Sultana (34 page)

The woman stated, “Nothing you would believe, princess of Gharnatah.”

Nur al-Sabah pecked at her arm and whispered something, but Fatima stilled her and leaned toward the gypsy. “Why do you call me a princess?”

“It is what you are. As I have said, the future of Gharnatah lies within you. Already, you carry one of its heirs in your womb, your son, who shall become the Sultan of Gharnatah.”

Shams ed-Duna pressed her hand against Fatima’s shoulder, but she shrugged her stepmother off. “If you knew anything of me, you would know that no child of mine could ever be Sultan. It is treason to suggest it, when the Sultan already has an heir. Besides, I would know if I am with child.”

“I speak only of what I see, noble one. You are a princess of Gharnatah. You carry a son. One day, he shall become the Sultan. Such is the fate that awaits you, whether you would wish it or not.”

When the women returned to
al-Qal’at Al-Hamra
in the early evening, Fatima sagged from exhaustion. The
kadin
and her stepmother stayed with her in her house. Shams ed-Duna remained so unnerved by the gypsy woman, she insisted on summoning a midwife from the Jewish quarter, whom all the mothers at court respected and had relied upon.

Fatima dismissed the musings of the gypsy, until Amoda remarked that her monthly flow had not arrived.

Fatima asked, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Amoda shook her head. “I did not want to watch you suffer again. I was wrong before.”

Fatima smiled and patted her hand. “Fetch the midwife.”

She remembered her last night with Faraj. In their angry passion, had they created a child?

When the midwife and her assistant arrived, Amoda remained with her. Shams ed-Duna and the
kadin
hovered nearby. The midwife asked the last date of her link with the moon, which Amoda knew. Then in her bedchamber, the woman examined her. She probed her breasts. Fatima sucked in her breath at the dull ache her touch caused, while the midwife commented to her assistant, about the darkening around the nipples. She palmed the pelvis, while her assistant asked questions.

“Have you felt sick at all, at morning or in the night, my Sultana?”

When Fatima shook her head, she continued, “Do you feel ill-tempered in any way?”

Fatima glanced at Amoda before answering. She and her sister had endured Fatima’s sporadic bouts of irritability for the past few weeks.

Amoda said, “My Sultana has not been herself.”

Grateful that Amoda had not resented her too much, Fatima added, “I assumed it was all worry for my husband. He defends the citadel at al-Jazirah al-Khadra.”

The midwife’s assistant nodded. “Have you experienced any pain?”

“Sometimes in my lower back at times when I use the chamber pot, which I have been using more than normal.”

The midwife and her assistant looked at each other. Then the midwife said, “You are with child, my Sultana, I am certain of it. I congratulate you.”

Shams ed-Duna let out an excited squeal. Fatima pressed a hand against her lower abdomen. It did not feel any different. So many thoughts coursed through her mind, which she struggled to form into cohesive sentences.

“I’ve wanted a baby for so long. Why now?”

The midwife asked, “Tell me, has your husband changed his daily pattern lately?”

“Months ago, he suffered an injury at the siege of Malaka. When he was healing, he took shorter walks and did not visit the
hammam
for a period.” She paused in midsentence. “Do you think Faraj is responsible for why we’ve had no children?”

The midwife nodded. “I’ve consulted with other women. One in particular could not have a child until her husband stopped frequenting the public baths in the summer. Within a month of his change in behavior, his wife conceived. Admittedly, I serve the wives of many men who frequent the
hammam
daily and have no problem impregnating their women, but perhaps for some men, repeated use of the hot baths affects their potency. I have no proof, only the changes in the males’ behavior, then the pregnancies.”

Fatima palmed her stomach again, scarce believing the miracle could have come about so easily. “Does this mean my husband has to stop bathing altogether? I could bear many things for love of him, but not his stench if he stopped visiting the
hammam
.”

The midwife’s laughter rumbled through the room. Fatima joined her, a buoyant feeling overwhelming her heart. At last, she would become a mother.

Chapter 26

 Honeyed Pleasures

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Ramadan 677 AH (Granada, Andalusia: January AD 1279)

“Shams, I can’t believe you would betray me in this way!”

