Sultana (22 page)

When Amoda returned with Niranjan in tow, he bowed.

Fatima gestured to a stool beside the bed. “Please sit and let us talk.” She then asked Amoda to go to the kitchens for food.

When Amoda left the room, Fatima spoke to Niranjan. “I need your help. A message must reach my husband in al-Maghrib el-Aska. I cannot write to him. You must memorize my words. Can you do this?”

“You know I shall.”

“I’m more grateful to you than you may ever understand. You know for many years that Ulayyah has spied for me among the Ashqilula?” When he nodded, she continued, “Now I have received news, which if true, affects my husband. After the battle at Madinah Antaqirah last summer, when my husband returned, he wanted my promise that I would not correspond with Ulayyah again. I have lied to him.”

She looked down at her feet for a moment, embarrassed by her admission. Niranjan nodded. “The Ashqilula are dangerous. I understand your husband’s concerns, but you are loyal to your family. I know you’ll do anything to protect them.”

Her heart swelled with emotion. “Ever loyal…I do not know what I would do without your steadfastness.”

“You shall always have it, my princess. Please, continue.”

Euphoric, she confessed all in a rush of words. “Six weeks after he left Ishbiliya, Faraj departed from Gharnatah for al-Maghrib el-Aska to meet with the Marinid Sultan. Ulayyah reports the Ashqilula have sent an assassin to intercept him. Despite a peace treaty between the Sultan and Castilla-Leon, there have been raids at the border again. Marauders killed the Muslim governor at Martus last week and took hostages for ransom. King Alfonso claims he does not support these raids, but Father cannot allow the Castillans to make a fool of him. He needs a strong ally, like the Marinids. He has sent my husband to their Sultan with entreaties and the promise of the strategic ports at al-Jazirah al-Khadra and Tarif. Somehow, the Ashqilula learned of Faraj’s intent. They have dispatched someone to the Marinid capital to kill him.

“He must know of the danger he faces. You shall go to Fés el-Bali and warn my husband of the assassin. Ulayyah said the Ashqilula man left the port at Malaka one day before the date of the letter, so he must be in al-Maghrib el-Aska already. You must leave today.”

Amoda arrived with the food. Niranjan ate, while Fatima struggled to soothe the erratic thoughts swirling through her head into a precise message for her husband. When Niranjan finished his meal, she settled on what she would say. He rehearsed her words until he could repeat the speech verbatim.

Then he asked, “Others, in particular your father, shall want to know where I have gone. How can you explain my absence to the Sultan?”

She paced, dragging her coverlet behind her. “Father plans the celebration of the birth of his new daughter. I want a very special gift for him.”

She halted and stared at Niranjan. “What do you think of my father’s choices in women?”

He cocked his head. “I see the Sultan ranks beauty, intelligence and wit as high ideals in his women. Although he acknowledges beauty fades with time, I suspect he prefers it to wit. Beauty and intelligence in equal measure seem to please him with the
kadin
.”

Fatima’s face grew hot at the mention of the woman. “In al-Maghrib el-Aska, you shall procure a
jarya
of exotic beauty and worthy intellect. If anyone, including my father, should inquire about your departure, speak only of this part of your journey.”

Niranjan shifted on the stool. “It shall be done, my Sultana. However, I must say your father is faithful to Nur al-Sabah al-Muhammad. He did not want another woman in the long months before she birthed her daughter. I believe your father is in love with the
kadin
, my Sultana.”

“It is unworthy of him to show devotion to a slave!” She threw the coverlet off her shoulders, breath coming raw in her throat.

He stared, his eyes wide. She knelt beside him and patted his hand.

“If the Marinids accept Father’s offer, they may want a political marriage. No Sultana should rank second best to a slave. The
kadin
is no different from any other
jarya
who has ever infatuated Father. When another woman tempts him, he shall forget her.”

She met his potent stare. “Find me a
jarya
to seduce Father’s heart and mind.”

