1. Introduction

The story of Wāṣil of Damascus narrates an encounter of polemics between Muslims and Christians, set against the backdrop of the first centuries of Islamic expansion. The Byzantine court (in the Arabic narrative, the references are to al-rūm) is the scenario within which Wāṣil, a Muslim captive of Damascus, meets Bašīr, a Christian convert to Islam who later reverted to Christianity.¹al-rūm refers to Romans and Byzantines. For the purposes of this discussion, the meaning fits the historical context of the story. In texts pertaining to Muslim minorities, such as the one examined in this contribution, the term translates relatively consistently as Romans, although the narrative context often indicates that it should be understood more broadly as referring to Christians in a looser sense. One example appears in the Recontamiento de la doncella Carcayona [The Story of the Carcayona Maiden], in which, as indicated by Luis F. Bernabé-Pons, the “‘Romans’ of India” (“‘romanos’ de la India”) are the “rumies or Christians of India” (“rumís o cristianos de la India”), Bernabé-Pons, “El signo islámico de la profesión de fe”, vol. 1, pp. 219-241; p. 232. Unless mentioned otherwise, all translations are mine. At first, the dispute involves only these two characters, but the sessions are later joined by priests and the king. The traits of the characters-who include political and religious leaders, war captives, converts, and apostates-echo those of the most important individuals of the time. The same can be said of the arguments that are put forward, which form the core of the early controversies between Islam and Christianity: the divinity of Jesus, baptism, the authority of priests, and the worshipping of images. Both the subjects and the plot appear to have maintained their appeal to Muslims over the centuries, as evidenced by a number of manuscripts that circulated among them. Scholars have indeed long been aware of a copy in the library in Leiden whose original possibly dates back to the 2^nd/3^rd c. H (8^th/9^th c. CE).²MS Leiden Oriental 951 (2). The copy of Leiden has been dated either in 799-800H/1397-1398CE (Steinschneider) or in 696-697H/1297-1298CE (Hamaker). See, Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, pp. 293-327; p. 299. See also, Thomas, “Ḥadīth Wāṣil al-Dimashqī”. They have also noticed that Wāṣil’s narrative draws on two traditions and that other central characters (e.g., Bašīr) are also mentioned in Syriac and Greek Christian sources.³ Griffith, Sydney H., “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, pp. 293-298. Conversely, studies have thus far ignored the recension contained in the Taʾrīḫ madīnat DimašqIbn ʿAsākir, ʿAlī b. al-Ḥasan b. Hibat Allāh b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Šāfiʿī/Muḥibb al-Dīn Abī Saʿīd ʿUmar b. Ġarāma al-ʿAmrawī (study and edition), Taʾrīḫ madīnat Dimašq: wa-ḏikr faḍlihā wa-tasmiyat man ḥallahā min al-amāṯil aw iǧtāza bi-nawāḥīhā min wāridīhā wa-ahlihā, 1^st ed., Bayrūt and Lubnān, Dār al-Fikr, 1415H/1995-1421H/2000CE. (History of the City of Damascus) by the scholar known as Ibn ʿAsākir (499H/1105CE-571H/1175CE).⁴ Ibn ʿAsākir/al-ʿAmrawī, Taʾrīḫ madīnat Dimašq. Here, under Wāṣil in vol. 62, pp. 376-382, Nr. 7954. The narrative exhibits only minimal differences from the one in Leiden. Nor have they considered the account as told by Naǧm al-Dīn Abū l-Raǧā Muḫtār b. Maḥmūd al-Zāhidī (d. 658H/1260CE) that is hold at the library in Damascus.⁵The manuscript copy of this work has been preserved at the Syrian National Library, MS Damascus, Uṣūl 658. See Thomas, David, “al-Zāhidī”. For the purposes of the present discussion, I will use Muḥammad al-Miṣrī’s edition (al-Zāhidī/al-Miṣrī, al-Risālat al-nāṣiriyya, pp. 57-61). The narrative seems to follow that of Leiden and Ibn ʿAsākir but with some differences. Here only a few points of interest will be highlighted, but an exhaustive comparison between this manuscript and the others will not be made. In addition, a hitherto unknown copy in a miscellaneous codex from the 19^th-century discoveries in the Aragonese town of Almonacid de la Sierra (Spain) and written in Romance in Arabic script (a linguistic use known as Aljamiado) must be added to the existing body of knowledge concerning the circulation of the story.⁶Until recently, the materials in the Escuelas Pías of Zaragoza have been very poorly catalogued and, in large part, barely known. I identified Wāṣil’s story and other remarkable texts during a visit to this institution, MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), ff. 371v-385v. Brisville-Fertin now provides a thorough description of the two codices preserved in the Escuelas Pías and dates the manuscript copy containing the story at hand to the last decades of the sixteenth century, see, “Los códices aljamiados de las Escuelas Pías de Zaragoza I”, vol. 22, p. 8 n. 2 (see also a second paper by this author recently published in Sharq al-Andalus on the contents of the manuscripts “Los códices aljamiados de las Escuelas Pías de Zaragoza. II: relación de contenidos”, vol. 23). Although I refer to Brisville-Fertin’s publication as needed, I mainly use my own observations and notes.

The Aljamiado copy of the polemics of Wāṣil has specific relevance for the purposes of the present contribution, as it provides evidence that the story reached westwards to the Iberian Peninsula and was known by the Muslims from the Christian territories who practiced Islam-first in public and then clandestinely-until their expulsion in the early 17^th century. With little doubt, the Aljamiado copy is based on a vorlage written in Arabic. It thus serves as a case in point for examining translation. Moreover, given that it belongs to the Aljamiado production, the translation is both linguistic and narrative, since a significant portion of the corpus is composed of both retellings and retellings of retellings. One can even say that in Mudejar and Morisco writings “each sample is a reflection of a previous sample on which the new author/editor acts.”⁷“‘tradición literaria’…, donde cada muestra es reflejo de una muestra anterior sobre la que actúa el nuevo ‘autor/’ redactor.” Monferrer-Sala adds to that “[It is at this point where our main task will consist of] to discover the hidden paths that lead from one text to another, where the latter is always an interpretation of the previous one, which acts as a ‘producer of texts’ in the form of influence.” “[Es en este punto donde nuestra tarea principal va a consistir en] descubrir los caminos ocultos que conducen de un texto a otro, donde el posterior siempre es interpretación del anterior, que actúa como ‘productor de textos’ en forma de influencia.” Monferrer-Sala, “Laora ke la olyó muryó”, vol. 1, pp. 861-874; p. 868. Much of this literature does indeed consist of texts that have been told anew and adapted, often accompanied by changes brought about as they have been passed and represented across languages. This is not the only salient point. When the act of retelling is approached as a displacement or translation of the narrative along the axes of space and time, any questions of language and fidelity to the originals fall squarely within the framework of other, more urgent questions, such as those concerning the uses and meanings of texts within particular contexts: in this case, that of the Muslim religious minorities residing in the Christian territories.

