Sultana (14 page)

Faraj halted. “What do you mean ‘treachery’?”

Doñ Nuño closed the distance between them. “Do you want to know the truth about your father’s murder?”

“I know it. I was there! Marauders attacked our home. They sliced open my father’s throat and raped my mother. She killed herself rather than live with the shame.”

“Do you know who commanded those men in their attack?”

“The Sultan told me his old enemies, the Hud family, did it. He had driven them from power in Sevilla. They avenged the loss by killing my father, the governor of Malaga.”

Doñ Nuño shook his head. “The Hud family is partly responsible, but they had help. Have you never wondered why the citadel guards didn’t raise the alarm?”

“The Hud attacked too swiftly from the sea. Malaga is protected on all sides, except the south facing the deep water.”

“The marauders came looking for you in the nursery. How did men in the employ of the Hud, your uncle’s avowed enemies, know the layout of the complex and its weakest points of entry?”

“I was a child, I didn’t think of those things. I only thought of survival.”

“You are a man now and deserve the truth. The Ashqilula conspired with the Hud to take Malaga.”

Faraj backed away and nearly stumbled on a stone. “The Ashqilula were loyal, until two years ago. The Sultan made them rich. They gave their oaths in turn.”

“Yet, your uncle withheld the prize of Malaga, the city with the richest trade, the greatest tax wealth, rivaled only by Granada herself. Imagine the anger among the Ashqilula, when your grandfather drove the Hud family from Andalusia with their help and then gave the pearl of his kingdom to his favored brother, your father, Ismail. A man who contributed no money or men to the campaign.”

“My mother was an Ashqilula princess. Why would they have killed her?”

“She wed your father for love. From that day onward, she was no longer part of the Ashqilula clan. They ordered everyone killed, including her, your father, your brother and sisters, and you.”

Faraj swayed on his feet. His mother had died by the command of her own family for loving his father. Through her, he bore the blood of the Ashqilula clan.

“How do you know this, Doñ Nuño?”

“My father brokered the meeting between the Hud and the Ashqilula. You have more reason to hate the Ashqilula than anyone does. You have the right of vengeance against the current governor of Malaga.”

“Why would I want revenge against Abu Muhammad? Did he order the murders?”

“No, Ibrahim of Qumarich did, but Abu Muhammad bargained with the Hud and planned the killing of your father, so he could claim your inheritance.”

“I need more than your word.”

“What further proof could convince you other than the reality of your circumstances? Your parents murdered. You and your siblings orphaned. Abu Muhammad in control of Malaga. The price was the death and destruction of your family. Abu Muhammad got what he wanted in the end, didn’t he?”

Chapter 10

Secrets in Silk

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Ramadan - Dhu al-Hijja 666 AH (Granada, Andalusia: June - September AD 1268)

While Fatima sat on a low stool in her room with Leeta brushing her hair, Niranjan entered, a long garment draped over his arm. Purple silk glittered with
tiraz
bands sewn in silver thread. Amethyst and mother of pearl trimmed the hems.

“A present had arrived for you, my princess, a beautiful ceremonial robe.”

“Another present for my tenth birthday?” She fingered the fine silk. “Who brought this for me? Is it from Father?”

He replied, “The Sitt al-Tujjar brought it, all the way from Naricha.”

She shook her head. Why would the Sitt al-Tujjar send her anything?

When she glanced at Niranjan again, he held her gaze and nodded.

Then she remembered who lived in Naricha, her mother’s brother and the slave Ulayyah.

Niranjan set the cloth on her bed, bowed and went away. Leeta finished and Fatima dismissed her.

Alone, she dashed to the bed and grabbed the robe. She studied the cloth. The silk had come from Ulayyah, her governess’ sister, who served Grandfather’s enemies, the Ashqilula. Why did the slave send her a present?

 Then, she noticed an overlay of lavender silk sewn with rough stitches that seemed to serve no purpose in the garment. Trying not to ruin it, she picked at the threads until they loosened. A thin, folded sheet of parchment fell. She opened it, her heart racing with each word.

