Sultana's Legacy (18 page)
No dark shadows or signs of redness lingered around his eyes. He was not free of his addiction, but it no longer ruled him. She moved to make her obeisance. He stopped her. His hands clasped on her arms. A smile broke the craggy lines of his face, unlike any she had seen in several years. She propelled herself against him and cried as his arms came around her in a tight, familiar embrace.
“Father, I’m so happy you could be with us to share in this day. You must be weary after your journey.”
The Sultan lowered his hands and shook his head. “I am not. I have not ridden in some time. The exercise was good for me.”
He looked beyond her to where Faraj waited. She stepped aside and her husband came forward. He knelt and pressed his forehead to the ground, before he brought the hem of the Sultan’s
khil’a
to his lips and forehead. The deepest sign of respect one person could offer another.
The Sultan grunted as he leaned forward and placed his hand on Faraj’s shoulder. “You may rise. All of you.”
The Sultan’s touch lingered, although his fingers trembled. “The peace of our God be with you and your house.”
Faraj responded, “And with you, my Sultan. Your presence honors us.”
The quaver in both of their voices brought tears to Fatima’s eyes, but she brushed them away.
The Sultan said, “I would not have missed my first granddaughter’s wedding day.”
A gentle hand on Fatima’s arm drew her attention. Shams ed-Duna’s broad smile greeted her. As they embraced, she looked over Shams’ shoulder. Nur al-Sabah waited with her son Nasr and her youngest daughters.
Many months after their grave misunderstanding, Fatima and Nur had renewed their friendship, but they did not share the same rapport as before. Fatima had not presumed she would have come to Malaka. Now, as they hugged, tears glittering in Nur’s ice-blue eyes, it seemed the discord was at an end.
Fatima escorted all her close female relations to the harem, where Leila hugged and kissed them.
Then Fatima said to the wedding guests, “The ceremony must begin before the noon prayer. Please make your way to the garden courtyard.”
Alone with her daughter again, she glanced around the partially bare room that Leila had shared with her sisters. Her daughter stood before a long, silver gilt mirror, smoothing her garments, before she slipped on her red leather boots. Praise be to Allah the Compassionate, the Merciful, she did not intend to enter her marriage with bare feet after all.
Fatima asked, “My dear, you do remember on the morning after you and your husband consummate your marriage, Soraya’s midwife shall fetch the bridal bed sheet?”
Over her shoulder, Leila said, “Yes. I have come to my husband’s bed as a pure bride. Anyone may see the proof of it. It won’t embarrass me.”
“Purity is required, but ignorance and feigned or relinquished pleasure is not.
Sharia
law prescribes sexual gratification in marriage. After I wedded your father, there were many years before we shared the marital bed. Then, I discovered true pleasure in knowing him and in my desire for him. He took the same joy in me. I want such happiness for you and your husband. He has concubines, so he is not without experience. Still, a pleasure slave is not a wife.”
Leila came to her and grasped her hands. “Do not worry. I do not fear the virgin’s pain. You promised it would hurt only once.”
Fatima bowed her head and touched her brow to Leila’s own. “If he is gentle. When you are first with him, remind him of the Hadith of the Prophet, peace be upon him.
‘Do not come upon your wife like an animal. Let the kiss and sweet words be the emissary between she and you.’
May God bless your marriage bed always, daughter. I pray you shall write me soon after with word of your first child.”
“
Insha’Allah
, as God wills it.”
After they left the chamber, both found Baraka outside the door. She swiped at her cheek and bowed.
“My Sultana, my princess.”
Leila embraced her. “You have always been at my side, since I was a little girl. Thank you, Aunt Baraka.”
Then they drew apart and Leila said, “Come, both of you. My husband awaits me and I do not intend to make him wait any longer.”
The garden courtyard where Fatima’s children had played in their youth served as the place of the
nikah
, the first part of the marriage ceremony. Under the archway leading out on to the courtyard, the Sultan waited with Ismail. Leila waved at her elder brother and he grinned.
Fatima took her father’s frail hand. “Did you wish to officiate? I am sure the imam would step aside.”
