Sultana (20 page)

“Master, do you allow me to decide her punishment, without your interference?”

“She’s your wife, but she is also my daughter. You won’t harm her, I trust?”

“I could never hurt her.”

“I don’t envy your lot. I trust your judgment where my daughter is concerned.”

The Sultan kicked his horse into a canter. Faraj’s thoughts returned to Fatima. More than her actions and their argument, he regretted leaving Gharnatah without bidding her farewell. She had not appeared among their family and courtiers this morning. He feared what might happen when they saw each other again. If she did not submit to his wishes, he would have to punish her. He could not bear the thought of causing her pain.

At Madinah Antaqirah, Gharnatah’s army poured into the poorly defendedcity. In a mindless frenzy, they cut down all those who raised a weapon. The hacking and slashing of swords vied with horrific screams and pleas for mercy. The massacre spilled acrossthe alleyways of the city. Rivulets of blood surged along the channels between the cobblestones.

Over the fray, Faraj shouted to the Sultan, “What of the people of Madinah Antaqirah? Surely you shall spare them?”

The Sultan bellowed, “Do you want me to go amongst my enemies to determine who my friends are? I shall not give them my own
khanjar
to slit my throat.”

He ordered his commanders, “Cut down every male of an age to bear a sword!”

Outraged, Faraj shouted, “We came to capture the governor, not decimate the town!”

“You don’t have to like my orders. Just obey them.” The Sultan urged his horse forward, his sword swinging wildly. He plunged it into the chest of a spearman who rushed him. His attacker screamed as if in surprise and fell backward. His helmet rolled away, revealing a youthful boyish face. Faraj shook his head in disgust.

Fifteen days later, the Sultan’s entourage returned to Gharnatah. Despite strict orders to the contrary, a great deal of rapine and looting had occurred. Most, if not all, the accused were Muslim soldiers, not the Castillan mercenaries among the Gharnati companies.

While on the journey home,Faraj blotted out images of starving, orphaned children andthe disgraced women picking among their men’s corpses littering the earth. Gharnatah and his return to Fatima beckoned.

Muhammad II entered his capital city in triumph. People lined the streets and acclaimed him, as they had done for his father. Trailing the edge of the royal retinue, Faraj rode his wearied mount up the Sabika hill and into
al-Quasaba
. He searched for Fatima’s face among those who thronged to greet the victors. Disappointment at her absence crowded his heart. He welcomed the prospect of seeing her again. Yet he also dreaded their reunion.

When he dismounted, the Sultan beckoned him. The pair had barely spoken in the aftermath of Madinah Antaqirah.

After they held each other’s gazes for a moment, the Sultanaverted his eyes. “I celebrate the victory with the rest of our family tonight in my palace garden.” A sheepish grin spread across his face. “You must attend. Fatima shall be there.”

Faraj nodded and returned to his house. Marzuq and his concubines greeted him. After a brief exchange, he withdrew to his room alone.

Later in the evening, he joined the revelry. There was nothing to celebrate after the carnage and destruction at Madinah Antaqirah, but he longed to see Fatima. She spied him first and ran toward him. With just a few paces separating them, they both halted.

He admired her elegant appearance. She wore a black
jubba
embroidered with silver threads. A gossamer veil matched the robe. Trousers peeked from beneath, nearly covering her leather sandals. She hesitated for a moment before approaching. He took her slim hands in his.

She smiled. “You’re not hurt. I was worried. Forgive me, but I could not see you off before you left, when I feared the worse.”

“You weren’t avoiding me?”

Under hooded eyelids, she snuck a furtive glance. “Why would I have done that?”

“Don’t dissemble. Please, I must have your answer on the issue we discussed before I left. Tell me the truth now. Can you leave it to your father to deal with our enemies? Do I have your promise I won’t hear of your letters to Ulayyah anymore?”

She sighed. “I promise you’ll never hear of the letters again.”

He studied her angular features. She met his gaze without wavering. Then she smiled demurely and drew closer. “Trust me, husband.”

Chapter 15

A King in His Own Land

Prince Faraj

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Jumada al-Ula 672 AH (Granada, Andalusia: November - December AD 1273)

Some months after the victory at Madinah Antaqirah, a frigid winter descended, during which King Alfonso of Castilla-Leon sent an emissary with entreaties of peace to the court of Muhammad II.

