Sultana (4 page)

She could not go and never see her family again. Aisha asked for too much.

“Daughter….”  

Aisha’s words trailed off and Fatima’s sobs filled the silence that followed.

“Fatima, your love for your family is great, one of many among your qualities that I admire. One day, when this is over, I promise you shall see your brother and sisters again. I know you do not want to leave them, but you must for now. I know your grandfather’s wishes for you, but you cannot rely on Prince Faraj, either. He is ten years older than you are. He is a man already. He shall look to his own interests first.”

Fatima peeked between her fingers. “How do you know?”

“People marry for alliances, land and treaties. Some women grow to love their husbands dearly, if they are lucky. This marriage has robbed you of that chance, for how can you love a man who shows no concern for you? Your grandfather wed you to your cousin, instead of one among my clan, to break his alliance with the Ashqilula. Your father bears the blood of an Ashqilula woman, as do you. Your descendants shall not. Your grandfather shall never allow anyone in his line to marry among the Ashqilula again. The men of my clan shall go to war with the Sultan. Your youth cannot protect you.”

Fatima sobbed harder. “Father could!”

“He cannot. Please trust and obey me in this. You are the dutiful child of your father. Yet, you are as much my child, as his. He may think he can protect you from any harm, but I cannot trust in his power, when danger surrounds you. No mother could allow her child to face this peril alone.”

When Fatima lifted her head, Aisha knelt before her and took her face between her bejeweled hands.

She smiled, though the corners of her eyes did not crinkle like those of Fatima’s father. “Look at the mess they made of your hair.” She smoothed the dark tresses. “My servants must have frightened you. I am sorry for that. Do I ask too much, daughter…I want to brush your hair, if you would allow it.”

Fatima stared without blinking. She did not know what to say.

Aisha crossed the room and reached into a satchel at the base of the wall below the window. She pulled out a brush. When she gestured for her, Fatima joined her on trembling legs and sank on the low stool.

Aisha ran the bristles through the length of her hair. For a while, only the slow scrape of the brush disturbed the tranquility.

Fatima drew her knees toward her chest and rested her chin in the valley between them. Her heart filled with new, unspoken feelings. Did she dare speak them?

Then the motion of the brush stilled. Aisha rounded the stool and knelt at her feet. She cupped Fatima’s cheek. “You have the beauty of women in your father’s family, but remember this: all beauty fades with time. What shall never fade is the power of your mind. It is your greatest strength, especially in your relations with powerful men, like your grandfather and father. Perhaps, even your husband.”

She set the brush on the low window sill. Fatima followed the gesture and then their gazes held. “Why are you telling me this?”

Aisha smiled again, but it seemed sad. “Hush now, child, listen well. Understanding shall come. Even when you must do what others command, never forget the power of your own reasoning. One day, your husband may rule your body, he may even come to rule your heart, but your mind is and always must be your own, where none but you may rule. Promise me that you shall never forget these words.”

Fatima swayed slightly. Her throat hurt, but she whispered, “I promise.”

She returned Aisha’s intent stare, for the first time, unafraid. Aisha’s eyesglistened like gems in the lamplight.

“This is the only measure of advice I can give you, Fatima. You must learn the ways of men, as I have. Do not trust in men alone. Love, be dutiful and respectful, but trust yourself and your instincts first. They shall always guide you rightly.”

Fatima looked away, her throat tightening. She fought against it, but a tear fell, followed by another, each smoothed away with a gentle touch. She turned to Aisha again. Tears welled in her beautiful eyes, too.

“I would see you safe, but also happy in life, daughter.”

With a shudder, Fatima clasped the hand against her cheek in her smaller one. Aisha sighed and her smile widened, despite her tears.

She started when the man returned, his face downcast. “It is time, sister.” He looked past her at Fatima.

When Aisha rose, her hand slipped from Fatima’s grip. Fatima balled her fingers into a fist, stifling the urge to reach for her again.

Aisha said, “Come, child. Someone here can help us. Perhaps if you listen to her, you may believe in me.”

