Chapter Sixteen
Mondragón Palace, Madinat Runda
Zorahaida felt as though she had barely drawn breath after reaching Mondragón Palace, though in truth Governor Ibrahim gave her and his nephews half an hour’s grace to refresh themselves before asking them to join him in the pavilion overlooking the water garden. Recalling several instances when her father had summoned her to his presence, Zorahaida felt a shiver run down her spine.
‘What’s this meeting about?’ she asked, as she and Jasim left her apartment and made their way downstairs.
Jasim shrugged. ‘It will be a family conference. My brother’s wife Aixa is also attending. Doubtless, my uncle wishes everyone to know what happened in Granada.’ He looped Zorahaida’s hand through his arm and led her down the path towards the pavilion.
‘Is it not strange that your uncle has included Aixa and me in this conference?’
‘Strange?’ Jasim laughed. ‘Not in this household. Fatima will be coming too; she usually has much to say.’
Zorahaida fell silent as they entered the first courtyard, marvelling at the world of difference between the Governor’s household and her father’s. She knew she didn’t have to say a word for Jasim to understand that she was stunned at being included in a family discussion. Did Governor Ibrahim truly treat the women in his family as valued members of his household? Her father would never have done such a thing. In truth, the Sultan didn’t value anyone. He feared that if he did so, his authority would be undermined.
Her father was weak. He had always been weak and for decades had hidden his weak character behind bluff and bluster. It was staggering to think that the Sultan ruled by fear because he himself was afraid.
Governor Ibrahim appeared to be cut from a different cloth. Well, she would soon see for herself. Nerves were still fluttering in her belly, but she was no longer fearful.
She looked sideways at Jasim. ‘What is Aixa like?’
‘You haven’t met her?’
She gave a slight headshake and bit her lip. ‘I have a feeling she’s been avoiding me.’
Jasim stared. ‘Why on earth should she do that?’
She gave a small shrug and said softly. ‘Perhaps she has taken against me because my mother was Spanish.’
He halted mid-stride. ‘Zorahaida, that is certainly not the case.’ He gestured at himself. ‘Look at my eyes. My hair. I know very little about my mother, but I do know she was of mixed ancestry. Like you, I have the blood of more than one race flowing in my veins.’ He grinned. ‘Likely more than two races, if the truth be known. Aixa hasn’t taken against me. No more will she take against you.’
Zorahaida nodded and smiled and prayed he was right. ‘Very well. I am glad to hear it.’
A footfall behind them made them turn, Fatima was hurrying towards them, Hunter on her shoulder. When she got within two feet of them, Hunter made his joyful chattering sound and flew to Zorahaida.
Whilst Zorahaida juggled with Hunter, Fatima gave Jasim a brief hug. ‘It is marvellous to see you back in one piece. I did worry.’ She glanced at Hunter, rubbing his head against Zorahaida’s neck. ‘That animal is the most outrageous flirt.’
‘That he is.’
Fatima squeezed Zorahaida’s hand. ‘Thank God you are safe. What did your father say when you saw him? How did you get away?’
Jasim shook his head. ‘Later, Fatima. First, we must answer your father’s summons.’
‘Of course.’ Fatima linked arms with Zorahaida and the three of them continued down the path to the pavilion with Fatima talking non-stop.
‘Jasim, Father knows that you and Usayd are fully reconciled,’ she said. ‘When I explained that you had both rushed to Zorahaida’s rescue, he looked happier than I’ve seen him in some while. The only person who wasn’t happy to learn where you’d gone was Aixa.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Jasim said. ‘I knew she’d be frantic with worry, but Usayd insisted on coming.’
‘Aye, he’s been obsessed with renewing the trade agreements with Granada for an age. Was he successful?’
They entered the water garden and Jasim smiled. ‘Patience, Fatima, and all will be revealed.’
The pool that took up most of the water garden was rectangular and with the sunlight shining on the surface it gleamed like a bright pathway, pointing straight to a pavilion at the other end. Myrtle bushes glowed like green fire and a pair of pomegranate trees were bowed down with ripe fruit. Jasim led his wife and cousin down the left-hand path, ducked under the central horseshoe arch and entered the pavilion.
