Sultana's Legacy (31 page)

Faraj stabbed a finger at Leeta, who stared at both of them in shock. “Wake our children. All of them! I want to see them in the banquet hall, now.”

She ran from the room.

Faraj yanked Fatima to her feet and dragged her to the hall.

“Master, what are you doing?” Niranjan called out to him. “Where are you taking my Sultana?”

He whirled toward the eunuch. “Keep your wretched tongue behind your teeth. I know you helped her. She never makes a move without you! Her damned shadow indeed.”

He pushed Fatima into the center of the room. She clattered on the floor and rubbed at her hip. She caught his glare and stopped. Her eyes still shimmered in defiance. He unfolded the creases from her message.

“Father, what’s happening?” Ismail arrived at the head of his brother and remaining sisters.

“Be silent,” Faraj insisted.

He spoke then and told their children of Fatima’s hatred for the Sultan and her treason.

Muhammad asserted, “It cannot be true! You must be mistaken.”

Faraj turned a furious frown on his second son. “Then read the truth of her betrayal, if you don’t believe me!”

The parchment circulated the room in trembling hands, met with gasps of shock or stares. Leeta, whose husband had joined her, sobbed into her hands and refused to read it. Instead, she shoved the letter at Niranjan.

Faraj snatched the missive from the eunuch’s hand lest he attempt to destroy it. “Now, you all know the truth. My wife collaborates with her brother Nasr to undermine the Sultanate. She risks the lives of everyone here. Her life! My life! Your lives! As of today, none of you shall see or speak to her, unless I allow it. She shall remain under guard in her room at all times. She shall perform her ablutions and prayers alone. She shall dine alone. Under no circumstances may she have a quill, ink, parchment or anything on which to write. Do not speak of this day to anyone. This is my judgment.”

He stared hard at Niranjan. “Ismail, fetch my captain. Tell Khalid to consign this dog to the dungeon of
al-Jabal Faro
. Niranjan al-Kadim can rot in a cell until the end of his days.”

Chapter 19

A Gilded Prison

Prince Faraj

Malaka, Al-Andalus: Dhu al-Hijja 707 AH (Malaga, Andalusia: June AD 1308)

The day before Faraj’s departure for Gharnatah, there to witness Ismail’s wedding, he sat at his writing desk. The glare of sunset intruded into the room. For two hours by the water clock, he had stared at the blank sheet of parchment until the evening stars glittered in the sky.

Yesterday, he had received word from Leila’s husband at al-Jazirah al-Khadra. She died in childbirth after having delivered of her third son. Faraj’s sweet, smiling Leila was gone. Only six years before, he had commended her to the care of a loving husband.

His grip tightened on the quill, just below the feathers. The wood snapped in his hand. He tossed it aside in disgust and buried his head in his hands. His chest heaved with silent sobs.

Someone rapped at the door. He dried his cheeks in the sleeve of his silken tunic. “Enter!”

Khalid opened the door. “My prince, Amud is here.”

The captain stepped aside and the Tuareg eunuch entered. Khalid had recruited Amud and his brother Bazu to spy on Fatima years ago. The men remained in Faraj’s employ.

“What does he wish, Khalid?”

Amud and Bazu spoke only the language of their mother’s people. Khalid understood it as well as many of the Berber languages.

He translated for Amud. “The Sultana wishes to see you, my prince.”

“Of course Fatima wants to see me. She hopes I shall release her in time for Ismail’s wedding.”

“Are you still going to Gharnatah on the morrow?”

“In truth, I do not have the heart after the news about Leila, but I must go. I must write to her husband. I do not know what to say to my nephew.”

The eunuch began gesticulating, his hands in a flurry. Guttural sounds issued from his throat.

Khalid said, “Amud says your wife has been upset all day. You should tell her of your daughter.”

Fatima’s behavior did not surprise Faraj. She would have known, in her way, of Leila’s passing. “Still, I refuse to see her. She shall soon tire of her antics. Leave me now.”

“As you wish, master.”

Faraj waved them away and the door shut with a heavy thud. He closed his eyes.

Years later, Fatima’s betrayal still hurt. It did not matter the risk she took or that, in truth, he now believed the Sultan was capable of everything she had alleged. Muhammad was unstable. Did his wife also suffer from such madness?

