Sultana's Legacy (40 page)
***
Fatima returned to Malaka a few days later. Workers had almost cleared the cotton fields. The sun rode high above their heads.
Leeta greeted her in the courtyard now lined with palms. Despite the years, tension remained between them. Leeta, like Faraj, could not forgive her betrayal.
“How does your master fare?” Fatima asked, as they walked together.
“He recovered in the months you have been away.” Leeta paused. A frown marred her expression. “Prince Faraj is not the same as before. He grows tired easily and does not take his usual walks. It is by God’s blessing alone that Prince Ismail has been here to undertake his father’s duties. The physician has come often, to see him and Niranjan.”
“Your brother lingers on.”
When she nodded, Fatima halted beside her and touched her arm. “I am truly sorry, Leeta.”
She flinched, but accepted the sympathy with a nod.
Fatima found Ismail’s daughters playing under Baraka’s attentive gaze. The women shared a smile. The girls remained intent on chasing each other through the indoor courtyard and did not notice their grandmother. There would be time for them later.
Fatima went to her husband’s chamber. The door stood ajar, but he was nowhere in sight. Then she heard familiar snores emanating beyond the walls of her room, next to his. She pushed the door and stepped inside.
He rested comfortably in the bed they had not shared for over ten years. Her stomach contracted to a tight ball. On wooden legs, she sank down beside him on the cedar floor. She placed her hand above his heart, which pounded in a steady thrum. A soft sob escaped her, before she buried her tears in her hands.
Behind her, the door creaked. “Oh, my Sultana, you’ve returned.”
Haniya entered and bowed at her side.
“Just a moment ago. How do you fare?”
Haniya hesitated. “I am well. I see the master still sleeps.”
“Who can sleep…with my wife’s crying. Just like an old woman.”
Faraj’s voice filled the chamber, feeble and hoarse. Still Fatima thought it the sweetest sound she had heard in months.
His eyelids fluttered once and opened. “You were not here, when I first awoke.”
She did not know if he meant in the days after her departure for Gharnatah or earlier today, but it did not matter.
His hand reached for her. His thumb stroked her cheek. “Just as I said, like an old woman.”
He sighed. “My old woman.”
She remained with him, even after he drifted off again. She cupped his hand to her cheek, a healing balm for her wearied soul.
She never noticed when Haniya brought in a meal of flatbread and stewed lamb with chickpeas, except she asked later if Fatima was not hungry and gestured to the cold meal.
“Take it away. I have everything I desire at the side of my husband.”
“As you wish.” Haniya reached for the tray and then hesitated. “My Sultana, I need to tell you something.”
Whatever she might have said died with Ismail’s sudden, boisterous entry into the room. “
Ummi
! Why didn’t you tell us you had returned?”
Fatima rose from the floor for the first time in hours. “Good evening to you as well, my son.”
Behind him, Haniya darted out of the room.
Fatima spoke with him about the months spent in Gharnatah during the siege and of Nasr’s innocence.
“So you believed his claim?” Ismail sputtered. He paced the room and raked his hands through his dark hair. “How can you take the word of that usurper?”
“Son, Nasr is your uncle and the Sultan of Gharnatah. I trust his word and he showed me the proof of it.”
“He’s the son of a slave. He has no honor. I know she was your friend,
Ummi
, so don’t frown at me that way. Gharnatah cannot bear his misrule for much longer.”
She studied him. “You sound like your father. I didn’t know you resented your uncle so much.”
He stopped pacing. A frown marred his features. “I know you favor him, so I’ll say no more. I bid you good evening. I promised the girls I would tell them a story before they fell asleep.”
“Just as your father used to do with you and your siblings. Sleep well, my son.”
He did not reply.
Haniya returned and prepared Fatima for bed. Faraj still slept peaceably.
Though the maidservant answered her inquiries about how she and her sister Basma fared in Fatima’s absence, her voice shook. Her hands trembled at each of the fastenings on the tunic.
When Fatima clasped Haniya’s wrists, she gasped.
“Do you know you’ve behaved like a chicken fearing the pot since you first saw me? What troubles you?”
Haniya shook her head. “Oh my Sultana, forgive me, I shouldn’t have been spying as I was, but I know how the master hates that man.”