Along with the above considerations, it is important to recall that “retelling” is actually the term used by the Morisco scribe to refer to the story that he introduces with the words “this is the ‘recontamiento’ of Wāṣil of Damascus,” (with “recontamiento” meaning both “to tell” and “to retell”).⁸“este es el recontamiento ḏe Waṣil de Dimasco * fue recontaḏo por”, MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), ff. 371v-372r. The full transcription of the Aljamiado text is provided in the Appendix. Entertaining the possibility of this double meaning does not seem either too risky or modern for the present case. As Corominas points out, from “contar” (from the Latin computare, or “calculate”), derives the term “narrar, relatar,” which properly means “to make a count” and which “is as old in Castilian as the other.” Corominas, Breve diccionario etimológico, p. 168. “Recontar” is a derivative prefixed with re-. Early evidence of this derivative exists in Castilian, as well as in other Romance languages, including Aragonese. Real Academia Española, Diccionario de la lengua castellana, p. 524; Nagore Laín, Vocabulario, p. 389. The various meanings of “recontar” include “to recalculate” and “to refer again,” and “to give an account of a thing over and over again.” One example, perhaps contemporary or at least not too distant from the date of the manuscript copy discussed here of the use of “recontar” to mean “to retell” is provided by the following fragment from the anonymous Lazarillo de Tormes (published in 1554), where we read: “The evil blind man told everyone who was near my disasters, and he told them over and over again, both about the jar and about the bunch (of grapes), and now about the present. Everyone’s laughter was so loud that all the people who passed by on the street came in to see the party; and it was with so much grace and air that the blind man retold my exploits that [...], it seemed to me that justice was not done to him in not laughing at them.” (emphases are mine), [Contaba el mal ciego a todos cuantos allí se allegaban mis desastres, y dábales cuenta una y otra vez, así de la del jarro como de la del racimo, y agora de lo presente. Era la risa de todos tan grande que toda la gente que por la calle pasaba entraba a ver la fiesta; mas con tanta gracia y donaire recontaba el ciego mis hazañas que [...], me parecía que hacía sinjusticia en no se las reír.]. Anonymous, La vida del Lazarillo de Tormes y de sus fortunas y adversidades. Project Gutenberg, 20 June 2023, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/320/320-h/320-h.htm. One element that should be considered is the introduction of the Arabic narrative to the reader as a ḥadīṯ: a story that is preceded by an isnād (or chain of transmitters of traditions).⁹As is well known, the isnād is one of the key elements in transmitting knowledge of traditions in Islam and establishing one’s authority in this regard. See EI² (Robson) s.v. “Isnād.” This detail can be of importance when approaching the text from a Muslim perspective, as aptly recalled by Hans van Rensburg in his re-evaluation of the contents of the Leiden manuscript.¹⁰ Van Rensburg, “Muslim-Christian Polemics”, vol. 2, pp. 136-146. The two main methods of transmission of the ḥadīṯ tradition (memorization and textual transmission) appear to be valid in our case. As is known, Muslim scholars initially preferred to be faithful to the original ḥadīṯ in the application of these methods, but later allowed more space for its transmission ad sensum (riwāya bi-l-maʿnā). The latter procedure has occasionally called the authenticity of these traditions into question. Juynboll, “The Authenticity of the Tradition Literature”, p. 114. Based on our knowledge of the Mudejar and Morisco vocabulary, however, the Aljamiado adaptation (“recontamiento”) does not necessarily seem to be an exact translation of ḥadīṯ. Rather, it can be assumed that the adventures of Wāṣil had the broader meaning of exemplary narration, thereby issuing a warning to believers, and thus worth retelling.¹¹Mudejars and Moriscos employed a diverse vocabulary in order to express themselves within the semantic field of references to the transmission of stories and traditions (e.g., narración, estoria, dīcho, and ḥadīṯ/alhadiç). Examples illustrating the nuance of interest within the present context include the translation of Sūra 34:20 in the Qurʾān of Toledo (dated in 1606), which is well-known for being the only full translation of these communities to be rendered in Arabic characters: “fa-ǧaʿalnahum aḥādīṯ fa-mazzaqnahum” as “Y pusímoslos que fuesen alhadiç y que recontar. Y despartímoslos,” (the emphasis in text is mine), Vernet Ginés, & Roqué Figuls, “Alcorán: traducción castellana de un morisco anónimo del año 1606”, p. 283. See also the study by López-Morillas, El Corán de Toledo. The argument that I advance in this paper conforms to this understanding, claiming that the importance of the Almonacid manuscript resides not so much in what it reveals about the relationship of the Aljamiado adaptation to an Arabic original, but in what it reveals with respect to the practice of retelling with regard to Muslim identity within a Christian context. Based on this Aljamiado manuscript, the following discussion focuses on unearthing several meanings that the story of Wāṣil may have had for the members of these Muslim minorities, as well as the importance that they attached to the retelling of these stories.

I consider two aspects about this narrative and its displacement from East to West. One is the reassessment of the identity of the character of Wāṣil, to whom the story owes its name, particularly with regard to his involvement in Byzantine iconoclastic controversies and politics. The as yet unexamined information in the Taʾrīḫ madīnat DimašqIbn ʿAsākir, ʿAlī b. al-Ḥasan b. Hibat Allāh b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Šāfiʿī/Muḥibb al-Dīn Abī Saʿīd ʿUmar b. Ġarāma al-ʿAmrawī (study and edition), Taʾrīḫ madīnat Dimašq: wa-ḏikr faḍlihā wa-tasmiyat man ḥallahā min al-amāṯil aw iǧtāza bi-nawāḥīhā min wāridīhā wa-ahlihā, 1^st ed., Bayrūt and Lubnān, Dār al-Fikr, 1415H/1995-1421H/2000CE. is combined with what previous studies have revealed about his Christian opponent, Bašīr. In addition to being a worthy opponent of the Christians, Wāṣil proves to be a supporter of anti-iconophile sensibilities within their ranks. This point can help to clarify the appeal that his character could have had to Muslims. The second aspect to be discussed is the actual exercise of retelling. Following a brief review of the basic contours of the Aljamiado text in connection to the Arabic, the greatest attention is directed toward the dynamics of the expression of retelling in its intersection with its near synonym: recreation. The current analysis re-emphasizes the importance of the role of religious polemics in teaching Islam, as noted in previous studies of the story of Wāṣil. The Aljamiado manuscript was penned by Muslims who were enduring increasing pressure from the Christian society, and they saw how the restrictions that were being imposed by the majority gradually erased Muslim knowledge within their groups. Wāṣil provides a strong example of two systems encountering each other, thereby providing a suitable framework for the transposition of meanings, the recreation of this story, and its retelling. The fact that the polemic is staged within a Christian setting was undoubtedly significant for Muslims who were immersed in a dominant Christian context with social-religious structures and ways of thinking that were gradually permeating their groups and would ultimately urge them to abandon Islam and convert. The triumph of the Muslim character serves as a paradigm, in which readers see themselves reflected and in which they can find a role model for their lives under harsh conditions. I argue that the particular reading assigned to this story by these communities fits within the Muslim strategies of coping with the Christian proselytism and rhetoric at the time.