Faraj attended the Sultan’s meeting with his counselors and the Castillans in the throne room on a blustery afternoon after
Salat al-Asr
, the third daily prayer. Standing in the northern recesses of the shadowy tower, with the guards flanking him, he grinned at the incredulous looks on the Castillan faces. With good reason, he had never trusted them. Now, the Sultanseemed ready to get rid of them, too.

Doñ Nuño Gonzalez abased himself on both knees. “Great Sultan, I beg permission to address your court.”

When the Sultan nodded, Doñ Nuño continued, “Your army decimated the Ashqilula and their allies, with your glorious victory at Madinah Antaqirah. King Alfonso recognizes the folly of supporting the Ashqilula. He knows you are the stronger adversary, with my loyal aid. This is why he presses for my return and an end to our alliance. He bargains from a position of powerlessness. Why would you parlay for peace with him now?”

The Sultangroaned softly. Faraj stood close enough to hear it, but perhaps Doñ Nuño did not for he continued, “You are the master of this domain, the prince of the Faithful. Our alliance has proved fortuitous, has it not? Do not turn from my cause now. With my support, you have strengthened your position and mine. We won at Martus. We vanquished the Ashqilula at Madinah Antaqirah.”

The Sultan pounded the samite-covered arms of the throne. “Doñ Nuño, don’t take me for a fool. Do you think I don’t perceive the real threat? The Ashqilula are but flies upon a festering wound. The real threat remains in Castilla-Leon. The Castillans can’t be beaten back forever, one little town at a time. Martusand Madinah Antaqirah are nothing compared to the entire Sultanate! It doesn’t matter if we control one border town. Your King Alfonso intends to pierce the very heart of Gharnatah, by supporting his Ashqilula allies.

“If Castilla-Leon offers the boon of peace, I’ll accept it for the sake of my people, who tire of war. You read the King’s promises. You’ll return to your homeland, with all honors and rights restored to you. We’ll never forget your service to us.”

Doñ Nuño shook his head. “If you wish me gone, I’ll leave with your blessing. But I still believe, given your victories, it is you and  not King Alfonso, who hasthe right to demand peace on your own terms. You have seen the Castillan approach to peace before. Broken promises and half-truths.”

The Sultanleaned forward. “Tread carefully, Doñ Nuño, lest you slander yourself along withyour King. I remember well your broken promises to my father. It cost the Sultanate many lives at a useless siege of Malaka.”

Doñ Nuño showed no reaction to this insult. His face never colored, he barely raised a yelloweyebrow.

“But it’s humiliating to submit to the dictates of Alfonso’s treaty,” he continued. “Would you have Castilla-Leon trample on your pride?”

 The Sultan rested his chin on his hand. “My pride can bear it well, Doñ Nuño, as can yours. I hope you do not suggest your pride is worth more than mine.”

His face blanched, Doñ Nuño shook his grizzled head and stood, sketching a stiff bow. The Sultan waved him off. “It is the hour of prayer. We’ll re-convene in the afternoon.”

Muhammad II invited Faraj to join him and his family at
Salat al-Zuhr
. After the noon prayer, Faraj stayed with them for an early lunch. Fatima seemed surprised and then delighted in turn, by Faraj’s appearance. She sat beside him. He struggled with his concentrationwhile the Sultan explained the day’s events to hischildren. Faraj found himself surprised at how the Sultan kept his daughters so well informed. They asked thoughtful questions in response. They were a remarkable family, unlike any he had ever known.

Fatima proved the distraction. More often than not, a glimpse of her profile, the curve of her soft cheek, or the tinkling melody of her voice as she addressed her father, held him entranced.

After they finished the meal, slaves removed the platters and plates, replacing them with enticing desserts. He did not indulge, having barely touched the spicy chicken served with fresh greens and herbs. Fatima didn’t eat much, either.

Sheasked, “You didn’t like the food?”

He turned to her. “It was good, but I wasn’t very hungry.”

Just then, his belly rumbled and belied his words. She chuckled and smiled at him.

In the midst of their easy rapport, a message arrived from the chief eunuch Hasan.

“What is the matter?” Fatima asked, looking at her father’s ashen face.

Faraj immediately worried whether some tragedy had befallen them. Worse, had the Castillan King already rescinded his invitation to the Christian rebels?

The Sultan said, “Nur al-Sabah’s child shall be born today.”