“Greetings in the name of God, may peace be upon you. I write to one whom I have never forgotten. Those who are disloyal to Gharnatah are plotting the end of the Sultanate. There was a meeting between the Sultan’s enemies at al-Hisn Qumarich on the second day of Ramadan. My lord Abdallah does not know I listened at the door to the raised voices. There were four men inside my lord’s chamber, three whom I recognized: my master Abdallah with the chieftain Ibrahim and the governor of Malaka, Abu Muhammad. The fourth man, they called Doñ Nuño Gonzalez de Lara.”

The last name held no significance for her, but her jaw tightened at the mention of Ibrahim and Abu Muhammad. Ibrahim might have killed her mother, but Abu Muhammad was just as responsible for her death. She realized Abdallah still did not know the truth of Aisha’s death. Shaking her head, she continued reading.

“
I had never seen this Doñ Nuño before. My master and his kin wanted assurances they could trust him. The governor of Malaka asked this Doñ Nuño if he was there to seal the new alliance between the Ashqilula and the Castillan King. Doñ Nuño said it was his purpose in coming. I do not pretend to understand all they spoke of, but I know the Ashqilula seek powerful allies against the Sultan. They must pay for their treachery. Tell the Sultan. He shall know what to do. With respect, a loyal servant of Gharnatah.
”

Fatima’s head pounded with the knowledge Ulayyah had shared. She called for Leeta. “Please, fetch my father at once.”

Clutching the precious letter, Fatima waited for him.

Quick strides brought him to her room. “Daughter? Your servant said you needed me. Are you unwell?”

“I am well, Father, but please sit.”

She gave him the letter. He read it once, his eyes widening. He glanced at her and then read it a second time. “What’s this about, Fatima?”

“Father, it’s from my governess’ sister, the slave Ulayyah. She serves my mother’s brother Abdallah at Naricha.”

She reminded him of the story of Ulayyah’s kindness to her.

He replied, “Despite all you have said, I fail to understand why this slave would take such a risk? She owes no loyalty to our family and truly, there is no proof, just her words. Did you consider she might be a spy put forth by our enemies to provide false information?”

“Father, you don’t know her as I do. She helped me. You must believe her!”

He shook his head, but she knelt at his feet and grasped his hand. “She gave her loyalty to me and my family, also.”

“What of her master? Doesn’t he also deserve her loyalty? Yet she betrays him.”

“Ulayyah serves her lord Abdallah but she also said Ibrahim of Ashqilula was cruel to her.”

“Reason enough for her to be bitter and write this letter, Fatima. It is not enough.” He scratched his beard. “It’s not for me to decide. I shall speak with the Sultan in an hour, after public audience has ended.” He paused and his hand within hers shook. “What if the Ashqilula find out what she’s done? I don’t know why this woman contacted you, but you must have no more dealings with her. If she sends you another letter, promise me you’ll destroy it.”

He kissed her brow and left. He did not wait for her to make the promise.

An hour passed on the water clock. Fatima went into the bedroom, asking Leeta for her black hooded cloak. She left the harem with Niranjan.

Secreting themselves behind a high row of hedges, the pair did not have to wait long.

Soon her grandfather, her father and the Sultan’s counselors marched past where they sat hidden. The Sultan ordered the throne room’s doors closed behind them.

Niranjan and Fatima left the garden and went down the stairs at the edge of the garden. The door to the tower creaked slightly. Down a long, dark passageway, which ended with a door, they then made their way up one level and hid again, behind the
purdah
where the women of the Sultan’s household usually sat during public audience. The meeting inside the throne room had already started.

“…can we believe the words of a disgruntled slave? She has suffered at the hands of the Ashqilula and clearly bears them no loyalty.”

That was her father’s voice. Words of agreement followed, all soon hushed by the Sultan. “Yet, you brought this slave’s story to me, son. We must weigh the consequences of any action. I cannot risk the Sultanate on the basis of rumors, but neither shall I allow the Ashqilula or Castillans to make a fool of me in my own land.”

The Sultan fell silent as the tower doors opened. His other sons and Prince Faraj entered. Fatima shrank back next to Niranjan, who placed a comforting arm over her shaking shoulders. She listened to the ensuing argument.