Prince Faraj

Faraj accompanied the Sultan and his son through the doors of the Sultan’s bedchamber. Torches glistened among the shadows outside. Mute guards lined the walls like stone sentinels. A garden of oleander thrived in the courtyard.

The Sultan said, “We must move quickly against the Ashqilula now.”

The Crown Prince halted beside him. “What of the delegation to the Marinid Sultan in al-Maghrib el-Aska?”

The Sultan paused and smiled at Faraj, who stared back at him, wondering what lay behind that gesture. “They shall leave soon, but other matters concern us.”

“Father, if the Marinids intervene, our family shall have a strong ally.”

The Sultan raised his hand and stilled further argument from his son. “There is the danger of interference from Castilla-Leon and Aragon. Our last treaty with King Alfonso of Castilla-Leon has ended. We cannot allow our old enemies to ally with the new ones.”

Faraj frowned at this. “Then, why talk of the Marinids at all? The allies you seek are across the sea and over the mountains. Can they aid us against the Christians who are at our borders?”

The Sultan smiled. “You’re quick to give your opinion, for one who shows no obvious interest in daily court life. I had thought you weren’t paying attention at all.”

Faraj ducked his head. “My father taught me foremost to observe.”

His uncle nodded. “He was right. Consider what we know of the Christians and their ambitions. Gharnatah weakened by a civil war is an easy target for them. The Ashqilula family shall become even more dangerous with Christian help.”

The Crown Prince sighed. “You know what you must do?”

The Sultan patted his shoulder. “They are only words my son.”

Faraj wondered when empty promises and broken vows had become acceptable. Surrounded by such people, was there anyone he could trust?

The Crown Prince continued, “You risk a great deal for your throne, Father.”

“Is it not worth it? The Ashqilula would undo everything I have done. We shall strike on both frontiers. First, we shall make an attractive proposition to the Marinids that includes two strategic ports and the offer of your newly widowed sister, the Sultana Maryam.”

“She shall rebel against being bartered away so soon, Father. She loved her Ashqilula chieftain.”

The Sultan rolled his eyes heavenward. “Still your favorite sister, humph? How pleased she shall be to have your support. If only you might undertake her financial support, as well. She should be grateful for this union. She is not in the flower of her youth, but like her mother, Maryam’s beauty is timeless. As with his ancestors, the Marinid Sultan would love nothing more than to meddle in the politics of al-Andalus. I know the danger of foreign warriors with a foothold on my land, but the Ashqilula pose too great a threat.”

“Wisdom suggests Ibrahim shall move swiftly once he learns of your overtures to the Marinids.”

The Sultan chuckled, a hollow sound. “Wisdom has no influence here. Had I been wiser, I might have never allied with Ibrahim’s father. Another, rather than Ibrahim’s aunt, might have been my first wife. My brothers and my own beloved firstborn daughter would have wed others. You would not be enduring a sham marriage….”

When the Crown Prince ground his teeth together and cast a dark look at his father, the Sultan paused. “Well, that is best left unsaid. I have sacrificed my family’s futures in favor of the Ashqilula’s ambitions, but no longer.”

Faraj shook his head. “No man can know the future, not even the Sultan.”

The Sultan suddenly rounded on him. “Only a fool perceives a trap and walks blindly into it!”

Faraj bristled, for he had often wondered whether he was a fool for perceiving the danger posed by this union with the Sultan’s granddaughter. Yet his ambition had overpowered all reasoning.  

The Sultan muttered, “I did not care for the future. I wanted power and secured it with the support of the Ashqilula. I bound my blood to theirs. Now civil war shall ensue, but we cannot avoid it. My first wife’s greedy nature signifies all I find intolerable about her clan. Now they plot against me, secure in the power bases I have given them. They would steal my throne.”

He stabbed a finger at Faraj. “Your marriage shall check the ambitions of our enemies. Fatima has a special significance to our foes. A union between her and the Ashqilula would have continued our alliance. Now, there can be no more marriages between my heirs and the Ashqilula. Your union with my granddaughter has secured my legacy.”