Yet, he knew no woman who had been as deceitful as Fatima had, could have spoken her untruths from an addled mind. She had destroyed his trust in her, built after decades of marriage. How could the woman he adored for so long have betrayed him for the sake of her brother? How could he ever trust her?

The door creaked again.

“Khalid, I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Good evening, master.” Baraka glided into the room.

He frowned at the sight of her hennaed hair dyed a garish orange. It did not hide the gray, not entirely. Her thin, twisted lips and emerald eyes remained the same, if impossibly harder. No warmth dwelled in her. He hardly fathomed how years ago, he had known pleasure in this viper’s sinuous limbs.

“What do you want, woman? I am not inclined to listen to any of your foolishness. Have you come to tell me yet again how the slave Abeer discomforts my former concubines? They have not shared my bed for years. Why should they be jealous of this woman?”

Baraka’s throaty laugh filled the room. “That one, we do not worry for her.”

Something about her caustic tone and sloe-eyed glance made him look at her askance. “You haven’t harmed Abeer, I trust?”

The Genoese slave smiled, a lazy gesture. Baraka settled herself on a cushion across from him. “We have not troubled her. She is nothing to anyone and shall learn this soon enough.”

His jaw tightened. “What do you want, Baraka?”

“That brute, your captain, he says I must ask your permission if I want to see the Sultana. So, I ask.”

 “Don’t call Khalid a brute. He is loyal and dutiful. He has traits you do not possess and could never understand. Why do you want to see Fatima? To gloat over her? I shall never allow you to do that.”

“Master does care for the Sultana still? Pity you are too foolish to let her know.”

He pounded the cedar wood table. “You dare insult me! I should have you whipped.”

She laughed, threw back her head and exposed her slim, white throat. “What can you do to me that you have not already done?”

“I didn’t know you cared so much to lose my favors. I never denied you the joy of our moments together.”

“No, you denied me your heart! You gave this to the Sultana and more.”

For a moment, she seemed contemplative, a withered former concubine reminiscing about the lost pleasures of youth. Yet when she looked at him, fire sparked deep within those hard green eyes.

“You are a fool and a tyrant, Faraj, who hurts the women who love you. You are selfish. You do not deserve the Sultana’s love. I understand her pain, for you’ve broken my heart, too.”

“You wish to commiserate with her? I doubt Fatima would welcome you.”

“Not her choice, if you say otherwise.”

“The eunuch Bazu is always with her. He may not speak Arabic, but he is watchful. I shall know what happens when you are with her, Baraka.”

“Then, you are giving your permission?”

“I’ll allow the visit. You may see her in the morning before I leave for Gharnatah.”

He wrote on a strip of parchment instructing Bazu and Amud to allow Baraka into Fatima’s room. The Genoese woman smiled and stood, taking the missive with her. At the door, she bowed low.

“Poor master, such a lonely bed tonight. Perhaps in the dark, he wishes for me to comfort him?”

“I have no use for such an old woman as you.”

She laughed again. “One day soon, Faraj, you shall learn I still have my uses.”

He stared in her wake long after she had left. Misgivings filled him. He dismissed the concerns that Baraka might be in league with Fatima. The former concubine would never put aside her petty hatred of his wife.

***

Weary, Faraj withdrew to his room without composing a response to Leila’s husband. He found no rest in his chamber. Fatima’s screams and pounding on her door filled the harem. With his room next to hers, he could not hope to sleep. He drew on a tunic over his nakedness and left the chamber. Torchlight set in a bracket illuminated Amud’s face.

“Open my wife’s door.”

Amud did so and stepped aside.

Fatima whirled and faced Faraj, wild-eyed. He looked around the room, took in its disarray and beckoned Bazu.

The eunuch bowed and nodded. When Faraj waved him away, he closed the door behind him.

“So, like a child, you upset your room, Fatima. I thought you would have been more considerate of your Haniya.”

Faraj gestured to the overturned bed, the silks and linens strewn on the floor. Broken glass littered one corner. Several pieces of jewelry spilled from Fatima’s chest of ornaments.

