Sultana (24 page)

“I do not understand your reaction to a simple question.”

“Oh, Fatima, nothing with you is ever simple.”

She threw up her hands again in disgusted resignation. “You make sport of me and I shall not tolerate it. By your leave, I bid you goodnight.”

When she stood, he grasped her hand. “I did not give you leave. Please sit and let me talk with you.” He tugged her down to the cushions. “Take off your
hijab
.”

“What? Why should I remove my veil?”

“Please indulge me and take it off. I haven’t seen you unveiled since the day of our first meeting.”

He reached for the sheer cloth covering her hair. She slapped his hands away and removed the pins holding the veil in place. Seemingly impatient, he helped, though his touch was as gentle as Amoda’s own. He smoothed back the locks from her brow. One curly strand slipped through his fingertips.

“Do you remember the first time I brought you to this house? When you confided in me in one instance and then railed at me in another?”

She ducked her head but he grasped her chin and leaned closer. “I see by the blush on your cheeks that you do.”

“How could I forget? You were very disagreeable that afternoon.”

“Is that why you blush so prettily?”

She shook her head.

“Fatima, since that evening and many times afterward, I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

She swallowed. “You have?”

He loomed closer, stroking the length of her hair. “How would you like me to kiss you, exactly?”

His mouth met hers and her eyes closed of their own volition. She became aware of different things - the tangy taste of apricot juice, the tender stroke of his thumb across her cheek.

Abruptly the kiss ended.

“Well, was that to your satisfaction, Fatima?”

“I’ve never been kissed before. I would have to try several more kisses to be sure.” She pursed her lips again.

“Well, it’s true you’ve never been kissed before. Our kiss confirmed it.”

Suddenly downcast, she reached for the
hijab
to cover her hair again. “The hour grows very late. This has been a pleasant evening, but I think I should leave.”

Deep lines furrowed his brow. “Why, are we not having a pleasant time here together? Stay, we might practice some more of the kissing.”

“I’m tired. Please permit me to take my leave.”

He stood when she did, his hands on her shoulders. “You’re annoyed with me.”

“Please let me go.”

“At least, let me escort you to the harem gates.”

She headed for the door across the courtyard.

“You need not. My Niranjan can protect me,” she said over her shoulder, but his footsteps followed.

At the entrance, she bid him farewell. Niranjan stood under the juniper tree, his gaze seemingly on the star-filled sky.

Faraj grimaced. “Indeed, your faithful bodyguard awaits you. His loyalty appears boundless. I…bid you good night.”

“You also, my prince.”

Chapter 18

 The Rivals

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Sha’ban 672 AH (Granada, Andalusia: February AD 1274)

Faraj’s return from al-Maghrib el-Aska preceded a landmark ceremony three days later; the investiture of the Sultan’s chancery, the
Diwan al-Insha
. Fatima joined her aunt Maryam and her grandfather’s widows for the occasion. Behind the latticed
purdah
, the sweet odor of the poppy seed in Sultana Hamda’s water pipe suffused the air.

Suddenly, she started, her eyes widening with fury. “What are you doing here? You are not welcome!”

Fatima turned and found the Sultana Faridah, mother of the Ashqilula governor of Malaka, standing in the shadows. Her once fair skin was sallow and gray hair peeked beneath her veil. Her large eyes were rheumy. In her youth, they had been a vibrant, sparkling sea-green color.

“There is no reason Faridah should be unwelcome among us,” Sultana Qamar said in a conciliatory attempt, “after all, she is sister to our late husband, Hamda.”

“She is an Ashqilula spy. Her son is the governor of Malaka,” Sultana Maryam said, casting a cold emerald-eyed gaze at Faridah, who drew back under her harsh scrutiny, her pallid face marred with misery. Her eyes glistened with moisture.

Before a tear could fall, Fatima moved from the forefront. She took Faridah’s hand and addressed the other Sultanas.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves. How dare you heap scorn on her? She shares Father’s blood and mine. She is a Sultana and shall always be welcome here.”

Aunt Maryam colored with indignation. “My father did not want her here and neither shall my brother. She is a traitor to our family. Call the guards.”

