Sultana (11 page)

Chattering, the courtiers retreated. The royal wives peeked from behind the
purdah,
but the Sultan waved them off. The doors to the throne room slammed in a resounding thud.

“With your permission, may I show you the gift?” Umar gestured to the antechamber just off the throne room. The Sultan walked with him, while Faraj followed beside the Crown Prince.

A delicate girl knelt in the center of the marble floor. She appeared to be no more than twelve years old, swathed in gold cloth and strings of pearls. Her face was heart-shaped and lily white and her ice-blue eyes at first seemed almost sparkling. Then, she swayed slightly. Pale golden curls tumbled free from the confines of her veils. Faraj realized her captors had drugged her. He snorted with disgust. She was nothing but a child bought for an old man’s pleasure.

The Sultan and Crown Prince glared at him. He averted his eyes from her.  

Umar said, “She is from Galicia, captured earlier this year. She has been well-trained and is very skilled, I’m told.”

The Crown Prince drew a step closer to the girl. “A blonde. Such rare magnificence.” He cleared his throat. “What is her name?”

Umar answered, “We have called her Nur al-Sabah, noble prince.”

The Sultan said, “How fitting, for she’s the embodiment of ‘the light of morning’ with her golden hair. Tell your master I accept his gift with pleasure, Umar. My son, summon the chief eunuch of my harem to see to this girl.”

The Crown Prince asked, “You…intend to keep her, Father?”

“I shall keep her. I may be an old man, but I suspect she could make me forget my age if she is indeed skilled. Would you suggest I do otherwise, son?”

The Sultan watched his heir like a hunting hawk studies its prey, looking for weaknesses. The Crown Prince stared at the girl, with something akin to reverence. She lifted her chin a little, her gaze straight ahead, trained in the Crown Prince’s direction. A sigh escaped him, whispering of some inner turmoil and burgeoning desire. He looked to his father then, with a pitiful expression of appeal, almost despairing. His lips trembled.

Faraj shook his head, wondering whether the Crown Prince dared ask for the girl. Lust could easily rule a man. He vowed no woman would ever hold sway over his heart. Burdened with a bride who could not be a true wife to him, he saw no reason to fear.

The Sultan smiled and diffused the tension. “Commander, my household has prepared a reception for you and your highest-ranking officers this evening. Shall we adjourn until then?”

When Umar assented, he nodded toward the Crown Prince. “Do as I have asked, son. Come, nephew.”

When they left the room, Faraj trailed behind the Sultan. Before they reached the entrance, he looked over his shoulder. The Crown Prince still stared, fascinated with the girl. Oddly enough, despite her torpor, she seemed focused on him, too.

After sunset and the observance of the fourth daily prayer,
Salat al-Maghrib,
Faraj accompanied the Sultan. They led the Marinid delegation to the gardens north of the palace. There, a feast awaited them, inasmuch to entertain their guests as to break the day’s fasting.

A festive atmosphere already pervaded. Musicians played in a secluded corner. The Crown Prince arrived last, with his three younger brothers. Faraj wondered at his delay but could not allow himself further speculation, as the Sultan motioned for the meal to begin.

The royal family sat on the left and to the right Umar joined five of the Marinid officers, including his younger, sinewy brother, Talha. Slaves placed dishes of lukewarm rosewater and a towel at each table setting. After everyone washed their hands and toweled them dry, the Sultan blessed the meal. The waiting slaves revealed the contents of great gold and silver platters inlaid at the edges with mother of pearl.

Faraj ate with gusto, enjoying one of his favorite dishes, roasted lamb and rice stir-fried together with onion, lemon and carrot. There was flatbread and an eggplant dip, which the lemon juice made too bitter, in his opinion. Lentil soup and a salad of mint and parsley accompanied the main meal.

Umar praised the Sultan on the taste of each dessert that followed, eating date balls and pastries with almonds, sugar and rosewater, or others with a mixture of sweet white cheese, nuts and syrup.

While slaves removed the remnants of the meal, everyone dipped their fingers in the water bowls and dried them.

The Sultan addressed his guests. “In honor of your arrival, I’ve chosen six of my most beautiful slaves, all virgin maidens whose perfection I’ve only seen, but never touched. Each of you shall take a slave for your pleasure. These women are my gifts to you.”