2. Wāṣil of Damascus and Byzantine Controversies in Light of New Information

The victory of Wāṣil does indeed appear to be yet another story of the victory of an emerging Islam over Christianity. One lesson to be learned from this story is how a religion manages to impose itself on other communities, within both the territories that it takes under its control and those of its enemies. It thus illustrates how Islam and its followers are able to succeed, even under disadvantageous conditions (e.g., captivity). The historical references in the story are nevertheless purely general, providing no clues concerning the exact time at which the events that are being narrated actually took place. At any rate, this is not clear from the known Arabic copies available to us, in Leiden and in Damascus, which both include only a vague reference to the Umayyad rule. In fact, most of the information that helps to situate the text has thus far been provided by sources other than Muslim ones. As previously noted, the Muslim polemic of Wāṣil of Damascus has a broader scope-a “Christian link,” as examined by Sydney Griffith in an article published in the 1990s. Griffith also edited the Leiden Arabic manuscript, avidly asserting that Wāṣil’s Christian opponent echoes the Christian historiographies of Byzantine iconoclastic policy in the time of Leo III (717-741CE).¹²I am aware of a later edition by Ṣāliḥ Yaʿqūbī in 2001 of Ibn Sammāk (344H/955CE), Ǧuzʾ fīhi Šurūṭ amīr al-muʾminīn ʿUmar b. al-Ḫaṭṭāb raḍiya Allāh ʿanhu ʿalā al-Naṣārā, wa-fīhi ḥadīṯ Wāṣil al-Dimašqī wa-munāẓaratuhu lahum raḍiya Allāh ʿanhu. On p. 13, Ṣāliḥ Yaʿqūbī provides the reference of the narrative of Wāṣil in the Taʾrīḫ madīnat Dimašq but, surprisingly, he seems to overlook the information to be discussed here (although the edition of the work used by Ṣāliḥ Yaʿqūbī is not the same as the one consulted by this scholar). Van Rensburg, “Muslim-Christian Polemics”, p. 139, also notes that the Leiden copy is preceded by a copy of the šurūṭ. I do not know if it is the same work. He observes that Greek and Syriac Christian chronicles refer to an individual by the name of Bēsḗr or Bašīr, who was taken captive by Muslims and later released. Sometime between 722 and 723CE, Bēsḗr or Bašīr engaged in a heated polemic with the emperor and encouraged him to effectively destroy all Christian images. The sources seem to agree that this Christian convert from Islam was associated with the imperial family. Only the Syriac accounts note that, in a ruse, Bēsḗr or Bašīr claimed to be Tiberius, the son of the emperor Justinian (in those of Michael the Syrian [d. 1199CE] and the anonymous Chronicon ad 1234). As Griffith demonstrated, the Chronicle by Theophanes (d. 818CE) draws a polemical link between the Muslim anti-Christian policy of the time and that adopted by Leo III. In this context, the character of Bēsḗr or Bašīr embodies the idea of knowledge transfer across regions, from Christianity to Islam, and vice versa. In the Syriac sources, Bašīr is also depicted as a hybrid: “Roman by race, but Muslim by dress.”¹³ Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 295. In all accounts, he is presented as someone to be mistrusted. Moreover, iconophile authors advance the idea that disruptive currents in Christianity (e.g., iconoclasm) have been brought about by the damaging influence of Islam.

The new information in Ibn ʿAsākir’s Taʾrīḫ madīnat DimašqIbn ʿAsākir, ʿAlī b. al-Ḥasan b. Hibat Allāh b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Šāfiʿī/Muḥibb al-Dīn Abī Saʿīd ʿUmar b. Ġarāma al-ʿAmrawī (study and edition), Taʾrīḫ madīnat Dimašq: wa-ḏikr faḍlihā wa-tasmiyat man ḥallahā min al-amāṯil aw iǧtāza bi-nawāḥīhā min wāridīhā wa-ahlihā, 1^st ed., Bayrūt and Lubnān, Dār al-Fikr, 1415H/1995-1421H/2000CE. is consistent with the reading of this polemic in close relation with the iconoclastic controversies in Byzantium-and not only through Bašīr. The information immediately following Wāṣil’s encounter of polemics, as taken from a ḥadīṯ,¹⁴As taken from a ḥadīṯ that was transmitted by Abū l-Qāsim ʿAlī b. Ibrāhīm b. al-ʿAbbās (b. 424H/1032CE) and others. See for this scholar al-Ḏahabī (d. 748H/1348CE), Siyar aʿlām al-nubalāʾ, vol. 19, pp. 358-361, Nr. 212. The chain of transmitters for the following account in the Taʾrīḫ is: Abū l-Qāsim ʿAlī b. Ibrāhīm and others reporting on ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz b. Aḥmad; Abū Muḥammad ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Abī Naṣr ʿUṯmān b. al-Qāsim b. Maʿrūf b. Ḥabīb (b. 327H/938CE, al-Ḏahabī, Siyar, vol. 17, pp. 366-368, Nr. 230); Abū l-Qāsim b. Abī al-ʿAqab ʿAlī b. Yaʿqūb al-Hamdānī al-Dimašqī (d. 353H/964CE, al-Ḏahabī, Siyar, vol. 16, pp. 38-39, Nr. 25; Aḥmad b. Ibrāhīm; Ibn ʿĀʾiḏ. Although the final transmitter could have been Muḥammad b. ʿĀʾiḏ (150H/767CE-233H/847CE; or 232H/847CE; or 234H/848CE), Rosenthal advises caution concerning the truthfulness of the information regarding his figure: Ibn ʿAsākir’s Taʾrīḫ is the only source at our disposal, and this author could have conflated information about various individuals under the same name. See EI² (Rosenthal) s.v. “Ibn ʿĀʾidh.” reveals many aspects about the life journey of this main protagonist. In this account, we read that Wāṣil came from Damascus, that he was known for his righteousness, prayer, and patience, and that he had become a captive and enjoyed high esteem among the Christians (as this information is provided after the narrative of the polemics discussed here, it seems to suggest that such esteem was due to his victory in the encounter with Bašīr). This is followed by the interesting detail that, when Constantine (Constantine V, r. 741-775) and his brother-in-law, Artabasdos (or Arṭabās, in Ibn ʿAsākir’s Taʾrīḫ), had a disagreement, Constantine sent Wāṣil along with his patrician in an envoy to al-Walīd b. Yazīd (al-Walīd II, r. 125H/743CE-126H/744CE). Constantine wanted the Caliph to help him against Artabasdos, and he reached an agreement with Wāṣil to reward and release him after taking charge of what he had asked for. Wāṣil announced that he had been commissioned by and had spoken with al-Walīd. The patrician informed the Caliph about the authority of his master (i.e., Constantine), and the partisans of Artabasdos stood up and spoke on behalf of Artabasdos. Having heard both sides, al-Walīd reasoned that, if he had been a Christian, he would have helped Constantine against his enemies. Because they were enemies, however, they were bound to draw their swords against each other. Realizing Wāṣil’s weak condition, the Caliph had a brief conversation with the patrician (or patricians) with whom he came, and did not let him depart, but kept him as his prisoner.¹⁵ Ibn ʿAsākir/al-ʿAmrawī, Taʾrīḫ madīnat Dimašq, vol. 62, pp. 376-382, Nr. 7954 for the character of Wāṣil and his polemics. Here on p. 382, we read: لما اختلف قسطنطين وأرطباس، بعثني قسطنطين ببطارقته إلى الوليد بن یزید يستنصره على أرطباس وجعل العهد لئن أنا قمت برسالته والإعراب عنه مع بطارقته جائزة كذا وكذا، وتخلية سبيلي، قال: فقدمت على الولید بهم، وتقدم من عند أرطباس من يسأل الوليد نصرتهم وموالاتهم على قسطنطين .قال واصل: فتكلم عند الوليد، وقامت البطارية بلغت عن صاحبها، وقامت بطارقة أرطباس فتكلمت عن أرطباس، واستمع الوليد من الفريقين، ثم أقبل عليهم فقال: لو كنت ناصرة أحدة لنصر قسطنطين على من خالفه، ولكن انصرفوا فكلكم عدو، وليس بيني وبين أحد منكم إلا السيف، ثم أقبل على البطارقة الذين جئت بهم فقال: أرأيتم صاحبنا هذا أثخنته الجراحة فأسرتموه فلا سبيل لكم إليه قد رده ألله أم ألقى بيديه فهو عبدكم يرجع معكم. فقالوا: بل أثخنته الجراحة فحبسني الوليد وأمر بالجيش فسيروا وأمضى الغمر بن يزيد في صائفته، فوافي اختلافا بينهم، فغنم وسبي.

