Sultana (8 page)

“I know. There can be only one reason they haven’t done it. The Sultan knows the child and mother are missing. He thinks if he keeps the gates closed, Aisha cannot escape.”

“There’s no escape for her or for her daughter.”

Keys jangled in the lock. Fatima pitched forward, ready for Ibrahim’s return. If her grandfather knew she was gone, there was still hope. She had to try.

The door did not open. She frowned into the darkness.

“Leave her here, cousin.”

“What?” Ibrahim’s fury set Fatima shaking, although she was outside his reach. “Are you mad? She’s the reason I snuck into this city.”

“Would you risk our lives for her? I won’t!”

“You’ll do what I tell you, Abu Muhammad. You may be the Raïs of Malaka, but never forget, I made it possible for you to attain that honor.”

“The debt has been paid, several times over.”

“You need a reminder of it. Without me, the Sultan’s brother would still be alive, or Prince Faraj might hold the governorship in his stead. Now see to Abdallah and his mother. Ease his fears and tell him to make her stop blubbering.”

“He’s tried. She keeps beating her breasts and muttering Aisha’s name.”

Fatima slumped against a sack. A wedge formed in her throat, but she swallowed hard against it.

“Hide the truth, until it is no longer possible. I am not ready to kill him, yet. He still has his uses. Many of our warriors remain loyal to his father’s memory.”

“You should have thought of that before you murdered his sister, Ibrahim!”

“I told you before, honor demanded it. Should I have released her, let her escape back to her husband? You harbor some feeling for the woman, I think.”

“I do not. I am reconciled to Aisha’s fate. I am going to Abdallah. What are you going to do?”

The keys jangled and heavy footfalls sounded, moving away from the door. Fatima strained to hear Ibrahim’s answer, but silence had fallen.

She sat in the shadows for an uninterrupted time, with the mice her constant companions. She jerked and squealed each time one of the rodents brushed too near.

Then, there was a faint scratching at the base of the door. “Princess?”

She covered her mouth with a hand, too frightened to answer the raspy voice beyond the walls.

“Princess Fatima? I’ve returned.”

She sobbed at the sound of Ulayyah’s voice. Her throat ached, but she forced the words out. “I’m here! Help me.”

Ulayyah whispered, “Niranjan, hurry. If he knew there was another set of keys, he would kill me.”

Keys jangled before the door creaked on its hinges. A shaft of light pierced the darkness. A large, black rat bolted into the hall, darting between the feet of the man and woman who filled the doorway.  

Fatima launched herself at Ulayyah. “He killed her.”

The slave held her close for a moment and whispered against her hair. “Hush, child. He can’t hurt her anymore.”

She drew back and wiped Fatima’s face with the trailing edge of her veil.

“I grieve with you, princess, but I must fulfill my vow to your mother. You must go.”

“I can’t leave her here!”  

Ulayyah set her down, jarring her. When her hands enveloped Fatima’s smaller ones, Fatima whimpered.

“If you don’t want your mother’s death to be meaningless, then go now, with Niranjan al-Kadim. You can do nothing more. Abu Muhammad sent his men to clean up the blood and hide the body from my lord Abdallah.”

“You must tell him what happened to my mother.”

“It would destroy him! He would rise against Ibrahim and it would mean his death. One day, he shall see the truth about his family for himself. He can never know how Princess Aisha died.”

“No,
Ummi
said….”

“Hush now. Your mother would want you to trust in me and Niranjan, as she once did.”

The bronze-skinned youth stepped into view again from behind Ulayyah. Fatima frowned at him. He wore the iron collar of a slave, the same as all the slaves of her father’s palace wore.

She asked, “What can he do? He’s just a slave.”

Ulayyah shook her head. “He can sneak you in a hemp sack up to the courtyard. I heard Ibrahim and Abu Muhammad whispering in the hall above. Abu Muhammad has bribed guards to open the northern gate of the city. He shall go first with my lord Abdallah. If he makes it out, Ibrahim shall follow. He shall tell my lord Abdallah that Princess Aisha delayed them and the Sultan’s guards captured her.”

“No! He cannot hide what he has done.”

Ulayyah patted her hands. “You are the only witness to your mother’s sacrifice. Do not let it be in vain. Go with Niranjan now. No one shall notice him in the courtyard. Abu Muhammad and my master prepare to leave with many pack animals.”

