Sultana (21 page)

King Alfonso stood and scratched at his sparse brown beard, interspersed with gray hairs. Through his official interpreter, he said, “In your honor and for your pledges, my lord of Granada, the Royal Consort has prepared a great feast for tonight. A week of festivities are also planned to mark this occasion of your first visit to Sevilla. We ask that you remain here, where you and yours are to be our honored guests. This shall be a sign of the understanding between our two kingdoms.”

The Sultanlooked over his shoulder at Faraj, who cursed beneath his breath. He should have known matters between Castilla-Leon and Gharnatah could never be easily resolved.

The Sultan murmured, “We would be honored to accept your gracious invitation.”

He and his retinue followed Alfonso into a large hall. The Sultan sat at the high table with the Castillan ruler, his family and Doñ Nuño Gonzalez. Heavy silver platters were set on the table, along with pewter cups and spoons. The highest-ranking resident clergyman, whom the King referred to as Archbishop of Toledo Doñ Santo de Aragon, blessed the meal.

Seated below the dais on the left, Faraj avoided the open, rude stares and whisperings of the nobles. An array of dishes covered the tables. Of fowl, there were several varieties, baked swans, roasted peacocks, boiled capons and chickens. There was salmon as well as eel, the latter of which he politely refused, in addition to the roasted boar, but the venison stew was passable. He recognized onions, peas and beans among the vegetables. The only drink offered was wine, which he also declined for religious reasons. The desserts were sliced apples, pears and oranges, as well as many varieties of cheeses, cakes, cookies, pastries and meat pies.

Alfonso offered a food taster, but the Sultan had brought his own. If he had offended the King, Alfonso’s features never betrayed it.

The hot mulled wine the nobles imbibed smelled sour, though they seemed to enjoy it. Faraj sampled almost everything, except for what he could not eat for religious reasons. He did better than Umar, who sat below the dais directly opposite him. The
Shaykh al-Ghuzat
stared with dismay at the food piled high on his plate. Faraj caught the Sultan’s eye, winked and nodded, calling his attention to the discomfort of the acclaimed defender of the Faith. The Sultan chuckled low.

Faraj wiped his hands on a towel, which a page offered. Some of the Castillan women still stared at him, most in mute horror at the Moors among them. But others took him aback with their open appreciation and curiosity. One among them smiled coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes, preening in a stiff, wrinkled garment.

He ducked his head and sopped up the stew with a portion of crusty loaf. He recalled Fatima walking though the autumn rain, soft, silken material flowing like water around her swaying hips. Her modesty enticed him more than the boldness of any other woman. Perhaps her allure accounted for his lack of interest in his concubines of late. How could he desire the practiced nuances of trained pleasure slaves, when Fatima’s innocence tempted him?

King Alfonso called for silence in the room. All conversation ceased. Every eye turned to view the Castillan monarch.

“We have extended the hospitality of our court to our worthy vassal, the King of Granada. By the grace of our God, we have demonstrated our peaceful intent to all. Let us now show the esteem with which we regard our vassal. We shall knight the King of Granada, bestowing upon him all the honors implied.”

Everyone watched the Sultan with expectant eyes.

After a tense silence, the Sultan said, “Surely, I could ask for no more than the esteem you have shown.”

“That is nonsense, my lord,” King Alfonso insisted. “You are our vassal. We would honor you as we please. Stand forth and be knighted.”

Every moment the Sultan remained in his chair, he jeopardized all he had just won. Many of the Castillans murmured disapprovingly. Alfonso eyed him with suspicion.

Stiff-backed, he stood and stepped away from the table. He rounded it and stood before King Alfonso. A page placed a cushion at his feet and fled from the Sultan’s deepening scowl.

King Alfonso drew his sword. “Kneel before us, my lord, as a vassal should kneel before his sovereign.”

A low buzz of voices rose to the rafters again, accusations of disrespect and contempt for the court. Faraj leaned forward in rapt attention, fear and worry crowding his heart. Didn’t Alfonso recognize the problematic course he now pursued? The Sultan could never acquiesce to his demand and once made, Alfonso could not withdraw it, without looking like the fool he was.