Artabasdos, son-in-law of Leo III, is well known in history for having challenged Constantine V’s appointment as Leo’s successor around 741-742 and until 743CE, as well as for possibly having opposed his iconoclastic policy.¹⁶ Gregory, “A History of Byzantium”, p. 211. See also Speck, “Artabasdos, der rechtgläubige Vorkämpfer der göttlichen Lehren.” The fragment refers to this “difference,” which should probably be understood as the struggle for power and the opposing positions on the cult of images. One noteworthy detail in this regard is the position adopted by al-Walīd, which clearly indicates that he would have been willing to support the iconoclast Constantine were it not for the fact that they belonged to two opposing religions. It is also important to consider Wāṣil’s interesting role as an emissary prisoner of the Christians, who simultaneously enjoys their respect (as mentioned previously in this article). Even having been defeated by him, the Christians still recognize his eloquence as a tool for seeking support for settling their internal disputes. From the perspective of Muslims reading the story, this recognition-which partially acknowledges the qualities of the “other” and the closeness of Islam to Christianity-makes Wāṣil’s victory all the more painful to the enemy.

The information provided in the Arabic accounts clearly departs from that provided in Christian sources with regard to the role of the character of Bašīr, who here is no longer responsible for introducing foreign, Muslim knowledge into Christianity, thus fueling internal disputes. This point concerns an inter-religious polemic that pits the two great powers of the time-Christianity and Islam-against each other. Some of the characteristics of the character of Bašīr are similar to those of his namesake in the Christian sources (e.g., his captive status, his Arabization, and his knowledge of Islam). He also remains a protagonist (as noted below, his importance is accentuated in the Aljamiado version). To be exact, the story actually centers on Wāṣil, and it is tailored to highlight his abilities in all their glory: Bašīr is merely a sounding board for his plots. In other words, Bašīr serves primarily to remind the reader that the truth of Islam will always prevail, even when put to the test before an expert opponent like Bašīr. With the inside knowledge that he acquired as a convert living among Muslims, Bašīr is able to provide solid arguments with which to refute Islam, although he still fails to emerge victorious. Another notable difference with respect to this character in the Christian sources is that, in the Arabic narrative, Bašīr neither questions the use of images by Christians nor does he convince the Roman king to destroy them: it is Wāṣil who does so.

Combined with the new information, Wāṣil’s role as the true hero of the story justifies emphasizing the importance of extending our consideration of the Muslim reading of the text beyond exploring the possibility of a “Christian link.” This approach has already been demonstrated by Hans van Rensburg in a re-evaluation of the Leiden copy, a decade after Griffith. With regard to assessing the elements that had meaning for a Muslim audience, Van Rensburg adds that these polemical texts are remarkable, in that they share “features of a catechism and a history. Readers are not only informed about the arguments, but also about the contenders.”¹⁷ Van Rensburg, “Muslim-Christian Polemics”, p. 137. I agree that one of the main features of religious polemics is the edifying force of the arguments contained within them. In addition to being addressed to a religious adversary, the primary addressee in many polemics is indeed the community itself. This is the case for the Muslim account of Wāṣil of Damascus in Arabic, as well as for the Aljamiado account, in which the elaboration of correct belief plays a major role (as demonstrated in the next section).

3. The Aljamiado Account of Wāṣil of Damascus

The Aljamiado narrative of Wāṣil, as preserved in the miscellaneous Morisco codex from Almonacid, relates to the discussion above in several ways. Some elements are simplified, including the isnād, or chain of transmitters with which the ḥadīṯ is introduced in the Arabic accounts. Both the Leiden manuscript and Ibn ʿAsākir’s Taʾrīḫ include a chain of transmitters extending back to Wāṣil. Ibn ʿAsākir’s longer isnād only partially matches that of the Leiden manuscript. One example of the differences involves the transmitter before Wāṣil who, in this case, is not Muḥammad b. al-Ḥusayn, but Maḫlad b. al-Ḥusayn-a scholar who settled in Maṣṣīṣa (d. 191H/806CE), and whose name is mentioned by al-Balāḏurī (d. 279H/892CE).¹⁸In referring to a tradition about the situation of Antioch under the rule of Muʿāwiya (d. 60H/680CE). Bashear, “Apocalyptic and Other Materials on Early Muslim-Byzantine Wars”, pp. 181-216; p. 211. Cf. the isnād in Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 314, l.4 (p. 315, l.6-7). The other transmitters in the isnād in Ibn ʿAsākir are Abū Muḥammad b. al-Akfānī; ʿAbd al-Karīm b. Ḥamza; Abū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī b. Barakāt al-Ḫušūʿī, who report on Abū Bakr al-Ḫaṭīb; Ibn Razqawī, Abū ʿAmr b. al-Sammāk; ʿAbīd b. Muḥammad b. Ḫalaf al-Bazzār; al-Ḥasan b. Ṣabāḥ al-Bazzār (Wāṣit, Baġdād, d. 249H/863CE); Muḥammad b. Kaṯīr al-Maṣīṣī al-Sanʿānī, reported on Maḫlad b. al-Ḥusayn (d. 191H/806CE); and he, on Wāṣil. The isnād in the Aljamiado copy is much shorter. With only two links, its brevity characterizes Mudejar and Morisco works, in which these chains are sometimes omitted altogether.¹⁹As noted by Bárbara Ruiz-Bejarano, the isnāds in Morisco accounts tend to be omitted for the purpose of simplification, with the authority of Muḥammad apparently having greater weight instead. See Ruiz-Bejarano, “Praxis islámica de los musulmanes aragoneses a partir del corpus aljamiado-morisco y su confrontación con otras fuentes contemporáneas”, p. 194. This isnād contains no explicit mention of Wāṣil, but only of Aḥmad b. ʿAbd Allāh, who could perhaps be identified with the obscure figure of the storyteller Abū l-Ḥasan al-Bakrī (Iraq, second half 8^th c. H/13^th c. CE),²⁰He was purportedly the author of the Kitāb al-Anwār (Book of Lights). López-Morillas, Textos aljamiados sobre la vida de Mahoma, p. 26. The Kitāb al-Anwār belongs to the popular genre of Mudejar and Morisco literature, and it was very widespread among its members, who liked its narrations of the lives of the prophets. See Harvey, Muslims in Spain, 1500-1614, pp. 148-149. See also Lugo Acevedo, El libro de las luces. López-Morillas, Textos aljamiados. and Ibn ʿAbbās, the cousin of Muḥammad. In light of this observation, the terminus post quem of the original on which the Aljamiado copy was based should probably be placed at the time that al-Bakrī’s activities were flourishing. It should be noted, however, that the brevity in the isnād is not unique to the Aljamiado adaptation and that in the materials available to us, for example, in al-Zāhidī, it is omitted altogether and Wāṣil’s account is presented by way of example, simply and directly, with “and in it there is a nice story.”²¹ al-Zāhidī/al-Miṣrī, al-Risāla, p. 57: وفيه حكاية لطيفة

