The slave recoiled, his expression pinched. Despite the wrinkles furrowing his brow, he approached and scooped up Fatima in his lanky arms. “I thought you said you wanted to help her. Was that a lie?”
“I won’t tolerate questions from a slave.”
“I may be a slave, but I have more strength than one too cowardly to bear this child’s pain.”
Faraj lurched to his feet, his hand upraised.
“Would you do it, strike me down knowing I hold the Crown Prince’s beloved daughter in my arms?” The slave swung Fatima away from him. “What is she to you? A mere child, the granddaughter of our noble master, beyond your caring or concern? Why did you marry her, if you think it too much to be there for her when she needs you most? Is that not the duty of a husband, to comfort his bride in times of sorrow? You cannot imagine the horror she must have seen, or how bravely she has borne this pain.”
When Faraj laughed, the sound seemed hollow and pathetic to his ears. “You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s a pain I understand all too well.”
“Then help her, as you promised her noble father that you would. She needs you, as much as she needs him and the rest of her family.”
Faraj’s heart palpitated wildly, as his vision swam. “Don’t you understand? I can’t! Not anymore.”
He waved the slave away and left them.
“Then you’re a coward, my lord.” The slave’s echoing condemnation chased him from the room. “Forgive me for saying it. May God help my mistress bear the burden of being wed to a weakling like you. You do not deserve her. She may be a child, but she is stronger than you….”
Faraj blinked harshly as he emerged in the full glare of the sun. Shielding his eyes behind his hands, he noticed the Sultan and his son in conversation beside a column.
The Sultan looked at him. “Is Fatima asleep already?”
He shook his head and stumbled before he backed off.
The Crown Prince glared at him. “What have you done with my daughter? You left her alone. I thought you wanted to stay with her.”
“I cannot….” His voice was a low moan, brimming with all the pain and confusion churning inside him.
He turned on his heel and escaped the demands of the Crown Prince. He broke into a run, fleeing the demons of his own violent past. He could not aid Fatima against the nightmares that would soon assail her. It was useless to try, when he did not know how to help himself.
Chapter 7
Kings and Counselors
Prince Faraj
Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Ramadan 664 AH (Granada, Andalusia: June AD 1266)
Ten days into the holy month of fasting, Faraj stood on the battlements of the citadel. The midday sun beat down on his head without mercy. He could not escape the heat, anymore than he could escape this meeting between his master and the Marinids.
A detachment of Marinid warriors streamed through the western gate, under the watchful gaze of the Sultan and the Crown Prince. Their commander, Umar of the family Mahalli, rode at the forefront. The Sultan of al-Maghrib el-Aska had promised Umar was the fiercest defender of the Faith in all the Islamic lands. Faraj understood this to mean the Marinid warrior was a religious fanatic, but he wondered whether the commander was the right sort of fanatic for what the Sultan of Gharnatah had in mind.
Nine months on, the conflict with the Ashqilula had escalated. According to the Sultan’s spies, they now offered their allegiance to King Alfonso of Castilla-Leon, who supplied them with a thousand Castillan knights for their protection. Provocation indeed – but the Sultan hoped the arrival of the Marinids, the new allies he sought, would prove the downfall of his enemies.
The last of the retinue entered the precincts of al-Qal’at Al-Hamra. Faraj followed the Sultan and Crown Prince, descending stairs winding from the citadel to an underground passage, flanked by bodyguards. The passageway led under the citadel to an exit in the courtyard. From there, stairs offered an approach to the recesses of the throne room.
When the Sultan and his entourage mounted the stairs, guards patrolling the area bowed in reverent silence. One soldier opened the door and everyone, except the Sultan, hung back. The women of his household gazed at them in surprise, with cries of alarm.
The ladies sat concealed from view behind their purdah, a latticed screen. The Sultan’s two remaining wives, the Sultanas Hamda and Qamar, and his kadin Lateefah greeted him first.
Faraj relied on the Sultan’s previous descriptions to identify each woman now. Sultana Hamda smoothed her dark blue, brocaded robes and smeared a thick berry stain on her thin lips, before she acknowledged her husband. Faraj did not doubt she was as vain as the Sultan had once remarked. Then she reached for a water pipe filled with opium. She drew deeply upon the pipe, inhaling the sickly sweet scent of the poppy. Faraj sneered and thought it a disgusting habit.
