Sultana's Legacy (16 page)

The winds whispered in a mournful lament, shrouding the shores of Malaka in an icy grip. Faraj stood with his head bowed at the site of the small grave, newly dug in the past week. The diadem of star thistles, which his daughter Mumina had set on the burial place yesterday, shifted in the breeze. Soon, flowers littered the mound. He picked one and twirled the green stem with its yellow petals. Then the wind snatched and carried it away.

Behind him, Khalid cleared his throat. Faraj stared at him, wordless. His captain gazed at the grave, with the same wounded look he had borne every day since the funeral.

“What is it, captain?”

“My prince,” he began, pausing at a sudden hitch in his voice. “You asked me to inform you when your wife’s caravan approached the citadel.”

Faraj clutched the blue-black mourning beads draped around his neck. “Thank you.”

Khalid looked at the burial mound again, now stripped bare of the flowers. “The Sultana shall blame herself for not having arrived sooner. This shall be very hard for her to accept.”

“Fatima shall survive this. She is strong, perhaps even stronger than I ever understood.”

Faraj clasped his hands behind his back. The scars at his wrists itched as they scraped against each other.

He left the small
rawda
, passing under the long shadows of pine and eucalyptus trees at the periphery. They remained stoic sentinels, stiff in the late afternoon breeze. There were several other graves in this small cemetery. His mother and father’s resting places were at the northern fringe. Now, another member of his family had joined them.

Khalid fell into step beside him, but Faraj shook his head. “You may retire. I shall speak with my wife alone.”

The captain nodded, as he shuffled the dirt with his boot.

Faraj rested a hand on his shoulder. “There are long, sad days ahead, in which we may comfort each other.”

As Khalid returned to the gravesite, Faraj continued to the house alone. He bypassed walls covered with ivy. Rows of bougainvillea and wisteria hung from boughs draped over the masonry. The stone path between the hanging flowers led to a terraced courtyard, ringed with slender columns that supported horseshoe arches. He trailed his fingers through the fountain, which marked the entrance to the house. Water spilled over into fish-shaped basins extending around the base and flowed along the channels.

A horse snorted and he looked up. The beast’s breath billowed from flaring nostrils. Its rider dismounted and stood beside the gray-colored mount. A crimson colored mantle billowed, caught in the sinuous motion of the wind. It stripped away the hood that covered her face.

He moved and grasped Fatima’s icy fingers in his hand. She tugged her slim hands from his grasp. Her thumb trailed over the blue-black beads nestled against the silken fabric of his
jubba
.

“You’re wearing mourning colors. Why?”

He shook his head and reached for her fingers again.

Her lips trembled. “Merciful God, oh, please do not say I have stayed away for too long!”

“Fatima, dearest heart, let me explain.”

“Do not say it! Do not tell me our daughter, our little Saliha, is dead. I cannot bear it.”

He gripped and held her in a firm embrace, although she struggled against him.

“She is not dead, Fatima. Our daughter lives. She bears the scars of the pox on her arms and legs, but she lives.”

Fatima drew back, the mute appeal in her gaze now replaced with confusion.

He leaned toward her and rested his brow against hers. “Saliha survived. Amoda did not.”

She said nothing, so he continued. “I went first to al-Bajara and ensured our children were safe. When I arrived here, Saliha had endured the worst of it. Amoda would not leave our daughter’s side. There were blisters all over the governess’ skin, some in great masses. I sent Saliha to al--Jabal Faro in Khalid’s care. It was too late for Amoda. My physician believes that although she had nursed each of our children through earlier episodes, the strain of caring for Saliha on her own was too much. We buried her in the
rawda
three days ago.”

Fatima remained silent. He framed her face, now etched in grief, between his hands. “I am so sorry. I know she was very dear to you.”

“Take me to her.”

He led Fatima through the grounds to the cemetery. She stepped along the worn path to the new grave, where Khalid still stood. She knelt beside the captain.

The trio remained silent in each other’s company, before Khalid sketched a stiff bow and turned to leave.

Over her shoulder, Fatima said to him, “She loved you. From the first day she ever saw you, Amoda wanted nothing more than to be at the side of Khalid of Al-Hakam.”