In the months after her mother’s death, she had reasoned that Aisha was right. Her union with Faraj had been a part of the Sultan’s plans. Gharnatah’s future would determine her fate. She could not remain ignorant of events in the Sultanate, or her father and grandfather’s actions.

The Sultan said, “Even if we did not have the claims of this slave, I have enough reason to convince my allies the Ashqilula should be destroyed. Doñ Nuño Gonzalez de Lara came to me in peace months ago. I gave him coin to aid his rebellion. Nothing has resulted. My coin, my trust bartered for so little. I shall not lose in this affair. We must be cautious.”

After the men finished and departed the throne room, quiet descended on the tower again. Niranjan and Fatima crept from their hidden location. When they exited in the garden, a sudden downpour surprised them. Niranjan led her across the darkened paths.

When he stumbled and cried out, she peeked around him.

Faraj eyed them. “What are you and your little mistress doing here, slave?”

She stepped out from behind Niranjan. “The Sultan has never forbidden his grandchildren in any part of his palaces. I go where I please.”

“With a shadow in tow, I see. Your father said he left you in your room, Fatima.”

“We are going there now.”

Niranjan bowed and she followed him.

At her back, Faraj said, “Tread carefully, Fatima.”

She called over her shoulder. “I have nothing to fear in my grandfather’s
madina
.”

A second letter from Ulayyah arrived within a few weeks. Torn silk in hand, Fatima stood in her father’s garden at sunset with Niranjan beside her. When he finished reading the letter, she asked, “When does the Sitt al-Tujjar return to Qumarich?”

“Soon. I’m sure she’d be pleased to undertake any request you may have.”

“Good. I want to thank Ulayyah for her gift.”

“It shall be done, my princess.”

She dismissed Niranjan. He ripped the parchment into fine pieces, and feed them to the fire at the edge of the garden.

Fatima folded her arms across her waist, and hugged her body against a cooling breeze. She could not turn back from this course, despite her father’s admonitions. She suspected Ibrahim kept spies in their household. Now she would have a spy in his.

Chapter 11

A Small Measure of Peace

Prince Faraj

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Ramadan 670 AH (Granada, Andalusia: April AD 1272)

Showers burst from the morning clouds, catching Faraj on a morning ride in the hills above Gharnatah. The sudden rain turned his mood sour. He nudged his horse back down the sloping hills and entered the courtyard of the citadel.

Thunder rolled as a steady rain soaked him to the bone. With a shudder, he dismounted and found shelter under the redbrick Gate of the Merchants, where he four other people stood, including Fatima.

The stick-thin, sylphlike girl had changed in the six years since they had wed. She stood just shy of his shoulder now. An opaque blue-black veil hid her dark hair. Tiny
dirhams
with holes drilled at the center of each silver coin decorated the fringe of the veil.

“It’s a terrible time to be riding your horse, my prince. The poor animal is soaked.” She rolled her eyes at him and pulled her multicolored linen wrap tighter about her shoulders.

He groaned, in no mood for her droll observations. “I’m pleased you care so much for the beast’s welfare, even if you think so little of mine. Besides, it was not raining when I left home. Why are you outdoors?” He paused and glanced at the slaves sheltering behind her. “And why has your escort not gone ahead to arrange for your safe conduct?”

The eunuch edged closer and cast a baleful stare full of insolence at him, before he bent and whispered to Fatima. She hushed the slave, her fingers alighting on his forearm. “Remain at my side, Niranjan. There is no need for you to be drenched on my behalf.”

The eunuch dared glance at Faraj, who tightened his fingers into a fist, stifling a fervent urge against striking the impertinent wretch. Had Fatima stimulated such a violent reaction in him instead?

“I had hoped to reach home sooner than this, my prince.” She waved a slim, bejeweled hand at the gathering puddles at their feet. “My lesson in
al-Quran
was not finished until late.”

“Humph. Aren’t you past the age where princesses are tutored?”

She shook her head, mumbling something under her breath. Then she said, “Memorizing
al-Quran
is a duty. I may be fourteen, but Father has given permission for the continuation of my lessons.”

He sneered, eyeing her steadily. “How generous the Crown Prince is. Do you enjoy your studies?”

“Just because you didn’t like the princes’ school doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate Ibn Ali’s teachings.”