On the other hand, the Aljamiado narrative provides new information on Bašīr that brings about a dramatic twist in his character. This information seems to be linked to the question of whether Bašīr was a prince-a possibility that, as noted above, has been suggested by some Christian accounts and that lends itself to evaluation alongside the possibilities that are already known to be contained within the sources. The Aljamiado text thus states that “he [Bašīr] fled from Islamic towns to Roman towns and when his father [the king of the Romans] knew that, he sent for the boy.”²²My emphasis. MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), ff. 372r: “fuyó (i.e. Bašīr) ḏe las-villas de al-islam a las-villas de los-romanos i laora que llegó aquello-a su padre envió por-él”. Perhaps of greater interest is that the Aljamiado adaptation provides information that does not appear in the Arabic accounts whereby the capture of the young Bašīr by the Muslims is placed during the rule of ʿUmar b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (ʿUmar II) (r. 98H/717-101H/720CE).²³ MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 372r. The Leiden manuscript includes a marginal note by a reader who observes that the one who was in power at the time was ʿAbd al-Malik b. Marwān (who ruled between 26H/685CE-86H/705CE). See Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 315, n. 1. It is worth recalling the great popularity that ʿUmar enjoyed among the Mudejars and Moriscos. Evidence of such popularity has been found in various sources, including the Aljamiado version of the dispute attributed to him and Leo (the so-called “letter of ʿUmar”) in the Aljamiado manuscript that is kept at the National Library of Spain MS BNE 4944. Leo is indeed the same emperor referred to in Christian accounts about Bēsḗr/Bašīr. At this point, however, it is also important to note that, in the Leiden manuscript, Wāṣil’s polemic is bound together with the šurūṭ ʿUmar (“Covenant of ʿUmar”) with the Christians. This raises the question of whether the mention of ʿUmar in the Aljamiado text could have been due to corruption resulting from the joint circulation of the two texts. Van Rensburg proposes reading these two texts as a unit, insightfully claiming in support of such a possibility that “stipulations […], were annotated or complemented with a manuscript providing blueprints for theological disputes.”²⁴ Van Rensburg, “Muslim-Christian Polemics”, p. 139. The new information on Wāṣil regarding his role in Constantine’s envoy to al-Walīd as is contained in Ibn ʿAsākir’s Taʾrīḫ seems to enhance the possibility that Bašīr’s captivity occurred under the rule of ʿUmar, indeed. Although further evidence is needed in order to confirm such a claim, based on the historical details provided by the Aljamiado version, it is attractive to place Bašīr’s captivity effectively under his rule and to place his polemic with Wāṣil at the court of Leo III.

Placing the captivity of Bēsḗr/Bašīr during the rule of ʿUmar II does actually not hinder any identification of Wāṣil with the famous mutakallim and one of the founders of the Muʿtazilite school of thought, Wāṣil b. ʿAṭāʾ (b. ca. 80H/699-700CE-d. 131H/748-749CE).²⁵See EI² (Ess) s.v. “Wāṣil b. ʿAṭāʾ.” This possibility (as suggested by Griffith) seems rather to be reinforced when considered in light of the information contained in the Taʾrīḫ and in the Aljamiado text.²⁶ Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, pp. 302-303. The suggestion is taken up by Van Rensburg, “Muslim-Christian Polemics”, p. 140. Considering the complete body of available evidence, the following sketch of Wāṣil b. ʿAṭāʾ’s which, in part, reads in the light of Bašīr’s: thus, we suggest that Bašīr was born around 700-702CE, that he was captured as a youth (around 15-17 years of age) and that this happened during the first years of ʿUmar’s rule (i.e., around 99H/717CE).²⁷The Aljamiado text provides no indication about the fact that Bašīr was at the Caliph’s court as a youth “during the rule of the banī ʿUmayya.” This detail is indeed included in the Arabic recensions. Bašīr could have arrived as a young adult in the presence of Leo III-as Griffith points out, this could have occurred no later than 103-104H-722/723CE-and he could indeed have remained there until at least 107-108H-726/727CE. Bašīr may have been taken prisoner again by Muslims in 119/120H-737/738CE and eventually killed during the Artabasdos’ revolt in 123/124-125H-741/742-743CE, as mentioned by Theophanes.²⁸ Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, pp. 294-296. These events seem to correspond well to the identification of Wāṣil with his namesake, Wāṣil b. ʿAṭāʾ, who would have been about the same age as Bašīr at the time of the dispute (which I would like to suggest may have taken place at some point between 108/118H-727/737CE, and no later than the envoy to al-Walīd). Wāṣil would have already been of an age to be endowed with a title of respect: šayḫ. It is on account of the latter consideration, and if Wāṣil’s envoy is placed during the years of Constantine’s strife with Artabasdos in 123-124/125H-741-742/743 CE, that we should probably discard the possibility that Wāṣil fell into Christian hands during the Muslim naval defeat in Constantinople in 98-99H-717-718 CE.²⁹Such a possibility is called into question by Griffith in “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 303 and n. 38, also claiming that Wāṣil b. ʿAṭāʾ could hardly have been considered a šayḫ at this age. As for what happened after the dispute, the Arabic and Aljamiado accounts mention that Wāṣil is driven out to the dwellings (diyār), or territories (bilād), of Damascus. Only the Aljamiado text, however, mentions his actual release.³⁰ Ibn ʿAsākir/al-ʿAmrawī, Taʾrīḫ, p. 381; MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 385r. The account of al-Zāhidī seems to be the briefest of all, interrupting after the scene to which we will return below in which Wāṣil enters one of the Christian churches and invokes the name of God. See al-Zāhidī/al-Miṣrī, al-Risāla, p. 61.

In short, there are grounds to argue that the story’s main character could have been the historical figure of Wāṣil b. ʿAṭāʾ or, at least, that the polemical encounter should be placed at a time close to the time frame outlined above.³¹Griffith adds to the mentioning of this possibility the suggestion that the author of the polemic had merely been inspired by this scholar. “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 303. These speculations correspond best to the new information, as other possibilities require setting them aside. For example, this would be the case if we were to place Bašīr’s captivity under the rule of ʿAbd al-Malik b. Marwān, something which as noted can be read in the margins of the Leiden manuscript, and which has now been proven quite unlikely. It would also be the case if we were to assume a large age difference between Bašīr and Wāṣil, as this would mean regarding all known information incorrect, including that contained in Christian sources.