The Sultan shook his head. “I am here as the proud grandfather, nothing more.”
Leila bowed before him. Ismail gave him a small, silk pouch. The Sultan dipped his gnarled fingers inside it. He withdrew a glittering, gold filigree necklace, with an oval ruby pendant the size of a pomegranate.
He looked at Leila’s astonished face. “When I first married, my wife, your grandmother Aisha wore this jewel. I regret that she did not live to know our grandchildren. I hope she might have been very proud to see you wear such an heirloom.”
He slipped the priceless gift over her head. When she would have bowed low, he grasped her shoulders and kissed her cheeks in turn.
“May your union bring you only joy.”
He and Ismail joined the male guests already assembled. Fatima and Leila stared after him in amazement, before Fatima cupped the pendant.
“This jewel belonged to my mother. I have nothing of hers.”
Leila sputtered, her fingers already at her neck. “Then, you must have it. It’s not fair that I….”
Fatima stilled her hands. “No. You must have it. This is her gift to you. She gave me mine before she died, the desire to cherish my children. Strange that I should have learned more of love in her sacrifice than anything else. I have taught you her greatest lesson. Never let it go.”
An arched gallery shaded the garden courtyard. Two lengths of brocaded red and gold silk separated the male guests from the females. Fatima and Baraka led Leila beneath the portico. Faraj sat at the forefront beside the bridegroom. The imam of Malaka stood before them and on either side of him, the notaries waited to record the proceedings.
The imam recited the first chapter of
al-Qur’an
. When he finished, one of the notaries produced the marriage contract, which Leila and her husband signed. Fatima had preserved the generous principles of her own marital contract in the one for her daughter. It stipulated that if Leila bore her husband children, yet he took another wife while she lived, she could divorce him and he would lose all claim to the dowry Faraj had paid. The bridegroom’s fingers shook as he scribbled his name. He paid the document scant attention, his gaze fixed on Leila with adoration and pride.
Before Leila signed, her husband brought forth the
addahbia
, her bridal trousseau that contained all the gifts to remain hers after marriage. When the servants removed the generous favors of gold jewelry and gemstones, a leather-bound copy of
al-Qur’an
, silks, spices and coins, Leila scrawled her name across the page. As the witnesses required by
Sharia
law, Faraj and Ismail also signed. The imam prayed over the new couple and pronounced them husband and wife.
The Sultan’s Legacy
Princess Fatima
Malaka, Al-Andalus: Rajab 701 AH (Malaga, Andalusia: March AD 1302)
After prayers, the mid-afternoon sun beat down on the heads of guests at the
walima
, the marriage banquet. With her daughter Leila attentive to the guests, Fatima escaped the crowded, open-air hall for the belvedere by the sea. As she approached the exit, voices drifted from beyond the door.
Fatima ducked into a shadowy corner and peered around the wall. Faraj and her father rested their hands on the marble ledge.
The Sultan said, “You have prospered here. You have made my daughter happy. I had no cause to doubt you.”
Faraj replied, “Fatima is very dear to me and not only because she is your daughter.”
Fatima’s father straightened and rubbed the spindly arms under his robe. “I should move the capital to the coast, where it is temperate all year round. I believe my
kadin
Nur would like it.”
Faraj chuckled. “Fatima would be pleased also. She misses the company of your favorite Nur and her stepmother Shams ed-Duna.”
Fatima leaned against the wall behind her with a sigh. Her father and husband spoke as friends of old, as if the nightmare of the past years had not happened. Then the men regarded each other.
Faraj said, “Forgive me for the errors of the past, my Sultan.”
“Only if you would do the same for me,” her father replied. “I let myself be misguided about you. I was wrong to do so. You are a good man, a loyal governor, a worthy husband to my daughter and a blessing for my grandchildren. I ask your forgiveness, too.”
Tears pricked at Fatima’s eyes. As she turned away, the sea breeze picked up again and caught the hem of her
jubba
. The white silk and silver brocaded folds of the robe lapped at the wall.
“Fatima?”
