Sultana (7 page)

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes, but….”

“Do not be fearful, my child. Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful shall watch over you, all of your days.”

Aisha opened her arms and beckoned her close. She hesitated just before flinging herself into that embrace, finding the comfort she had never known.

Fatima stirred groggily. Opening her eyes, she realized her head rested on the leather satchel from which Aisha had retrieved the brush. The pallet cushioned her again, though someone had moved it next to the brazier. With a quick glance at the water clock, she realized the fifth copper bowl was nearly full.

The slave Ulayyah stood with a platter of uneaten food before Aisha at the window, their heads bent together. Fatima closed her eyes and listened to their conversation.

“…life is forfeit, but you can help me save my daughter. Go to the Inn of the Merchants in the heart of the marketplace. The Sitt al-Tujjar arrived there two days ago. Give her my message.”

“Mistress, my lord Ibrahim shall surely know that I am missing.”

“Why should he care?”

“Because, my lord Abdallah sent me to him after they met. He always sends me to him, to be his…companion.”

Silence followed. Fatima kept herself very still on the pallet, though she did not think either of the women were paying attention to her.

“Ulayyah, is Ibrahim the father of the child you carry?”

“Yes and of the son I have already borne, though he would never acknowledge him.” The slave’s voice was low and bitter. “I have every reason to hate him.”

“Then, do this to thwart his intentions. He shall take Fatima to Qumarich. His fortress is impregnable, on a rock promontory with sheer sides except for one that is gated and heavily guarded. If he steals her away, her family shall never see her again. I cannot bear to think of my child in his clutches. It would truly be a worse fate than even her grandfather would have in mind for her.”

A little squeak escaped Fatima’s throat. Surely, her grandfather could never be as cruel as Ibrahim.

Aisha continued. “If you want me to believe Abdallah’s vow that he did not betray me, save my daughter.”

Then silk swished across the floor.

“She’s awake. She’s listening to us,” Aisha said. Silk rustled again before long fingers cupped Fatima’s chin. “Open your eyes, my girl.”

When Fatima did so, Aisha hovered at her side, with a watchful Ulayyah behind her.

“Mistress, I must go,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door.

“Leave the food, Ulayyah, or they shall become suspicious. Go to the Sitt al-Tujjar. If Abdallah would prove himself to me, he should give you the payment for the Jewess.”

“I understand, Mistress.” Ulayyah glanced at Fatima before she left the room.

When they were alone again, Aisha sat down on the pallet. She tore the flatbread and broke a piece of cheese. She gave the rest of the meal to Fatima. “Eat. You shall need strength at dawn.”

Fatima chewed the hard cheese, nearly choking on it. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”

“I intend to save your life and get you far from this place. Eat and stop asking questions I cannot answer.” 

Just then, the door latch clicked.

Fatima stopped chewing. Her breath escaped in a short gasp as the Ashqilula chieftains entered.

Ibrahim said, “There. You both look much better now that you are eating.”

Abu Muhammad crossed the distance between them and stopped at Fatima’s feet. Although she trembled, she stared up at him in silence and would not retreat or move closer to Aisha.

“This one has strength, but it is clear she is the Crown Prince’s whelp.”

Ibrahim bent and reached for her, fingers tangling in her curls. His dark eyes gleamed. He jerked her forward. Wisps of hair tore from the roots. Pain seared her scalp, but she pressed her lips together and smothered her cry.

Aisha dropped the flatbread. “Don’t dare touch my daughter.”

Ibrahim swung his hand wide. The blow connected with Aisha’s cheek. She crashed with a sickening thud against the alabaster wall behind her. Fatima reached for her, but Ibrahim’s cruel grip tightened. Aisha clutched the side of her head and righted herself. Blood smeared the wall.

“Soon enough, she shall be the least of your concerns, woman.”

Ibrahim leaned closer to Fatima and smiled. His breath smelled of cinnamon, his teeth white and even. “Yes, this one shall breed strong sons and beautiful daughters for the Ashqilula. Not like her aunt Mu’mina, who managed to bear me only one weak-willed son.”