Governor Ibrahim was sitting cross-legged before a low table, with Usayd and a woman who had to be Usayd’s wife, Aixa.
‘Welcome home, Princess, Jasim. Please, be seated.’ The Governor clapped his hands and a manservant appeared.
‘Master?’
‘Hisham, my nephews and the Princess have been travelling for days. We’ll take those refreshments now, if you please.’
Zorahaida blinked as, for the second time since returning to Madinat Runda, the ground shifted beneath her feet. The women were to eat with the men? Her father would never countenance such a thing. She’d only ever known him share a meal with a handful of favoured concubines.
The manservant didn’t appear at all startled, he nodded easily, as if this was a normal, everyday occurrence.
‘Very good, Master.’
Zorahaida watched, fascinated, as Hisham gestured and more servants appeared with jugs and glasses. Hunter left her shoulder and crouched near the table, beadily observing everything.
‘Master, the wine has been chilled in the icehouse, as you directed,’ Hisham said.
‘Very good.’
While the servants bustled about with wine and jugs of sweetened lemon juice, Jasim squeezed Zorahaida’s hand.
‘My heart, this is my brother’s wife, Aixa,’ he said.
The two women smiled at each other and Zorahaida found nothing in Aixa’s posture or manner to suggest ill will. She felt herself relax.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Princess, the pleasure is all mine.’
Pottery dishes were set within arm’s reach. They were piled with stuffed vine leaves, honey pastries flecked with pistachio nuts and tiny balls of cheese rolled on to sticks. Aixa picked up a colourful bowl of vine leaves and held them out.
‘Princess, these are worth trying. They are made to my mother’s recipe.’
‘Thank you.’ Zorahaida took one and sampled it. The leaves were tender, and the delicate blend of herbs and spices made her mouth water for more. Eagerly, she reached for another. ‘They are delicious.’
Aixa passed the bowl on. ‘If you are interested, I will share the recipe.’
‘You cook?’ Zorahaida asked, startled. Much as she loved food, she had never been allowed anywhere near the kitchens. She looked to Jasim. If she was to given access to the kitchen, her life would be altered beyond belief. ‘I might learn to cook?’
‘If that is your wish.’
‘It would interest me very much.’
Governor Ibrahim reached for a jug of wine. ‘We will share supper later, of course,’ he said, easily. ‘This should tide you over until then.’
‘Thank you, Uncle,’ Jasim said.
Hunter chose that moment to lunge at a bowl of dates. Snatching up a handful, he raced away, chattering.
‘Hunter, no!’ Zorahaida flushed. ‘I am so sorry; I fear he is badly trained.’
Fatima laughed, the Governor smiled and Zorahaida saw Jasim exchange rueful looks with his brother.
A strange feeling welled up inside and to Zorahaida’s shame, tears stung at the back of her eyes. Whatever this feeling was, she was at a loss to identify it.
Too choked to speak, she looked around the pavilion, determined to puzzle it out. Most of the servants
had slipped away, only Hisham remained. Usayd and Jasim were smiling at Hunter’s antics. The women in the family were openly laughing. The family...
That was it, for the first time in her life she felt as though she was part of a real family. She belonged here. The feeling was new and strange and altogether wonderful.
Jasim covered her hand with his. ‘You are well, my life?’ he murmured.
She smiled through her tears and nodded. ‘Aye, very well.’ She met the Governor’s gaze and inclined her head. ‘I wish to thank your uncle for welcoming me into his family. Indeed, I’d like to thank all of you.’ Her voice thickened. ‘Until today I have never known what it is to be part of a proper family. I thank you all.’
Fatima reached out to squeeze her hand. ‘We are delighted Jasim chose you for his wife.’
The Governor cleared his throat. ‘Aye, Princess, you are indeed welcome.’ He gestured at the manservant hovering near the arch. ‘Thank you, Hisham, we shall call you if we need you.’