Her father’s voice beckoned and she stepped into the light. “I did not mean to intrude upon you and my husband.”
“You are always welcome,” her father said, holding out his hand. She rushed to his side and laced her fingers with his. His gnarled hand shook in her hold.
“Are you well, Father?” She studied the fine lines etched in his forehead.
He nodded. “I am overcome by the joy of this occasion. If you have a moment before you return to your daughter’s wedding guests, may we speak in private?”
“As you wish, Father.”
She glanced at Faraj. He bowed at the waist and then grinned at the Sultan, who said, “You shall return with me to Gharnatah in a month’s time. I need your counsel.”
Faraj nodded. “I am yours to command, my Sultan.”
He pressed a hand to Fatima’s shoulder. She squeezed her beloved’s lean fingers and smiled at him, before he left them.
She slid her arms around her father’s waist and pressed her cheek against his barrel chest. “It’s so good to have you here, for Leila’s sake. You have honored my eldest daughter with your gift and your blessing.”
“I should have done more when Leila was a child. Now, my granddaughter is a woman. One day, she shall have children of her own. I have not spent enough time with my grandchildren. I should have known them much better than I do.”
“It is the burden of your power. You shall always be my father and the grandfather of my children. Foremost, you are Sultan of Gharnatah. You belong to your people, not to us. It has always been so. I knew how it would be from the moment you ascended the throne. It has never diminished the love in my heart or the honor with which I revere you, as my father and lord of my life.”
He sighed. “I have not always deserved your love and respect. I feared I might not be welcome here today, after all the things I have said and done to your husband. To you.”
“Father, that is all in the past. You and Faraj have forgiven each other. My heart is whole again, not torn between the love that I would bear a father and a husband, once at war with each other.”
“I have made many mistakes in these long years. Things I must undo. It is part of why I came to you and Faraj, to seek your forgiveness.”
“You have it. Oh Father, you shall always have it!”
Fatima hugged him again. His frailty shocked her, bones and sinew knitted together in a wiry frame that was half his normal size. How did he possess the strength to stand?
She drew back and searched his gaze. “Something more than this resolution between you and my husband, more than Leila’s union has drawn you to Malaka. Father, what ails you?”
His long sigh confirmed the suspicions that had dogged her since his unexpected arrival.
Fatima maneuvered her father to the carved stone bench on the belvedere. When he settled on the seat with a groan, she sat and took his hand. He held her fingers in an unsteady grasp and looked out on the water. Sunlight shimmered in the depths of the White Sea. Birds whirled and circled against the blue backdrop and wisps of clouds.
“Fatima, have you ever slept for so long that when you awoke, it seemed you had been slumbering for years?”
When she shook her head, her father continued. “I have lingered in a haze of dreaming. I am awake now. My eyes are open. I see the world as it truly is. I see my heir for what he truly is.”
Her heart thudded.
He reached into the fold of his leather boots and pulled out a slip of parchment.
He gave it to her. “Read it for yourself.”
Her gaze darted across the page once, before she re-read.
“This is a letter to Sultan Abu Ya’qub Yusuf of the Marinids, Father, inviting him to another alliance with Gharnatah. Why would you do this? Your last letter to me at the beginning of the year mentioned new negotiations with the Christian King of Castilla-Leon. Why would you risk siding with his enemy, Sultan Abu Ya’qub Yusuf?”
“I did not write this letter.”
She stared at the dried ink on the parchment. “But it’s in your style. It bears your great seal.”
“Look at the date on the letter.”
She did so. “It says it was transcribed in Rabi al-Thani…but I don’t understand, that was four months ago. I had written to Shams with invitations for the wedding then. She replied that you remained at the Castillan court at the time. How can it be that this letter bears this date and your signature?”
“Because it is a forgery, a damnable lie meant to draw me in with the Marinids again!”
Her chest tightened. She fought for every breath. “You know who created this forgery?”
“Yes, as you do. It was your brother, the Crown Prince.”
The Sultan stood and shuffled to the ledge. Even with his back to her, she could not miss how his hand brushed his face with a quick swipe. His knotted fingers rested on the marble.
