Sultana's Legacy (17 page)

“You have seven brothers? I have only three.”

Soraya whispered, “All, but one of mine is dead. My father is sorry that he has lived so long, only to see the last days of his own sons. He keeps the youngest at home to protect him. But then, we cannot always protect our children.”

Fatima looked to where their sons had dismounted. Now, they were throwing pebbles into the sea. “No, but we can try.”

Soraya said no more. Fatima watched the interaction of their children. When Soraya’s son seemed tired of throwing stones with Ismail, he picked a few seashells from the shore. Among the rocks, he found a larger one and held it up to his ear. He laughed and ran to Leila, who sat with her knees drawn up under her robe. He offered her the shell. She tucked her hair behind her ear and brought the seashell up to listen. She laughed and smiled shyly at her cousin. Fatima smiled, too.

Chapter 10

Union

Princess Fatima

Malaka, Al-Andalus: Rajab 701 AH (Malaga, Andalusia: March AD 1302)

Fatima parted the damask curtain of her bedchamber with a hennaed hand. Gold thread shimmered within emerald green silk. A sea breeze drifted through the opened lattice window, bringing with it the familiar smells of Malaka. However, this was no ordinary morning. Leila’s wedding day had arrived.

The procession of the groom and his family moved at a steady pace up the hill. Musicians at the forefront banged their drums and trumpets resounded.

“
Ummi
, why is it taking them so long?”

Fatima turned at the tone of anticipation in the soft, sweet voice behind her. As she did so, swirls of white silk and silver brocade rustled around her feet. Leila peered through the lattice with a gleam of delightful anticipation shining in her gaze.

Among all her daughters, Leila reminded Fatima the most of herself. She was outwardly quiet but inquisitive, shy yet certain of herself. Now, more than twenty years after her birth, Fatima still recognized the child in the apple-round dimples of her daughter’s cheeks, in the sparkle of Leila’s dark-brown eyes. A woman now stood beside her, soon to become a wife.

With wide-flung arms, Fatima hugged Leila and sighed against the gossamer, red-gold cloth covering her hair. Leila’s four attendants looked on with smiles.

Leila’s clothing was a palette of crimson, white and gold. A white cotton
qamis
peeked out from under her robes, as did the ankle-length
sarawil
that covered her legs. Her
jubba
shimmered in waves of blood-red silk. Over it, her attendants had draped another garment, a gold brocaded
khil’a
.

Fatima traced the motif of the Nasrid family embroidered on the hem of the ceremonial robe and smoothed the soft ermine trim at the neckline. Servants had sewn a red silk lining inside the
khil’a
. As a final touch, Fatima had personally embroidered the narrow, gold
tiraz
bands with a line from
al-Qur’an
. She read the words of the delicate
Naksh
calligraphy, though she knew them by heart.

“Another of His signs is that He created spouses from among yourselves for you to live with in tranquility. He ordained love and kindness between you.”

When she looked at her daughter again, tears brimmed, but she could not forgo an earlier promise to Leila that she would keep the crying at bay until after the ceremony.

“You are beautiful, my child.”

Leila spread the skirt of the ceremonial robe wide, revealing her usual bare feet. “Do you think my betrothed shall approve?”

“Your cousin has been in love with you for seven years. He cannot help his natural inclination to approve. Only promise me that you shall wear some shoes on the journey to al-Jazirah al-Khadra.”

Leila nodded and sighed. “If I have to.” She tugged at her lower lip with her upper teeth. “He does love me, doesn’t he?”

Fatima clasped her thin shoulder. “How could he not? You have been fortunate to know him for several years before your marriage. Do you doubt his love for you?”

Leila did not answer. Instead, she looked out of the window again.

Her betrothed rode on a black horse at the forefront with his high steward flanking him. The bridegroom was handsome in his clothes in black, silver and white colors. Leila’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of him made Fatima smile.

“
Ummi
, you didn’t always love Father, did you?”

“I did not. Your great-grandfather arranged our union to thwart his enemies. Yet, out of such necessity, I grew to love your father deeply. Ours is a bond that does not fade with time. It grows stronger, deeper and richer with each day. I want the same for you. The future is uncertain for all of us, but while we are here, we live and we love.”