The men murmured their appreciation and approval. Then the Sultan turned to Umar. “Join me on a tour of these magnificent gardens. Your men may remain and enjoy the hospitality of my household. My heir shallensure they lack for nothing.”

He and Umar left the others, followed at a discreet distance by his bodyguards. Faraj chewed at his lower lip and stared long after they disappeared behind a row of juniper trees.

When they returned to the banquet area, Faraj and the others stood to greet the Sultan and his guest. The Sultan remained cordial with Umar. But during the ritual of the water pipe which followed, Faraj noted whenever his uncle eyed Umar, the commander appeared flustered. He even dropped the pipe twice.

The yawning Marinid officers prompted the Sultan to dismiss them. Slaves escorted them to their quarters and the waiting slave girls.

The Crown Princeleaned toward his father. “What did Umar say, honored father? Will his master aid us against the Ashqilula?”

The Sultan took the water pipe and inhaled deeply. “Umar told me that his master honors me as a brother of the Faith. However, he cannot pledge an alliance with me.”

Sighs of dismay issued from everyone. The Crown Princeasked, “Did you appeal to his heritage? Our intelligence confirmed his mother was Andalusi, from near our home in Aryuna.”

The Sultan drew on the pipe again. “I mentioned it.”

“And he responded in what manner?”

“His mother left al-Andalus as a girl and could not recall her birthplace with any clear memory or affinity.”

“Did you tell him how his master would do well to support us? In thirty-five years of your reign, you’ve made Gharnatah a haven for those who live under Islamic rule. Did you explain how civil war would destroy his mother’s birthplace?”

“He knows this, too.”

“Did you speak of the Castillans? Did you say that if Gharnatah should ever fall to the Castillans, nothing shall stop them from conquering other Moorish lands? Gharnatah alone stands between Castillan ambitions and the subjugation of Islam. Did you say none of this?”

The Sultan set down the water pipe and glared at his son. “Would you like to try with him? You might have better luck.”

The Crown Princestammered. “I could never match your skill in diplomacy. You’re my teacher, Father.”

Despite his son’s contrition, the Sultan continued to frown. Then the heir mumbled, “At least my sister Maryam won’t be bartered away.”

“Then perhaps you should take her into your harem and let her drain your treasury, like she’s done with mine.”

“We have gambled and lost,” the Sultan’s third son, Prince Nasr, interjected. “If the Marinids cannot help us neutralize our enemies, what canyou do, noble father?”

The Sultan smiled. “Now, we deal with the Castillans.”

Expressions of confusion and concern greeted him. As usual, the Crown Princevoiced his opinion first. “But, the Castillans are allied with the Ashqilula.”

“For now, it would seem to be the way of things.” His father stroked his hennaed beard.

“I don’t understand. Were your reports wrong?”

The Sultan gestured to Faraj. “Perhaps my nephew can explain.”

Expectant eyes turned to him. Farajsaid, “The Marinids would have been powerful allies and could have helped us end the Ashqilula revolt. But they’re across the sea, while Castilla-Leon is at our back. We can’t afford for the Castillans to aid the Ashqilula in a civil war.”

The Sultan added, “After the wedding, whenI discussedFaraj’s marriage to my granddaughter with him, he reminded me ofthe Castillan threat. They concerned me, too. At my behest, Faraj wrote to the Castillan King. I have promised to renew the tribute paid under the old Castillan King’s regime. The new one is greedy like his father. He’ll take the money, but I’ll hold him to renouncing the alliance with the Ashqilula. One way, by fair means or foul, I shall be rid of them. Now, we journey to Castilla-Leon.”

Al-Qal’at ibn Zaide, al-Andalus: Ramadan 664 AH (Alcala Real, Kingdom of Castilla-Leon: June AD 1266)

One week later, the Sultan’s entourage, including Faraj, journeyed to the Castillan city of Alcala Real, where the Sultan would meet with King Alfonso the Wise.

The rugged terrain offered opportunities for bandits. The men traveled under a heavy retinue of guards. They neared the city once known as al-Qal’at ibn Zaide, famous for its healing mineral springs. Then a dust cloud billowed on the horizon. Heavy hooves pounded the earth.