Beyond the question of Wāṣil’s identity, there is the issue of the princely lineage of Bašīr, as suggested in some Christian accounts and picked up by the Aljamiado narrative. The implications of assuming such a lineage might lie behind an element that marks a radical difference between the Aljamiado plot and the Arabic narratives. If Bašīr is the son of a king, he must eventually come to hold the throne, and it is precisely this element that is introduced into the plot. In this way, and after embracing the Christian faith again, the Aljamiado text presents Bašīr not as a patrician but as a king. This creates a relatively unusual situation, in which there are two kings at court: the king of the Romans (whose name we do not know) and the king Bašīr, who enters into dispute with Wāṣil. Regardless of the reference to Bašīr as being the son of a king, the Arabic text contains elements that lend themselves to be read under the same key. One example is when Wāṣil says, “I am a prisoner in your power […] If I answer you not the way you want, I am afraid for my life.”³² Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 317 (p. 316, l. 6-7). Van Rensburg, “Muslim-Christian Polemics”, p. 327 (326, l. 11). MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 373v. Another example is presented as Bašīr refers to himself when saying, “I see you are a man who has learned dialectic (al-kalām). I am a man who is master of the sword.”³³ Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 317 (p. 316, l. 6-7) and p. 319 (p. 318, l. 17-18). Other elements in the narration point in the same direction as well. The Aljamiado narrative explicitly refers to Bašīr from the outset, and on a number of occasions, as “king Bašīr.” The plot nevertheless changes again, and king Bašīr disappears when, after one of the sessions of dispute with Wāṣil, the king of the Romans enters the scene. The dispute with Wāṣil then continues in his presence, against the chief prelate of the Christians.

A “double” king is undoubtedly a striking element that produces a certain level of confusion in the narrative (e.g., which of the two kings is more powerful? Might Bašīr and the king of the Romans be one and the same person?). I would nevertheless like to argue that it is also relatively easy to see that such a discrepancy fades in light of the particular significance that the figure of Bašīr could have had for the Mudejars and Moriscos. At this point, it is important to recall that this “king” (Bašīr) is a Christian who was once a Muslim, and that this element (this “Muslim link”) may have had a strong appeal to Muslim audiences within a context characterized by sustained contacts with Christians and Jews, as well as in which conversions to and from another religious groups were relatively frequent. As the main Christian contender in the dispute, “king Bašīr” is especially powerful, as the king usually serves as a model for the community. The impact of a religious opponent of such a status who ultimately admits defeat before the Muslim Wāṣil is tremendous-even more so considering that many Muslims had been forced to abandon Islam for Christianity. They might have identified themselves with a convert like Bašīr and felt the appeal of returning to Islam. The significance of this defeat could not be compared to that which would have occurred if Bašīr had been an ordinary patrician.

4. Retelling Wāṣil’s Polemics in the West

The reception of this narrative in the Western Mediterranean region, particularly among Mudejars and Moriscos, produces a major shift in the retelling of the Aljamiado narrative in which Bašīr becomes king. The pious tales that were added to the plot were known to have been highly prized by these communities as a means of teaching the fundamentals of Islam. One of these fundamentals concerns death (and all that it entails), which is much more present in the Aljamiado narrative, which thus also introduces several elements of eschatology in Islam that do not appear in the Arabic narrative. Examples include the Malak al-Mawt (Angel of Death), who transports the souls of the deceased. References to this angel are of great importance to Muslims residing in the Christian territories, as they represent the torment of the grave and the judgment of sins by the angels Nakīr and Munkar, who feature abundantly in their literature.³⁴ Vázquez, Desde la penumbra de la fosa. Also, Casassas Canals, La muerte y el más allá según el islam. Some of the eschatological references in these works are of a polemical character, as is the case for some critical stances towards the ability of Jesus to raise the dead.³⁵See the challenge that Jesus faces in having to resurrect Usām, the son of Nūḥ (Noah) in Sánchez-Álvarez (ed.), El manuscrito misceláneo 774, pp. 174-175 transcription of the manuscript at the National Library of Spain, MS BNE 5223, ff. 240r-241r. In contrast, in the Aljamiado polemics of Wāṣil, it is the authority of the priests that is called into question, and the Muslim protagonist wonders whether priests can actually ward off death, the torments of the grave, and the fright of Malak al-Mawt. Wāṣil boldly asks, “Who is greater, the Malak al-Mawt or the high priest?”³⁶ MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 378r: “pues cuál es más-fuerte i más onrraḏo i más poderoso Malaku el-Mawti * o el-pelrraḏo mayor.” In the Arabic narrative, which contains no reference to the angel, the high priest becomes angry and orders Wāṣil to be removed from his presence. In the Aljamiado version, the king’s reaction is completely opposite-he displays satisfaction with Wāṣil and his great knowledge of the subject of death. All of these new elements in the Aljamiado narrative serve to prepare the reader, as they are chronologically positioned immediately before the discussion of a question that is also found in the Arabic text of why did Jesus not kill his mother (if he was God and had the power to do so, as Christians claim), but instead tortured her by allowing her to die in agony.³⁷ “He said, ‘So why did Jesus not kill his mother?’ * He tortured her by the death agony”, Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 325 (p. 324, l. 1). In MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 378v: “pues cómo-no-tuvo poḏer ḏe ḏesviar la-muerte * a su-maḏre pues-que era cosa-tan-amaḏa i tan-cara en-su-poder”. The version given by al-Zāhidī is somewhat different, and among other things it omits some parts of the dialogue, including this particular issue. al-Zāhidī/al-Miṣrī, al-Risāla, p. 60.

Overall, the divinity of Jesus and the reasons advanced by Christians for worshipping him receive the most attention and greater development in the Aljamiado text, as explained hereafter. The text introduces several arguments used by Christians in their defense. First, they claim to worship ʿĪsā (Jesus) because he had no father and the angels prostrated before him. Wāṣil retorts that the same could be said of Edam (Adam). A second reason given by Christians is that Jesus brought the dead back to life, to which Wāṣil responds that Ḥasqīl (Ezekiel) had done the same.³⁸This and subsequent claims summarized here are in MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 379r-380r. A third reason has to do with the fact that Jesus performed miracles, which Wāṣil counters by noting that Yūšaʿa (Joshua) b. Nūn had also performed miracles. A fourth reason advanced by Christians is that Jesus was taken to heaven (al-samāʾ). To this, Wāṣil answers that the same happens every day to the angels who are with each soul in the morning and at night (in the Arabic version)³⁹al-Zāhidī explicitly uses human being, insān, instead of nafs, which, although it may have this meaning, too, has the more direct meaning of soul. al-Zāhidī/al-Miṣrī, al-Risāla, p. 60. and (in the Aljamiado text) that Edris (Idrīs), the prophet, was also brought to heaven to be with God and all the saints. At this point, the Aljamiado version takes the Christian arguments a step further. Wāṣil retorts that, if Christians claim that their worship of Jesus is due to the waters being opened before him, the same could be said to have happened with Mūsā b. ʿImrān (Moses). If they worship him because Maryam (Mary) conceived Jesus while still a virgin, this could be compared to the miracle worked by the prophet Ṣāliḥ (Saleh) when the she-camel and her foal appeared from among the rocks of the river of al-Qurei to the idolatrous people of Ṯamūd. If Christians claim to worship Jesus because Mary gave birth as a virgin at eight months, the same could be said for the daughter of al-ʿAbīd.

