Echoes of the First Encounters - Syriac Testimonies on Islam’s Emergence (EFE) - II - Fragmented Visions: The Chronicle of 640 and the Early Seventh Century in Turmoil

Fragmented Visions: The Chronicle of 640 and the Early Seventh Century in Turmoil

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ 

"In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful."

The Chronicle ad 640 is, without exaggeration, one of the most idiosyncratic and enigmatic Syriac chronicles to survive from the early Islamic period. Lengthy, eclectic, and deeply Miaphysite in tone, the text purports to trace human history from the creation of Adam all the way to the dawn of Arab rule in the Levant. But despite its wide-ranging ambition and frequent references to specific dates and indictions, it defies any clear chronological structure. Events unfold in a whirlwind of scriptural genealogies, ecclesiastical lists, natural disasters, and military campaigns, all jumbled together with what seems to be little concern for linear narrative. Scholars have variously described the work’s structure as the product of an unhinged mind or as an elaborate, almost coded, system intelligible only to a contemporary Miaphysite readership.

Nevertheless, beneath its surface chaos lies an invaluable resource. The Chronicle ad 640—so named because its last reliably datable entry corresponds to that year—displays a remarkable awareness of early seventh-century history, especially about the Roman–Sasanian conflicts. Its details about imperial politics, regional bishops, and the Persian wars have been repeatedly corroborated by Roman and Armenian sources. And while it devotes only a few scattered lines to the Arabs and their conquests, those lines are weighted with historical significance. Most scholars believe the text was written by a contemporary observer—possibly a priest named Thomas—and its brief mention of a battle near Gaza is often interpreted as a reference to the Battle of Dāthin, the first known clash between Arab and Roman forces.

Crucially, the Chronicle ad 640 may contain one of the earliest surviving non-Muslim references to Muhammad by name. Even more striking is what the chronicler does not say. He offers no eschatological framing, no apocalyptic overtones, and no suggestion that the Arab Conquests represent divine punishment or messianic fulfillment. The conquests are presented plainly, even indifferently—just one in a series of many upheavals that marked this era. In this silence lies a valuable clue: for some Syriac Christians, the rise of Islam was not yet seen as an epochal rupture, but rather another wave in the long and turbulent sea of late antiquity.

The Chronicle ad 640 survives today in a single manuscript: British Library Additional 14,643. This codex, paleographically dated to the mid-eighth century, contains the Chronicle in its first 56 folios, followed by a short caliph list known as the Chronicle ad 724. While some, like James Howard-Johnston, argue that the Chronicle ad 640 is a composite work compiled later, the passages concerning the Arab conquests remain securely dated to around 640, when Heraclius was still alive and before the full scope of the Islamic polity had become clear. The manuscript also bears a brief colophon by the original scribe and a set of hymns added by a later hand, further attesting to its long life within Syriac Christian communities.

In this post, we examine the Chronicle ad 640’s sparse but significant comments on the Arabs, exploring their historical context, their muted theological framing, and their manuscript legacy. Through this uneven and unpredictable narrative, we glimpse an early Syriac perspective on a world shifting underfoot—one not yet overtaken by Islam, but beginning to sense the tremors of a new era.

Timekeeping in the Chronicle: The Seleucid Calendar and Indictions

Before turning to the contents of the Chronicle ad 640, it is worth pausing to explain the systems of timekeeping the author employs—systems which, while second nature to the chronicler and his contemporaries, may seem unfamiliar or even confusing to modern readers. Two systems in particular appear throughout: the Seleucid calendar and indictions. Each reflects not only a different way of counting years, but also distinct layers of cultural memory in the late antique Near East.

The Seleucid Era, often referred to in Syriac as the “Era of the Greeks” (’Etā d-Yawnāyē), was one of the most enduring chronological systems in the ancient and late antique Near East. Although sometimes called the “Era of Alexander” due to its Hellenistic origins, the era technically begins in 312 BCE, the year when Seleucus I Nicator, one of Alexander the Great’s generals, recaptured Babylon. This marked the founding moment of what would become the Seleucid Empire, a vast Hellenistic kingdom that stretched across much of the Near East.

From that point onward, years were counted consecutively: Seleucid Year 1 = 312 BCE. This system soon spread widely, becoming a standard for dating documents, inscriptions, and chronicles not just in Greek-speaking regions, but also in the Semitic world. In fact, it would become the dominant calendar for Jews, Zoroastrians, and Christians across the region for centuries.

By the time of the Chronicle ad 640, the Seleucid calendar was still firmly in use among Syriac-speaking Christians, particularly in Mesopotamia, Edessa, and northern Syria. For example:

• Seleucid Year 947 = 636 CE, the year of the Battle of Yarmūk, when Arab-Muslim forces decisively defeated the Eastern Roman army in Syria.

Converting Seleucid Years to Gregorian Dates

To convert Seleucid dates into the Gregorian calendar, one typically subtracts 311 or 312, depending on the calendar variant being used:

• The Babylonian version (rare in Christian Syriac texts) began in the spring (Nisan), so Seleucid 1 = 311 BCE.

• The Macedonian or Antiochene version, followed by most Syriac Christian writers, began in the fall, typically around October, so Seleucid 1 = 312 BCE.

The Chronicle ad 640, like many Syriac sources, uses this fall-based reckoning. Thus, a year such as Seleucid 948 would begin in October 636 CE and run through September 637 CE.

Why Did the Seleucid Calendar Endure?

One might wonder why a calendar dating back to the collapse of Alexander’s empire remained in use so long after the Seleucid state had vanished. The answer lies in cultural continuity, administrative habit, and identity.

For the Syriac Christian community, the Seleucid calendar represented more than just a method of marking time. It was a symbol of historical rootedness, tying their communities to a broader Hellenistic and Semitic past that predated Roman rule and survived well into the Islamic period. Using Seleucid dates was a way to:

• Preserve an inherited framework of chronology that was familiar and widely understood.

• Maintain ecclesiastical records, including feast days, martyr commemorations, and synodal decisions, many of which were originally recorded using Seleucid dates.

• Differentiate themselves from Roman traditions (which used regnal years and indictions) and, later, from the Islamic Hijrī calendar.

In short, the Seleucid calendar functioned as a kind of cultural anchor—a living relic of the ancient world that persisted through successive imperial systems: Hellenistic, Parthian, Roman, Sasanian, and Islamic.

This continuity of usage tells us something profound about the Syriac chronicle tradition. It was not only preserving stories and events—it was preserving a way of seeing time, a method inherited from their ancestors and infused with the memory of empires long gone. In that sense, even the dates themselves are part of the narrative: they tell us who these chroniclers were, where they came from, and what they remembered.

