Sultana's Legacy (41 page)

Later, in the stillness of Niranjan’s room, a knock at the door intruded. “Compose yourself, my Sultana,” he whispered. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Enter.”

Ismail stood in the doorway. His gaze flew from Niranjan to Fatima’s face. She swiped at her cheeks and held his stare.

“
Ummi
. I went to your room to ask if you would join us for the morning meal. Father is awake. He’s asking for you.”

“Since he was resting when I left, I thought it a good time to visit with Niranjan.” She forced steely resolve into her voice and stood without trembling. “I had not visited with my servant since returning to Malaka.”

“You seem tired,
Ummi
. Let me help you to your room.”

Ismail advanced and with each footfall, her heart heaved. She could hardly abide the sight of him, the bearing of his noble grandfather in his lengthy stride, his visage. Every part of him echoed the image of her father at his full strength. How could he have betrayed an honorable legacy in such a way?

His lean-muscled arms rose up and his hands clutched her shoulders. She shuddered with the exertion it took to keep herself steady, without falling at his feet in tears.

“Truly, you look overwrought. You should not be here. You need your rest, too.” His tone almost accusatory, he glared at Niranjan.

“My son, I am hardly a child to be hastened to bed!”

Ismail’s stare returned to her. She bit her lower lip, instantly regretting the harsh tone.

“Forgive me, Ismail. I’m perfectly capable of knowing when I need rest. I promise I’ll only remain with Niranjan for a little while. Is it just you and your brother at the morning meal?”

“Baraka too, though I don’t understand why she thinks she’s part of this family.”

“She is.” Ismail’s gaze widened and she continued in a rush of words. “She’s always been. Never forget, she was governess to your younger siblings and she cares for your children, too. Where are the girls? I did not have the chance to speak with them yesterday.”

“In the nursery, still asleep.”

“I shall join you after I have finished here and seen your father. You should not keep the others waiting.”

Ismail nodded and turned on his heel.

When he closed the door behind him, Fatima sagged against the adjacent stucco wall. After a moment, the echo of his footfalls down the marble walkway faded.

Niranjan whispered, “That was the first test of your strength.”

“I can’t bear much more!”

“You shall! You must!” He spoke with renewed, fervent strength. “If you love your family, you shall do all you must to protect them.”

“But how? He conspires with others to destroy his father.”

“Then we must stop him, or at least, thwart the plans of his allies.”

“How can we? If there is a favorable wind, the Marinid ship may leave today. I cannot ask anyone to send a contingent of guards to the docks to stop all ships from sailing. Ismail would learn of it and know of my suspicions.”

Niranjan nodded. “You must not give Prince Ismail any warning. We can still stop him. Fetch me a quill, ink and parchment, if you please.”

Fatima went out into the hallway. Basma came out of a room with a pile of dirtied bed linens. Fatima beckoned her and asked for the things Niranjan requested.

The maidservant looked beyond her into the room for a moment. Fatima frowned. “You know I despise repeating myself for anyone.”

Basma went away and returned quickly. Fatima took the writing implements and parchment. She closed the door on Basma’s curious expression.

Niranjan dictated and Fatima wrote all he said on the parchment.

She asked, “How shall you send word to intercept Uthman’s servant to al-Maghrib el-Aska?”

“Do you trust Haniya?”

“Without fail. It took great courage for her to speak of all she knew.”

“Then send her with this message to the Jewish quarter of Malaka. Tell her to give it to the Sitt al-Tujjar.”

“The Sitt al-Tujjar? She must be long dead!”

“The granddaughter of the woman you knew now supervises the mercantile business. There has always been a Sitt al-Tujjar, a mistress of the merchants, in their family line. I trust this one, as I have done her forbearers. If she follows the instructions to intercept Uthman’s messenger, that treasonous letter shall never make it to the Marinid court.”

***

One week afterward, Fatima visited Niranjan again, as she often did in the morning. She sensed the end neared for him. Death hovered over him, its shadows haunting his leathery, wizened complexion. The once copper-colored, ovoid eyes had dulled to a shade of burnished brass.