As Hisham effaced himself and walked away across the water garden, Governor Ibrahim reached into his tunic and withdrew a small scroll.
‘Princess, you need to know that two days ago a carrier pigeon arrived from Granada.’
Zorahaida felt the blood drain from her face. ‘It’s from the Sultan?’
‘No, my dear, it is from your uncle. It’s addressed to me, although the contents concern you. It is of a personal nature. Do you care to read it?’
Mind whirling, Zorahaida took the scroll. Had her father died? She’d been so upset and angry about his high-handed treatment that she’d never gone to bid him farewell. Had he discovered that she’d gone and flung himself into a rage? Had he given himself an apoplexy?
Fingers trembling, she smoothed out the scroll, vaguely aware of Fatima turning to Aixa and of Jasim muttering softly to his brother. Bless them, they were giving her space to read her uncle’s letter in peace.
To the most respected Governor of Madinat Runda, Ibrahim ibn Osman, from Ghalib ibn Mustapha, heir designate to Sultan Tariq of Al-Andalus.
Greetings,
Forgive the hasty nature of this missive. Once again circumstances in the Alhambra have changed, and I thought it best that you received my account before the rumours reached you.
Firstly, it was a rare honour to welcome your nephews, Usayd and Jasim ibn Ismail to the palace, although I deeply regret the reason for their visit. Princess Zorahaida is dear to my heart and, whilst I understand the esteem in which the Sultan holds her, I cannot condone the cruel and high-handed manner in which he brought her back. For a man, particularly a sultan, to stoop so low is completely abhorrent. I fear that my brother has little respect for anything save his own wants and desires.
My brother’s actions bring shame upon the Nasrid family. I make no excuses, but you need to know that the Sultan is ailing. I fear that his mind is unhinged and that it has been for some while. He is reluctant to accept treatment, if treatment for a malady like his should truly exist.
When the Sultan learned that the Princess had left Granada for a second time, what little sense he had left deserted him completely.
In brief, Sultan Tariq has proclaimed his daughter’s death. He mourns her. He wanders the palace courtyards like a shadow. He rends his clothes and appears to believe his fabrication is truth.
No one is permitted to mention her name.
I am sure my niece will be desolate when she learns of this. However, all is not as dark as it seems. When her sisters fled to Spain the Sultan banished them, on pain of death. That, at least, will not be Zorahaida’s fate.
Ibrahim ibn Osman, you need to know that the reins of power are in my hands and that the Sultan is little more than a puppet. I do not recommend that Zorahaida returns to Granada quite yet, but should she choose to do so in future she will be welcome.
Further, if her sisters care to return to the land of their birth they too will be welcome.
Zorahaida blinked as the loops and curlicues of her uncle’s handwriting started to blur and waver. Her father had announced her death. She stared blindly at the scroll, trying to analyse what she felt. Nothing. She felt numb. What should she do? What did this mean? Clearly, such tidings would not be absorbed in a day.
Blinking rapidly, she forced herself to finish the rest of the letter.
Governor Ibrahim, the best that can be said of Zorahaida’s abduction is that it brought not only Jasim ibn Ismail to the Alhambra, but also Usayd. It gladdens my heart to see brothers capable of working together instead of treating each other as rivals.
Your oldest nephew, Usayd, is brimming with ideas to rebuild traditional trade alliances. Improved trade will benefit citizens throughout Al-Andalus. It was a privilege to talk to him and I look forward to furthering a prosperous association between our districts.
In the meantime, I would be grateful if you could convey my warmest greetings to my niece. A place in my heart is reserved for her.
May peace be with you,
Sincerely yours,
Ghalib ibn Mustapha, Prince and Heir Designate of the Emirate of Granada
Conscious everyone had fallen silent, Zorahaida looked up to find all eyes were trained on her.
She touched Jasim’s hand and swallowed hard before she could speak. ‘My father has declared me dead.’
Jasim went pale. After a moment’s appalled silence, he slid his arm about her and pulled her against him, visibly struggling for words.