“Haniya, please, speak as though I have no idea what you’re talking about, because I truly do not.”
“Yesterday, the Marinid commander Uthman came here. I listened in secret as he spoke of sending a letter from Prince Faraj to al-Maghrib el-Aska. Uthman said the Marinid Sultan would be pleased to receive it and promised the master would rule the richest port in al-Maghrib, at Chella.”
“Haniya, I don’t understand one word of what you’re saying. Faraj has no interest in Chella, nor would he ever contact the Marinids.”
“I know he didn’t. Uthman was talking to Prince Ismail.”
Fatima grabbed her chin hard. Her nails dug into Haniya’s flesh. “Be careful what you say of my son! Why would we make an offer to the Marinids? Why would you spy on Ismail?”
“Oh, my Sultana, he’s betrayed you both.”
The horror of Haniya’s suggestion robbed Fatima of her speech. Her hand fell away.
Haniya sank down on the carpet at her feet. “For days after you left for Gharnatah, none of us knew what would happen. The master would awaken and call your name. Some days, he never woke. He thrashed in his sleep. The doctor visited, but he could do nothing. He said it would be the Will of God if the master lived or died. When master was alert and he called for you, I begged Prince Ismail to come to his father. Once, he asked the master if he would wish him to assume his duties, since master was unwell.”
Fatima reasoned Ismail had every right to perform the duties of his father. She waved Haniya on.
“Master consented, well, he only gesticulated. I think Prince Ismail understood his father’s expectation. He toured the marketplace in his father’s stead. He heard the people’s grievances and promised them help. He appointed a new captain of the guard.”
Fatima asked, “Whom did he choose?”
Haniya shook her head and the lines deepened across her furrowed brow. “Prince Ismail did not ask for one of the officers who served with Khalid. No, he summoned one of the Marinids, one of Uthman’s men and named him captain.”
The Marinids remained ambitious for a foothold in Gharnatah. The Volunteers of the Faith ensured their Marinid masters would have solid military backing in any enterprise. Yet, the Marinid rulers had long ago proved themselves unpredictable. Surely, Ismail understood the danger the Ghuzat posed in Al-Andalus. Why would he trust any among them?
Haniya continued. “Prince Ismail dined with the Marinid commander almost weekly and always in private. I never heard what they said to each other, but I grew suspicious. I have heard Prince Faraj speak of the commander Uthman many times and I knew he did not like him. What could endear the man to his son? I did not understand it.
“On the last night Uthman was here, on the eve of your arrival, I listened. I followed Uthman and Prince Ismail to the inner courtyard. It was very dark. I hid behind the rosemary bushes in the corner of the garden. Prince Ismail gave Uthman a roll of parchment. It bore the red wax seal of the
Raïs
. Prince Ismail asked if Uthman’s servant prepared to sail. The Marinid commander said, he hoped for favorable winds in the morning, permitting his ship to leave for al-Maghrib el-Aska. A fierce storm came ashore on the next day, in which no ships left the harbor. Uthman’s emissary must still be here. Uthman then said his master the Marinid Sultan would be pleased to receive Prince Faraj’s letter. Prince Ismail laughed at this. Then Uthman promised him that master would soon rule Chella.”
Chella was the northernmost port of al-Maghrib el-Aska. Even Fatima’s late brother Muhammad had coveted it when he ruled Gharnatah.
“There is more. Prince Ismail said the letter had to reach the Marinid Sultan before your brother inquired about the taxes Prince Ismail has withheld.”
“Ismail has withheld Malaka’s taxes from Nasr’s collectors? It is treason! Nasr would be within his rights to demand Faraj’s head. Ismail would have to answer the Sultan’s challenge. It would plunge the Sultanate into civil war again.”
Fatima stifled a cry, as understanding dawned. The victor in a conflict between Nasr and Ismail would rule as Sultan. Could Ismail’s ambitions extend beyond Malaka? Birthright and destiny would grant him the governorship. Did he want something more?
She sank down on the bed. Faraj stirred beside her, but he did not awaken. Her mind raced, as she revisited Ismail’s story of the assassination attempt upon his father. Ismail had been with him when it happened. Just before it, they had met with Uthman. Had he and Ismail arranged the meeting?