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The Indiction Cycle

In addition to the Seleucid calendar, the chronicler sometimes refers to events using indictions—fifteen-year cyclical designations that, while seemingly obscure to modern readers, were a deeply embedded part of late Roman administrative culture.

The indiction cycle was a recurring fifteen-year cycle used primarily for fiscal and bureaucratic purposes, particularly to regulate taxation and land surveys across the Roman Empire. Although its fiscal logic had antecedents during the reign of Diocletian (284–305 CE), it was under Constantine the Great that the system was standardized and extended into official dating practices. From the 4th century onward, imperial laws, church documents, and historical chronicles frequently included indiction dates alongside regnal years or local calendars.

Each indiction cycle spanned fifteen years, and the years were simply numbered 1 through 15 before resetting to 1. Importantly, this was not an absolute system of dating: “year 7 of the indiction” could recur every fifteen years, so without another anchor, such as a Seleucid year, a regnal year, or a known historical event—the date remained ambiguous. This makes the indiction useful for administrative rhythms, but less so for historians trying to fix a precise point in time.

When Did the Indiction Year Begin?

The start of the indiction year varied regionally and over time, but by the sixth and seventh centuries, it had largely settled, especially in the Eastern Roman Empire, on beginning on 1 September, aligning it with the start of the fiscal and liturgical year. This convention was still in use during the period of the Chronicle ad 640, and it carried over into many Christian ecclesiastical calendars.

In earlier periods or different contexts (such as in Egypt or parts of the West), the indiction year might begin on 25 September, 1 January, or even 24 September. But in the Syriac world, heavily influenced by Roman practices, the 1 September start date was most common. Thus, an entry in a Syriac chronicle might refer to “year 12 of the indiction,” assuming the reader knew that the cycle began that past September.

Why Indictions Matter

Although the indiction cycle may seem arcane, it served a crucial role in structuring time across a vast and diverse empire. It was a tool of imperial control, linking remote provinces to the central bureaucracy of Constantinople. And like the Seleucid calendar, it persisted long after the institutions that created it had changed or disappeared.

For Syriac chroniclers—especially those living under Roman rule or recently absorbed into the Islamic Caliphate—the indiction system was a way of anchoring events in an imperial tradition. It also allowed them to reconcile multiple layers of history and identity: Roman, Persian, Christian, and increasingly Islamic.

Writers such as the author of the Chronicle ad 640 often combined Seleucid years with indiction numbers to triangulate a date, as if to say: “This is when the event happened, both in the old Hellenistic reckoning and according to the fiscal calendar of the Roman world.” In doing so, they were making more than a chronological statement—they were asserting continuity, memory, and cultural belonging.

Understanding the indiction system is therefore not just a matter of decoding a technical dating method. It opens a window into how people in the seventh century understood time itself: not as a single, linear chronology, but as a woven fabric of overlapping cycles and reckonings, each reflecting different sources of power, identity, and faith.

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 Comparative Chronology Table (622–650 CE)

SE	CE	AH	Indiction	Roman Emperor	Sasanian King	Muslim Ruler
933	622	1 AH	6	Heraclius (r. 610–641)	Xusro II (r. 590–628)	Muhammad ﷺ (r. 610–632)
934	623	2 AH	7	Heraclius	Xusro II	Muhammad ﷺ
935	624	3 AH	8	Heraclius	Xusro II	Muhammad ﷺ
936	625	4 AH	9	Heraclius	Xusro II	Muhammad ﷺ
937	626	5 AH	10	Heraclius	Xusro II	Muhammad ﷺ
938	627	6 AH	11	Heraclius	Xusro II	Muhammad ﷺ
939	628	7 AH	12	Heraclius	Kawad II (r. Feb–Sep 628), Ardaxsir III (r. 628–630)	Muhammad ﷺ
940	629	8 AH	13	Heraclius	Sahrwaraz (r. Apr–Jun 630), Boran (r. 630–631)	Muhammad ﷺ
941	630	9 AH	14	Heraclius	Azarmigduxt (r. 630), Ohrmazd VI (r. 630–631)	Muhammad ﷺ
942	631	10 AH	15	Heraclius	Yazdgird III (r. 632–651)	Muhammad ﷺ
943	632	10–11 AH	1	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	Muhammad ﷺ (d. June) / Abū Bakr (r. 632–634)
944	633	11–12 AH	2	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	Abū Bakr
945	634	12–13 AH	3	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar (r. 634–644)
946	635	13–14 AH	4	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
947	636	14–15 AH	5	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
948	637	15–16 AH	6	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
949	638	16–17 AH	7	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
950	639	17–18 AH	8	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
951	640	18–19 AH	9	Heraclius	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
952	641	19–20 AH	10	Constans II (r. Sep 641–668)	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
953	642	20–21 AH	11	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
954	643	21–22 AH	12	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar
955	644	22–23 AH	13	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUmar (d. Nov 644) / ʿUthmān (r. 644–656)
956	645	23–24 AH	14	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUthmān
957	646	24–25 AH	15	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUthmān
958	647	25–26 AH	1	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUthmān
959	648	26–27 AH	2	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUthmān
960	649	27–28 AH	3	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUthmān
961	650	28–29 AH	4	Constans II	Yazdgird III	ʿUthmān

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Notes

• Indiction years reset every 15 years starting from 312/313 CE.

• Seleucid years begin in autumn (October), so SE 933 = October 622 to September 623 CE.

• Regnal years reflect actual time on the throne, even if rulers reigned briefly.

• Sasanian collapse proceeds through chaos post-Khosrow II with multiple rulers in rapid succession until Yazdegerd III, the final shah.

• The table gives context to Syriac Christian chronographers using the Seleucid system, especially around SE 947–948 (636–637 CE), which frames the Battle of Yarmūk and the Account of 637.

The Chronicle of 640 (British Library Additional 14,643)

In the year 945, at the seventh indiction, on Friday, February the fourth, at the ninth hour, there was a battle between the Romans and the Arabs of Muhammad in Palestine, twelve miles east of Gaza. The Romans fled. They abandoned the patrician Bryrdn, and the Arabs killed him. About four thousand poor villagers from Palestine—Christians, Jews, and Samaritans—were killed, and the Arabs destroyed the whole region.

In the year 947, at the ninth indiction, the Arabs invaded all Syria and went down to Persia and conquered it. They ascended the mountain of Mardin, and the Arabs killed many monks in Qedar and Bnātā. The blessed Simon, the doorkeeper of Qedar, the brother of Thomas the priest, died there.

Commentary on the Chronicle of 640 

“In the year 945, at the seventh indiction, on Friday, February the fourth, at the ninth hour, there was a battle between the Romans and the Arabs of Muhammad in Palestine, twelve miles east of Gaza.”

Historical Setting

• The Seleucid Year 945 corresponds to 633/634 CE in the Gregorian calendar.