Fatima exploded in frustration, coupled with fear and the burgeoning panic of the last six months. Her raw emotions now channeled themselves into a bitter confrontation with her stepmother.

She continued, “How could you do it, betray my confidence in this way? Why did you tell my father about my husband’s
jawari
? I shared how they resent me because I wanted your advice. I never expected you would tell my father. Now he insists I return to the palace! I want my child born at home in his father’s house.”

From her position near the latticed window of her receiving chamber, Shams ed-Duna rolled her eyes. “I didn’t betray your confidence, but if you won’t acknowledge the danger your husband’s concubines pose, I cannot allow it to be on my conscience.”

“I am not in danger in my own house!” Fatima ground the words out between clenched teeth. “I have my Niranjan, Leeta and Amoda.”

Shams interrupted. “Accidents can happen even with your servants to protect you. You are heavy with child. At least you’ll be away from that nest of vipers. You may not like it, but you shall do as your father commands.”

Fraught with annoyance, Fatima threw up her hands in disgusted resignation. She sank on one of the multicolored cushions lining the wall.

Nur al-Sabah sat between them on a damask cushion while nursing her newborn baby, Princess Battah. She said, “Fatima, your father and your stepmother are right to feel concern. You have told Shams how Prince Faraj’s women resent you, how the Genoese slave hates you in particular. What if one of them tried to hurt you? You must be cautious with the Sultan’s grandchild.”

Betrayal stabbed at Fatima’s heart. “You side with her against me?”

Nur al-Sabah lifted Battah from her breast to her narrow shoulder, patting her daughter’s back with a slim hand. “I side with no one. I do not want to see you hurt. I know how important this child is to you.”

Shams ed-Duna sat at Fatima’s feet. Her warm brown eyes compelled Fatima to look at her. “We care for you. When you told me of how the
jawari
treated you, I felt sorry. I’ve never experienced any rivalry in my husband’s house.”

Shams ed-Duna’s gaze drifted to her friend, settling her daughter in the hand-carved cradle. Nur al-Sabah returned the smile she offered.

Her gaze flitting back to Fatima, Shams continued. “I don’t want to worry that one of your husband’s women may try to hurt you. That is why I shared your concerns with your father. He agrees with me. Your safety is important to us. It is the sole reason he insists you return to this harem, with your servants, until your husband returns.”

Fatima refused to give in just yet. “Samara and Hayfa are tolerable.”

Shams said, “Yet the slave Baraka thinks you are a threat. Would you risk your safety and the health of your baby just to prove your father and me wrong?”

Sighing, Fatima shook her head. “I suppose you’re right. It seems so long since Faraj left Gharnatah. Sometimes, I think I hear his footsteps at night, but when I wake, I am in the bed alone. Being in our house is a comfort for me. Yet, it is also painful when I think of how long he has been gone. I am so big now. I doubt he would even recognize me. That is, if he ever returns home to see me before our child is born.”

Of a sudden, she burst into tears, great shuddering sobs. Her stepmother and Nur al-Sabah consoled her, but a long time passed before she stopped crying.

Shams ed-Duna cupped her cheeks. Fatima sighed. “I have no idea where that came from.”

Nur al-Sabah said, “You suffer a tremendous strain. You find yourself with child when the father is absent. Gone to war no less, facing dangers women cannot know.”

Shams ed-Duna urged, “Won’t you reconsider and write to your husband of the child you carry? You should make him come home.”

When Fatima first learned of the pregnancy, she insisted anyone who might communicate with Faraj should send no word of the child. It seemed an arbitrary reason to her father, but she wanted to reveal the news in person. However, as time went on, she began to wonder about the wisdom of her decision. Was he ever going to return?

She said, “I know he would come, I do not doubt it. How can I think of my own desire to have him near when he, and every husband or father is needed at al-Jazirah al-Khadra to withstand the Castillan siege?”

Nur al-Sabah said, “The Sultan has demanded Marinid aid to lift the siege, in exchange for their bid to have the ports back. Now that they have suffered under al-Hakam pirates, and entreated your father’s forgiveness and a renewal of the old alliance, your father shall ensure he gains as well. I do not think he expected the siege would last so many months. If the Marinid navy sails from Sebta soon, your husband and other husbands may come home.”