Faraj said nothing, though he deeply resented the responsibility. His uncle played them all like pieces on a gaming board.

The Sultan studied him. “I have spoken with the royal tutor about you.”

When he paused, Faraj hung his head a little.

With a sigh, the Sultan continued, “I would think your entire education a waste, but for your aptitude with languages, in particular Latin and the Castillan tongue. Ibn Ali praised your skill.”

Faraj raised his eyebrows at this. “The royal tutor was too kind.”

“I would hope not. I am dependent on your skill.”

When the Crown Prince gasped, both men turned. Identical twin girls holding hands ambled past the oleander hedges, both rubbing their eyes. The Crown Prince knelt before the children. “Alimah, Muna. Why aren’t you asleep, my darlings?”

“Father, where’s Fatima?” one child asked.

“What do you mean? Isn’t she abed?”

“I thought she went to use the chamber pot, but she hasn’t come back.”

The Crown Prince stood and looked at the Sultan, his eyes bulging. The Sultan rushed toward his granddaughters. “Return to bed, I’m sure Fatima shall join you soon. Go now.”

The pair bowed stiffly before leaving the courtyard. The Sultan turned from all of them, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Father….”

“No! She made her objections clear to you, but I never imagined she would dare take that child from here!”

Faraj looked to each man’s face with a frown. “What has happened? Who has taken Fatima?”

The Crown Prince said, “My wife, Aisha of Ashqilula.”

Faraj drew back. “Your wife? What sort of woman steals her own child?”

Equally troubling, what sort of man must the Crown Prince be if his wife had willingly abandoned him and taken their daughter?

The Crown Prince glared at him. “Do not dare speak ill of her! You have no right.” He turned to his father. “I shall go to Aisha’s servants. They shall tell me the truth.”

He hurried from the courtyard, but paused for a moment, glaring at Faraj over his shoulder. “Do not speak to anyone about this night.”

The Sultan said, “I do not doubt my nephew’s ability to keep secrets.”

When Faraj tried to speak, the Sultan waved him away and withdrew inside his chamber, muttering, “Bitch! More trouble than she is worth, just like the rest of her family.”

Faraj shook his head. What had he gotten himself into with this marriage? Emotions warred inside him; confusion and worry coupled with an inescapable sense of relief. He tamped down that latter feeling almost immediately as it sprang. He could not allow anyone to know his real thoughts on the union. His uncle and his cousin, who was also now his father in-law, must perceive that he shared their concerns for Fatima’s well-being and safe return. With a frown directed toward the Sultan’s doors, he escaped to his own residence.

After his parents had died, he arrived in the capital with his half-brother and three sisters, and received his own household upon reaching thirteen years of age. He enjoyed every privilege, for the Sultan had admired and loved his father. The royal tutor had educated him, but the man wasted his efforts. Faraj had no interest in intellectual knowledge. Only power, wealth, and mastery of his destiny offered security.

When he entered his house, the warmth of the first chamber enveloped him. The source of heat was a metal brazier, emitting the fragrant scent of sandalwood. Green and white cushions lined the base of pale yellow, stucco walls. A low table stood in the center of the room and underneath it, a plush, multicolored carpet covered the floor. Brass lanterns glowed hot, illuminating the windowless room. An arch to the left led to the courtyard from which his steward, Marzuq, approached.

Marzuq bowed, thick blond curls falling over his youthful face. His sky blue eyes glowed with pleasure and admiration. “Congratulations on your marriage.We didn’t expect you so early, master.”

Faraj grimaced. “Tell my women I’m waiting.”

He bypassed the servant and headed for his apartment in the harem. Soon his concubines, the
jawari
, appeared outside the door. They were three of the most beautiful women in his estimation. Rarely did a night pass where at least one of them did not tempt him to call her to bed. They were each around his age, but their differences were stark. Baraka was Genoese with dark brown hair, skin like alabaster and a petulant nature. Hayfa was a beautiful Nubian, tall and lithe with a sweet disposition. Samara was a Provençal with white skin and black hair. While she behaved like a mouse, she was a lioness in his bed.