Hamda’s counterpart Sultana Qamar sat with her thin hands in her lap, delicate golden brows flaring over her doe-like, brown eyes. She offered her husband a shy glance, which made Faraj wonder how she could be so reticent before a man whom she had been married to for more than twenty years. Her fair skin glowed and a faint scent of lemon drifted from the folds of her jubba.
The kadin Lateefah sat beside Sultana Qamar. Although no longer in the first blush of youth, she remained the favorite, the most honored of the Sultan’s concubines. She offered him a coquettish smile. It seemed foolish from a woman who was perhaps only a few years older than the Crown Prince was. Her heart-shaped face, full, stained lips and honey-brown complexion held the Sultan enthralled before he moved on. His daughter, Maryam the widow, also offered him a winsome smile before she lined her gray eyes with kohl. Faraj suspected the Sultan returned her welcoming gesture with feigned pleasure. Only this morning, he had complained to anyone who would listen about her excessive spending on silks and damasks at the market. However, if his plans succeeded, his spendthrift daughter would soon be gone from Gharnatah.
With the Sultan’s permission, his retinue passed beyond the purdah, eyes averted from the women. Sycophants comprised of Gharnatah’s wealthy elite filled the rest of the room, whispering their latest intrigues in hushed tones. When the Sultan appeared without warning at the forefront of the throne room, the din of murmurs died.
To the left stood his counselors, who advised him upon all political and religious matters. Most of them were sons of non-nobility who had earned the right to become permanent fixtures of the court by their intellectual prowess. The Crown Prince preceded Faraj into the room, while the Sultan’s bodyguards fanned out along the walls.
The Marinid delegation stood just outside the open brass and oak doors, waiting while the aged court herald shuffled forward. “In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, bear witness and render homage to the presence of the Appointed of Allah. He, who is like the mighty and invincible lion in times of war and like the generous water giving life to the dry earth in times of peace. His great deeds shine brilliantly for all to see. The happiness of men and the jubilation of women precede his coming. He is al-Ghalib bi-llah, the Sultan Muhammad ibn al-Ahmar ibn Yusuf ibn Nasr. Give praise to Allah for his justice. Give praise to Allah for his peace. By the blessings of Allah, know there is none but Allah and the Prophet, may peace be upon him, is His messenger. Amin.”
Suppressing a yawn, the Sultan sank into the chair behind him. Faraj stifled a laugh, but the Crown Prince glared at him.
Umar approached, leading his Marinid delegation. He was a broad-chested man of Nubian stock, heavily built with bowed legs. His moon-shaped face with its heavy jowls reflected a rich diet. His eyes were small dots. It seemed as though he might be squinting. “Peace be with you, the appointed of God, exalted Sultan of Gharnatah. I greet you in the name of my noble master, Sultan Abu Yusuf Ya’qub al-Marini, the Commander of the Believers and the Anointed of God. My master sends greetings and well wishes for your continued prosperity, and gifts to honor your household.”
Faraj smiled. This military man had the
smooth tongue of a diplomat, too. Umar beckoned slaves, who presented tokens of leather, precious metals, spices and silks. The Sultan showed the appropriate interest and appreciation, but Faraj guessed he did not care.
Umar stated, “There is one more gift, but it is a delight meant only for the Sultan.”
The Sultan tugged hair on his gray beard, while Faraj leaned toward the Crown Prince. “It must be a woman. At seventy-five years old, our master needs a pleasure slave like he needs another wife to annoy and harass him.”
Though he chuckled, the Crown Prince stared at him without saying a word. Then Faraj remembered - his uncle never complained about any of his wives, except for the Crown Prince’s late mother, Muna. Embarrassed, Faraj cleared his throat and looked ahead.
The Sultan stood, his legs shaking a little with the effort. His son took a step forward, earning him a disapproving glare. Then the Sultan said, “The court shall withdraw. Only my guard, the Marinid commander, my heir and Prince Faraj may remain.”