Niranjan entered the room and grabbed one of the burlap snacks, surprising another rat that scrambled between the crates. Niranjan emptied a cascade of grain on to the floor and motioned for Fatima. She stepped into the hemp sack and he pulled it up to her shoulders.

Ulayyah knelt and pressed her forehead against the ground for a moment. “Know that I am loyal. I hate Ibrahim and if it is ever within my power to help you destroy him, I shall do it. Now go, princess, go! Go with God.”  

When Niranjan tried to close the sack, Fatima grabbed Ulayyah’s hand. “What about you? Ibrahim said he would kill the slaves if I escaped.”

“When my master Abdallah leaves, I shall be with him and his guards. I shall warn him to prepare for any treachery. Do not worry for me.”

“But….”

“I must return to Naricha. I have a child there. My son Faisal is very sickly. I cannot be without him and I am heavy with another babe. Promise me only this – live and reach your father’s house. Let your father know of your mother’s sacrifice and tell my sister that I am still alive.”

“I shall never forget you!”

Ulayyah lifted her fingers and kissed them, before she turned to Niranjan. “Close the sack. I go ahead of you to ensure the way is clear. Once you reach the courtyard, do not stop. Put the sack over the donkey’s back and leave at the end of the caravan with the others. Lag behind them. My master’s steward is old and his eyesight and strength are failing him. He shall not notice if you are careful.

“The caravan travels unguarded. My master does not have enough warriors to spare a portion for the safety of his goods, but he and Abu Muhammad shall catch up to the caravan. You must break away from it the moment you can. When you see the orchards in the hills above, you must turn south to the marketplace.”

She poured a fistful of jangling coins from a small, red pouch into her hand, murmuring under her breath before she put them back inside. She pressed the pouch into his hand. “For the Sitt al-Tujjar. I shall ensure Ibrahim does not see you leave.”

“How?” Niranjan raised his eyebrows in a questioning slant. Fatima glanced at him, recognizing something familiar about his nasal tone. They had never met before this but she was certain she had heard his voice before.

“I’ll go to him. If I am with him, he won’t be thinking of what is happening elsewhere.”

Niranjan tied the hemp sack. Enveloped on all sides of its stifling warmth, Fatima fought for calm, even breaths. When Niranjan hefted her over his shoulder, a shrill wheeze escaped her.

He murmured, “Not so loudly, princess.”

“Don’t tell me how to breathe!”

He chuckled. “You sound just like your mother.”

“What?”

“Niranjan, don’t provoke her. This night has been very difficult.” Ulayyah’s voice came from up ahead.  

Fatima groaned when Niranjan maneuvered her at an odd angle. She realized they must have started up the stairs. She could not see anything from within the dense, fibrous hemp. 

“The courtyard is clear. Go with God.”

Ulayyah’s whisper preceded her hasty footsteps before they faded. A little light penetrated the strips of fiber. The air thickened with the scent of juniper and rosemary. Voices bellowed instructions, but above the cacophony came the sound of water murmuring in unseen channels.

Such a peaceful sound, so unlike anything Fatima had experienced in the last hours. She closed her eyes but still, tears squeezed out beneath her lashes.

Deep inside, she silently vowed, ‘
I’ll never forget, Ummi, never.’

She stifled a grunt when Niranjan set her across the back of a swaying animal. When thick rope secured her at the waist, it was nearly impossible to breathe.

“Open the gate! Get those sacks out of here and onward to Naricha.”

Fatima recognized the voice of her mother’s brother. He would never know the truth of what had happened to Aisha.

When Fatima finally stood and the sack opened, she wobbled slightly. Niranjan and two identical young women wearing slave collars bowed before her. She looked around, realizing she was in a sparsely furnished tent, with only a chair and table. Outside, the people talked and argued and coins jangled.

She asked, “Are we in the market?”

“Yes, my princess.” Niranjan gestured to the chair. “Please await the Sitt al-Tujjar here.”

“I want to go home.”

“You shall.” He grabbed the chair and set it in front of her. “Sit.”

“Don’t tell me what to do! You’re not my father. You’re just a slave.”

He grinned, showing yellowed teeth with a few gaps in his mouth. “You remind me so of her. When I see you, I imagine what she was like as a child.”

