Sultana's Legacy (13 page)

She sank down on his stool while he repeated the words. She did not know what to make of anything he said. Confusion tainted her joy, as his mutterings grew feverish. His frenetic steps matched the fervor of his words. He spoke words she could understand, just an incoherent babble as he whirled back and forth. She stood and grabbed his shoulders. While she held him steady, his gaze raked over her face and he blinked rapidly, as though unsure if he was seeing her.

“Father, you are not well.”

He stared in silence. She leaned toward him.

“Father, can you understand what I’m telling you?”

A dark scowl marred his face and he wrenched himself from her grasp.

“Of course, I can! I am not deaf or foolish, Fatima, no matter that you seem to think I am. I have done what you wanted. I freed your husband. Still, you harangue me, just as your mother did. Perhaps, you are more like her than I realized. Yes, she was just the same, like you. She didn’t want you to marry Faraj, you know, told me so many times….”

His voice trailed off and he covered his face with his fingers. Soft sobs echoed through the quiet room, before he lowered his hands again. His frigid stare sent shards of ice through her, as bitter as the chill outside.

“You shouldn’t do that all the time, make me think of her whenever I see you. You know I loved her. I loved her too much. I hated her also. She was never good to me, or you, your brother and sisters. You shouldn’t remind me of her.”

His hands tightened into fists. She drew back, as his features hardened. For the first time in her life, she feared he might strike her. Something he had never done.

He shook his head. “I know you cannot help it. You have her nature. I know that. I have always known it, always….”

As he fell into disjointed rambling again, she gazed at him, incredulous.

“Father, truly, you are unwell. I think you should go to your bed.”

His voice convulsed in bubbly laughter. His actions startled her more than the slap she had anticipated. He drew back, holding his belly as he bent over. A snort escaped him before a wheezing chuckle followed.

He wiped the corners of his eyes with gnarled fingers and then shook his head at her. “I am in excellent health or so my physician said when I summoned him earlier.”

Fatima wondered whether the same doctor from many years ago remained at the Sultan’s side. He must be an old man by now. Why would her father have him shuffling about in the cold at such an early hour?

“It is not even daybreak, yet you have called for your personal physician already?”

“He sees me twice a day, once early in the morning and then in the evening, before I enjoy my meals.”

“Twice a day? Why would that be necessary if you were not ill?”

“It was Muhammad’s idea. He recommended the man after my old doctor died in his sleep.”

Confusion muddied her thoughts. She could no longer bear to look at him. The man who stood before her was no longer the loving, learned father she remembered. Something had affected these sudden shifts in his mood. How else could she explain his giddy euphoria as he spoke of releasing Faraj, followed by his tears, scorn and laughter, which then devolved into mere tolerance? Such a tempestuous emotional display was too abrupt to be normal.

He shuffled to her side and took her hands in his. “Fatima, look at me.”

She feared what she would see. Yet, when she turned to him, his face no longer bore the animated expression of just a moment ago.

He pulled her close in a familiar hug. “Don’t be afraid. Your brother takes care of me. He is dutiful toward his father.”

She sighed against his shoulder. “Still, I remain concerned.”

A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I know you do. All daughters worry for their aged fathers. Be assured, I have my health and strength.”

She drew back in the circle of his arms and looked up at him. How she wanted to believe him.

He traced a finger across her brow. “I shall release your husband today. When you are well, when you have healed from your travail, you may join him at Malaka.”

When she nodded, he kissed her brow and hugged her again. She held him closer this time, still fighting against tears that fell anyway. They should have been tears of happiness, but they were not.

***

Only one person knew her father as intimately as Fatima did. Nur al-Sabah could help her understand some of the changes in him. Fatima left his quarter and went across the harem to the
kadin
’s apartments, opposite her stepmother’s own at the end of the hall. Niranjan trailed a discreet distance behind her. His familiar footfalls could not quell the fear and uncertainty crowding her heart.

She knocked at the door twice, before Nur al-Sabah’s Galician body slave, Sabela, opened the door. Sabela’s eyes widened. She glanced over her shoulder, before her thinned lips softened into an insipid grin.