The
Shaykh al-Ghuzat
Umar pushed back the bench from the table, startling the other occupant who shared the seating. The Sultan’s bodyguards looked around them, studying the room. Faraj assessed their tense mood. Twenty men were no match for the King’s nobles, but they would give their lives for their leader, if necessary. Did they deem it a suitable time to show their resolve?

Doñ Nuño Gonzalez stood. “Great King, may your humble vassal, who only wishes to be of assistance in this grave affair, be allowed to speak?”

Both King Alfonso and the Sultan turned and regardedhim with stern stares.

He ignored the warning echoes in their mutual gazes. “Your Majesty, in my time in Andalusia, I came to know the King of Granada as a proud and brave man. He is your vassal and you are his sovereign. Yet, he is a powerful and mighty King in his own land. If you would esteem him as a worthy vassal, I pray, let the King of Granada bow his head as he stands before you, rather than kneel in subjugation. By this action, great King, you would demonstrate that you deem him worthy to stand in your presence; a great ally to your kingdom and the legitimate ruler of his own.”

While Alfonso considered his advisor’s words, the Sultan locked eyes with Doñ Nuño. His steady gaze communicated volumes. Faraj relaxed when Doñ Nuño nodded and sat. The old man had done his last service for Gharnatah.

“We have too long been without the worthy counsel of Doñ Nuño Gonzalez. His words are good and just,” King Alfonso proclaimed. “The King of Granada shall stand before us with his head bowed to receive the knighthood.”

When the Castillan King tapped the Sultan’s shoulders with his heavy sword and uttered some obtuse language about the honor of knighthood, the courtiers cheered. Faraj rubbed his temples and prayed to get through the rest of the evening.

During the next days, the Castillan court feted them. They also attended two sessions of the King’s council, the
Cortes
. Faraj joined the nobles in tournaments of the sword and lance. Some ladies offered him tokens of their favor. He hesitated, but Doñ Nuño insisted that refusal would have been impolite. The Sultan laughed and promised he would not tell Fatima, for fear of rousing her jealousy.

The final day of their sojourn arrived. When one of the Queen’s pages arrived with a summons, Faraj was playing a game of chess with his master.

He read the note over the Sultan’s shoulder. “Do you worry she desires an assignation? The Queen seemed captivated by your win against her councilor in the contest of arms yesterday.”

The Sultan crumpled the note. “Come and let us see what this Queen wants.”

When they left the room, the pageboy waited at the end of the hall. He escorted them to a dimly lit chamber where the Castillan Queen, Violante de Aragon waited.

The daughter of King Jaime called the Conqueror and his Hungarian consort, the Castillan Queen appeared plain and unremarkable. Of an average height, she wore a gown of wool in a deep blue color. Her brown hair coiled on either side of her head and bound in a thick gold net, she sought to convey the appearance of royalty in her mantle lined with thick ermine and embroidered by gold thread. Recalling Fatima, Faraj thought his wife possessed a more regal bearing than this Queen, surrounded by her ladies.

Faraj translated the conversation between her and his father in-law. The Sultansaid, “The peace of God be with you, my lady.”

“I pray that the peace of God be with you also, my lord. Thank you for coming.”

“I could not ignore the gracious invitation, my lady.”

“We have enjoyed your presence. Your charm and dignity impressed me. You must understand if I say I did not know Moors were as civilized as Christians.”

“Moors do not often believe Christians can be as civilized as we are.”

Violante sniffed haughtily and gestured to an array of dishes on a table behind her.

The Sultan shook his head. “We have eaten this morning and so, must refuse. We are eager to return home.”

The Queen flashed a grin, exposing her yellowed teeth. “I have heard of the splendor of your capital city, great Sultan. You must miss your family, your wife and children, my lord?”

Muhammad II replied, “I am not married, my lady. My wife passed away some time ago. As for my children, I do miss them. I have a son and six daughters…no, I have seven daughters now, the last born but a few days before my arrival at Sevilla. All but the last are the children of my late wife.”

“Ah…I see.” By her reddened cheeks, it seemed the Queen understood the role of concubines in Moorish society. “I won’t keep you from them any longer. Permit me to explain the purpose of my request to see you. I speak for my husband the King.”