Fatima pulled Faridah closer. “How dare you? Sultana Maryam, we both bear Ashqilula blood, through our mothers. If there are any among us with questionable loyalties, it should be you and me.”

“I have no idea what you accuse me of,” Sultana Maryam said, her eyes narrow with disdain, “but I tell you, girl, I shall not stand for it.”

Fatima frowned at the odd choice of words on her aunt’s part. “I accuse you of nothing, but you have no right to judge Sultana Faridah. More than blood ties still bind us to the Ashqilula.”

She continued glaring at the room’s occupants. “Can you tell me, the Sultan’s daughter, to go as well?”

Sultana Maryam rolled her eyes in disgust and faced the stucco wall, while Hamda focused with renewed interest on the water pipe.

Fatima squeezed Sultana Faridah’s hand affectionately. “Sit with me.”

The wounded look in her dark eyes disappeared. They shone with gratitude. “I could not. The place of honor belongs to the women of the current Sultan’s harem. But, I do wish to stay.”

“Then I pray you shall sit beside me,” Sultana Qamar said, indicating space beside her.

With her aunt ensconced beside her grandfather’s widow, Fatima took her seat again and witnessed her father appointing his foremost minister of the council. For more than thirty years, her tutor Ibn Ali had served the Sultans of Gharnatah. He taught her father and his brothers and her generation of royal children. He deserved this greatest of honors.

Now he knelt on aged knees with a slight groan, while the Sultan poured a drop of rosemary oil on his high forehead and proclaimed, “Arise, Ibn Ali,
Hajib
of the
Diwan al-Insha
, Prime Minister of my court and leader of my chancery. By the blessings of God, long may you serve this esteemed council and the people of Gharnatah.”

Ibn Ali stood on spindly legs and flashed a crooked smile. The gesture softened his liver-spotted, careworn face, with its fleshy wattle beneath the chin. The Sultan bestowed the kiss of peace on his former tutor. The room erupted in applause. Fatima’s heart soared, as she joined the acclaim.

Fatima and her aunt Faridah strolled arm-in-arm, between rows of myrtle trees along the garden path outside the throne room.

“I wish you had told me of your intention to visit Gharnatah, Aunt.”

The elderly woman sighed. “I feared I might not be welcome. At first, the guards refused to allow me up through the tower from the garden entry. One among them had to convince his fellows that only a Sultana of Gharnatah would know the secret passages into the throne room.”

“Does your son Abu Muhammad know you’re here?”

“I don’t share everything with him. A woman must have her own secrets.”

Fatima nodded in understanding. “Can you stay with me?”

“I’ll return to Malaka this evening with the camel caravans. I came only for the day to witness the proceedings. Ibn Ali was a favorite of my brother’s.”

Fatima halted and touched Faridah’s cheek. “You must miss Grandfather so.”

“I cried alone when I heard of his passing, while my son and his compatriots cheered. To think, I raised Abu Muhammad upon my brother’s knee. There was a time when he loved his uncle. Now, I only wish I might die rather than endure this conflict between our two families.”

The women resumed walking, passing through her father’s courtyard.

Fatima said, “I wish you would stay a little longer. Tonight, my father hosts a feast to celebrate the birth of his daughter.”

“He has sired another girl. So, the rumors of the
kadin
who’s stolen his heart are true?”

Fatima drew apart from her aunt and halted beside the fishpond. The mid-afternoon sun shimmered like molten gold across the surface. A distorted image of herself reflected in the depths of the water, lips slashing across her face in a thin angry line.

She forced a smile for Faridah. “I have a present for Father. Would you like to offer your opinion?”

Faridah raised an eyebrow. “Is this someone to tempt him away from the
kadin
?”

“Someone to remind him there are other women in the world.”

“Your father is very devoted to his lovers. For a time, he only loved your mother.”

“She was a princess, not a lowly slave. This new attachment is beneath him.”

Faridah shook her head. “That is your opinion alone. You are a Sultana, his eldest daughter. A mere slave can hardly be considered worth your attention.” She paused and bent beside the fishpond, scooping up some liquid in her gnarled hands. “Water is water. No matter how you contain it or change its form, water remains the same.”

She stood and took Fatima’s fingers in her grasp. “But I’ll see this gift, for which you’ve wasted precious coin.”