• The Roman Emperor at this time was Heraclius (r. 610–641), famed for his earlier victories against the Sasanian Persians (especially in 627–628), but now facing the rise of a new and entirely different challenge: the Arab-Muslim armies.

• Caliph Abū Bakr (r. 632–634) was the first successor (khalīfa) to the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, overseeing the early Ridda Wars and the beginning of the Islamic expansion into Roman Syria and Sasanian Iraq.

• The date given — Friday, February 4th — is striking for its precision, and the seventh indiction refers to a Roman tax cycle used as a dating system, which strengthens the authenticity and administrative grounding of the chronicle's chronology.

• The "ninth hour" is a standard Christian liturgical time (about 3:00 PM), possibly corresponding to the final moments of the battle, or the time when the chronicler received the news.

“The Arabs of Muhammad”

This phrase is of enormous significance. Although Muhammad ﷺ had already died (in June 632), the chronicler refers to the invading forces as belonging to “the Arabs of Muhammad,” not merely “Arabs.”

This reflects a few key things:

1. The movement’s strong religious association with its founder, even posthumously. For the Christian chronicler, Muhammad remains the symbolic source of the threat.

2. The perception that the Arabs were not just tribal raiders, but a new religious-political force with ideological coherence and divine mandate.

3. It suggests that by early 634, even non-Muslim observers understood that this was not just a mere raid, but something rooted in a prophetic claim.

This may be one of the earliest non-Muslim uses of Muhammad’s name in a historical context, demonstrating how quickly his name became associated with a military-religious revolution that transformed the Near East.

The Battle Itself

The chronicler records that the confrontation occurred twelve miles east of Gaza — a geographical detail that aligns almost perfectly with the site known as Dāthin (or Dathema, Dathim), referenced in multiple early sources. The site is mentioned under a slightly different name — Dathemon — in the writings of Anastasius of Sinai, a 7th-century monk and theologian. The Syriac and Greek forms of the toponym reflect typical transliterations from Semitic place names: Dāthin (داثن), likely derived from a Semitic root such as d-ṯ-n or d-ṯ-m, becomes Dathemon (Δαθημῶν) in Greek sources, with the -mon ending representing a common Hellenistic suffix used to approximate Semitic endings. The "th" (θ) in both forms confirms they are referencing the same site — a linguistic echo between Arabic, Syriac, and Greek usage. in his apocalyptic lament, Anastasius describes the catastrophic losses faced by the Roman Empire during the first Arab raids:

“When Heraclius died, Martin was exiled by Heraclius’ grandson [i.e. Constans II] and immediately the desert-dweller Amalek rose up to strike us, Christ’s people. That was the first terrible and fatal defeat of the Roman army. I am speaking of the bloodshed at Gabitha, Yarmuk and Dathemon, after which occurred the capture and burning of the cities of Palestine, even Caesarea and Jerusalem…”

Here, Dathomon appears alongside Gabitha (Jabiyah, the Ghassanid center in the Golan) and Yarmuk — two historically verifiable sites of early battles between the Romans and the Arabs. The mention of Dathemon as part of this triad of devastating defeats underscores its importance in early Roman memory and matches the precise location “twelve miles east of Gaza” given in the earlier chronicle. This is not a minor skirmish but part of a cascading military collapse.

Although this battle, occurring in Seleucid Year 945, or Friday, February 4, 634 CE, predates the more famous Battle of Ajnadayn (summer 634), it already illustrates the growing boldness of Arab forces under the Rashidun Caliphate. Some scholars interpret this clash as a kind of military probe — a testing of Roman response and strength in southern Palestine. It can be seen as a prelude to the more decisive confrontations that followed in the Syro-Palestinian campaign.

What is especially striking is the degree of detail preserved: day of the week, exact date, hour (the ninth — ca. 3 p.m.), and the location. This level of specificity suggests one of two possibilities — or perhaps both:

1. The chronicler had access to eyewitness accounts or highly reliable reports circulating shortly after the event.

2. The defeat was so traumatic for local Christians that it became seared into communal memory — a dies irae moment of collapse that foreshadowed the unraveling of Roman rule in the region.

In Anastasius' words, these early defeats were not merely military events but signs of divine retribution — part of a theological narrative of imperial decline: the desecration of holy cities, the enslavement of Christians, the fall of Egypt, and even the mutilation of Roman clergy as further evidence of divine punishment. The battle near Gaza — at Dāthin/Dathemon — was thus remembered not as an isolated clash, but as the beginning of the end, the first fracture in the Christian dominion of the East.

The Symbolism of Time: Friday and the Ninth Hour

The date — Friday, the ninth hour (3 PM) — may carry theological resonance for a Christian audience.

• Friday is the day of the Crucifixion in Christian tradition.

• The ninth hour is the exact time the Gospels say that Jesus died on the Cross (see Matthew 27:46–50).

In other words, this timestamp might be doing more than just recording the hour — it may be framing the battle as a kind of Passion narrative, in which Christendom is being “crucified” by this new, fearsome power. The fall of a Christian army at that very hour would not have felt coincidental to a pious Syriac Christian.

It also foreshadows the apocalyptic tone that colors many 7th-century Syriac accounts of the Arab conquests. Later chroniclers, such as the author of the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius , would explicitly frame the Muslim conquests as a divine punishment for the sins of Christians.

Palestine: The First Frontier

Palestine was one of the first regions to experience the direct force of the Rashidun military machine. It was home to:

• Important Christian holy sites (Jerusalem, Bethlehem),

• Strategic cities like Gaza, Caesarea, and Jerusalem, which would fall over the next few years.

The battle near Gaza thus marks the first major crack in the Roman wall, signaling that Arab control of Palestine was not just a possibility but perhaps inevitable.

1. Early Christian Awareness: The reference to “Arabs of Muhammad” so soon after his death shows that Christians were already aware that this was a prophetic movement, not just tribal warfare.

2. Chronological Precision: The chronicler’s use of exact time and date — Friday, 4 February 634, 3:00 PM — adds gravity and immediacy, making this more than a simple historical note.

3. Theological Framing: The timing aligns with the Crucifixion, subtly portraying the Christian community as Christ-like victims, suffering at the hands of new persecutors.

4. Historical Transition Point: This battle likely marks the beginning of sustained military contact between Muslims and Romans in Palestine, leading to full Arab control within a decade.

5. Apocalyptic Undertones: Though understated here, the inclusion of this date and its association with defeat would lay the groundwork for later Syriac apocalyptic thought, which saw the Arab conquests as a sign of divine judgment or eschatological upheaval.

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“The Romans fled. They abandoned the patrician Bryrdn, and the Arabs killed him.”