Fatima asked. “Is the lady Nur still asleep? I know the hour is yet early.”

Dim light filtered through the silk curtains draped over the archway behind her. Sabela hesitated before she spoke. “No, my Sultana, but….”

Fatima slipped past her. “Then, I must see her.”

“Wait, the
kadin
is busy!”

Fatima pushed the curtains aside. Nur sat with her back to the entrance, hunched over a low table. She shouted over her shoulder.

“Sabela, what are you doing? Come quickly, you must take this to the Sultan. See that he is alone when you bring it to him. No one must see him swallow it.”

Fatima rounded the table and stared down at the
kadin
.

Nur gaped at her with a face flushed pink. “Fatima! You startled me. You should be resting.”

On the table, a small silver cup held a thick mixture with small bits of yellowed pulp floating inside.

“What is that you’re giving my father?”

Nur took the goblet in her hand. Fatima’s gaze froze on the drinking vessel, which Nur held with such care.

Her heart hammered deep inside her chest, ready to burst forth. She closed her eyes for a moment and then scrutinized Nur. The pink hue that colored her face now deepened.

Fatima knocked the cup out of her hand, spilling the viscous liquid all over the table. Nur stood and drew back, gasping at the stains on her trousers.

“Have you lost your senses?”

Fatima’s hands curled into tight fists. “Oh, no, I assure you. What poison were you concocting?”

The
kadin
’s eyes widened. “Poison? Fatima, I would never…you think I would dare poison the Sultan?”

“Then tell me what you were doing! What were you preparing to give him?”

Her failure to answer stirred a fury in Fatima. She lunged at her. Her nails pressed against the large vein at the side of her throat. She drove her backward. Nur hit the wall behind her with a strangled cry. Her screams vied with her servant’s own.

“Tell me, you viper!”

“It’s nothing!”

“Liar! Why were you telling your slave to be so secretive, if you did not want to harm my father? You shall tell me, or I swear I’ll choke the very breath from you!”

 Strong hands grabbed Fatima’s shoulders and pulled her away from the
kadin
. “My Sultana, what are you doing?”

She struggled against Niranjan’s hold. “Let me go! She is as a snake in my father’s house! He loves her.” She stabbed a finger at Nur. “He gave you a home, children, jewels, slaves to obey your every whim. Yet, you have betrayed him. You betrayed me! You had my trust and spat on it, when you tried to hurt my father!”

Nur clutched at her throat, at the red marks where Fatima’s nails had scored her pale flesh.

Fatima lunged for her again, but Niranjan’s grip tightened. “My Sultana, please stop! You do not know what you are saying.”

She railed at him. “Do not protect her! You don’t know she’s trying to poison Father.”

“No, my Sultana,” Niranjan said. “I know what the
kadin
was doing. I helped her.”

She pulled free from his hold, shrank away and staggered to the opposite wall. She curled at its base. They were deceived, both she and her father, by those whom they trusted. When Niranjan advanced on her, she warded him off with her hands. “Get away from me!”

He knelt at her side. She closed her eyes and blotted out the sight of him. She would have never believed it possible, but he had shattered the trust between them, a bond born out of her mother’s cruel murder.

“My Sultana, please listen to me. It was no poison. It was the juice from mandrakes. It could never harm anyone. The Sultan desired it to increase his virility. The
kadin
knew my understanding of the nature of plants. She asked me to secure the mandrakes, knowing that I could render them harmless.”

Fatima cupped her forehead and chuckled.

 “By the Prophet’s beard, Niranjan! The Sultan has fathered nineteen children! Yet, you would have me believe he needs something to maintain his potency.”

“My Sultana, your father has sired three sons and sixteen daughters in his lifetime, but he has also aged. He is not the man of youth and vitality from your girlhood. The last child born in this harem was the lady Nur’s Nasr. That was seven years ago. For a man of your father’s potency, it is perhaps difficult to acknowledge that he may no longer be capable of siring children. The
kadin
only sought a way to restore his vigor. She never intended to harm him. I would never have allowed it, if I thought the juice of the mandrake could hurt him.”

