Caliph Yaqub al-Mansur stood on the bridge of his flagship. They were sailing south, back to Morocco in North Africa, back to his caliphate as a kingdom ruled by a caliph was known. Though he was a hard and unforgiving man he permitted himself a smile. The attack on Lisbon by his forces had been a full success. The Christian city was engulfed in flames and was all but destroyed. This removed a threat to his army in Iberia and he felt confident that soon all of Iberia would be his and after that he would march on into France and the lands beyond. But not only that. He had also captured the treasure of Lisbon and with it more than three thousand men, women and children who were to be sold in the slave markets of North Africa. The slaves were worth more than all the treasure of Lisbon and the Caliph was already calculating in his head how much of a profit he would make. Even at the very lowest price for each slave he would get enough money to not only cover the costs of his present expedition but even to pay for another, even bigger fleet. The only question was how soon a new, more powerful fleet could be made ready and, crucially, what target would be worth attacking.
The wind blew the Caliph’s fleet inexorably towards the coast of Africa. Down below in the ships’ holds it was dark and the air was bad. Sometimes a rat could be hear in search of food. The timber creaked as the ships gently swayed on the undulating ocean waves. In one of them was Isabella, a young woman from Lisbon, with her family and many others. The captives were crammed in tightly. There was no space to move and barely enough air to breathe. When they arrived at their destination after two days sailing the floor in the hold was covered in mushy filth that stank like hell. The door to the hold was opened. Isabella clutched her mother tightly and her father put his arms around both of them.
“Have no fear,” he said to his beautiful daughter. “All will be well.” In his heart he knew it wasn’t true, yet it was a fiction all the poor wretches clung to.
The captives were made to climb up on deck. They were in a small port that lay beside a rocky coast. Several ships were docked and a plank was laid from midships to the pier. Under the watchful eyes of armed men they filed across the plank onto land. Fearful and desperate the captives stood huddled together. They waited like this for about half an hour until an important looking man arrived. He wore a turban on his head and was clad in fine silk garments. Two slaves brought him a comfortable and richly decorated chair to sit on and one held a parasol above his head so he could sit in the shade, shelter from the burning sun of Africa. He seated himself and clapped his hands.
Armed men began to lead the captives from Lisbon one by one to him. He glanced at each one, said a few words in Arabic, and each pitiful captive was taken away in a different direction. Isabella and her parents watched the selection with growing anxiety. Then the soldiers came for her. She was torn apart from her mother who tried to follow her. Alas, a few words from the man and Isabella was taken towards a path that led uphill while another man took her mother and pulled her in a different direction. Isabella screamed desperately and pulled away from her captor. The man simply picked her up and carried her up the path. With the pure strength of desperation her mother tore herself free and ran after Isabella. But all to no avail. The man carrying Isabella drew his sword and stopped her mother who was quickly caught again and taken away. Terrified she would never see her mother and father again the poor girl fainted.
Isabella is carried away from her mother
Meanwhile the Caliph had arrived back at his capital. Thousands cheered him as he was carried in a palanquin at the head of his victorious soldiers through the streets, and the Caliph cheered when he arrived at his opulent palace.
Slaves prepared a warm bath for him that was scented with precious oils. Slaves took away his richly embroidered silk clothes to be washed by yet other slaves. Another small army of slaves prepared fresh clothes for him that were embroidered with gold thread which formed exquisite patterns while others prepared enough food and drink for a feast to celebrate his successful return.
The Caliph enjoyed a relaxing bath in the scented water, which was followed by a feast and celebrations. It was a day of rejoicing and happiness for all the town. Crowds thronged the streets and everyone shared in the food, drink and festive spirit that the Caliph had bestowed upon the town.
The following day selected captives from Lisbon were taken before the Caliph. He examined them one by one and chose some to remain at his palace while the rest were taken to the slave market for sale. One of the captives that he chose for his palace was poor Isabella.