The captain stopped in his tracks. The dark shadows around his haunted eyes betrayed the pain he had endured since Amoda’s death.

“I shall honor her always, my Sultana. I shall never love another.”

She shook her head and hugged her arms. “Cold comfort, good captain, for the dead and the living. None of us should go through this life alone, never having felt the warmth of those whom we love. Mourn Amoda if you must, Khalid, but never deny yourself a chance at happiness again. Amoda would not wish it. She would wish you to live and love.”  

Wetness shimmered beneath his hooded eyelids. He turned on his heels and walked away.

For Fatima, it was a bittersweet homecoming. The unexpected loss of Amoda, who had been her faithful servant for thirty years, vied with her joy at the prospect of a reunion with her entire family. Yet, as before, her heart remained torn in two. Her love for her husband and children vied with lingering concerns for her father in faraway Gharnatah.

***

Within the week, the children returned from the mountain stronghold at al-Bajara. Only the Sultana Alimah did not return. She and her son preferred the site. Faraj marveled at the power of Fatima’s love for their children, as she embraced each of them. The way she held Saliha, he thought she might never let her go again.

Later, when the children were in bed, Faraj and Fatima stood side by side on the belvedere under a moonless night. They looked out on to the dark waters. Ships with shimmering lanterns sought safe harbor from the White Sea.

He sighed. “It is too long since we stood in this place together.”

“Yes, it has been over six months since you first left for Tarif. So much has happened in that time.”

Under torchlight, he scrutinized her features for clues of her resentment. She raised a curved eyebrow in a questioning slant.

He asked, “Can you ever forgive me?”

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are my heart. I am yours. That shall never change.”

She relaxed and laid her head on his chest. He rubbed her upper arms and inhaled the familiar scent of jasmine in her hair.

“Yet, you have kept secrets from me.” His fingers drifted lower and palmed her belly. “You should have told me of the child.”

She gazed at him, her eyes limpid in the light. “If you had known, would you have chosen a different path?”

When the response died in his throat, she sighed and leaned into him again. “Shams ed-Duna should not have taken such liberties. It was my news to impart, never hers. She should not have burdened you with it. You had suffered enough with the loss of your brother. Despite his betrayal, I am sorry you were never reconciled with him.”

He nuzzled her forehead. “His children shall arrive soon. You understand the duty before me.”

She nodded. “And the burden upon Leila. I had hoped we would choose a husband for our eldest daughter. Now, she must marry according to the Sultan’s will.”

“She is his granddaughter. He has the right to decide her fate.”

Fatima’s sigh betrayed her true feelings. “All of us, bound to the decrees of one man. My grandfather wanted us to marry and so, we did. Now, Leila’s grandfather wishes her to wed her cousin. So, she shall.”

 She found his gaze again. Her eyes glowed like the embers of a fire at night. “But, I also know love can bloom from such matches. May it be so for our daughter. Love demanded that I defy you and go to Gharnatah. It would not allow me to part from you.”

He wanted to know more about her father’s decision, but Basma stepped out on to the belvedere, her gaze averted. “The children are prepared for bed. They refuse to sleep until the Sultana bids them good night.”

Faraj nodded and Fatima waved Basma away, before she rested her head on Faraj’s shoulder. The dark-skinned girl bowed, her wavy locks tumbling from beneath her veil. As she turned to go, her features hardened with a spasm of irritation. Faraj frowned at the sight and put aside further inquiry about the Sultan’s actions.

“Has something happened between you and Basma, beloved?”

Fatima murmured, “Why do you ask?”

“It’s not like you to conceal petty concerns.”

She shook her head. “I spoke harshly to her in Gharnatah. I’m afraid she has not forgiven me.”

“You are her mistress. You do not need her understanding.”

“You are wrong. I need more than that.”

Even as they drew apart, he linked his fingers with hers. “How long shall you let this guilt over Basma’s mother plague your heart?”

“How can you ask me that? I am responsible for the death of her mother. Except for my meddling, Ulayyah would still be alive and with her children.”

“Fatima, she knew the risks in spying on our enemies.”

