Sultana (27 page)

Fatima whispered. “He’s here.”

Her brother asked, “The Marinid Sultan impresses you so much?”

“Not him. I meant Abu Muhammad of Malaka. He once wanted to marry our mother. He was there when she stole me away to the house of her brother Abdallah.”

Faraj clenched his jaw tightly. “Did he hurt you?” He waited expectantly, but in truth, the prospect would just be yet another reason to murder the man.

Fatima answered, “No, but he let my mother die.”

“Then I have one more reason to hate him.”

“You hate him, too? What has he ever done to you?”

He made no reply, despite her puzzled stare. He was not ready to reveal the depths of his hatred, even to his beloved. Still, the burden of the secret weighed upon him.

The Marinid Sultan and his companions met Fatima’s father, who greeted his ally with the kiss of peace. Then the sovereigns drew apart and seemed to assess each other. 

Faraj judged Abu Yusuf Ya’qub and Muhammad II to be very much alike, though physically they could not have been more different. Where his master stood lean and tall, with olive skin and in the prime of life, the Marinid ruler was small and swarthy. His hair had gone completely gray since Faraj saw him at Fés el-Bali, just over a year ago. 

“It is good that you have come, my brother of the Faith.” Abu Yusuf Ya’qub’s voice boomed across the plains.

Muhammad II replied, “I wish our alliance to remain strong. I would not have it threatened by what is, at least for me, an internal matter for Gharnatah.”

Abu Yusuf Ya’qub chuckled and stroked his gray beard. “You are a man of plain speech, which is good, for I am the same. You resent my interference. Yet, you cannot deny the Ashqilula proved worthy allies in the early reign of your father. They can do so again and help us inflict a resounding defeat upon our common enemy in this
jihad
, Castilla-Leon.”

Muhammad II said, “The Ashqilula clan doesn’t view the Castillans as the enemy.”

Abu Yusuf Ya’qub offered him a shrewd smile, “The same could be said of your father. At times, he counted the Castillans as enemies, but sometimes he was not so certain.”

“Circumstances often change.” Muhammad II paused and glared at the other Ashqilula chieftains gathered behind Abu Muhammad. “And they can again. What do the Ashqilula pledge by way of this truce?”

“They shall provide three thousand cavalry, archers, infantry and siege weapons.”

“At what cost to me?”

“The one who leads them, Abu Muhammad of Malaka, shall speak the terms, when your envoy negotiates with him on the morrow.”

Faraj blanched. The Sultan had compelled him to be Gharnatah’s envoy in the negotiations. How could he endure bargaining with his father’s murderer?

Fatima interrupted his reverie. “I don’t understand. Where is the chieftain Ibrahim? Why doesn’t he lead the Ashqilula today?”

Faraj ignored her question, intent on the ensuing discussion, though he had wondered the same.

Muhammad II asked, “If I refuse to bargain with the Ashqilula? What shall you do then, my brother of the Faith?”

The Marinid ruler considered his reply before he answered, “Let us hope, by the Will of God, that our negotiations do not reach such a conclusion.”

Muhammad II nodded and turned his horse away. He rode directly toward Faraj. 

Scowling heavily, he whispered, “Bargain with them. Offer them Paradise if you must, but know this: I shall not hold to this treaty one moment longer than it takes to defeat Alfonso.”

Princess Fatima

Fatima spoke with Leeta inside their tent while Faraj met with her father and his counselors. “I think I’ll visit with my aunt Maryam. Since our arrival, the talk has turned to war. Maryam may be glad for the company, since Prince Abu Zayyan has joined his fellow commanders to plan strategy.”

Leeta brewed a tisane of crushed mint leaves, lemon peels and cinnamon. “Soon Sultana Maryam won’t be so lonely. I heard her body slave talking in the
hammam
last week. The Sultana is pregnant, three or four months now.”

“Are you certain? You should know better than to believe gossip, Leeta.”

“The slave was arguing with another servant about whether their mistress should travel to al-Maghrib el-Aska before the baby is born. The Marinid prince believes she should give birth at his home. It seems the Sultana refuses to leave.”

“Aunt Maryam must want her baby born in Gharnatah.”

Amoda entered the tent with breakfast. While her servants chattered, Fatima thought of Aunt Maryam’s probable pregnancy. She pressed her palms to her belly. What would it be like to have Faraj’s baby growing inside her? Would their child favor her or Faraj?