This stark statement from an early Syriac chronicle captures a moment of catastrophic defeat and imperial disarray. The name Bryrdn—rendered in Syriac script likely as ܒܪܝܪܕܢ or similar—is almost certainly a corrupted or Semiticized version of a Greek or Armenian name. Scholars such as Walter Kaegi identify this figure with Sergios, a high-ranking Roman officer—possibly a candidatus, a title once associated with imperial bodyguards but later a courtly honorific—who had direct access to Emperor Heraclius.

Sergios was assigned to defend southern Palestine from the first Arab incursions. His failure at the Battle of Dathin, near Gaza, on 4 February 634, signaled more than a tactical defeat. It revealed the vulnerability of Roman control on its southern frontier, coming so soon after the costly Roman–Persian wars.

The confusion surrounding this officer’s name—Bryrdn in Syriac, Sergios in Greek, and Wardan or Vardan in Arabic and Armenian sources—reflects the complexities of rendering names across the linguistic boundaries of the 7th-century Near East. The Syriac Bryrdn appears to be a transliteration of Vardan (Վարդան in Armenian), which itself may reflect the Greek Οὐαρδάνης. Arabic sources record similar forms, including Wardan (وردان) or Burdan (بردان), adjusted for the phonetic constraints of the language (e.g., lacking a "v" or "p" sound). Meanwhile, Greek sources use Σέργιος (Sergios), likely the officer’s official Roman-Christian name.

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Conclusion: A Death and Its Echoes

The historical figure killed at Dathin—called Sergios in Roman sources, Vardan in Armenian, Wardan in Arabic, and Bryrdn in Syriac—was likely one man with multiple names, each preserved in the linguistic tradition most familiar to its audience. His fall was not just a battlefield loss but a symbol of imperial retreat, local fury, and the deepening vulnerability of Roman Palestine. His death also reflects:

• A chaotic Roman withdrawal in the face of a rising Arab threat.

• The administrative failures of Heraclius’ government to anticipate or prepare for these incursions.

• An economic rupture, as Arab resentment mounted over disrupted trade networks previously stabilized under Persian rule.

• The frontier reality of complex identity, where one could be Roman, Armenian, and Semitic—all at once.

The report of his gruesome execution, whether factual or embellished, underscores the rage directed at Roman officials in these early conflicts. That rage was likely intensified by economic strangulation and imperial overreach. Yet the true tragedy is the commander’s isolation: abandoned in flight, remembered only through fractured names, and woven into the collective memory of empire and resistance.

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“About four thousand poor villagers from Palestine—Christians, Jews, and Samaritans—were killed, and the Arabs destroyed the whole region.”

This haunting line from the chronicle conveys more than just a record of violence—it is a window into the collective trauma experienced by the diverse inhabitants of Palestine during the earliest stages of the Arab conquests. The inclusion of Christians, Jews, and Samaritans in one breath signals an unusual moment of narrative solidarity, where sectarian lines blur in the face of a shared catastrophe.

While the chronicler is almost certainly writing from a Christian vantage point, this acknowledgment of multi-religious suffering is significant. It breaks from the more common hagiographic tendency to frame history solely in terms of the Church's triumphs or tragedies. Instead, it foregrounds the human cost of war across confessional boundaries.

The use of the term “poor villagers” is likewise telling. It emphasizes the socioeconomic vulnerability of the victims, who were not soldiers or elites, but peasants and common folk—those least able to defend themselves and most exposed to the chaos of imperial collapse. This is not merely a lament for Christian martyrs but a broader indictment of the disorder wrought by the Arab raids on the Roman frontier.

Interpretive Layers of the Account

1. Ethno-Religious Unity in Catastrophe
   

   The reference to Jews and Samaritans alongside Christians suggests that the chronicler saw these groups as fellow sufferers under Arab violence. In a time when religious communities often defined themselves against each other, this is striking. It indicates that the early Arab conquests, at least in some places, were perceived not just as an assault on Christianity but as a destabilizing force for the entire social fabric of the Roman East.

   Samaritans, in particular, had a complex relationship with both Christian and Jewish communities, often being persecuted or marginalized by both. That they are included in this enumeration suggests the chronicler’s desire to portray a universal devastation—a catastrophe that respected no theological or ethnic division.

2. Theological Undertones
   

   The phrase “destroyed the whole region” is not merely a factual statement of physical ruin. It carries the weight of theological mourning. For a Christian chronicler, the destruction of the Holy Land—or even part of it would symbolize more than territorial loss; it would signify a blow to divine order. Palestine, after all, was the land of the prophets, the place of the Incarnation, the heart of Christian memory. Its defilement was therefore a cosmic wound, not just a local tragedy.

3. Historical Context and Strategic Impact
   These Arab incursions—initially seen by the Romans as raids rather than full-scale attacks—exposed the fragility of Roman control. The local peasantry, often left undefended, paid the highest price. Their deaths marked the hollowing-out of Roman authority, where imperial officials could neither protect their subjects nor adequately respond to rapid changes in the balance of power.

   Moreover, many of these villagers may have lived under relatively stable conditions during Persian rule, only to be thrust into upheaval once the Romans reasserted control and war returned to their doorstep. This sudden reversal likely intensified the perception that the Roman state, despite its religious legitimacy in Christian eyes, was no longer a viable guarantor of security.

Conclusion

This single line encapsulates several overlapping realities of the early 7th-century Roman East:

• Ethno-religious plurality: Christians, Jews, and Samaritans lived side-by-side in many Palestinian villages, sharing local economies and, when crisis struck, common fates.

• Imperial failure: The Roman state, still recovering from the Persian wars, could no longer protect its most vulnerable subjects. The destruction of entire communities underscored the disintegration of frontier governance.

• Narrative inclusion: The chronicler’s recognition of non-Christian suffering reflects a moment of moral clarity, where the trauma of conquest transcends sectarian identity.

• Theological sorrow: The devastation of Palestine was not merely a historical loss but a spiritual and eschatological rupture, shaking the very foundations of Christian geography and identity.

Like the tale of Bryrdn’s death at Dathin, this report serves as a testament to collapse: the collapse of protection, of identity, of order. It records not only what was lost in terms of life and land but also what was shaken in terms of meaning. And in doing so, it helps us glimpse the emotional and spiritual world of those who watched Roman dominion crumble before a new, unfamiliar power.

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Part I: The Battle of Yarmūk

“In the year 947, at the ninth indiction, the Arabs invaded all Syria and went down to Persia and conquered it.”

• Seleucid Year 947 = 635/636 CE

• Indiction 9 (Fiscal cycle) = 635/636 CE

• Caliph: ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb

This phrase — “invaded all Syria” — must include Yarmūk. Why?

It was the decisive battle that opened Syria to Arab rule. The battle took place on the 20th of August, 636, confirmed by the Chronicle of 637, which says:

“On the twentieth of August in the year nine hundred and forty-seven AG [636 CE] there assembled in Gabitha ... the Romans and many people were killed, from the Romans about fifty thousand ....”