Fatima frowned. “How do you know of my father’s request for Marinid aid? He only told me last night when he dined with me and my sisters.”

Nur al-Sabah replied, “Your father shares much with me. He may not ask my advice, but he confides in me. Does that bother you?”

She drew away, her palms flat in her lap. Fatima grasped her hand and Sham ed-Duna’s own. “I’m glad my father has both of you in his life. My father loved my mother, but she never gave him the affection and tenderness he has found now. I never imagined he would experience the complete love of a woman. Our God has doubly blessed him with a devoted wife and
kadin
. I feel blessed also, to have such companions in my wearisome days. You must both promise we shall always come together like this, as friends, until the end of our days.”

Nur al-Sabah’s eyes misted over and Shams ed-Duna smiled, blinking back tears.

Fatima returned to her house in the evening. While Leeta brushed her hair, she explained what Shams ed-Duna had done.

Behind her, Leeta said, “She’s right, my princess. You didn’t think a few trinkets would make your husband’s women accept you?”

“No but I could have hoped it would,” Fatima murmured. Did everyone think her behavior idiotic, even her servants?

After a time, Leeta added, “It was not foolish hope my Sultana, but truly, returning to the Sultan’s harem may be best. Surely, the siege shall lift and the master may return soon. Oh, I almost forgot. The Crown Prince sent an invitation for you to dine with him tomorrow evening.”

Fatima frowned. “Why would he do that? Muhammad has avoided me for months, ever since Father announced my pregnancy. Whenever I see him, my brother has little to say.”

“His Highness has a mercurial temper, as you would know, my Sultana.”

“Too mercurial, but I suppose it would be wrong to refuse him. I’ll dine with him.”

Just after sunset on the next day, Marzuq escorted Fatima to her brother’s residence.

The steward said, “I’ll take good care of the house while you’re in your father’s harem, my Sultana.”

“My husband trusts you and I trust you, Marzuq. This move is temporary. I shall come back when Faraj returns. When I am gone, send word when you want to discuss accounts.”

“Please do not trouble yourself, my mistress, I shall come to you.”

“I’m pregnant, Marzuq, not sickly. Keep the peace of my husband’s house, please. I know the concubines can be tiresome.”

Marzuq nodded, his face drawn, possibly at the prospect of being alone with the harpies.

At the entrance to the house, a slave announced Fatima’s arrival. She followed him into the dining area, where Muhammad stood. He was the image of their father with his lustrous, dark hair and the hooked nose as all men in their family possessed. Despite his handsomeness, she took no pleasure in the sight of him.  

He smiled and bowed. “Welcome, sister.”

She forced a reply. “I thank you. Your invitation surprised me.”

“I am glad you came.”

He helped lower her clumsy bulk to the floor cushions. She settled herself in an ungainly manner, which must have looked ridiculous, but he said nothing.

He sat beside her. “The child thrives within you. I envy your happiness.”

She did not doubt it, as she removed her veils. “I’m content.”

Slaves arrived with the first courses of the meal.

Muhammad said, “If you would allow it, perhaps we might wait a bit for Zuleika. I asked her to join us. She has been sad of late since the loss of her third child. I thought female company would cheer her disappointment at yet another failure.”

Though she bristled at his choice of words about Zuleika’s troubles, Fatima said, “These misfortunes are a temporary delay to your happiness. Wait another six months and try again for a baby.”

Zuleika arrived. Fatima greeted the
jarya
amiably. She was beautiful with delicate features and a serene nature. Despite her tragedies, she remained pleasant and engaging.

After dinner, slaves introduced wonderful desserts, yogurt scented infused with jasmine and vanilla, cheese-filled pastries and cakes slathered with fragrant honey. Muhammad filled Zuleika and Fatima’s plates but ate none of the desserts. Craving somewhat sour foods, Fatima enjoyed the yogurt and a few of the cheese pastries.

Her brother said, “Sister, you are eating for two, yet you have not tried the cakes.”

She replied, “I am too full of your cook’s delicious
‘tharid
to have even one honey cake, so I leave them to Zuleika’s enjoyment.”