When Leila glanced at her, Fatima recalled the breadth of emotions that had once run through her on her own wedding day, when she did not have the maturity or wisdom her daughter possessed.

“You are fortunate, my lamb, like your namesake. Your father’s mother wed at the command of a Sultan, too. She also married for love, in this very place.”

“I feel the spirit of that union within me today. I was not fortunate to know her or your mother. I have always felt that those women watch over me.”

“Let me tell you something now, which my mother told me after I had married.” Fatima cupped Leila’s face between her hands. Their eyes met. “You have the beauty of the females of our family, Leila, but never forget: beauty fades. What shall never fade is the wonder and intelligence of your mind. It remains your greatest asset. Your husband may rule your body and heart, but your mind is and always must be yours, where none but you rule. Promise me you shall live by these words, as I have.”

Leila nodded and hugged her tightly. “I’ll never forget them,
Ummi
.”

When they drew apart, the door opened and Faraj stepped into the room. Fatima understood her daughter’s approval of her future husband, for she shared the same sentiment about her own.

Time had not dulled her response to him, even after thirty-seven years of marriage. He remained a handsome man, especially so today in his black and gold
khil’a
, embroidered with two rows of
tiraz
bands. The gray that had begun threading through his hair three years before had overtaken all vestiges of the former color since last spring. He thought it made him look older than his fifty-five years, but Fatima did not agree.

Faraj held his hand out to Leila. “I must greet the new governor of al-Jazirah al-Khadra and our guests soon.”

She kissed his fingers and bowed before him, pressing her forehead to the cedar floor. Afterward, Faraj helped her stand. He set his hands on her shoulders and pressed his lips to her brow.

“The blessings of our God be with you, my sweet Leila. Since your birth, you have been the jewel of my house. May you be the glory of your husband’s own.”

With a soft sob, she threw her arms around him. As he held her close, Fatima struggled with the tears again.

When Faraj leaned back, he also swiped at his eyes. “Make your final preparations while I speak with your mother in private.”

Leila nodded and glanced at Fatima again, who waved her on. Leila lifted the hem of her ceremonial robe and her attendants took its trailing edge. They followed her through the door.

Faraj strode toward Fatima. She looked at him, conscious of the strands of gray peeking beneath the veil at her temple. Somehow, on a forty-five year-old woman, they seemed less appealing than for a man ten years her senior.

“Was I ever so young and beautiful as she, husband?”

Faraj cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her. “You still are, beloved.”

His brownish gray moustache tickled her and she drew back. “I fear for them, your nephew and our daughter, in this move to al-Jazirah al-Khadra. The Marinids and Christians still covet it.”

“Al-Jazirah al-Khadra is one of the strongest defensive bastions along the coast of Al-Andalus. My nephew is strong, he shall hold it.” He pulled her to him again. “Our daughter has your courage and wisdom. She is his match in every way. Do not fear the future, Fatima. Whatever may come, Leila shall have our support. We shall always have each other.”

He ducked his head and kissed her again. She leaned into him and savored the familiar caress of his lips against hers. When his hands slid down her back along her spine, the same thrill rippled through her as from his first touch, ages ago. Still, she wriggled in the circle of his arms.

“Lest you forget, you sought me out with a purpose.”

“You are good to remind me. I am becoming forgetful in my old age. Or, is it that your lips remain a distraction?” Faraj mused, before stealing another kiss. “Your father has come to Malaka. The chief eunuch of Gharnatah has sent word that the Sultana Shams ed-Duna, his
kadin
and their children shall be our guests also.”

Fatima’s heart fluttered. “They have all come for Leila’s marriage? I never dreamed Father would accept the invitation. Nur, too? Are you certain?”

When Faraj nodded, she shook her head. “But Shams wrote to expect only her arrival with her daughters. In truth, I did not think Father would come because of….”

Her voice trailed off. Faraj continued, “…the discord between us.”

She held his hands in her own. “You have not seen the Sultan since your banishment from court. Are you ready?”

“We shall welcome him as a proud grandfather, here to witness our first daughter’s marriage.”