The story of the daughter of al-ʿAbid (likely to be read as al-ʿAbīd, literally, “the servant of God”) is somewhat peculiar and deserves attention.⁴⁰ MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), ff. 380r-380v. In this account, the father of this girl finds a bone on the road during the season of the Banū Isrāʾīl. He wonders whether it is human, and the Devil (al-Šayṭān) challenges him to ask God to use it to create a human of flesh and bones. As the story continues, al-ʿAbīd casts the bone inside his house, and a tree blooms from it, with leaves like butter, smelling of musk and tasting of honey. The daughter of al-ʿAbīd eats one of these leaves, becomes pregnant and gives birth to a boy through her mouth. The boy is able to talk at the moment of birth, and he begins speaking to his mother and his grandfather. He eats with them and converses with them (i-alḥadīçó con-ellos). Later-it is not stated exactly at what time or how-the boy falls into a well and dies. Al-ʿAbīd comes back from his prayer (asumuʿa) and calls the boy, who stands up, wiping his face with his hand. Although he informs his grandfather that he is dead, God Almighty resurrects him, and he addresses his grandfather as follows: “Oh, grandfather! I died in the pit, and I have been resurrected with God’s power. Now, I am going back to my tree and you will not see me until the Day of Judgment. I am from the bone that you found when you had doubts about God’s power.”⁴¹ MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 380v: “yā agüelo-yo-ya me-abía muerto en-el-pozo i ḏespués e seído rrevivcaḏo con-el poderío ḏe Allah i-agora yo me tornaré a mi-árbol i no-me verás jamás fasta el-ḏía ḏel-juiçio i yo-soy-ḏel-güeso aquel que hallaste en-el-camino i- ḏudaste en-el-poderío-ḏe Allah.” After al-ʿAbid’s wonderful tale, Wāṣil concludes this point of dispute with a final argument, asserting that, if Christians argue that they worship ʿĪsā (Jesus) because he was born without blemish, the same could be said of the ram of Ibrāhīm (Abraham). The child then re-entered the tree and once again became a bone, as he had first been.

The tree motif bears strong echoes of the Qurʾānic Maryam, who is told when she is about to give birth under a palm tree “[a]nd shake toward you the trunk of the palm tree; it will drop upon you ripe, fresh dates.” So she pointed to him. They said, “How can we speak to one who is in the cradle a child? He [Jesus] said, ‘Indeed, I am the servant of Allah. He has given me the Scripture and made me a prophet’” (Q. 19:25 and 29-30).⁴²This scene is developed to greater extent in Islamic literature, as in al-Ṯaʿālabī’s Qiṣaṣ al-Anbiyāʾ (Stories of the Prophets). Brinner, ʿArāʾis al-Majālis fī Qiṣaṣ al-Anbiyāʾ or “Lives of The Prophets”, p. 643. The polemic claim that Jesus is merely a prophet is in line with what has been expressed in other sources that circulated among Muslims from the Christian territories, including the “Gospel of Barnabas,” which was first mentioned by Morisco exiles and later brought to Europe, and of which copies in Italian and Spanish have been preserved.⁴³See Slomp, “The Gospel of Barnabas”, pp. 671-678. For a discussion of the elements of Muslim polemics, see Wiegers, “Muḥammad as the Messiah”, vol. 52, pp. 245-291. The story of al-ʿAbīd could also have belonged to the Isrāʾīliyyāt (narratives from Jewish traditions), if the reference at the beginning is to be considered.⁴⁴This is conjecture, however, and I do not know whether the tale can be found in other sources. The importance of this tale is that it illustrates the use of Muslim narratives and stories of an exemplary character in the Aljamiado version, which could have helped to clarify several points of the Islam to the Mudejars and Moriscos, thereby enhancing their understanding. This fact must be considered together with the fact that the themes of the polemic between Wāṣil and his Christian opponents in the Aljamiado and Arabic accounts seem quite similar, but that there is a simplification of the arguments of kalām (e.g., with regard to the nature of the soul of Jesus).⁴⁵Cf. MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), ff. 374r-374v with Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 317 (p. 316, l. 19-24) and p. 319 (p. 318, l. 1-5). Simplification does not always occur as the discussion of the crucifixion and baptism issues makes clear, as these receive greater attention in the Aljamiado version. Arguably, however, there is less theological refinement, and this seems to be compensated by a greater use of evocative imagery and exemplifying narratives that facilitate, if not the understanding of the arguments, in any case the learning of Islam and proper Muslim conduct. On the other hand, the available body of evidence does not allow us to determine whether these texts might already have been present in the narratives contained in some of the Arabic versions and would have been incorporated into the Aljamiado text.

The key role of Muslim knowledge and learning comes to light in the next scene, which has a dramatic tone. The moment is recorded when first the high priest and then the king ask Wāṣil to enter a main church in which only Christians are allowed, and then to invoke God. The king reasons that “it is only one of the houses of your Lord,”⁴⁶ Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 325 (p. 324, l. 6). thus suggesting a very close, or even shared, Muslim and Christian conception of worship space. At this point in the Aljamiado version, the king also recalls the Muslim view that churches are among the houses of the Devil (al-Šayṭān).⁴⁷ MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), ff. 382v-383r: “que él es casa ḏe Allah que según-tú-ḏīzes casa es del-ašayṭān.” Wāṣil takes on the challenge and, once in the church, he proclaims the Islamic profession of faith aloud. This causes great annoyance to the Christians, who ask the king to have him killed.⁴⁸Here it is worth noting the specific significance that the scene may have had for Muslims in the Christian territories by bringing to mind the intense preaching and polemical activity of Christians such as Juan Martín de Figuerola and others inside mosques on Fridays, offering them a powerful counterexample. I am grateful to one anonymous reviewer of this article for this reminder, which adds to the abundant testimonies of the public reading of narratives such as the present one among the Aragonese Muslim communities. In this passage, the Aljamiado narrative includes an element that endows the incident with even greater force, by rendering the call to prayer in Islam (aḏān) that includes the words of the profession of faith (šahāda), in Arabic, in boldface, and in a larger pen stroke than the rest of the text. In the absence of the Arabic vorlage, we cannot know whether this was a later addition. We could nevertheless make the case that the device served as a wake-up call to Muslim believers. Moreover, having the complete aḏān in writing could have been of special use to the Mudejars and Moriscos living in a majority Christian environment, where it might not have been superfluous to insist on the fundamentals of Islam and the adherence to practice.