Fatima looked up and found Leeta grinning at her. She dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m visiting the Sultana Maryam. If Faraj is successful in his negotiations, war shall come soon.”

Amoda protested, “But Prince Faraj may not like it if you go alone to visit the princess. Her tent is pitched at the outskirts of the encampment.”

“Niranjan shall protect me, I’ll be fine.”

When she stepped outside the tent, he stood beside the flap, silently scanning the encampment although there was a detachment of her father’s personal bodyguards ringing the shelter. She shook her head. “Do you expect an attack here? The Ashqilula would never be so bold.”

Niranjan glanced at her. “They were bold enough to move against your husband, though he was an honored guest of the Marinids. Never forget that Ibrahim of Ashqilula wanted you for himself. We must remain vigilant, my Sultana.”

His subtle scolding reminded her of the gravity of the situation. She nodded and said, “Accompany me to my aunt’s tent.” 

She strolled toward the green and white striped tent the Sultana shared with her husband. Covered in discreet garb, she kept her eyes averted from the soldiers who milled around the campsite.

Again, her mind swirled with thoughts of Faraj’s child inside her. One day, their beautiful daughters and fine sons might play in the gardens where she and her siblings had whiled away the hours as children.

One of her mother’s last wishes for her echoed in her thoughts.
Be happy in your marriage to Faraj.

She stopped for a moment, and looked up at the sky with a smile. Her mother’s wish had blossomed. Faraj loved her, as she loved him.

She continued to Sultana Maryam’s tent. There were no guards posted. Perhaps the Sultana had gone elsewhere – but then raised voices of a man and woman escaped the folds of the tent. Certain it was the Sultana and her husband, Fatima turned away. “We’ll come later, Niranjan, when the Sultana is perhaps alone….”

“Stop, Abu Muhammad! You’re hurting me.”

Fatima halted. The man in her aunt’s tent was not Prince Abu Zayyan. Sultana Maryam’s voice had never sounded so high and hysterical before.

Niranjan drew a short dagger from the belt of his tunic. Fatima jerked in surprise, never having seen her slave handle such a sharp blade. She was also unaware that he carried it in violation of the Sultan’s rule that no slave should possess a weapon. When she stared pointedly at the dagger, he shrugged. “How else can I protect you?”

She gestured for his silence and edged closer to the tent. When he followed, she whispered, “No! I am also armed. Wait here. I shall call if you are needed.” She cut off his ready protestation with a curt wave of her hand. However, he did not return the weapon to its sheath.

Fatima ducked inside, her hand on the dagger concealed at her waist. “Aunt, are you unwell? I heard you cry out.”

Sultana Maryam sat on a wooden chair. Her coloring faded into a deathly pale shadow of her usual healthy glow. A man hovered over her. He shook her roughly and then released her, before he turned to Fatima. Luminous hazel eyes, hooded under heavy brows, met her stare. She drew back, stunned into silence, looking from one face to another, one full of anger, the other a mask of terror.

Abu Muhammad of Malaka glared at Aunt Maryam and tossed a bag to her. Her eyes widened with alarm.

“Find a way, damn you,” he muttered.

Before Fatima could raise an alarm, he dashed from the tent. Maryam stared after him. Her talon-like hands gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white. Then, the haunted look in her eyes dissipated. She gripped the leather pouch on her lap.

“Fatima, why did you come to me unannounced?”

“There are no guards outside your tent, but you know about their absence, don’t you, Aunt Maryam?”

Though she seemed distressed a moment ago, Maryam’s features became remarkably composed now. “What are you saying? I knew they were gone. I dismissed them, after all. What I meant was why didn’t you warn me that you were coming? I could have….”

“…Told Abu Muhammad to come later? What was he doing inside your tent? What does he demand of you? What must you ‘find a way’ to do?”

The Sultana’s thin lips crimped with annoyance. Fire smoldered in her green eyes. “I do not stand for questions from you, child!”

Fatima moved closer. “Perhaps you can answer my father. You can explain why his enemy was here with you! Your husband might like the explanation too, of why another man was alone in his tent with his wife. Shall I call him?”

Blood drained from Maryam’s face. “Your petty accusations,” her voice broke. “I have done nothing for you to treat me so poorly.”