Fatimaplunked her spoon in the center of the dessert. After a while, she pushed it away. Faraj reached for her hand beneath the low table. When their fingers touched, a warm jolt rippled through him. He barely noticed when the Sultan left. Only Fatima mattered now.Their gazes wound together as tightly as their hands. His heart pounded in a fierce rhythm. Her eyes, now wide and expressive, betrayed deep emotion that robbed him of his speech. Had she always been so beautiful, he wondered. When had the unremarkable child given way to the enthralling woman at his side?

Ishbiliya, al-Andalus: Jumada al-Ula 672 AH (Sevilla, Kingdom of Castilla-Leon: December AD 1273)

Shortly after the Christian Yuletide season began, the Sultan, his bodyguards, Umar the
Shaykh al-Ghuzat
and the Castillan mercenaries rode to Sevilla, to parlay with King Alfonso. Faraj joined the Sultan’s retinue.

The riders skirted north of Ashqilula territories. After a three-day journey, they arrived at the outskirts of their destination. Sevilla straddled the
Wadi al-Kabir
, or Guadalquivir River. Trade thrived along the riverbank, with vessels plying its depths to reach the southern marketplace.

Faraj viewed the city sprawling across the plains. Two years after his birth, the Castillans had defeated the Hud family and conquered Muslim Ishbiliya, with the help of his uncle the old Sultan, who often spoke with regret of his role in the re-birth of Christian Sevilla.

King Alfonso’s guards met the riders at the city gates. Heading northeast, they forded the Guadalquivir. They entered under the watchful eyes of the city’s residents. Many new arrivals had repopulated the town after the King’s father, Fernando, expelled its former Moorish and Jewish inhabitants.

A towering remnant of Seville’s Moorish past under
Al-Muwahhidun
princesloomed on the eastern bank of the Guadalquivir. In the glory days of Ishbiliya, gilded tiles had covered the dome of this twelve-sided crenellated tower, earning it the name “Golden Tower” but the Castillans stripped the precious tiles away during the conquest. The Hud had onceincorporated the stone tower into their defenses, which once ranged from their palace to the river’s edge.

Faraj’s heart sank at the sight of Ishbiliya’s Great Mosque, which stood nearby the Golden Tower. Workers toiled within its precincts to remove all traces of its Islamic past. The Moorish observatory rose at the pinnacle of the former mosque.

Umar spat upon the ground. “They convert our scared spaces for yet another of their cathedrals.”

They arrived at the Moorish palace, also built during the reign of
Al-Muwahhidun
rulers. The old King Fernando had captured it during the conquest. Faraj studied the remains of the thick, ancient walls as they rode through the gateway. Pages met and led them to spacious quarters, where they remained for an hour. The tapestries hanging along the wall could not ward off the chill seeping through the stucco walls. From his window, Faraj spied an ornate rectangular courtyard brimming with flowers and rosemary bushes. A marble walkway led from one end of the yard to the other. Peaceful stillness overwhelmed the space, but he knew such tranquility could not last.  

Then, ushered into the presence of King Alfonso of Castilla-Leon and the Castillan parliament, Faraj began the exchange of formal greetings between the Christian ruler and the Sultan, serving as his master’s official interpreter. The negotiations began soon afterward.

The Sultanpresented terms of peace favorable to Gharnatah. The Castillans appeared amenable to everything he suggested.

Faraj frowned at this. He hadn’t expected the Castillans might be so eager for peace. For his pledges, the Sultan submitted the requisite offer of tribute. The Castillans readily agreed to his first offer of three hundred thousand of their gold coins,
maravedies
.

Something troubled Faraj about their easy acquiescence. Muhammad II had vowed he would only make one offer, but they could not have known that, could they?

Then the Sultan presented terms for the end of the Lara rebellion against Castilla-Leon. When he renounced the formal alliance between the Sultanate and the rebels, King Alfonso heaved a loud sigh of relief. The entire court erupted into cheers. The King welcomed his favorite and forgave the rebels. Doñ Nuño moved to the forefront. On bended knee beside the Sultan, he offered his obeisance before his master Alfonso.

Faraj sighed with contentment. Muhammad II had accomplished his goal. The Castillan mercenaries would no longer enjoy a comfortable refuge in al-Andalus. Gharnatah and its people would have peace for the duration of a year.