He lies on his deathbed, alone with his demons, and does not know all this. But he knows that his grave will be strewn with the dust of his battles, which he ordered to be collected from his clothes after each battle. That his body will be wrapped in a shroud sewn by his daughters. And the glorious name of Almanzor will not be forgotten by people, no matter how contradictory it may be.
He is 67 years old. And he is dying. He has lived a glorious life. No matter how people glorify or curse him, he has left his mark on history. He is sure of this in his loneliness in death. For in death everyone is alone.
Spain Moors Almanzor
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