“As my grandfather witnessed our own.” She smiled at hazy memories of her wedding day.

Their fingers intertwined, Faraj and Fatima left her room and soon emerged in the garden courtyard. Faraj’s concubines Hayfa and Samara bowed before they darted off to the harem. Leeta, her husband Marzuq and Baraka stood nearby, dressed in their finery. Faraj spoke with the steward and Leeta, who served as his treasurer. Fatima moved to the exit where Baraka waited.

“Walk with me,” Fatima commanded.

Green fire glittered in Baraka’s hard gaze, but she complied.

Fatima said, “I ask you to accompany me and escort Leila to the
nikah
. You shall sit with us to bless my daughter. It is only right, as you have been her governess in these last years.”

Baraka halted. “You demand too much. Besides, I am a slave in your husband’s house.”

“You have been the governess of my children for seven years. You served them well for years before. My daughters admire and respect you. It is my command and Princess Leila’s wish.”

“If it is my princess’s wish, then I accept.”

Faraj’s hand settled on Fatima’s shoulder. As she turned to him, he wore his frown of concern, looking between her and his old lover.

“Are you ready, Fatima?”

When she nodded, Baraka bowed and left them, preceding Leeta and Marzuq.

Faraj asked, “What happened with Baraka?”

Fatima nuzzled his beard. “You’re always so concerned when I am with her. You have no cause. Come, the Sultan shall be here soon.”

At the entrance of the house, they emerged in the full glare of midmorning’s light. Fatima shielded her eyes as the guests and her children thronged the bridegroom, cheering him. They stood so close together that he could not alight from his horse.

 Ismail shoved his way through the crowd and upon reaching his cousin, pulled him down from his mount. “Don’t keep my sister waiting any longer! She’s dreamed of this day.”

As the pair laughed and shared a hearty embrace, Fatima clasped Faraj’s arm. “The breach between you and your brother is sealed at last, with each of your sons and this union with Leila.”

“It would seem so.”

She glanced at him. “You doubt it? You just told me not to fear the future.”

“I don’t fear it, but I’m not a fool either. I wish Ismail were more cautious in his attachments. People can turn on you when you least expect it. I know it firsthand.”

“But your heir and his cousin are more like brothers than cousins.” Fatima tiptoed and kissed her husband’s cheek. “You worry too much, my heart.”

She sighed and admired her son, who was a man full-grown at the age of twenty-three. He possessed the same appearance and disposition of his grandfather in the Sultan’s youthful days. Even now, he flashed the same roguish grin as he escorted his best friend, soon to be a brother by marriage, through the crowd and toward her.

He said, “Wait until you see Leila, cousin. She is even more beautiful.”

Leila’s betrothed laughed, throwing back his leonine head. “Impossible, for my bride is the loveliest of women. Except for your mother, of course.”

Fatima embraced him and kissed both his cheeks. Then he bowed before Faraj. “Uncle, this is a blessed day.”

“Be good to my daughter. Her mother has raised her well, but she is tender and requires a gentle hand.”

“I shall love her until the end of my days.”

Soraya’s eyes glittered with tears as she hugged her son. They had not seen each other for two months, since the Sultan summoned him to Gharnatah and proclaimed him the new
Raïs
of al-Jazirah al-Khadra.

A hush settled over the excited crowd. Fatima turned to the eastern gate along with everyone else. The Sultan emerged under an ornate horseshoe archway, mounted on a black stallion festooned with gold and leather. His bodyguards followed on horses too, flanking a long row of camels bearing the royal household.

With some effort, the Sultan alighted from his horse. He looked every bit his sixty-eight years, sagging for a moment against the side of his mount. Fatima released Faraj and stepped forward. The crowd parted for her. Then the Sultan straightened and smoothed the folds of his white ceremonial robe. Everyone bowed as he walked toward her.

In the ensuing silence, they stared at each other. She had not seen him in seven years. Regular reports from Faisal to Niranjan ensured that she knew of her father’s progress. Yet, the lingering enmity inside her father, who still had not forgiven her husband, kept her from Gharnatah. In the intervening years, she and her father exchanged correspondence, but the formal tone lacked the familiar regard they had once shared.