The Sultan ordered the halt. Faraj shielded his eyes with his hands.

“A portion of royal guard, my Sultan, with your messenger and his horse in their midst.”

The Sultan nodded. “Is our messenger still alive atop his horse?”

Faraj squinted. “He appears unharmed.”

The Sultan rubbed his hands together. “This bodes well for our meeting.”

One man led the Castillan riders. Without a proper greeting, he addressed the Sultan in coarse Latin. The Sultan smiled, but the Crown Prince’s hand went to the short dagger at his side.

“Noble father, this son of a dog must not be allowed to speak to you in this manner!”

The Sultan shrugged. “What would you have me do? This isn’t the Sultanate. I can’t just cut his head off.”

He gestured to Faraj. “Address this Castillan dog and remind him that we are here at the invitation of his master Alfonso. My Latin is as fine as yours but I’d never demean myself by answering this oaf.”

After Faraj spoke with the guard, the man wheeled his horse about and the Sultan and retinue followed, flanked closely by the King’s guard.

When they entered the gates, the townspeople appraised them under hooded eyes. Fair women made the sign of the Cross while children hid their ruddy, dirty faces in their mothers’ skirts. The Sultan chuckled at this ridiculous behavior, as the riders from Gharnatah trotted in rows of three over cobblestone streets paved by their Moorish ancestors.

They entered the fortress and dismounted in the outer courtyard. A waiting page led them into a great hall where the King, his nobles and the Castillan parliament, the
Cortes
awaited them.

The Sultan and the Castillan King had met many years before during the siege at Ishbiliya. Gharnatah’s existence then had been precarious. Even with the Ashqilula alliance, the Sultan had not achieved a substantial victory over his then foes, the Hud family. In an agreement with the Castillan King, the Sultan had offered to recognize him as an overlord and pay him an annual tribute of gold coins, if King Fernando destroyed the enemy at the Hud base in Ishbiliya.

Yet when King Fernando took Ishbiliya, he had held it for Castilla-Leon. To the Sultan’s undying shame, he had lost the greatest of Muslim cities. When he returned to Gharnatah, he refused the acclaim his people offered, saying, ‘There is no Conqueror but God.’ From then, those words had become the motto of the Nasrids.

Now, Fernando’s son, Alfonso the Wise sat with several courtiers who flanked either side of his gilded chair. King Alfonso had brown hair that curled at the nape of his neck. He wore his crown on a pale, smooth brow. His features were stark and plain, like those of an un-bearded youth, although he had to be at least forty years old. His rich robes, red mantle trimmed with gold tassels and gleaming crown distinguished him from his rich noble. The Sultan and his entourage bowed before him, but remained standing. There was the expected grumbling among the nobility.

An iron-muscled, fair-haired man, also without any facial hair, who stood closest to the King bent and whispered in the monarch’s ear. Alfonso waved him forward.

The courtier bowed before the Sultan. “I am Doñ Nuño Gonzalez de Lara. I greet you in the name of my honorable master, King Alfonso of Castilla-Leon, son of the great King Fernando of Castilla-Leon. My master welcomes you to his court. I shall serve as his interpreter and you may speak with me as you would him.”

The Sultan’s face became etched in stone. His displeasure at the sight of this man was extreme. Before Faraj might wonder at his reaction, he gave him a curt nod and Faraj stepped forward.

“I am Prince Faraj, nephew of the Sultan. I greet  you in the name of my humble master. I shall serve as his interpreter and I pray you would speak with me as you would with him.”

Through his interpreter, King Alfonso said, “We pray you and yours have come in peace to Alcala Real, Sultan. Granada exists only as a vassal of Castilla-Leon. Our nobles do not like how you and your companions remain standing before the royal presence.”

Through Faraj, the Sultan replied, “I assure your nobles, we meant no such disrespect. Indeed, my retinue and I have brought gifts to show how much we honor you.”

At his behest, Faraj presented his gifts of precious gems, leather, silks and brocade to the Castillan King. After a lengthy examination, Alfonso seemed mollified and ordered their removal.