(Chronicle of 637)

This is not a vague dating — it is exact, tying Yarmūk directly to the Seleucid year 947 AG, the very same year cited in the Chronicle of 640 for the “invasion of all Syria.” Therefore, Yarmūk is not only included, but it is the centerpiece of that invasion.

Chronological Calibration: Seleucid Year & Indiction Cycle

To understand whether the chronology in the Chronicle of 640 fits with the events of Yarmūk, we need to break down how time was calculated:

 Seleucid Year (AG – Anno Graecorum)

• Starts on October 1st each year

• So, Seleucid Year 947 = Oct 1, 635 – Sept 30, 636

Indiction Cycle ( Fiscal calendar)

• 15-year repeating tax cycle

• Ninth indiction = Sept 1, 635 – Aug 31, 636

Now let’s plot Yarmūk:

Battle of Yarmūk = 20 August 636 CE =

Still within:

• Seleucid Year 947 (Oct 635–Sept 636) 

• Indiction Year 9 (Sept 635–Aug 636) 

Thus, the Chronicle’s dating is completely consistent:

“In the year 947, at the ninth indiction…” = Aug 636 is still inside both time markers

The chronicler was using standard Roman/West Syrian time reckoning, and based on the calendrical precision, he likely recorded this only a few years after the events, when these systems were still active reference points. The dual dating (Seleucid + Indiction) gives strong chronological confidence in the Chronicle’s testimony.

This further strengthens the view that Yarmūk — dated August 636 — was indeed the turning point referred to in the Chronicle of 640.

Corroborating with Islamic Sources

Now let’s bring in the Islamic tradition to test and explore the chronology of Yarmūk further.

Ibn Kathīr presents a detailed summary of the various views surrounding the date of the Battle of Yarmūk. He acknowledges that Sayf ibn ʿUmar reported the battle took place in 13 AH, before the conquest of Damascus, and that al-Ṭabarī (Abū Jaʿfar) followed him in this dating:

"وقعة اليرموك على ما ذكره سيف بن عمر في هذه السنة قبل فتح دمشق، وتبعه على ذلك أبو جعفر بن جرير رحمه الله."

“The Battle of Yarmūk, according to Sayf ibn ʿUmar, occurred this year (13 AH) before the conquest of Damascus, and Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī, may God have mercy on him, followed him in that.”

However, Ibn Kathīr then shifts to a different and more widely accepted account. He cites Ibn ʿAsākir, who preserves the majority view transmitted through a range of early sources, including Yazīd ibn Abī ʿUbayda, al-Walīd, Ibn Luhayʿa, al-Layth, and Abū Maʿshar. All of them state that Yarmūk occurred in 15 AH, after the conquest of Damascus.

"وأما الحافظ ابن عساكر رحمه الله فإنه نقل عن يزيد بن أبي عبيدة والوليد وابن لهيعة والليث وأبي معشر أنها كانت في سنة خمس عشرة بعد فتح دمشق."

And more precisely, Ibn Kathīr quotes Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq and Khalīfa ibn Khayyāṭ, who give the specific date:

"وقال محمد بن إسحاق: كانت في رجب سنة خمس عشرة. وقال خليفة بن خياط قال ابن الكلبي: كانت وقعة اليرموك يوم الاثنين لخمس مضين من رجب سنة خمس عشرة."

“Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq said: It occurred in Rajab of the year 15 AH. Khalīfa ibn Khayyāṭ, citing Ibn al-Kalbī, said: The Battle of Yarmūk occurred on Monday, the 5th of Rajab, 15 AH.”

Ibn ʿAsākir then affirms the authenticity of this view:

"قال ابن عساكر، وهذا هو المحفوظ، وأما ما قاله سيف من أنها قبل فتح دمشق سنة ثلاث عشرة فلم يُتابَع عليه."

“Ibn ʿAsākir said: This is the preserved [al-maḥfūẓ] view. As for what Sayf said — that it occurred before the conquest of Damascus in 13 AH — it was not followed by others.”

Cross-Referencing with Christian Sources

Now compare this to the Christian sources: Chronicle of 637: Yarmūk is placed in August 636 CE

• Chronicle of 640: Yarmūk is placed in Seleucid year 947, which corresponds to 635/636 CE

• Muslim sources (Ibn Kathīr, Ibn ʿAsākir, Khalīfa ibn Khayyāṭ, Ibn al-Kalbī): Yarmūk occurred in Rajab 15 AH, which aligns with August 636 CE

All sources—Christian and the majority of Muslim historians—converge on 636 CE as the year of Yarmūk. The only serious dissent came from Sayf ibn ʿUmar, whose claim that Yarmūk occurred before Damascus in 13 AH was rejected by later scholars, including Ibn ʿAsākir and Ibn Kathīr, who both upheld the later dating as the more reliable and better attested tradition.

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Part II: The Battle of Qādisiyyah 

“In the year 947, at the ninth indiction, the Arabs invaded all Syria and went down to Persia and conquered it.” — Chronicle of 640

This deceptively brief phrase marks a seismic historical rupture. In just a few words, it encapsulates the fall of two great empires: the Roman presence in Syria and the collapse of the Persians in Iraq. For the chronicler, writing in Syriac shortly after these events, the conquest of Persia and the fall of its imperial heartland occurred alongside the destruction of Roman Syria.

But what exactly does this line refer to, and when did these events unfold?

What Is “Persia” in This Context?

When the chronicler says the Arabs “went down to Persia and conquered it,” he is clearly referencing the Battle of al-Qādisiyyah and the subsequent fall of Ctesiphon, the Sasanian capital. These were not mere border skirmishes but existential blows that shattered the Sasanian imperial structure. Though Persia as a geographic and cultural entity would endure, the centralized imperial machinery of the Sasanian house effectively collapsed after this campaign.

From the perspective of a seventh-century Syriac Christian, witnessing the Sasanian world collapse after over four centuries of power, this was the end of Persia.

When Did the Battle of al-Qādisiyyah Occur?

Our sources present varying dates for the Battle of al-Qādisiyyah, reflecting not only divergent transmission lines but also the evolving nature of Islamic historical writing as it interacted with oral traditions, regional chronologies, and theological narrative structures. The dating of the battle, a seminal moment in the Arab-Muslim conquest of the Sasanian Empire, thus remains fluid and contested across early and later historical works.

Islamic Historiographical Sources:

• Ibn Kathīr places the battle firmly in the year 14 AH, stating:

  "سنة أربع عشرة من الهجرة."

  ("The year fourteen after the Hijrah.")

• Ibn al-Athīr concurs, introducing the year with:

  "ثم دخلت سنة أربع عشرة."

  ("Then came the year fourteen.")