When he released her, she jerked away and hugged Aisha. “Are you hurt?”

Aisha groaned. “Do not worry for me.”

Fatima glared at the chieftains. “My father shall kill you for hurting her and me.”

“No, little Fatima, your father shall never see either of you again.”

 He stood and wiped the hand that had slapped Aisha on the side of his trousers. “The preparations for our wedding feast are at hand.”

Still clutching her head, Aisha whispered. “She is already married, you must know that.”

Ibrahim laughed at her. “Ismail’s boy? He is of no consequence, just like his dead father. Besides, I know the marriage remains unconsummated. It seems Faraj has qualms about bedding his child bride.”

His gaze fell on Fatima again. “I have no such reservations. Her blood shall stain my bed soon enough.”

She huddled against Aisha, who clutched her tightly.

Ibrahim knelt before Fatima once more. He framed her face in his large hands and forced her to look at him.

“I shall sire beautiful daughters on you, ones with eyes of fire like yours, but you shall first give me sons, strong sons to claim the throne of Gharnatah. What do you say, my princess?”

She clamped her mouth shut again. His grip on her flesh tightened. She sucked in all the spittle she could and spat. A white blob landed on his face. He grabbed her hand, crushing her tiny wrist. He used the back of her hand and wiped the spittle from his cheek. Then he shoved her back against the wall.

At his side, Abu Muhammad said, “Do not taint her too much, cousin.”

Ibrahim stood “No bruises shall ever mar her face, but when she is disobedient, she shall learn never to test my patience. When I have her in my bed as my lawful wife and my child is in her belly, her grandfather the old fool shall know I have defeated his plans. Now, what shall we do about her traitorous mother? Honor demands a decision.”

Aisha’s trembling coursed through her body and Fatima felt her shaking, before Aisha stood and stared at both men.

“Do what you must with me, but I pray, do not let my daughter see it.”

Fatima clutched at the folds of her
jubba
. “No, stay with me! We have to stay together.”

Ibrahim chuckled. “Foolish girl.” He turned to his companion. “Take her for a while, if you still want her. Do not deny yourself a little pleasure, before the end.”

Although his gaze was hard and his mouth a thin, firm line, Abu Muhammad shook his head. “I am sorry, Aisha but it truly would have been better if you had died years ago. Instead your father broke our betrothal and wed you to the Sultan’s son.” He glanced at Ibrahim. “I want no part in her fate. I am returning to Qumarich in advance of your wedding feast.”

Ibrahim replied, “Coward. Take that wretch, Abdallah, with you. I don’t trust him.”

Abu Muhammad bowed and turned. Halfway to the door, he spun on his heels.

“And, what if he should ask after his sister’s welfare?”

Ibrahim laughed, throwing back his head covered in a black turban. “I do not doubt your ability to tell lies, cousin.”

When Abu Muhammad left, Ibrahim eyed Aisha. Then he drew his long sword from its sheath. Traces of dried blood coated the metal. “Kneel, woman.”

Fatima’s heart lurched inside her. She covered her mouth with her trembling hand. “No, my lord! Please, you can’t.”

Aisha hushed her. Fatima grabbed at the hem of her mother’s robe again, her cries buried in the silk. “Please don’t leave me,
Ummi
. Don’t….”

Aisha crouched beside her and held her shaking hands. “How sweet you are. At the end, I finally hear you call me ‘Mother’ as you should have always done. Forgive me for never letting you say it before now. It is the most beautiful word I have ever heard.

“Have courage, this shall soon be over. Never show your fear before the enemy. He shall only use it to defeat you. Keep your wits and survive another day and the next. Be happy in your marriage to Faraj, unlike mine. Above all else, love your children. Show them your devotion every day of their lives. Tell them how precious they are to you, always. Never leave them in doubt of your love. Never doubt my love for you again. It is unending, not even death can stop it. And, remember your promises to me.”

She backed away even as Fatima reached for her desperately. “Now, close your eyes, child. This horrid night has been naught more than a bad dream and soon you shall awaken, in your father’s palace.”

“No! I won’t pretend.”

“You must heed me in this, the last request I shall ever make of you.”