They went to the harem. Amoda greeted them. “Niranjan has come, my Sultana.”

Fatima asked, “Is there anyone else with him?”

“A slave girl also awaits you in your receiving room.”

Fatima struggled to suppress her smile. “Excellent, we’ll see them.”

A frown marred Faridah’s brow, but she said nothing.

They walked into the windowless room at the heart of the harem. Red cushions trimmed with gold brocade lined the walls. Niranjan rose and bowed. The petite woman beside him mimicked his actions. In her long opaque robe and damask veils, the folds of cloth hid her features.

Niranjan said, “I have brought the slave Ayesha, by your command, my Sultana.”

Fatima avoided Faridah’s scrutiny and gestured for her aunt to sit on one of the cushions. Then she joined her. “Niranjan, I wish to inspect her now. Instruct her to remove the veils.”

After the slave followed Niranjan’s command, Fatima studied her face. She looked to her aunt, who clutched her prayer beads against her chest.

Faridah shook her head. “What sorcery is this?”

“None, I assure you, Aunt.”

“What have you done, child?”

“Then you see the resemblance, too?”

“It is uncanny, as if Princess Aisha stood before us again. Do not do this, my lamb.”

Fatima stood. “Why do you caution me, Aunt? If Father loved Aisha so much, he shall welcome this new woman in his life.” She approached Niranjan. “You told me her hair was black.”

“It was but I asked Leeta to dye it with the henna. The effect is compelling.”

In closer quarters, she scrutinized the slave. The woman’s honey-brown skin complemented dark brows and lashes, and a pert mouth and nose, framed by wavy hair now dyed a dark red. Her luminous gaze held Fatima’s own, with eyes the mirror of Princess Aisha’s own.

“The resemblance is remarkable, Niranjan. It is unfortunate we cannot dye her hair to match a chestnut color. If I did not know better, I would swear the Princess stood before me.”

“Yes, my Sultana. It is likely your father shall have the same reaction when he sees Ayesha for the first time.”

“A midwife has examined her?”

“She declares the
jarya
is fit and of child-bearing age. I am sure she shall please your father greatly. Should she undress now?”

“If this girl is to be the
kadin
’s rival, I want to ensure she is pleasing in all aspects.”

Fatima returned to her seat, by which time the slave had removed her robe for her inspection.

Fatima considered the various concubines she had seen in her father’s harem, their images a silhouette in the steamy
hammam
. Under the ministration of attendants, who washed, massaged and perfumed their skin, they prepared daily to court her father’s desire. However, she had never seen anyone who looked like this woman.

Her petite form and compacted curves would stir the desire of any man. A slender neck met graceful shoulders, tapering into willowy arms and long fingers. Her breasts were small and round, the nipples budding, pink peaks. Her belly, a taut length of sinew flared into generous hips and thighs. By custom, every hair on her body, except that adorning her head, was gone. She stood flawless, the image of the
houri
in Paradise.

Fatima nodded. “You’ve done well, Niranjan.”

“I am glad she meets with your expectations, my Sultana.”

“Does she speak Arabic?”

“Yes, her first owner tutored her. She was a gift for a prince of the Zayyanids. When he died in a border skirmish with the Marinids, her owner brought her to al-Maghrib el-Aska, hoping she might catch Abu Yusuf Ya’qub’s eye.”

Faridah stood. “Leave us, eunuch.”

He bowed and departed.

Faridah turned on Fatima. “Your mother is dead. How dare you pain your father with this mockery of her memory?”

“He’s forgotten her.”

“Aisha is dead, child. Accept it. Your father did. Allow him a measure of happiness with his
kadin
.”

“I cannot.”

Faridah turned away. “You’ve been too long in this harem of your father’s. It is high time you took an interest in your husband’s life. You are a married woman, yet you behave as a spoiled child would. You hardly deserve the honors accorded to you as the Sultan’s eldest daughter. I won’t stay here and indulge you in this pettiness.”

She swept from the room without looking back, head held high.

Fatima crossed her arms over her chest. Yet when her aunt’s footfalls faded, a tiny doubt nagged at her.

The slave girl coughed. She glanced at her, suddenly remembering the girl stood there.