• al-Ṭabarī also aligns with this timeline, introducing the episode with:

  "سنة أربع عشره ذكر ابتداء امر القادسية."

  ("Year fourteen: the beginning of the affair of al-Qādisiyyah.")

• al-Dhahabī, however, offers a more nuanced view, acknowledging reports that suggest a slightly later date:

  "كانت وقعة القادسية بالعراق في آخر السنة [أي ١٥ هـ] فيما بَلَغَنَا."

  ("The Battle of al-Qādisiyyah in Iraq occurred at the end of the year [i.e. 15 AH], according to what has reached us.")

• Khalīfah ibn Khayyāt, the early historian and a teacher of al-Bukhārī, also places the battle in the 15th year after Hijrah (15 AH).

al-Balādhurī, drawing on early narrative traditions, dates the battle even later, stating:

"The Battle of al-Qādisīya was at the end of the year 16 (January 638)." 

This diversity in dating is not just a matter of textual transmission; it reflects how memory and meaning were attributed to this pivotal moment in different historiographical traditions—some placing emphasis on calendrical precision, others on theological implications or literary dramatization. The uncertainty mirrors the broader tumult of the early seventh century, especially in regions like Mesopotamia and Iraq, where Arab-Muslim armies clashed with a crumbling Sasanian front.

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Chronicle Dating: Do the Dates Match?

Seleucid Year 947 = Oct 1, 635 – Sept 30, 636

9th Indiction = Sept 1, 635 – Aug 31, 636

The Syriac Chronicle of 640 states:

“In the year 947, at the ninth indiction, the Arabs invaded all Syria and went down to Persia and conquered it.”

This statement is remarkably informative—if we know how to read it. And it aligns perfectly with what we now understand about the actual timeline.

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📌 Strategic Logic and the Date of al-Qādisiyyah: Reconciling Sources and the Syriac Chronicle

While there is scholarly debate over the exact date of the Battle of al-Qādisiyyah, the Syriac Chronicle of 640 stands out as a vital contemporary witness. It places the collapse of both the Roman and Persian frontiers in the same Seleucid Year 947 (October 1, 635 – September 30, 636) and the 9th indiction.

At first glance, this seems to clash with the Islamic sources, which generally place the Battle of Qādisiyyah in late 636 (15 AH)—often in Ramadan or Shawwāl. But by carefully cross-referencing sources and considering strategic and seasonal factors, we can see that this doesn’t represent a real contradiction.

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✅ Why 635 is Too Early

If Qādisiyyah had occurred in 635, it would have been impossible for the Muslims to fight on two fronts. The Romans were still active in Syria—the decisive Battle of Yarmūk didn’t occur until August 20, 636. As Peter Crawford writes:

“The year 636 proved to be the decisive one in the conquests of both the Roman and Persian empires… In this pivotal year the forces of Islam defeated the armies of both empires in two great battles: Yarmuk and Qadisiyyah.”

— Peter Crawford, The War of the Three Gods, p. 146

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🕰 Why 637 or 638 is Too Late

If Qādisiyyah had taken place as late as 637 or 638, the Persians would have had time to regroup. But the Arabs marched straight on Ctesiphon, which fell in early 637. Hugh Kennedy confirms:

“The battle took place in the late autumn of 636… and was one of the decisive battles of world history.”

— Hugh Kennedy, The Great Arab Conquests, p. 83

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🌱 Seasonal Clues and the Build-Up

The narrative of Ibn Aʿtham al-Kūfī provides a seasonal anchor: Yazdgird III’s orders to Rustam in spring 636, after the land had turned green and the trees blossomed:

“Winter has passed from us and from them, the land has grown green, and the trees have blossomed—so march to them with your cavalry and infantry.”

This suggests Rustam’s mobilization began around March 636. Ṭabarī reinforces this timeline:

“More than two years passed between the coming of Khalid to Iraq and the camping of Sa'd in al-Qādisiyyah. Sa'd stayed there for more than two months until he achieved victory.”

— Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh al-rusul wa al-mulūk

This points to a sequence:

• Rustam’s mobilization: March 636

• Saʿd’s camp at Qādisiyyah: September 636

• Final battle: November 636

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📜 The Chronicle’s “Perceived Conquest” and the Arab Encampment

The key to resolving the Syriac Chronicle’s 947 horizon lies in understanding “perceived conquest” vs. final military victory. The Chronicle does not pinpoint the pitched battle itself but rather reflects the psychological and strategic collapse it witnessed:

For the chronicler in Roman Syria, the Arab encampment at Qādisiyyah—with the Persians gathering for a stand-off—already signaled the end of the old order.

Since Saʿd’s forces camped for two months before the battle, they must have arrived at Qādisiyyah by early September 636. This fits perfectly with the Chronicle’s Seleucid Year 947 dating (ending September 30, 636).

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📆 Reconciling Ramadan vs. Shawwāl: Khalīfa ibn Khayyāṭ’s Account

Khalīfa ibn Khayyāṭ’s statement:

“قَالَ أَبُو الْحسن فَاقْتَتلُوا قتالا شَدِيدا ثَلَاثَة أَيَّام أَولهَا يَوْم الِاثْنَيْنِ لثلاث بَقينَ من شَوَّال وَيُقَال لأيام بَقينَ من شهر رَمَضَان.”

This indicates two traditions:

1️⃣ The battle started on a Monday, with three days left of Shawwāl.

2️⃣ Another view places it in the last days of Ramadan.

But the calendar clarifies:

• Last 3 days of Ramadan 15 AH: 2–4 November 636

• Last 3 days of Shawwāl 15 AH: 2–4 December 636

The Monday in question is 2 December 636—matching 28 Shawwāl—but this places the battle a month later than the well-supported November 636 timeline.

Given the weight of sources (Crawford, Kennedy, Ibn Aʿtham, al-Ṭabarī) and the momentum of the conquest, the November 636 date fits best:

• The encampment phase and skirmishes in September 636 align with the Chronicle’s 947 horizon.

• The final battle in November 636—not December—matches the rapid Arab advance and the fall of Ctesiphon in early 637.

No Contradiction—A Shift in Perception

✅ The Chronicle’s “947” reflects the psychological collapse—the Arabs’ arrival and active operations starting in September 636.

✅ The actual pitched battle was in November 636, after Ramadan but before the start of Seleucid 948.

✅ Khalīfa’s alternate tradition of a December battle does not fit the broader narrative or the Syriac Chronicle’s alignment.

Thus, this blog can confidently state that while minor chronological confusion exists in some sources, the November 636 date—preceded by the Arab encampment and perceived Persian collapse—harmonizes perfectly with the Syriac Chronicle’s timeframe.