Chattering, the courtiers retreated. The royal wives peeked from behind the purdah, but the Sultan waved them off. The doors to the throne room slammed in a resounding thud.
“With your permission, may I show you the gift?” Umar gestured to the antechamber just off the throne room. The Sultan walked with him, while Faraj followed beside the Crown Prince.
A delicate girl knelt in the center of the marble floor. She appeared to be no more than twelve years old, swathed in gold cloth and strings of pearls. Her face was heart-shaped and lily white and her ice-blue eyes at first seemed almost sparkling. Then, she swayed slightly. Pale golden curls tumbled free from the confines of her veils. Faraj realized her captors had drugged her. He snorted with disgust. She was nothing but a child bought for an old man’s pleasure.
The Sultan and Crown Prince glared at him. He averted his eyes from her.
Umar said, “She is from Galicia, captured earlier this year. She has been well-trained and is very skilled, I’m told.”
The Crown Prince drew a step closer to the girl. “A blonde. Such rare magnificence.” He cleared his throat. “What is her name?”
Umar answered, “We have called her Nur al-Sabah, noble prince.”
The Sultan said, “How fitting, for she’s the embodiment of ‘the light of morning’ with her golden hair. Tell your master I accept his gift with pleasure, Umar. My son, summon the chief eunuch of my harem to see to this girl.”
The Crown Prince asked, “You…intend to keep her, Father?”
“I shall keep her. I may be an old man, but I suspect she could make me forget my age if she is indeed skilled. Would you suggest I do otherwise, son?”
The Sultan watched his heir like a hunting hawk studies its prey, looking for weaknesses. The Crown Prince stared at the girl, with something akin to reverence. She lifted her chin a little, her gaze straight ahead, trained in the Crown Prince’s direction. A sigh escaped him, whispering of some inner turmoil and burgeoning desire. He looked to his father then, with a pitiful expression of appeal, almost despairing. His lips trembled.
Faraj shook his head, wondering whether the Crown Prince dared ask for the girl. Lust could easily rule a man. He vowed no woman would ever hold sway over his heart. Burdened with a bride who could not be a true wife to him, he saw no reason to fear.
The Sultan smiled and diffused the tension. “Commander, my household has prepared a reception for you and your highest-ranking officers this evening. Shall we adjourn until then?”
When Umar assented, he nodded toward the Crown Prince. “Do as I have asked, son. Come, nephew.”
When they left the room, Faraj trailed behind the Sultan. Before they reached the entrance, he looked over his shoulder. The Crown Prince still stared, fascinated with the girl. Oddly enough, despite her torpor, she seemed focused on him, too.
After sunset and the observance of the fourth daily prayer, Salat al-Maghrib, Faraj accompanied the Sultan. They led the Marinid delegation to the gardens north of the palace. There, a feast awaited them, inasmuch to entertain their guests as to break the day’s fasting.
A festive atmosphere already pervaded. Musicians played in a secluded corner. The Crown Prince arrived last, with his three younger brothers. Faraj wondered at his delay but could not allow himself further speculation, as the Sultan motioned for the meal to begin.
The royal family sat on the left and to the right Umar joined five of the Marinid officers, including his younger, sinewy brother, Talha. Slaves placed dishes of lukewarm rosewater and a towel at each table setting. After everyone washed their hands and toweled them dry, the Sultan blessed the meal. The waiting slaves revealed the contents of great gold and silver platters inlaid at the edges with mother of pearl.
Faraj ate with gusto, enjoying one of his favorite dishes, roasted lamb and rice stir-fried together with onion, lemon and carrot. There was flatbread and an eggplant dip, which the lemon juice made too bitter, in his opinion. Lentil soup and a salad of mint and parsley accompanied the main meal.
Umar praised the Sultan on the taste of each dessert that followed, eating date balls and pastries with almonds, sugar and rosewater, or others with a mixture of sweet white cheese, nuts and syrup.
While slaves removed the remnants of the meal, everyone dipped their fingers in the water bowls and dried them.
The Sultan addressed his guests. “In honor of your arrival, I’ve chosen six of my most beautiful slaves, all virgin maidens whose perfection I’ve only seen, but never touched. Each of you shall take a slave for your pleasure. These women are my gifts to you.”