Prince Faraj

Fés el-Bali, al-Maghrib el-Aska: Rajab 672 AH (Fez, Morocco: January AD 1274)

Faraj strolled through the royal
madina
of Fés el-Bali, capital city of the Marinids, at a leisurely pace. The city was a chaotic jumble of spectacular new monuments, interposed among decayed palaces and fortificationsfrom the previous dynasties that had ruled al-Maghrib el-Aska. The great fortresses and mosques of the empire of
al-Murabitun
vied with the ornate palace complexes and lush baths built by
al-Muwahhidun
rulers long ago. Marinid mosques, hospitals, mental asylums, hospitals and religious schools dotted the landscape. Faraj made mental notes about everything he saw, intending to provide Fatima with a full account of the city when he returned home to her. Perhaps, when he’d had enough of her father’s intrigues, he would return to this land and bring her with him. He sighed with longing for such a day when he might know peace with her at his side.

Since his arrival two weeks earlier, he had enjoyed the comfort of a guesthouse on the palace grounds. The Marinid Sultan’s chief minister,
al-Shaykh
Abu Bakr Ibn Yala assured him the delay should not offend. His master knew the purpose of Faraj’s journey and intended to see him soon.

In the meantime, Faraj could not complain for the treatment he had received. Each night, Ibn Yala’s slaves prepared dishes that displayed the variety and excellence of Maghribi cuisine. He often enjoyed excellent
harrira
soup, made of mutton and spices and couscous - the mutton, vegetables and semolina being the only ingredients he could identify.

The Marinid capital atFés el-Bali was an intricate maze, in which he would have been lost without the knock-kneed young boy who always led him through the streets. His host, Ibn Yala, had provided the boy’s services. This morning, Faraj attended the Great Mosque of
al-Qarawiyyin
and its
madrasa
, one of the oldest sites in al-Maghrib el-Aska. The mosque’s tiledcourtyard afforded an interesting view of the city and its myriad people.

Now, he and his guide rested in the shadow of the courtyard. Faraj marked the progress of the faithful to and from the mosque, while he contemplated home and Fatima. She had endeared herself to him and never strayed far from his thoughts. Powerful emotion filled his heart, feelings he had never expected.

The ancient battlements surrounding Fés el-Bali loomed over the green-tiled rooftop of the mosque and
madrasa
. The city stood on the banks of the
Wadi Fés
and was more thanfive hundred years old. Despite its narrow winding streets and the buildings that were a jumble of confusion for any non-Fezi, surely this ancient city remained one of the most beautiful in al-Maghrib. In the distance, dust clouds rose, as did the sounds of men giving orders to each other. Faraj wondered at the daily toil and cacophony that reached him. He supposed the Marinid Sultan must be on another building project across the
Wadi Fés
.  

When he left
al-Qarawiyyin
a moment later, he became absorbed inthe chaotic, aromatic splendor around him. Easily distracted, a sudden grip on his shoulder startled him. He drew his scimitar and whirled, prepared to strike a deathblow.

“No, master, it’s me, Niranjan!”

The hooded figure pulled back his head covering hastily. Faraj beckoned the bewildered guide to remain nearby and confronted the trembling servant of his wife.

“Fool! I could have killed you. What are you doing in Fés el-Bali?”

“I have been searching for you. I first saw you here two days ago, then yesterday again. I realized you must come every day at the same time.”

“What would you have done if I had not come today?”

With a sheepish grin, Niranjan replied, “I would have waited until you came.”

“Again, why are you here? Did something happen to Fatima, is she hurt?”

“No, the Sultana is quite well. Yet, I have come because of her.” Niranjan looked beyond him to his guide. “I must speak to you in private. When can I meet with you, alone?”

“I shall come again to Qarawiyn this afternoon for prayer.”

“Without the boy?”

Faraj looked over his shoulder. “I have memorized the route. Why don’t you want me to come with the boy? Are you certain nothing has happened to Fatima?”

“Master, I promise you, the Sultana is well. Though, I believe she misses you terribly.”

“Surely, you cannot have come all the way here just to tell me that? If you are lying, if she is hurt, I swear….”

“Do not be forsworn, master. It may bring you bad luck. I vow upon my soul, your wife is as you left her.”

“You just told me not to swear!”

“I never have bad luck, master.I must go. Tomorrow, I shall meet you in the white courtyard, just after
Salat al-‘Asr
has ended.”

Niranjan disappeared into the crowd before Faraj could think to say another word. The dense throng hid the escape route, despite all of Faraj’sefforts to find the exasperating eunuch again.