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✅ Synthesis: The Chronicle’s Shockwave and the Real Battle

• The chronicler in Syria saw the Persian frontier as effectively “fallen” by September 636, when Saʿd’s armies arrived and began skirmishes.

• The actual pitched battle happened in late autumn 636 (early November).

• Khalīfa ibn Khayyāṭ’s Ramadan dating (2 November 636) fits this perfectly, resolving the Ramadan vs. Shawwāl question.

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🔨 The Final Timeline

Event	Hijrī	Julian Date	Seleucid AG	Indiction
Khalid invades Iraq	12 AH	1 Apr 633	945	3rd
Rustam begins preparations	14 AH	~March 636	947	9th
Saʿd camps at Qādisiyyah	15 AH	~August 636	947	9th
Arab arrival at Qādisiyyah	15 AH	September 636	947	9th
Battle of Qādisiyyah (Ramadan)	15 AH	2 November 636	948	10th
Fall of Ctesiphon	15 AH	March 637	949	11th

🎯 Strategic Conclusion: 636 or Bust

All evidence—textual, seasonal, and strategic—converges:

✔ Yarmūk and Qādisiyyah both occurred in 636.

✔ The Chronicle’s 947 horizon captures the momentum and psychological collapse of the Persian world—not the final clash itself.

As Crawford observes:

“In the space of a few short months, the Arabs had destroyed two great empires… The speed and decisiveness of these victories would never again be repeated.”

— The War of the Three Gods, p. 173

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✅ Final Takeaway

The Battle of Qādisiyyah was fought in early November 636 (Ramadan 15 AH), aligning with Khalīfa ibn Khayyāṭ’s tradition. The Syriac Chronicle’s record of Persian collapse in Seleucid 947 reflects the encampment and skirmishes that began in late summer 636, which psychologically and strategically sealed the fate of the Sasanian Empire—months before the final battle’s outcome.

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 “They Ascended the Mountain of Mardin”: The Arab Advance into Upper Mesopotamia

“They ascended the mountain of Mardin, and the Arabs killed many monks in Qedar and Bnātā.” — Chronicle of 640, Seleucid Year 947

This stark line signals a northern shift in the Arab conquests, one that reaches beyond Syria and Persian Mesopotamia and into the Syriac Christian heartlands of Upper Mesopotamia—what is now southeastern Turkey.

Geographic Context: The Mountain of Mardin

1. Mardin, perched on a high plateau overlooking the Ḥarrān plain, was a major frontier city for Christian Aramaic-speaking populations, including Syriac Orthodox, Nestorian, and monastic communities.
2. It marked the northern threshold of the Roman-Persian military and cultural frontier.
3. By “ascending the mountain of Mardin,” the chronicle suggests that the Arab forces were no longer just raiders in the south, but invading the highlands, entering regions that had felt secure until then.

The Slaughter of Monks — Qedar and Bnātā

• Qedar and Bnātā are likely rural monastic settlements or small towns in the Mardin region.

• The killing of monks is more than a note on casualties—it is a symbolic act of desecration.

In Syriac Christian historical memory, monks represented holiness, stability, and the last guardians of divine truth. Their murder, recorded without detail or elaboration, invokes an aesthetic of martyrdom:

The world is collapsing, not just politically, but spiritually. The sacred is being extinguished.

 Sacred Geography Violated

From the perspective of the chronicle’s author, these are not just events—they are sacrileges. The death of monks in places like Qedar and Bnātā represents:

• The attacks upon holy lands,

• The death of witness and prayer,

• The silencing of those who interceded for the world.

In this view, the Arab conquest is not just territorial—it is eschatological.

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 Why It Matters: The Emotional Geography of Collapse

The Chronicle of 640 captures something many modern histories miss:

• The conquest wasn’t just of empires—it was of meaningful space.

• It wasn’t only the fall of Ctesiphon and Antioch—it was the burning of abbeys, the murder of monks, the cross torn down in the silence of Bnātā.

This entry in the chronicle is deeply local, viscerally painful, and saturated with grief.

It is the point at which the collapse becomes personal.

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A Name in the Dust: Simon the Doorkeeper

“The blessed Simon, the doorkeeper of Qedar, the brother of Thomas the priest, died there.” — Chronicle of 640 (Seleucid Year 947)

This is no mere entry in a timeline. It is a whisper of grief—a name etched in sorrow. And for a moment, the Chronicle of 640 becomes something more than a history. It becomes a eulogy.

Simon is identified not by title or rank but by role—“doorkeeper” (Syriac: ܒܒܝܐ), a humble monastery servant whose task was likely both literal and symbolic:

• He opened the door to prayer, to travelers, to the poor.

• He closed the door against danger, guarding the quiet within.

To see him named at all is rare in chronicles of this kind. He was no bishop or general—but a servant of the Church, remembered in death for faithful anonymity. And in his passing, the chronicle itself grieves.

It is intimate, not formal. He is mourned as a brother. And that’s no accident.

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Who Wrote This Chronicle?

Scholars have long debated the authorship of the Chronicle of 640. But the key may lie here—in the naming of Simon.

 Thomas the Priest — A Chronicler in Grief

The phrase “brother of Thomas the priest” is more than biographical. It is likely autobiographical.

Many scholars now agree: the chronicler of 640 was Thomas himself, a priest of Rhesaina, a city between Edessa and Nisibis—just west of the mountain of Mardin. The monastic site of Qedar, where Simon served, was in this region.

This entry is thus not simply a martyrology—it is a personal witness, a raw moment of sibling grief placed into the historical record.

The man recording the fall of Persia and Syria was also recording the death of his own brother.

 Pinpointing the Author’s Home

Clues from the structure of the chronicle further support this:

• Thomas omits Indiction dates from the time Mesopotamia fell to the Persians in 609 until its recovery in 629.

• When Rome reconquers the region under Heraclius, the indictions resume—suggesting the chronicler lived in a place directly affected by these events.

• That place is almost certainly Rhesaina, near Qedar and Mardin—ground zero for the violence he describes.

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The Chronicle as Elegy

The inclusion of Simon’s name—so rare in such records—transforms the Chronicle of 640 from impersonal narrative into personal memorial.

It shows us that:

• The Arabs did not just conquer cities—they shattered lives, families, monasteries.

• The collapse of empires was not only recorded in battles and treaties—but in the loss of a brother at a monastery door.

• History, here, is not about kings—it is about grief.

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Final Reflection

The Chronicle’s bleak line:

“The Arabs killed many monks in Qedar and Benata. There died the blessed Simon…”

…is not only the earliest Syriac record of the Muslim conquests.

It is the first recorded Christian death under Arab rule preserved by name.

It reminds us that the fall of empires was also the fall of brothers, of monks, of humble guardians of silence.

And that someone—Thomas, priest of Rhesaina—took pen to page not only to mark history,

but to say goodbye.