“If I might ask, why did the King not speak with me himself?”

Violante’s eyes narrowed. “Does it offend you to discuss matters of state between our two kingdoms with a woman?”

“No, though such a thing is hardly done in my land.”

“We have many differences, my lord, but some of our goals and desires are the same, such as a peaceful and secure future for our children, perhaps?”

“I would agree with such an observation, my lady.”

The Queen raised her chin a notch. “Understand then, in keeping with such desires, my lord the King wants your treaty with Castilla-Leon amended. The treaty must resolve the disagreement between you and your former allies, at least for a time. Your conflict affects the entire peninsula. He is aware the Marinids look upon this land with covetous eyes like the Almohade and Almoravid Empires did. If the Marinids try to emulate the glory of their predecessors, Granada, fractured by a civil war, cannot hold out. Peace with the enemy is the best deterrent against future aggression.”

After Faraj had translated her words, the Sultan stared, the corners of his mouth twitching. But this was not time for levity.

Queen Violante continued. “It would not be a betrayal of my husband’s confidence to tell you that before your arrival, he had considered an alliance with the Marinids to keep them out of the peninsula. The King would do anything to contain any threat from…the south.”

The Sultan shifted his stance. “By that, your husband means to contain all threats from the south, including Granada.”

The Queen made no reply.

“If I were to refuse to offer my enemies a truce,” the Sultan paused and tapped his chin with his forefinger, “what would happen then, my lady?”

Turning suddenly cold gray eyes upon him, Violante replied, “My husband would consider you to be in violation of the peace treaty you have signed here, for by your recklessness you would imperil the security of the entire peninsula. Such an action could not be ignored.”

A few hours later, the Sultan and his retinue departed for Gharnatah. Faraj reviewed the addendum to the peace treaty he had signed.

Muhammad II said, “Never mind the nonsense about a truce with the Ashqilula. The year shall pass. I have two new tasks for you when we arrive in Gharnatah. First, you shall convene with my counselors and share with them all you saw of the court of the Castillan King. I found the ministers’ functions to be quite interesting. I think a similar formation would benefit me. Indeed, of my counselors, some have no interest in statesmanship and think only of the riches to be won through their intrigues.”

Faraj frowned. “You want to convene a
Diwan
, a formal council of ministers?”

“Yes and you shall assist in its formation, modeled upon the Castillan King’s court, with our own functions.”

“As you wish. What is your second task?”

“You’ll enjoy that part much more, for it requires your…unique skills. And, it shall hasten our vengeance against the Ashqilula.”

Faraj looked over his shoulder to the walls of Christian Sevilla. The Ashqilula were not the only ones responsible for the pain he had suffered as a child. Though he and Doñ Nuño had parted cordially, he wondered when he might see the old man again, under different circumstances.

Chapter 16

The Assassin

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Rajab 672 AH (Granada, Andalusia: January AD 1274)

Fatima felt the eyes of her servant, Amoda, upon her as she paced the length of her bedchamber. She had to act. Whatever decision she made would have consequences for her marriage. Either, Faraj would hate her forever, or he would die. In the gilded cage on the table, the kite interrupted her worries with loud chirping. She smiled with the memory of the day Faraj gave her the pet bird. If he survived this, he might never forgive her. She could bear his displeasure, but she could not bear to lose him forever.

 She gripped the slip of parchment in her hand. Fighting against a heavy lump in her throat, she willed courage into her voice. “This letter damns me for a liar, but I won’t let fear keep me from acting. I cannot let the Ashqilula assassinate my husband, while I do nothing to save him. Bring your brother, Amoda, I need him now, more than ever.”

“Yes, my Sultana, at once.”

Amoda hurried away in a flurry of yellow silk.

Fatima returned to her bed and wrapped her shoulders in the multicolored silk coverlet.

Outside, a wintry chill descended on Gharnatah. Frigid morning air intruded through the lattice windows, despite the metal braziers at two corners of the room.

Her nails tapped on the bedpost. She studied Ulayyah’s script on the parchment, barely legible. Where was Niranjan?