Niranjan set the cloth on her bed, bowed and went away. Leeta finished and Fatima dismissed her.
Alone, she dashed to the bed and grabbed the robe. She studied the cloth. The silk had come from Ulayyah, her governess’ sister, who served Grandfather’s enemies, the Ashqilula. Why did the slave send her a present?
Then, she noticed an overlay of lavender silk sewn with rough stitches that seemed to serve no purpose in the garment. Trying not to ruin it, she picked at the threads until they loosened. A thin, folded sheet of parchment fell. She opened it, her heart racing with each word.
“Greetings in the name of God, may peace be upon you. I write to one whom I have never forgotten. Those who are disloyal to Gharnatah are plotting the end of the Sultanate. There was a meeting between the Sultan’s enemies at al-Hisn Qumarich on the second day of Ramadan. My lord Abdallah does not know I listened at the door to the raised voices. There were four men inside my lord’s chamber, three whom I recognized: my master Abdallah with the chieftain Ibrahim and the governor of Malaka, Abu Muhammad. The fourth man, they called Doñ Nuño Gonzalez de Lara.”
The last name held no significance for her, but her jaw tightened at the mention of Ibrahim and Abu Muhammad. Ibrahim might have killed her mother, but Abu Muhammad was just as responsible for her death. She realized Abdallah still did not know the truth of Aisha’s death. Shaking her head, she continued reading.
“I had never seen this Doñ Nuño before. My master and his kin wanted assurances they could trust him. The governor of Malaka asked this Doñ Nuño if he was there to seal the new alliance between the Ashqilula and the Castillan King. Doñ Nuño said it was his purpose in coming. I do not pretend to understand all they spoke of, but I know the Ashqilula seek powerful allies against the Sultan. They must pay for their treachery. Tell the Sultan. He shall know what to do. With respect, a loyal servant of Gharnatah.”
Fatima’s head pounded with the knowledge Ulayyah had shared. She called for Leeta. “Please, fetch my father at once.”
Clutching the precious letter, Fatima waited for him.
Quick strides brought him to her room. “Daughter? Your servant said you needed me. Are you unwell?”
“I am well, Father, but please sit.”
She gave him the letter. He read it once, his eyes widening. He glanced at her and then read it a second time. “What’s this about, Fatima?”
“Father, it’s from my governess’ sister, the slave Ulayyah. She serves my mother’s brother Abdallah at Naricha.”
She reminded him of the story of Ulayyah’s kindness to her.
He replied, “Despite all you have said, I fail to understand why this slave would take such a risk? She owes no loyalty to our family and truly, there is no proof, just her words. Did you consider she might be a spy put forth by our enemies to provide false information?”
“Father, you don’t know her as I do. She helped me. You must believe her!”
He shook his head, but she knelt at his feet and grasped his hand. “She gave her loyalty to me and my family, also.”
“What of her master? Doesn’t he also deserve her loyalty? Yet she betrays him.”
“Ulayyah serves her lord Abdallah but she also said Ibrahim of Ashqilula was cruel to her.”
“Reason enough for her to be bitter and write this letter, Fatima. It is not enough.” He scratched his beard. “It’s not for me to decide. I shall speak with the Sultan in an hour, after public audience has ended.” He paused and his hand within hers shook. “What if the Ashqilula find out what she’s done? I don’t know why this woman contacted you, but you must have no more dealings with her. If she sends you another letter, promise me you’ll destroy it.”
He kissed her brow and left. He did not wait for her to make the promise.
An hour passed on the water clock. Fatima went into the bedroom, asking Leeta for her black hooded cloak. She left the harem with Niranjan.
Secreting themselves behind a high row of hedges, the pair did not have to wait long.
Soon her grandfather, her father and the Sultan’s counselors marched past where they sat hidden. The Sultan ordered the throne room’s doors closed behind them.
Niranjan and Fatima left the garden and went down the stairs at the edge of the garden. The door to the tower creaked slightly. Down a long, dark passageway, which ended with a door, they then made their way up one level and hid again, behind the purdah where the women of the Sultan’s household usually sat during public audience. The meeting inside the throne room had already started.