Khalid fought against the attack and he died as a result. Had there been a plan to get rid of him? His unquestionable loyalty to Faraj would have made him a target. Ismail alone gave chase. He never brought the would-be assassin’s body back to the citadel for identification. Had the attacker truly intended Faraj’s death or did he plan only to incapacitate him? Faraj’s wounds came close to his heart, but did not kill him. Had the attack been a ruse? Was its inevitable outcome a chance for Ismail to gain access to his father’s power, for a greater purpose?
Haniya clutched Fatima’s knee and drew her gaze again. “Your husband has written no letters. By your command, I have tended to him in your absence. I knew his every waking hour. He has hardly possessed the strength to leave his bed in the last months. Prince Ismail has undertaken all of his duties. He has used the opportunity to betray his father.”
Fatima’s hands balled into such tight fists, the knuckles turned white. Ismail’s treachery dwarfed the travail she had experienced in the last ten years. His betrayal stabbed at her heart.
Haniya whispered, “I knew you would understand the full measure of these events and the consequences, for more than just Malaka. You must protect the Sultanate and the master.”
Fatima clasped a hand over her mouth and bit back a sob. Protect her husband against his own son?
Ismail had always been dutiful and loving. Had she imagined it? She knew him intimately, had always admired the strength of his heart and the inner workings of his mind. His attitudes and ideals reflected the values his parents had taught him. When had he changed?
From somewhere in the depths of her mind, the memory of her last meeting with her brother Muhammad stirred. A maniacal cackle filled her ears, rising to a crescendo.
***
Dawn broke. Its glittering rays stirred Fatima from sleep. Faraj snored beside her, his hand on her hip. The sounds of birds and the scent of salted sea spray drifted through the lattice-covered windows. It seemed nothing had changed, but in truth, everything was different now.
Haniya sat on the floor still, her head cradled on her arm. Light snores escaped her. Fatima touched her dark hair tenderly.
She shifted Faraj’s hand, careful not to wake him. She slid to the foot of the bed and stood. With a final glance at her husband and Haniya, she left the chamber.
Niranjan’s quarters at the opposite end of the harem overlooked the White Sea. When she opened the door, the cleansing odor of incense engulfed her. Sparse furnishings that included a pallet, a cedar-carved stool and table, and two clothing chests suited Niranjan’s asceticism.
His shriveled form lay on the pallet. Her heart wrung with pity at the sight of hollowed cheekbones gouged deep into his parchment-like skin.
She knelt beside him and he opened his eyes.
She whispered, “The peace of God be with you.”
“And with you.” Although a foul odor saturated his breath, she did not draw back from him. “I have what I want from God, but it would appear you are in need of His peace this day, my Sultana.”
She clutched his hand and kissed it.
“You went to Gharnatah and saw the Sultan.” Though he did not ask a question, she nodded. “Then you know he could not have ordered the murder of your husband.”
Her gaze met his. “How did you know?”
A lopsided grin softened his haggard appearance. “I did not. You told me, or rather, the despair in your eyes did. Do you know you have the most expressive gaze? Your eyes, like the window to your soul. Anyone can look into them and see what you are feeling. Anyone who has known you for as long as I have. That is why I am sorry to leave you now, when you may need me the most. Darkness surrounds you.”
“And you have always been my light, leading my way.”
“Have I? I would be so again, if God would give me the strength. Tell me all that has happened.”
Niranjan listened in silence. She shared the events that had transpired in Gharnatah and since her return. When she spoke of Ismail and Haniya’s account of his betrayal, Niranjan’s countenance did not alter. He expressed no astonishment at the revelation.
She said, “Your eyes give away as much as mine do. You have long suspected my son’s hand in his father’s attack. It was why you questioned his actions in the aftermath.”
He nodded.
“What can I do, Niranjan? He is my son, my firstborn. Through him, I learned to be a mother. How can I bear this pain?”
“You shall bear it. You shall do as you have always done. You’ll protect those whom you love from those who would hurt them.”
The Betrayed
Princess Fatima
Malaka, Al-Andalus: Jumada al-Ula - Rajab 712 AH (Malaga, Andalusia: September – October AD 1312)