“She did so at my behest. When I look at Basma and Haniya sometimes, the deepest fear takes hold of me. I worry for what would happen, if they remembered my role in their mother’s fate.”

“They shall never know. Only their brother Faisal was of an age where he might recall it.”

When she nodded, he pressed her further. “Is this the only matter between you and Basma?”

“No. She has requested that I appoint her as governess of our children. I refused. I had already asked Baraka earlier. She has accepted.”

At his gasp, Fatima said, “She is devoted to our daughters. Do you give your consent?”

“If you wish it, I agree.”

He sensed there were other matters that occurred at Gharnatah. When he would have asked, she nestled against him again with a sigh. “We have to tell Leila of the fate that awaits her.”

“After the boy arrives. Let her remain our little girl for now. Children deserve the enjoyment of youth. They should not be manipulated and used like that boy was at Tarif.”

“Promise me, we shall never allow our children to become pawns.”

He stroked the dark curls down the length of her back. “Beloved, they are royal children. Ismail is the Sultan’s grandson. He shall inherit this great province at my death. It is a rival to Gharnatah’s wealth. I have accepted that I shall also have little say in his future, in the choice of his wives and alliances. For as long as there is a Sultan, be it your father or brother, we must bend to his will.”

“Still, we have a duty to protect our children,” she pressed him, “from all who would seek to control them. It is the destiny of our eldest son to claim the governorship. I pray it may not be too soon. I want you safe in my arms at the end, not lying dead on some distant battlefield.”

She tugged his lips to hers. He groaned and pulled her against him. Yearning for her settled and radiated sudden warmth through his belly.

Still, he pulled back and whispered against her lips, “You are my heart’s true desire. Believe in my love.”

Her eyes glistened, as she called out, “Niranjan?”

The eunuch stepped into the light, from just around the corner of the doorway. As usual, he was never far from Fatima.

She swallowed loudly and nodded. “Summon the concubine Hayfa to my husband’s chamber. She shall await his pleasure there.”

Princess Fatima

In the same month, the fatherless children of Muhammad ibn Ismail arrived at Malaka. When they alighted from their horses, Fatima and Faraj welcomed them and their mother, Princess Soraya, a black-haired, pale-faced beauty.

Ismail and his cousin were equal in height and coloring. Whereas Fatima’s son had inherited the features of the Sultan, his cousin clearly descended from the line of his grandfather, Ismail, whose name he also shared.

Fatima’s eldest son asked his cousin, “Do you like horseback riding?”

“Very much, but my mother does not let me ride alone.”

Ismail smiled and winked at Fatima. “We shall take the horses along the beachhead later, if you would like.”

“Only if your mother permits, my son,” Princess Soraya interjected.

Fatima shared a look and nod with her. Perhaps Faraj’s sister by marriage would prove a strong counterpart.

The boys led the way into the house, followed by the other children, Fatima’s own and Princess Soraya’s three young daughters. Fatima linked arms with Soraya, who patted her forearm. The women preceded Faraj, the household servants and the rest of Soraya’s retinue.

They entered the dining hall, where a feast awaited. Dishes of lukewarm rosewater and a towel were at each table setting. Everyone sat down to a meal of freshly baked flatbread accompanied by hummus. The eggplant dip tasted of
tahinah
, olive oil and lemon juice. There was lentil soup and a salad of burghul, mint and cucumber. There was chicken in mustard sauce and roasted lamb topped with greens. Fatima’s cooks had flavored the rice with garlic and onions. Fruits, both raw and cooked and desserts covered the table.

Later, Fatima and Soraya retired to the belvedere overlooking the sea. The younger children remained in the hall under the attentive gaze of their new governess, Baraka. Since Soraya had acquiesced, her son went with Ismail and Leila down to the shore on horseback.

Soraya removed her gossamer veil and revealed thick locks. “My husband often spoke of this place. He coveted it.”

Fatima leaned on the balustrade beside her. “Malaka is your home now and that of your children, for as long as they would wish.”

“Your daughters are so beautiful, Sultana Fatima.”

“As are yours.”

“My girls are fortunate to have each other. I was the only sister among seven brothers. I am glad my daughters shall know the joy of sisterhood.”