Spain’s 1,300-Year War: From Pelayo’s Mustard Seed to Today’s Betrayal
“Christ is our hope that through this little mountain, the well-being of Spain will be restored” — Pelayo, May 28, 722
Over 1,300 years ago today, on May 28, 722, a little known but profoundly important battle was waged, setting the tone for the next eight hundred years of Christian/Muslim “coexistence” in Spain: the Battle of Covadonga.
To appreciate its significance, we must travel back eleven years earlier, to 711, when Arabs and Africans, both under the banner of Islam, “godlessly invaded Spain to destroy it,” to quote from the Chronicle of 754. Once on European soil, they “ruined beautiful cities, burning them with fire; condemned lords and powerful men to the cross; and butchered youths and infants with the sword.”
After meeting and beating Spain’s Visigothic nobles at the pivotal Battle of Guadalete — “never was there in the west a more bloody battle than this,” wrote the Muslim chronicler al-Hakam, “for the Muslims did not withdraw their scimitars from them [Christians] for three days” — the invaders continued to penetrate northward into Spain, “not passing a place without reducing it, and getting possession of its wealth, for Allah Almighty had struck with terror the hearts of the infidels.”
Such terrorism was intentionally cultivated, in keeping with the Koran (3:151, 8:12, etc.). For instance, the invaders slaughtered, cooked, and pretended to—or actually did—eat Christian captives, while releasing others who, horrified, fled and “informed the people of Andalus [Spain] that the Muslims feed on human flesh,” thereby “contributing in no small degree to increase the panic of the infidels,” wrote al-Maqqari, another Muslim chronicler.
Contrary to the claim that Spain capitulated easily, that it reasoned that Arab rule was no worse and possibly more lenient than that of the Visigoths, even Muslim chroniclers note how “the Christians defended themselves with the utmost vigor and resolution, and great was the havoc that they made in the ranks of the faithful.”
In Córdoba, for example, a number of leading Visigoths and their people holed themselves up in a church. Although “the besieged had no hopes of deliverance, they were so obstinate that when safety was offered to them on condition either of embracing Islam, or paying jizya, they refused to surrender, and the church being set on fire, they all perished in the flames,” wrote al-Maqqari, adding that the ruins of this church became a place of “great veneration” for later generations of Spaniards because “of the courage and endurance displayed in the cause of their religion by the people who died in it.”
In the end, native Spaniards had two choices: acquiesce to Muslim rule or “flee to the mountains, where they risked hunger and various forms of death,” according to an early Christian chronicler.
Pelagius, better known as Pelayo (685–737), a relative of and “sword-bearer” to King Roderick, and survivor of Guadalete, followed both strategies. After the battle, he retreated north, where Muslim rule was still tenuous, but eventually consented to become a vassal of Munnuza, a local Muslim chief. Through some “stratagem,” Munnuza “married” Pelayo’s sister — a matter that the sword-bearer “by no means consented to,” according to the Chronicle of Alfonso III.
Having expressed displeasure at the seizure of his sister, and having ceased paying jizya (tribute), Muslims were sent “to apprehend him treacherously” and bring him back “bound in chains.” Unable to fight the oncoming throng of Arabs and Africans “because they were so numerous,” Pelayo “climbed a mountain” and “joined himself to as many people as he found hastening to assemble.”
There, in the deepest recesses of the Asturian mountains — the only free spot left in the Iberian Peninsula — the assembled Christian fugitives declared Pelayo to be their new king. Thus, the Kingdom of Asturias was born in 722.
“Hearing this, the king [Muslim governor of Córdoba], moved by an insane fury, ordered a very large army from all over Spain to go forth” and bring the infidel rebels to heel. The invaders — 180,000 of them, if the chroniclers are to be believed — surrounded Pelayo’s mountain.
They sent Oppa, a Visigothic bishop or nobleman who had acquiesced to Muslim rule, to reason with him at the mouth of a deep cavern: “If when the entire army of the Goths was assembled,” Oppa began, “it was unable to sustain the attack of the Ishmaelites [at Guadalete], how much better will you be able to defend yourself on this mountaintop? To me it seems difficult. Rather, heed my warning and recall your soul from this decision, so that you may take advantage of many good things and enjoy the partnership of the Chaldeans [Arabs].”
“I will not associate with the Arabs in friendship, nor will I submit to their authority,” was Pelayo’s retort. Then the rebel made a prophecy that would be fulfilled over the course of nearly eight centuries:
Have you not read in the divine scriptures [e.g., Mark 4:30-21] that the church of God is compared to a mustard seed and that it will be raised up again through divine mercy?
Oppa affirmed that it was so. Continued the rebel:
Christ is our hope that through this little mountain, which you see, the well-being of Spain and the army of the Gothic people will be restored. . . . Now, therefore, trusting in the mercy of Jesus Christ, I despise this multitude and am not afraid of it. As for the battle with which you threaten us, we have for ourselves an advocate in the presence of the Father, that is, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is capable of liberating us from these few.
There, at Covadonga — meaning “Cavern of the Lady” — battle commenced in the summer of 722.
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