When Niranjan stood and clasped his hands together, Fatima looked up at him.

He said, “The lady Nur remembered that in her village, the Christians said that mandrake made men and women fertile and restored their desires. Nur al-Sabah and I discussed its properties with the Sultan. He believed it would help. I procured it and the
kadin
gives it to the Sultan in private. How do you think he would feel if anyone else knew he needed something to maintain his stamina? Your father has his pride, my Sultana, as all men do. He would feel great shame. That is why Sabela visits him when he is alone.”

“But mandrake is poisonous! Everyone knows that.”

“No, my Sultana, only when the fruit is not ripe. Otherwise, it cannot harm. You were wrong to accuse the lady Nur. The
kadin
loves your father. She could never hurt him.”

A little sob hiccupped in the room. Fatima’s brother Nasr stood at the archway, partially hidden behind the curtain. Tears streamed down his face. He must have witnessed the entire exchange.

Fatima stood and stretched out her hand. “Nasr, come.”

He fled into his mother’s bedchamber with a long wail. Sabela followed him.

A heavy weight settled in Fatima’s stomach. She glanced at Nur. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Nur shook her head. Her soft tresses cascaded around her shoulders, but could not hide the reddened marks covering her neck.

“I have to comfort Nasr. Please leave, Fatima.”

She followed in the wake of Sabela and her son.

Niranjan stared at Fatima, his gaze soft and filled with compassion. She could not meet his stare. When she left the chamber, he followed in silence.

***

Later in the morning, Fatima told Shams what had happened. Her stepmother faced the window. The morning breeze stirred her thick braids and the damask wall hangings.

“I am less certain about the effects of mandrake than Nur. It was enough that your father believed, Fatima.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Shams turned to her with an upraised eyebrow. “You ask after all you have suffered? I thought you had enough burdens to bear. Besides, there was no need for you to know of my husband’s failings. Such matters are the concerns of a wife and a
kadin
, not his children.”

Fatima sobbed into her hands. Shams came to her and stroked her arm.

“Nur loves your father. I adore the Sultan and cherish him for the children and the respect he has given me as his wife. Nur and I, we would never do anything to harm him. We value your friendship too much. You have hurt Nur al-Sabah badly, beyond those marks I saw on her neck. Yes, I spoke with her before you and I met. That you could think her capable of such deceit…I think you have wounded her to her very soul.”

Haniya begged entry at Shams ed-Duna’s door. She gave Fatima a letter, before she departed.

As Fatima read, a deep sigh escaped her. Would everything go wrong at this moment?

“What troubles you?”

“It’s a letter from Malaka. My baby Saliha is very ill. The pox has descended on the city. The other children have all endured it, but for fear of their safety, my sister Alimah believes they should abandon Malaka. Amoda writes that my sister has taken the entire family to an estate in the mountains of al-Bajara, which Faraj gave to Alimah’s son, so that he might have a home of his own. I must return. Father said he would release Faraj today.”

“Fatima, you are in no condition to travel. The midwife cautioned you to let your body heal. You cannot risk it. Your Amoda shall care for Saliha. You cannot tend to your daughter in such a weakened state. You must stay here.”

“What sort of mother am I? I have abandoned my children to sickness and death for their father’s sake. Shall my heart always be torn in two?”

Shams ed-Duna sighed and returned to the window that overlooked the garden courtyard. “You are a loving mother and wife. Trust in Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful that all shall be well with your daughter. She shall have her father again. It must be enough for now.”

Prince Faraj

The light blinded Faraj, as he staggered out of the dank cold at
al-Quasaba
into the full light of midday. The sentry behind him shoved him up the last of the stone-carved steps and into the open courtyard. He glanced around him at the stone-built barracks of the Sultan’s warriors, many of whom lingered in their doorways and eyed him.

He stumbled on a sharp, red stone. It cut into the bare soles of his feet. The jailor had taken his shoes and weapons and consigned him to darkness, with only the rats and the echo of Khalid’s voice in the adjoining cell for company. Even now, his captain supported him with a hand on his elbow. He nodded to Khalid, grateful.