“Who?”

“Princess Aisha.”

“Don’t talk about my mother! You didn’t know her.”

“I did. I have served her since I was a child, long before she married the Crown Prince of Gharnatah.”

Fatima sank into the chair and folded her arms across her chest. She did not want to hear from anyone who knew her mother, who might have known her better than she did.

Niranjan pushed the two women forward. Their coloring was the same as Niranjan, except they were thin and looked as though they had not eaten in a week with bellies caved in and ribs peeking through the flesh. Their narrow features were stark, bulging dark eyes, high, hollow cheekbones and buckteeth jutting forward between their thin lips.

“These are my sisters, Amoda,” Niranjan patted the arm of the one who wore her braid on the left shoulder, “and Leeta.” He gestured to the other girl, her dark hair falling over her right shoulder. “If you’re hungry, they can bring you food.”

“I don’t want anything from you! When can I see my father again?”

Niranjan shook his head.

A morning breeze whistled through the tent, just before a woman in a blue cloak entered. She swept back her hood with a fat, bejeweled hand, revealing a white cloth with two blue stripes that covered her hair. A small ring-shaped patch of yellow cloth decorated the shoulder of her cloak. She bobbed her head.

Niranjan bowed to her, before turning to Fatima.
“The Sitt al-Tujjar.”

Fatima scowled and leaned forward on the chair. “Why is your name the ‘mistress of the merchants’?”

“It is best for my business that no one knows my real name, princess. I am a widow who manages her late husband’s trade. I am free to travel throughout the Muslim and Christian lands. People pay for my silk and wares. They pay me even more to keep their secrets.”

She held out her hand. Niranjan pressed the red pouch into it. She cupped the weight and nodded. “We leave for
al-Qal’at Al-Hamra.
Once there, I shall send word to Prince Faraj’s steward that we have very special merchandise, for his master’s eyes only.”

Fatima jerked from the seat. “What? Why aren’t you taking me to my father?”

The Sitt al-Tujjar tucked the bag of coins into the unseen folds of her garment. “I receive large sums of money because I am careful and can follow precise instructions. Your mother commanded me to deliver you only to your husband, Prince Faraj. She said he would understand the need for discretion, rather than arousing the curiosity of others by your sudden appearance outside your father’s harem.”

Fatima shook her head. “My mother trusted Prince Faraj? She didn’t even like him.”

The Sitt al-Tujjar shrugged.

Once again bound and stifled in the hemp sack, Fatima could hardly breathe. The bounce and sway of the camel caravan stole each breath, as rope held her securely on its back again. She rode up a sharp hill. When the camel finally sank to the ground, she waited for the opening of the sack.

“Send word to Prince Faraj’s steward of my arrival.”

She stayed quiet listening to the Sitt al-Tujjar giving other instructions. Soon, the camel swayed again and she gripped its sides tightly, fighting against the urge to vomit.

“Sitt al-Tujjar! Welcome.”

A deep voice boomed in greeting before the beast sank to the ground again.

“Marzuq, I greet you in peace,” the Sitt al-Tujjar said. “Your master collects rare and beautiful treasures. I bring him riches beyond measure.”

“My master’s moods are fickle, of late, but I shall summon him. You honor his house by granting us first choice and I recognize the value of that esteem.”

Fatima bit her lip as she was lifted and lowered in the sack. Cold marble seeped through the hemp fibers.

“Marzuq, what is this?”

When the sack opened, Fatima gasped the first lungful of fresh air.

Faraj stood beside the fountain in his inner courtyard. The first rays of sunlight twinkled off the burnished copper roof and cast a halo around his dark, straight hair, which curled slightly at the nape. In the sunlight, his dark olive skin glowed like bronze. His jaw dropped and showed even, white teeth behind his thin lips.

“By the Prophet’s beard…Fatima.”

She stumbled slightly and Niranjan righted her. Shrugging off his hold, she swayed on her feet. She glared at Niranjan as he hovered beside her, his hands at the ready.

She asked, “Where is my father?”

Faraj gestured to the yellow-haired man beside him. “Marzuq.”

“At once, my prince.” The steward rushed from the house.

The Sitt al-Tujjar bowed before Faraj. “My task is completed. God be with your house.”