He begged her, as he had in the last few days, to leave Malaka. “If you do not go, Prince Ismail has already won. For as long as you remain here, he shall control his father.”

Niranjan’s warning resounded in her mind after she left him. On wooden legs, she ambled through the hall and slammed into her son Muhammad, as he turned a corner.

He steadied her and kissed her brow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. I was just coming to find you to say farewell. I’m off with Ismail this morning.”

“Where?”

Muhammad chuckled. “Don’t you remember? Ismail mentioned it at dinner last night. He makes his tour of the province, just as Father did each year. We shall be gone for at least a month.”

“Why are you going with him?”

“He may have found me a suitable wife in Naricha. Ismail believes it time that I married.”

“And why should it be his decision? Your brother thinks too much of himself to choose a wife for you. It is your father’s responsibility and he has not abdicated it!”

Muhammad’s arms dropped at his sides at the vehemence of her tone.

 “Father remains weakened.” When she glared at him, he faltered. “Besides, Ismail is governor in all, but name.”

“He is not! Your father is not cold in his grave! Or, do you wish that for him, too?”

“
Ummi
! You know I do not. Certainly, you don’t suggest my brother feels that way?”

She swallowed and clasped her hands before her. “Of course not. I wish your brother had consulted with his father before making decisions about your future.”

“I did,
Ummi
. Perhaps Father has not told you.”

Fatima whirled in the direction of Ismail’s voice, as he strode from his chamber in the harem and greeted them. She averted her gaze and bowed before him, which he greeted with a frown.

“When did you become so formal?” He raised her up and kissed her brow. Then he looked at Muhammad. “We must leave now.”

Fatima stared in their wake long after both men had spoken their farewells and kissed her hands.

Baraka found her standing there. “I thought we were friends. You haven’t come to see me.” Resentment tinged her hollow tone. “Something troubles you, yet you do not speak of it. Unburden your heart, or have I not proved myself worth the effort?”

Silks swirling around them, Fatima dragged her out on to the belvedere by the sea. There, she confessed everything.

When she finished, Baraka nodded. “You must get away from this place.”

“Niranjan said the same, but how can I leave? To go is to abandon my son.”

“Prince Muhammad is a man!”

“No! I do not mean him. Don’t you see? If I leave, I give up. I accept that Ismail has changed and turn my back on him forever. I cannot do that to my own son.”

Unbidden, the memory of her last meeting with her late father came to mind. ‘Have the courage to see your loved ones as they are, not as you would wish them to be.’

Baraka gazed at her steadily. “You must leave Malaka. Go to al-Bajara. Ownership has reverted to Prince Faraj again, with the passing of your sister Alimah and her son. You must go with Faraj and your servants. If anyone else accompanies you, your son would be suspicious.”

“I can’t abandon Ismail’s daughters, or you, Samara and Hayfa. Leeta and Marzuq.”

“The children shall be well. I’ll protect them. God shall watch over the rest of us.”

“And keep you from Ismail’s wrath? He’ll know that you helped me.”

“Nothing he can say or do would make me betray you or the master.”

Fatima clasped her hands and kissed them. Baraka smiled at her.

“You must tell your husband the truth one day. For now, persuade him that the mountain air would do him well.”

“Our son’s disloyalty shall break Faraj’s heart.”

“The master is stronger than you know. He shall survive this. You both shall.”

***

Niranjan died at the end of the cotton harvest in Al-Andalus. Fatima arranged for his burial beside his sister, her faithful Amoda. She witnessed the internment of his body from a narrow window overlooking the orchard.

In the cool days that followed, she lingered beside the newest mound in the
rawda
. The certainty that she would leave this warring world one day and see Niranjan again eased the pain of his passing. The burden of the past weeks dwelled upon her mind. Niranjan had once shouldered the travail with her, ever steadfast and true. For the first time since childhood, she would have to bear the troubles alone, without her shadow at her side.