“Your voice is your undoing. The pitch goes higher when you lie. Tell me that you are not a spy for the Ashqilula, that you have not betrayed our family to the enemy. I shall know the truth when I hear you speak.”

“How dare you accuse me? Get out of my tent, at once.”

Indignant, Maryam stood. The leather pouch on her lap fell, spilling an array of precious gemstones. A ruby, the size of an egg and the color of blood, rolled across the carpet and stopped at Fatima’s feet. She bent and clutched the precious stone in a tight fist.

“For jewels…for jewels you destroy our family?”

Maryam knelt on the floor, gulping air furiously. She shoved the gems into the bag. “You don’t understand, Fatima, you’re…mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken! For the first time, I see you more clearly than I ever have. At the installation of the
Diwan
last year, you accused our aunt Faridah of spying for her son. When I told you that you and I were the only ones with suspect loyalties, I did not understand why you said I had tried to accuse you of something. You thought I had discovered your secret, didn’t you? Now, I have.”

Maryam dropped the leather bag. “What can you do, take me to your father? Whom do you think he shall believe? I’m his sister!”

“I’m his beloved daughter and he trusts me. He’ll know I am telling the truth.”

Maryam rose from the floor and sank into the chair, her face ashen.

Fatima asked, “How long have you been spying for them. Was it before or after your first husband died?”

Her aunt responded with only cold silence, but Fatima pressed on, “My husband went to al-Maghrib el-Aska last winter. Did you warn your Ashqilula masters of his journey?”

Fatima lunged at her aunt when she refused to speak, nails pressed against the large vein at the side of her throat. Maryam let out a strangled cry.

“I swear, Fatima…I swear I did not know what they meant to do!”

“You told them, didn’t you? That is how they knew of Faraj’s journey. They tried to kill him. Do you understand me? My husband could have died because of you!”

“You’re hurting me! If I die, you shall kill my baby too! Stop! I am pregnant with the Marinid Sultan’s grandchild.”

Fatima drew back. Maryam clutched at her throat, where nail marks gouged the flesh.

“Do you know how many have perished in this civil war?” Fatima paced the floor. “How can you carry a child in your belly, knowing how your treachery has robbed so many mothers of their children and wives of their husbands?”

“Why should I care? I lost a husband because of a Sultan of Gharnatah!”

“What are you talking about?”

“My first husband!” Maryam’s voice exploded in a piercing screech. “He was one of the Ashqilula. He died because of my father! The Hud family assassinated him during a banquet at our home, because of his loyalty to the Sultan. My father refused to help the Ashqilula avenge his death. He said the time was not right to move against the Hud family. He did nothing. I hurt him in the only way I could, by siding with others who eventually found reason to betray him, too! What was I supposed to do?”

 Her ugly words ended on a pitiful sob. Though Fatima realized there had been equal acts of betrayal on both sides, she refused to summon a shred of pity for her aunt, not when her treasonous behavior had almost ended Faraj’s life.

“I’ll tell you what you shall do. Leave Gharnatah, Sultana Maryam. You shall beg your husband today to send you to al-Maghrib el-Aska, to have his child there. You shall never return to al-Andalus. Beg his favor, or I shall tell him and my father the things you have done. No traitor can escape the Sultan’s justice, not even his sister.”

Fatima returned to her tent. Leeta offered her the tisane. “Did you have a pleasant visit, my Sultana? How is your aunt? Did she tell you her news?”

Fatima sank on a low stool. “She told me everything I needed to hear, Leeta.”

Prince Faraj

Faraj arrived at Fatima’s tent in the early evening. She stood with her back to him, dressed in a midnight blue
jubba
.

He sensed the tension in her. “I want you to stay here, while I dine with the Marinids this evening. If there is treachery, you shall be safe.”

She nodded.

Suspicious of her easy acquiescence, he grasped her arm and turned her to him. “Why do you yield? You have made it clear you shall defy me whenever you wish.”

Great pools of tears welled in her eyes. “I am fearful for you. What if something should happen tonight?”

Cursing his mistrustful nature, he took her in his arms and kissed her brow. “Do not be troubled. We’ll be safe in the company of your father’s guards.”

He could not resist the temptation of a kiss from her trembling lips. Her eager response thrilled him from head to toe. The embrace lingered longer than he intended. The velvet softness of her lips intoxicated him. She seemed almost disappointed when he pulled away.