Along with knowledge of Islam, the praise of Muḥammad is quite present in the literature of Muslim communities, which is full of references to him, in both prose and verse. The Arabic text ends with a reference to the king’s iconoclastic policy: “the king [...] gave orders for the destruction of the churches, and they began to destroy them [...] he put his hand to the slaughter of priests and bishops and patricians.”⁴⁹ Griffith, “Bashir/Bēsḗr”, p. 327 (p. 326, l. 10-11). Here again the version offered by al-Zāhidī differs from the others and, as noted above, ends rightly after the scene in the church and thus it does not include this passage. al-Zāhidī/al-Miṣrī, al-Risāla, pp. 60-61. The wording of the Aljamiado account is somewhat different, and it includes a long praise of Muḥammad, which also serves as a defense of his person and mission, in addition to constituting an apology of Islam. The king of the Romans accuses Muḥammad of being a magician (el-siḥrāru) who is charming the people (aquel-que asiḥra a las gentes).⁵⁰ MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 384r. To this, Wāṣil responds that Christians insist that ʿĪsā b. Maryam was a magician (sienpre disistes * que era siḥereru), even though he had announced his coming.⁵¹ MS 11 Olim. D (este. p. tab V, Nr. 26), f. 384v. He further argues that Muḥammad obtained power from God to fight and defeat his enemies, and to conquer them with the sword. Christians abhor Muḥammad because he showed them their erroneous belief and the right path to be followed:

It would probably not be in error to suppose that the readers in the Mudejar and Morisco communities appreciated this lengthy, elaborate eulogy at the end of the narrative, after which Wāṣil and his companions are released from captivity and set out for Damascus. At that point, we read that they were quite pleased to tell the people (alḥadiṯaban a las chentes) what happened to them, and they became famous because of this.

5. Some Reflections on Retelling Narratives

Let us return to the subject of retelling in the example of the polemics of Wāṣil of Damascus. The only material evidence is available in Arabic, with the exception of one Aljamiado copy, which was read by Moriscos and perhaps circulated among the Mudejars as well. As discussed, the Aljamiado adaptation exhibits a number of characteristic traits. In addition, I suggest that this adaptation is most likely based on a hitherto unidentified source other than the Arabic manuscript from Leiden or the materials used by Ibn ʿAsākir in his Taʾrīḫ or by al-Zāhirī. The absence of this link does not undermine the arguments for a certain narrative continuity in the retelling of the story in the West. This follows particularly from the fact that change does occur, but it does so only to a certain extent, so the fundamental structure, as well as the main arguments of the Muslim-Christian polemicsVan Rensburg, Hans, “Muslim-Christian Polemics: Leiden Oriental Ms 951 (2) Re-evaluated”, Journal for Islamic Studies, 21 (2001), pp. 136-146., are largely retained in the adaptation. However, these are changes that still allow us to easily read the Aljamiado text as a product of Muslims residing in Christian territories.

The pious stories and the inclusion of the aḏān, the lengthy praise of Muḥammad, together with an emphasis on particular subjects in the defense of Islam, all seem strongly connected to the literary and social universe of the Mudejars and the Moriscos. It could be argued that the story ultimately recalls the period of Islamic splendor, its expansion in the Mediterranean, and the Muslims’ fight against and ultimate victory within these regions. The protagonist of the story is a captive, Wāṣil, who is of sufficient age and wisdom, and who has the courage to enter the sacred place of his Christian captors and proclaim the Islamic creed call to prayer aloud. It is easy to see why this could have been an extremely attractive plot for communities who were witnessing the collapse of the world surrounding them, who saw how the territories that had once belonged to Islam were now passing into the hands of the Christians, and who could have also felt as if they were captives in their own land, while practicing Islam in secrecy. Under Christian power, these Muslims had a duty similar to that which Wāṣil took upon himself: to wage a final battle against non-Muslims and to win, even if the victory was merely rhetorical. One cannot but entertain the suggestive thought that the Moriscos would not have seen the convert Bašīr, but the “king of the Romans” as the polemical figure of King Philip II, who was eventually expected to be defeated by the emerging Muslim (Ottoman) power⁵³I am grateful to Ana Echevarría Arsuaga for this suggestion..

The available textual evidence and the lack of access to the original Arabic of this adaptation nevertheless require a tempered reading from the textual evidence available to us. It is not possible to determine the extent to which the Aljamiado narrative conformed to the social and religious needs of Muslims residing in Christian territories or the extent to which it closely followed its source (which was not necessarily of peninsular origin). Only the circulation in Aljamiado provides some evidence of the meaning that the polemics of Wāṣil of Damascus could have had for their religious minority communities. This meaning, however, may not coincide with the one just provided.

I would like to end the discussion on this polemic, which was read on both shores of the Mediterranean, by addressing the issue of change and continuity in storytelling, particularly as it relates to the idea of retelling and recreating narratives (which, as stated in the introduction, are nearly synonymous). Reflection on the subject seems to suggest that, although they are both deeply interconnected, memory (i.e., the collective memory of the group) could arguably have a different weight in each case. To help explain this point, I provide a brief reminder and present an example. The reminder concerns the social dimensions of storytelling. More specifically, in storytelling, it is the storyteller who ultimately decides what to include and what to exclude from a story. Although the storyteller has substantial leeway to do so, there are limits, as the story must be recognized by the audience. For polemical texts such as Wāṣil’s, one could say that boundaries straddle the line between the common religious heritage in which the texts are situated, where such materials tend to be seen as universal, on the one hand, and the freedom that the storyteller or copyist grants himself to modify anonymized works, lacking a clear authorship, in order to adapt them to the needs of the intended audiences at any given time, on the other.⁵⁴As one of the anonymous reviewers of this article points out, this can be seen in the changes in narratives. For example, it could be visible in the changes to an Indian tale that has been collected in the Mahabharata, in the Çukasaptati collection with regard to its displacement to the West, and in its reception among Muslims, Christians, and Jews. Among Muslims, the narrative became known as Moses and Yaʿqūb the butcher. See, Menéndez Pidal, “El condenado por desconfiado de Tirso de Molina,” pp. 11-23 for the Muslim and Jewish version. The same can be said of texts of polemical works, which modify the originals and include details that could hardly have been found in the latter. See, De Epalza Ferrer, “Notas sobre un nuevo ‘falso’ en árabe, de moriscos en el exilio, antes de la expulsión general (¿Túnez, 1603?): la pseudo-Tuhfa de Turmeda (3ª parte).” I am grateful for these reading suggestions. The example requires taking an important leap into the present, drawing on a scene from Tarantino’s latest film, Once upon a time in Hollywood. Tarantino bases the scene on a well-known event: the murder of Roman Polanski’s wife, Sharon Tate, by the Manson family. In this scene, however, the Manson family does not enter the Polanskis’ house, but that of their neighbors and, instead of being the killers, the Mansons themselves are killed. The only way to understand how Tarantino succeeds in conveying a meaningful story that can still be recognized in light of the actual events is to recall that the director is overtly appealing to the shared, previous, knowledge of viewers. In other words, he is appealing to the memories of numerous retellings of the episode that they have heard or seen, and these retellings will inevitably cross their minds during the screening of the film.

This example illustrates the possibility of the simultaneous reactivation of retelling and recreating, in which different meanings -sometimes conflicting- can be attached to the same narrative. This perspective allows us to see recreation as an exercise (not necessarily reflected in the text) that is based on a multiplicity of retellings of a particular narrative, converging along the time axis and being re-enacted in certain circumstances. It also shows that, even without major changes in a particular narrative, the narrative can be transformed, and its transformation can shape community memories. As a final reflection, it can be said that, in the Morisco retelling, Wāṣil’s polemic is well understood in light of this last aspect: the memory of Islam and its splendor on the part of these minorities, particularly those in the Iberian Peninsula.