The state of the room reflected his wife’s condition. Her unruly hair and loose wrinkled robe, stained with the remnants of something she must have eaten, showed her lack of care. On closer examination, he realized blood dotted her garments. A crimson stain marked her palm. She had cut her hand.

He ripped a strip of linen from his tunic and grabbed her. She pulled away, but he bound the jagged cut.

She whispered. “I didn’t think you still cared enough to help me.”

He tied the material, perhaps tighter than he should have. Still, the little wince that escaped her gave him some satisfaction. At least, she could still feel pain.

“I never stopped caring, Fatima. You forgot your marital vows in favor of some ridiculous revenge plot. You disturb the peace of my house this night. Why?”

She dragged her hand from his grasp. “I had just finished my meal when the water goblet dropped from my hand. Something has happened. Please tell me.”

He shook his head. As difficult as it had been to learn of Leila’s fate, he could not blurt out the truth. He still cared for her, as he had said.

“I asked those Berbers savages,” she muttered and pointed to the door, “to let me see you! They refused. They may not speak Arabic, but I am certain they understood my request. Ismail’s wedding shall occur in a few days. Have you received word from Gharnatah? Has something happened to our son?”

“No, not to him.”

Fatima’s eyes widened. “Please, you must tell me.”

He sighed and then did as she bid him. In a monotone voice, he relayed the news from al-Jazirah al-Khadra. She covered her mouth with her fingers and turned from him. Her shoulders shook.

He raised his hand, almost placed it on her arm, before his fingers fell useless at his side. He could not comfort her. He could not even find solace for himself.

“Now you know the truth. Our daughter’s final resting place is at al-Jazirah al-Khadra. Her child lived, another grandson for us. His father named him Ali. After I attend Ismail’s wedding, I shall go to Leila’s children and see them.” 

She spun around, her cheeks wet. “You cannot leave me here. They need me. Ismail needs me.”

“He’s not a child. He is a man, soon to be married. Our grandchildren have their father and their governess. They don’t need you.”

“Would you have them suffer alone? They have lost their mother! Please Faraj, I know I have failed you, but in your anger, do not let me fail our family!”

“Ismail does not expect you at the wedding.”

“You told him I would not attend? How could you?”

She shrank from him, her gaze stark before her eyes watered again.

“Bah! A curse on you and your damned tears! I cannot let them unman me. Do not dare look at me that way, after all the lies you have told. I should think you would understand. Your own deceit has brought you to this end.”

“Every lie I told broke my heart! I only did it because I had no choice. Please do not punish me this way. I shall live in this confinement for the rest of my days if I must, but please don’t keep me from our family, from our grandsons and our son!”

“Ismail serves the Sultan! Praise God he is loyal to his parents foremost. Had it been another man, we might not have kept your treachery from the Sultan. You think I would let you near Gharnatah now, to seek out your treacherous allies, to let you devise some new plan with Nasr. No, Fatima, I am wise to all your tricks. You’ll remain here!”

He turned on his heel. Halfway to the door, her arms slid about his waist.

“No, I won’t let you leave. You must listen to me.”

He removed her hold. “Go to bed.”

“No!” She launched herself at him again. Her limbs wound around his shoulders. “Please, let me go with you.”

She pressed her trembling form against him. He reveled in the feel of her. His traitorous body would always respond to her touch.

Then her kisses alighted on his nape, soft as feathers. Little nips and caresses at his neck and jaw line followed.

He groaned. “Fatima, stop. This changes nothing.”

Her tongue flicked over the curve of his ear. She nibbled at the fleshy lobe. He turned and found her mouth. He kissed her wildly, all thoughts of gentleness gone from his mind. He hauled her up against him. Her fingers delved between their bodies and tugged his tunic upward. Cool air danced across his belly, replaced by Fatima’s fingertips. She cupped the length of him, stroked from root to tip. He shuddered.

He wrenched the folds of her robe aside, touched and kissed her everywhere. She moaned. His fingers glided along her slender throat, her beautiful breasts with the nipples that hardened beneath his touch and her rounded belly.

Before he became lost forever, he whispered against her shoulder, “You would do anything, wouldn’t you, to escape these rooms and see our family again?”