“…can we believe the words of a disgruntled slave? She has suffered at the hands of the Ashqilula and clearly bears them no loyalty.”
That was her father’s voice. Words of agreement followed, all soon hushed by the Sultan. “Yet, you brought this slave’s story to me, son. We must weigh the consequences of any action. I cannot risk the Sultanate on the basis of rumors, but neither shall I allow the Ashqilula or Castillans to make a fool of me in my own land.”
The Sultan fell silent as the tower doors opened. His other sons and Prince Faraj entered. Fatima shrank back next to Niranjan, who placed a comforting arm over her shaking shoulders. She listened to the ensuing argument.
In the months after her mother’s death, she had reasoned that Aisha was right. Her union with Faraj had been a part of the Sultan’s plans. Gharnatah’s future would determine her fate. She could not remain ignorant of events in the Sultanate, or her father and grandfather’s actions.
The Sultan said, “Even if we did not have the claims of this slave, I have enough reason to convince my allies the Ashqilula should be destroyed. Doñ Nuño Gonzalez de Lara came to me in peace months ago. I gave him coin to aid his rebellion. Nothing has resulted. My coin, my trust bartered for so little. I shall not lose in this affair. We must be cautious.”
After the men finished and departed the throne room, quiet descended on the tower again. Niranjan and Fatima crept from their hidden location. When they exited in the garden, a sudden downpour surprised them. Niranjan led her across the darkened paths.
When he stumbled and cried out, she peeked around him.
Faraj eyed them. “What are you and your little mistress doing here, slave?”
She stepped out from behind Niranjan. “The Sultan has never forbidden his grandchildren in any part of his palaces. I go where I please.”
“With a shadow in tow, I see. Your father said he left you in your room, Fatima.”
“We are going there now.”
Niranjan bowed and she followed him.
At her back, Faraj said, “Tread carefully, Fatima.”
She called over her shoulder. “I have nothing to fear in my grandfather’s madina.”
A second letter from Ulayyah arrived within a few weeks. Torn silk in hand, Fatima stood in her father’s garden at sunset with Niranjan beside her. When he finished reading the letter, she asked, “When does the Sitt al-Tujjar return to Qumarich?”
“Soon. I’m sure she’d be pleased to undertake any request you may have.”
“Good. I want to thank Ulayyah for her gift.”
“It shall be done, my princess.”
She dismissed Niranjan. He ripped the parchment into fine pieces, and feed them to the fire at the edge of the garden.
Fatima folded her arms across her waist, and hugged her body against a cooling breeze. She could not turn back from this course, despite her father’s admonitions. She suspected Ibrahim kept spies in their household. Now she would have a spy in his.
Chapter 11
A Small Measure of Peace
Prince Faraj
Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Ramadan 670 AH (Granada, Andalusia: April AD 1272)
Showers burst from the morning clouds, catching Faraj on a morning ride in the hills above Gharnatah. The sudden rain turned his mood sour. He nudged his horse back down the sloping hills and entered the courtyard of the citadel.
Thunder rolled as a steady rain soaked him to the bone. With a shudd
er, he dismounted and found shelter under the redbrick Gate of the Merchants, where he four other people stood, including Fatima.
The stick-thin, sylphlike girl had changed in the six years since they had wed. She stood just shy of his shoulder now. An opaque blue-black veil hid her dark hair. Tiny dirhams with holes drilled at the center of each silver coin decorated the fringe of the veil.
“It’s a terrible time to be riding your horse, my prince. The poor animal is soaked.” She rolled her eyes at him and pulled her multicolored linen wrap tighter about her shoulders.
He groaned, in no mood for her droll observations. “I’m pleased you care so much for the beast’s welfare, even if you think so little of mine. Besides, it was not raining when I left home. Why are you outdoors?” He paused and glanced at the slaves sheltering behind her. “And why has your escort not gone ahead to arrange for your safe conduct?”
The eunuch edged closer and cast a baleful stare full of insolence at him, before he bent and whispered to Fatima. She hushed the slave, her fingers alighting on his forearm. “Remain at my side, Niranjan. There is no need for you to be drenched on my behalf.”