‘Zorahaida, I am so sorry.’ He gestured around the pavilion. ‘All I can say is that I hope you are able to accept our comfort. You belong with us. We will love and cherish you, as you deserve.’
Stunned, Zorahaida stared into steady amber eyes. Love. It was the one word that could heal any amount of hurt and betrayal. Love.
Jasim had said, ‘We will love and cherish you’. We.
That meant him, did it not?
Praying no one could hear the wild pounding of her hopeful heart, she gathered her dignity about her like a cloak and eased away from him. Had he meant it? Had he even noticed?
The words We will love and cherish you became a refrain in her head. She needed to think. Away from Jasim, away from his family.
She rose and when Jasim attempted to do the same, she held him in place with a hand on his shoulder. Smiling, she shook her head and took refuge in subterfuge. ‘I’d like quiet to think about my father’s announcement.’ She turned to Jasim’s uncle. ‘Governor Ibrahim, I thank you for including me in this family gathering, it means a great deal. However, considering Prince Ghalib’s letter, you will understand, I hope, my need for reflection.’
Bowing her head, she left the pavilion and went upstairs.
The silence in her apartment was absolute and the bedchamber empty. No one was about and the songbirds were dozing on their perch.
She closed the door. The chamber was a mess, Maura hadn’t been in to tidy up. Her travelling clothes were strewn across the bed, tangled with Jasim’s. Scooping the lot into a bundle, Zorahaida was putting it out of the way on a coffer when something caught her eye.
The unfinished letter to her sisters sat where she had left it on the side table. Goodness, it was the same letter she had begun an age ago to inform them of her marriage. The one she’d started writing before going to the infirmary with Fatima.
Sitting by the side table, she picked it up. What with her abduction and Prince Ghalib’s news, it was hopelessly out of date. She would have to start afresh.
She leaned her hand on her chin. Her sisters must still be told about her marriage to Jasim. They would be glad to hear that he had shown an interest in meeting them.
She stared into space. How best to tell her sisters of their father’s state of health? It wasn’t easy to think because almost at once her mind wandered back to what Jasim had said in the pavilion.
We will lo
ve and cherish you.
It could simply have been a turn of phrase, a courtly expression to let her know that she was welcome in his family. She hoped it meant more than that. She longed to believe that Jasim had mentioned loving and cherishing her as a declaration of his feelings for her.
Could it be possible? Aching to believe it, she wrapped her arms about her and held in a moan. If only this pain would leave her. No, no, that was a terrible lie. This pain was the sweet agony of loving Jasim, and though the idea that he might not love her tore her to shreds, she wouldn’t wish it away for all the gold in her father’s treasury.
And the reason for that was obvious. She loved him. She always would.
Was this what Leonor and Alba felt for their husbands? Had they gone through similar torments?
She’d not been in the bedchamber long before swift footsteps pulled her from her thoughts and the door opened.
Jasim. Her love. She sat at the side table and looked at him, he was after all a joy to behold. Tall, strong and true, and so very handsome. Her husband, the champion.
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘My life, are you ready for company?’
With a smile, she held out her hand. ‘If that company is you, always.’
He pulled her to her feet and drew her against him. ‘Zorahaida, to my mind, your father has declared you dead because he knows it will wound you. You can’t allow him to succeed.’
She rested her head against his chest and put her hand against his heart. ‘He hasn’t wounded me. Rather, I’ve lost hope he will ever change.’ She curled her fingers into his tunic. ‘As you know, Father banished my sisters from the Emirate. He could do the same to me and he hasn’t. It occurs to me that he didn’t do so because he knows my place is here in Madinat Runda. Perhaps he—’
Long fingers tipped up her chin and amber eyes searched hers. ‘What are you saying?’
‘By declaring me dead Father might, in his way, be giving me permission to remain in the Emirate. He is allowing me to remain with you.’
Jasim huffed out a breath. ‘There is no way that man is considering your interests. You might want to think so, but it is impossible.’
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