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Conclusion: The Chronicle’s View of the Arab Conquests

This brief but devastating passage from the Chronicle of 640 distills more than a decade of trauma, transition, and theological anxiety. In sparse lines and symbolic references, the chronicler perceives:

• The speed and terror of the Arab conquests—from Yarmuk to Qādisiyyah, and onward into Mesopotamia.

• The failure of Roman and Persian protection—and with it, the collapse of a familiar imperial world.

•  The shared suffering of communities—not only Christians, but also Jews and Samaritans, all swept into the tide of conquest.

• The desecration of sanctuaries—holy men cut down, monasteries violated, sacred spaces overturned.

• The disintegration of order—where once Roman taxed and Persia ruled, now came Arab riders like a whirlwind from the desert.

And yet, within that chaos, a voice breaks through the dust:

“There died the blessed man Simon, doorkeeper of Qedar, the brother of Thomas the priest…”

This is not just a historical record.

It is a grief-stricken signature.

Thomas of Rhesaina, priest and brother, has embedded his own sorrow into the scaffold of empire’s fall. The Chronicle becomes elegy. The conquest becomes personal.

Simon was not a general or martyr-saint. He was a doorkeeper. And through him, the Chronicle of 640 reminds us what was truly lost:

Not just cities and kings—but lives, families, homes, brothers.

This is not the history of armies.

It is the memory of loss.

And it is that memory, tender and trembling in the voice of a priest from Rhesaina, that closes one of the earliest and most intimate accounts of the Islamic conquests.

THE END

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Works Cited 

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Primary Sources

al-Balādhurī, Aḥmad ibn Yaḥyā. Futūḥ al-Buldān [The Conquest of the Lands: A New Translation of al-Balādhurī’s Futūḥ al-Buldān]. Translated and annotated by Hugh Kennedy, I.B. Tauris, 2022.

al-Dīnawarī, Aḥmad ibn Dāwūd. al-Akhbār al-Ṭiwāl [The Lengthy Reports]. Edited by ʿAbd al-Munʿim ʿĀmir, reviewed by Jamāl al-Dīn al-Shayyāl, Egyptian Ministry of Culture, 1960. Originally published by Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Kutub al-ʿArabiyya.

al-Dhahabī, Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad. Tārīkh al-Islām wa-Wafayāt al-Mashāhīr wa-al-Aʿlām [The History of Islam and the Deaths of the Famous and the Great]. Edited by ʿUmar ʿAbd al-Salām al-Tadmurī, 2nd ed., Dār al-Kitāb al-ʿArabī, 1993. 52 vols.

al-Khallāl, Khalīfah ibn Khayyāṭ. Tārīkh Khalīfah ibn Khayyāṭ [The History of Khalīfah ibn Khayyāṭ]. Edited by Akram Ḍiyāʾ al-ʿUmarī, 2nd ed., Dār al-Qalam & Muʾassasat al-Risālah, 1977.

al-Ṭabarī, Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn Jarīr. The History of al-Ṭabarī (Tārīkh al-Rusul wa al-Mulūk), Volume XII: The Battle of al-Qādisiyyah and the Conquest of Syria and Palestine. Translated and annotated by Yohanan Friedmann, State University of New York Press, 1992. Bibliotheca Persica, vol. 12.

Harrak, Amir, translator. The Chronicle of Zuqnīn, Parts III and IV: A.D. 488–775. Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1999. Mediaeval Sources in Translation, vol. 36.

Ibn al-Athīr, ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad. al-Kāmil fī al-Tārīkh [The Complete History]. Dār al-Kitāb al-ʿArabī, 1997. 10 vols.

Ibn Aʿtham al-Kūfī, Aḥmad. Kitāb al-Futūḥ [Book of Conquests]. Edited by ʿAlī Shīrī, Dār al-Aḍwāʾ, 1991.

Ibn Kathīr, Ismāʿīl ibn ʿUmar. al-Bidāyah wa-al-Nihāyah [The Beginning and the End]. Dār ʿĀlam al-Kutub, 2003. 20 vols.

Kaʿbī, Nasir Al, editor and translator. A Short Chronicle on the End of the Sasanian Empire and Early Islam: 590–660 A.D. Gorgias Press, 2016.

Movsēs Dasxurancʿi. The History of the Caucasian Albanians. Translated by C. J. F. Dowsett, Oxford University Press, 1961. London Oriental Series, vol. 8.

Palmer, Andrew, translator. The Seventh Century in the West-Syrian Chronicles. With translations and annotations by Sebastian Brock and historical commentary by Robert Hoyland, Liverpool University Press, 1993. Translated Texts for Historians, vol. 15.

Penn, Michael Philip. Envisioning Islam: Syriac Christians and the Early Muslim World. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015.

———. When Christians First Met Muslims: A Sourcebook of the Earliest Syriac Writings on Islam. University of California Press, 2015.

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Secondary Sources

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Briquel-Chatonnet, Françoise, and Muriel Debié. The Syriac World: In Search of a Forgotten Christianity. Translated by Jeffrey Haines, Yale University Press, 2023.

Crawford, Peter. The War of the Three Gods: Romans, Persians and the Rise of Islam. Pen and Sword Military, 2013.

Daryaee, Touraj. Sahrestaniha ī Ērānshahr: A Middle Persian Text on Late Antique Geography, Epic, and History. Mazda Publishers, 2002.

----. Sasanian Persia: The Rise and Fall of an Empire. I.B. Tauris, 2023.

Deadman, William M., et al. “Locating al-Qadisiyyah: Mapping Iraq’s Most Famous Early Islamic Conquest Site.” Antiquity, vol. 99, no. 403, 2025, pp. 1–8.

Donner, Fred McGraw. The Early Islamic Conquests. Princeton University Press, 1981.

Hoyland, Robert G., editor. From Albania to Arrān: The East Caucasus between the Ancient and Islamic Worlds (ca. 330 BCE–1000 CE). Gorgias Press, 2020.

Hoyland, Robert G. In God’s Path: The Arab Conquests and the Creation of an Islamic Empire. Oxford University Press, 2015.

———. Seeing Islam as Others Saw It: A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish, and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam. Darwin Press, 1997.

Howard-Johnston, James. Witnesses to a World Crisis: Historians and Histories of the Middle East in the Seventh Century. Oxford University Press, 2010.

Kaegi, Walter E. Byzantium and the Early Islamic Conquests. Cambridge University Press, 1992.

Kennedy, Hugh. The Great Arab Conquests: How the Spread of Islam Changed the World We Live In. Da Capo Press, 2007.

King, Daniel, editor. The Syriac World. Routledge, 2019.

Rapp, Stephen H., Jr. The Sasanian World through Georgian Eyes: Caucasia and the Iranian Commonwealth in Late Antique Georgian Literature. Routledge, 2014.