Farajresumed walking to the palace behind his guide. Worry shadowed his footfalls. What hadFatima deemed of such importance that she sent Niranjan, with such urgency and secrecy?

When Farajarrived at the guesthouse, his apprehension subsided. Stalwart guards allowed him past the iron gates. Ibn Yala stood at the entryway, between two shady, argan trees growing out of the semi-desert soil. Ibn Yala gave him a gap-toothed smile from thin, nearly black lips that barely stood out from the rest of his coal-colored appearance. The minister was pigeon-toed, which gave him an odd gait. His paunch, jutting beneath loose-fitting robes, seemed out of place on an otherwise scrawny body with bony shoulders and claw-like hands.   

“May the peace of God be with you, Prince Faraj. I bring good news. The Sultan shall see you tomorrow evening. One hour after the prayers of
Salat al-Maghrib
, you shall dine with the Sultan and enjoy his entertainment. Then you may speak the concerns of your master, the Sultan of Gharnatah.”

The minister bowed before he went on his way. Faraj went to the
hammam
. A massage with rich argan oil should have soothed him, but his mind remained preoccupied. Niranjan’s startling arrival perplexed him. It also worried him. The servant would never have come to al-Maghrib el-Aska except at the behest of his mistress. Such a clandestine visit couldn’t bode well for Gharnatah. Niranjan’s arrival also warned of his wife’s activities during his absence. As expected, she kept to her intrigues with the Ashqilula spy. He gritted his teeth at the thought of her continued defiance.

“Master, you’re not relaxed,” the masseuse purred at his back. The willow-thin, naked, slave girl rubbed his shoulders, brushing her pert nipples across his skin. He might have responded to her bold invitation, but only one woman swayed his desires and emotions now.

At the designated hour of prayer, he returned to
al-Qarawiyyin
. He dismissed his guide, despite the boy’s protest and stood in the shadows of its white courtyard. Though convinced the child reported his activities to Ibn Yala, at least Faraj could be certain he would enjoy privacy.

Desert wind spiraled through the city. Niranjan appeared as if out of the whirlwind. Faraj blinked fast. How had the eunuch avoided being seen before now? Niranjan beckoned him to a more secluded spot, apart from those who idled about the mosque’s courtyard.

“May the peace of God be with you, master. You came alone?”

“You said I should. Now what is this all about, why this secrecy?”

“I come bearing a message from your noble wife.”

Faraj held out his hand for the anticipated missive. “Well, give me the letter.”

“I cannot, for the Sultana made me memorize the message. She bid me say, ‘Husband, your life is in danger. Even as you meet with the Marinid Sultan, the enemies of Gharnatah seek your death. The governor of Malaka has sent an assassin to kill you. You must alert the Marinid Sultan to the danger and ensure the Ashqilula fail.’ That is the entire message, master.”

Faraj retreated among the shadows below the wall. He watched the crowd for a menacing face or gleaming eyes, full of purpose. If Fatima’s servant found him within two days of his arrival, surely nothing should stop a trained assassin from doing the same.

“Master, what shall we do?” Niranjan asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Come back with me to the palace!”

They returned to the guesthouse in silence. Faraj maintaineda brisk walk. His heart thumped so loud, it seemed ready to burst from his chest before they reached the grounds.

Within the safety of the palace complex and the guesthouse, Niranjan gasped and leaned against a wall to catch his breath. Faraj called for a slave with water. Drinking greedily, he asked Niranjan to remain and eat, but the servant shook his head.

“We risked enough being seen together today, master.”

“If the assassin followed me to Fés el-Bali, why has he hesitated to strike? He’s had many opportunities at
al-Qarawiyyin
with only the boy at my side.”

“My mistress knows only of his intent, not his plans.”

“Did she tell you how she learned about this plot?”

“Yes.”

Faraj frowned at the one-word reply. His wife anticipated his displeasure, but her servant’s loyalty protected her.

“Your mistress has your trust and devotion?”

“The Sultana trusts me.”

“Yet, you owe your accountability, indeed, your very life to the Sultan of Gharnatah. Doesn’t he deserve your unfettered loyalty?”

“The Sultan has my loyalty. Every duty I perform on his daughter’s behalf is based on her loyalty and love for her father.”