“No,
Ummi
! I cannot.”

Ibrahim growled low in his throat and hauled Aisha against him by the collar of her robe, before he shoved her to the ground. On her hands and knees, she bowed her head, leaving her neck exposed. “Avenge me, daughter.”

Despite the tears blurring her vision, Fatima stared straight ahead. When she blinked, the terrible whoosh of Ibrahim’s sword came down in a terrifying arc. His eyes glittered like black opals, lips pulled back over his teeth in a savage growl. Warm blood sprayed her face. Aisha’s body sagged and sprawled forward. A viscous blotch spilled and drained from the still form. It trickled between the tiles and into the water channel. Fatima drew her knees up, rested her chin on them and covered her face with her arms.

Chapter 5

Vows

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Muharram 664 AH (Granada, Andalusia: October AD 1265)

Heavy footfalls on the marble barely warned Fatima. As Ibrahim roughly seized her and threw her over his shoulder, her limbs flailed. Her tiny fists battered his back, as he stepped over the headless body and headed for the door.

Fatima’s screams pierced the rafters, as she stretched out her hands toward the murdered figure. “No,
Ummi
,
Ummi
!”

Although she struggled and twisted, Ibrahim’s firm grip encased her. “She can’t help you now.”

He took her down the darkened hallway and turned to the right, just before reaching the room where she had seen her grandmother. Did the lady Saliha remain alive? If she had the gift of prophecy, had she already guessed her daughter was dead?

Ibrahim brought her down two flights of stairs. They entered a narrow corridor lit with a few torches. There were no windows, only satchels made of hemp stacked up along the wall.

He hefted her into his arms. She dug her teeth into the only exposed area, his bare neck. He screamed and released his hold. 

The base of her skull exploded in splinters of shuddering pain. Orbs of light danced before her eyelids. She went limp. He raised a heavy boot and ground it into her hand, flattening it against the cold floor. When she cried out, he pressed harder. ‘I’ll break every bone, if you don’t stop screaming.”

He bent and grabbed her by the neck, hauling her up. She clawed at his hand with her tiny fingers, her legs thrashing through the air.

“Open the storeroom.”

Someone unseen behind her jangled keys and turned a lock. The room brimmed to the ceiling with wooden crates and more hemp sacks. Ibrahim dropped her inside the doorway. Her elbow jammed against the hard tiles. Rough hemp pressed against her back through her silken tunic. A painful wheeze tightened her chest and she coughed, gasping for air.

Outside the room, Ibrahim jabbed a finger at the person whom she still could not see. “Give me all of the keys. No one enters. She does not leave until I come for her. If she escapes, I shall kill you and every last slave in Abdallah’s service.”

“Yes, master.”

A lean, bronze-skinned man stepped into view. As he bowed and handed the keys to Ibrahim, his dark eyes met Fatima’s own. Then he turned away and walked the length of the hall.

Ibrahim wiped a smear of blood from his neck and looked at his stained fingers with widening, dark eyes. They narrowed as he turned his gaze on her. “You shall regret that. Your father has obviously spoiled you. When we are married, you shall learn the ways of a proper wife.”

“I hate you! You killed my mother!” 

He pulled the door shut with a heavy thud and left her in darkness.

She reared up, her chest and throat burning each time she inhaled. Something small and furry squeaked and rummaged between her toes. She drew her knees up. Although it was safe to cry, when no one else could see her, she swiped at each tear before it could fall.

Crying would not help her. She had to escape, return to her father and let him know her mother had died. The horror of all she had seen did not frighten or make her sad. Something had awoken inside her that she did not understand. It exploded when she had bitten into Ibrahim’s throat. The power of it left her shaking, but also aware that she had to live, if only to destroy Ibrahim by whatever means she could manage. 

Raised voices came to her from beyond the door. “I don’t care what he’s asking for, Abu Muhammad! I’ll kill him if he becomes too suspicious.”

“Enough blood has stained our hands today, Ibrahim. We have to find another way out of the city. The guards have not opened the southern gates.”

“But it’s nearly dawn. We can’t leave with the trade caravan, unless they open those gates!”