The men murmured their appreciation and approval. Then the Sultan turned to Umar. “Join me on a tour of these magnificent gardens. Your men may remain and enjoy the hospitality of my household. My heir shallensure they lack for nothing.”
He and Umar left the others, followed at a discreet distance by his bodyguards. Faraj chewed at his lower lip and stared long after they disappeared behind a row of juniper trees.
When they returned to the banquet area, Faraj and the others stood to greet the Sultan and his guest. The Sultan remained cordial with Umar. But during the ritual of the water pipe which followed, Faraj noted whenever his uncle eyed Umar, the commander appeared flustered. He even dropped the pipe twice.
The yawning Marinid officers prompted the Sultan to dismiss them. Slaves escorted them to their quarters and the waiting slave girls.
The Crown Princeleaned toward his father. “What did Umar say, honored father? Will his master aid us against the Ashqilula?”
The Sultan took the water pipe and inhaled deeply. “Umar told me that his master honors me as a brother of the Faith. However, he cannot pledge an alliance with me.”
Sighs of dismay issued from everyone. The Crown Princeasked, “Did you appeal to his heritage? Our intelligence confirmed his mother was Andalusi, from near our home in Aryuna.”
The Sultan drew on the pipe again. “I mentioned it.”
“And he responded in what manner?”
“His mother left al-Andalus as a girl and could not recall her birthplace with any clear memory or affinity.”
“Did you tell him how his master would do well to support us? In thirty-five years of your reign, you’ve made Gharnatah a haven for those who live under Islamic rule. Did you explain how civil war would destroy his mother’s birthplace?”
“He knows this, too.”
“Did you speak of the Castillans? Did you say that if Gharnatah should ever fall to the Castillans, nothing shall stop them from conquering other Moorish lands? Gharnatah alone stands between Castillan ambitions and the subjugation of Islam. Did you say none of this?”
The Sultan set down the water pipe and glared at his son. “Would you like to try with him? You might have better luck.”
The Crown Princestammered. “I could never match your skill in diplomacy. You’re my teacher, Father.”
Despite his son’s contrition, the Sultan continued to frown. Then the heir mumbled, “At
least my sister Maryam won’t be bartered away.”
“Then perhaps you should take her into your harem and let her drain your treasury, like she’s done with mine.”
“We have gambled and lost,” the Sultan’s third son, Prince Nasr, interjected. “If the Marinids cannot help us neutralize our enemies, what canyou do, noble father?”
The Sultan smiled. “Now, we deal with the Castillans.”
Expressions of confusion and concern greeted him. As usual, the Crown Princevoiced his opinion first. “But, the Castillans are allied with the Ashqilula.”
“For now, it would seem to be the way of things.” His father stroked his hennaed beard.
“I don’t understand. Were your reports wrong?”
The Sultan gestured to Faraj. “Perhaps my nephew can explain.”
Expectant eyes turned to him. Farajsaid, “The Marinids would have been powerful allies and could have helped us end the Ashqilula revolt. But they’re across the sea, while Castilla-Leon is at our back. We can’t afford for the Castillans to aid the Ashqilula in a civil war.”
The Sultan added, “After the wedding, whenI discussedFaraj’s marriage to my granddaughter with him, he reminded me ofthe Castillan threat. They concerned me, too. At my behest, Faraj wrote to the Castillan King. I have promised to renew the tribute paid under the old Castillan King’s regime. The new one is greedy like his father. He’ll take the money, but I’ll hold him to renouncing the alliance with the Ashqilula. One way, by fair means or foul, I shall be rid of them. Now, we journey to Castilla-Leon.”
Al-Qal’at ibn Zaide, al-Andalus: Ramadan 664 AH (Alcala Real, Kingdom of Castilla-Leon: June AD 1266)
One week later, the Sultan’s entourage, including Faraj, journeyed to the Castillan city of Alcala Real, where the Sultan would meet with King Alfonso the Wise.
The rugged terrain offered opportunities for bandits. The men traveled under a heavy retinue of guards. They neared the city once known as al-Qal’at ibn Zaide, famous for its healing mineral springs. Then a dust cloud billowed on the horizon. Heavy hooves pounded the earth.
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