Sunlight shimmered through the cloud cover. Its warmth offered no cheer. A mournful wind whispered in the trees. The scent of the sea mingled with the odors of pine and eucalyptus. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply for a moment. When she opened them, Ismail stood beside her.

She jerked away, almost as a reflex. His eyes widened. “I did not mean to startle you,
Ummi
.”

“What are you doing here?”

A frown marred his noble features at the undercurrent of annoyance in her tone. She could not help it. He dared intrude upon her now, in the only place that offered solace from the pain he had inflicted.

She returned his stare. “You’re supposed to be touring the province.”

Ismail nodded. “I returned because I have business here.”

“With whom?”

“Oh, the market inspector. I must also speak to Uthman. One of his men molested a woman at an inn. I cannot allow the Marinids such liberties.”

She nodded, although she did not believe the lie.

Last evening, Haniya had brought her a message. “The Sitt al-Tujjar’s man has returned from abroad where all is well.”

Fatima had sighed with understanding and wished Niranjan were alive to know that in his last service to her, he had discharged his duty.

Now Ismail had returned, possibly to contact the Marinid commander and learn why his treasonous letter never reached its destination.

Fierce anger swelled inside of her, as he stood silent at her side. His pride and bearing were the attributes of his father. She had always vainly assumed the cleverness of his mind was one of her gifts to him. Yet, good judgment had not guided him now, a path to despair and heartbreak for their family. He had betrayed his father. He had also deceived her. Yet, she could not hate him. How could she ever despise a child of her body and blood?

“Why do you look at me so,
Ummi
?”

“I was thinking of how much you remind me of your grandfather the Sultan.”

The comment brought a wry smile to his lips. “I want to be like your father.”

She nodded. “I do not doubt it.”

He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. “I am sorry Niranjan died. When I returned and saw you standing here beside a new grave, I realized he must have perished in my absence.”

Then his stare returned to her face. “It is the fate of every man and woman.”

“I know. Such knowledge comforts me. One day, I shall see him again.”

“Thoughts of death comfort you?” Ismail frowned. “I would think you would rely on the living for your comfort.”

“That is not always possible.”

The wind receded and silence descended on the
rawda
.

Then she asked, “Did your brother return with you?”

“No, Muhammad is at Naricha. I shall rejoin him there, after I have concluded my business. He has met with the father of a girl he may marry.”

“A woman of your choosing.”

Ismail’s stare narrowed. “You resent that I suggested her. Father trusts me to act in his stead. Don’t you trust me, too?”

To answer in the way he expected would have given a lie to her lips. As Niranjan had predicted before his death, there would be many tests in this battle of wits between them. Could she prove herself smarter than her son?

“I am your mother, Ismail.”

The curve of his smile dimpled his cheeks. The answer suited him. He bent and kissed her forehead.

She whispered, “I often think of the day that crazed assassin tried to kill your father.”

When Ismail raised his head, his frown returned and with it, a sudden hard glint in the eyes and a thinning of the lips. 

“Why do you trouble yourself with the memories of that day? Father has recovered. He may not have his full strength back, but he lived.”

“Yes, by God’s mercy alone. I know your father has rarely said so, but his pride in you knows no bounds. A father cannot help but love his sons. Parents are fated to see only the good in our children.”

“Yes, I know this with my own daughters.”

She continued, as if he had not interrupted her. “Faraj is a good man. We did not always love each other. Over the years, through trials and sadness, by devotion and mutual understanding, a bond forged between us. Even my betrayal could not destroy it. When we came to this place, your father vowed to erase the pain-filled memories of his parents’ deaths. We made it a loving home and promised each other Malaka would be where our children would never know sorrow.

“I forsook those vows for the sake of another, but never again. I love your father still, as I once never believed it possible to love. I shall always love him, always protect him from anyone who would do him harm. Anyone.”

Ismail stared, for the first time seemingly unsure of what he should say.

She stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. Then she left him.

***

In the afternoon, Fatima met with Baraka, Samara and Hayfa in the central alcove amid their rooms, at Baraka’s request. Luxurious Baghdad carpets covered the floor. Silken cushions lined the walls.