The eunuch dared glance at Faraj, who tightened his fingers into a fist, stifling a fervent urge against striking the impertinent wretch. Had Fatima stimulated such a violent reaction in him instead?
“I had hoped to reach home sooner than this, my prince.” She waved a slim, bejeweled hand at the gathering puddles at their feet. “My lesson in al-Quran was not finished until late.”
“Humph. Aren’t you past the age where princesses are tutored?”
She shook her head, mumbling something under her breath. Then she said, “Memorizing al-Quran is a duty. I may be fourteen, but Father has given permission for the continuation of my lessons.”
He sneered, eyeing her steadily. “How generous the Crown Prince is. Do you enjoy your studies?”
“Just because you didn’t like the princes’ school doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate Ibn Ali’s teachings.”
“How did you know I didn’t like my lessons with Ibn Ali?”
“I asked him about you. He said you were the worst student he has ever had.”
“You questioned the royal tutor about me?”
“You’re my husband. Isn’t it right that I should want to know about you?”
He clenched his fists. “If you want to know anything, I’d prefer if you asked me. I’d never hide anything from you.”
“Humph. I don’t believe you.”
“Are you calling your husband a liar?”
She glanced at him briefly. “You keep secrets. Always, your eyes are watching and observing what others do, yet you remain silent. Something lies hidden in you. You do not speak of it, but sadness and pain haunts your gaze. What secrets are you hiding, Prince Faraj?”
“If I had any secrets, why should they concern you?”
“As I have said, you are my husband. Everything about you is a matter of interest for me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I wonder, what provokes this wifely concern? You’ve never shown it before.”
“When have I ever had the chance to do so? As I have said, you keep secrets.”
She turned her gaze to the sky. An arc of lightening illuminated the darkening clouds, highlighting the curve of her cheek. As he continued staring, a deepening blush suffused her skin. Suddenly, he wondered at how the softness and texture of her flesh might feel against his.
She asked, “Why did you refuse Grandfather’s invitation to dine this evening?”
Startled at the impulsive thought of touching her, he forced a quick reply. “How did you know I had refused?”
Her cheeks colored the deep red of a pomegranate before her eyes fastened on his again, her dark brows drawn together.
“My prince, it is difficult to talk with you, when you insist on answering one question with another.”
Her sedate tone belied the angry flush of her skin. Tension radiated in her fists curled into the folds of her garment and her rigid stance. He sensed deep emotion coursing through her, though held in reserve. It stunned and fascinated him in equal measure. She could likely teach him a lesson or two about natural composure.
The words rushed out of him. “Fatima, I have never dealt with so many questions before. At least, not from a…wife.”
When he hesitated before speaking the last words, her gaze widened. His head and shoulders slumped, and he avoided her insistent stare for a moment. How could he make her understand?
“Fatima, you must recognize that our…situation is unique. We hardly know each other and I wish to avoid offending you. I am simply unaccustomed to such determined inquiry into my welfare.”
She swallowed so loudly that he heard it. “It is the duty of a wife to care for her husband’s welfare. Although our circumstances are unique, as you say, in that we do not live together, I cannot forget my responsibilities.”
He sighed and nodded, as the sensation of a heavy weight settled in his stomach. “I thank you for your concern, Fatima.”
“It was prompted by your answer. I was with the Sultan when it arrived, just before my lesson.”
“Are you close to him?”
“He’s my grandfather. I love him best in the world, as much as my own father and my brother and sisters.”
He did not share the same sentiments about his own family. His father had treated him like his treasured heir, but duties to Malaka and the governorship had occupied his short existence until death. Faraj had three sisters, whom he had not seen for years since each of them married. He and his half-brother loathed each other.
“Aren’t you close to your family, my prince?”
“I’ve never been.” He tamped down a natural inclination toward asking why she wanted to know, but his admission left him embittered and unwilling to delve further into the topic. Had she asked the question, intent on belittling him for it, or just as a demonstration of her knowledge about his circumstances? Had she asked for another unexpected reason? Did she care for him?
She said, “It’s unfortunate, as you were all orphaned in your youth. Yes, Father told me about your past. Your eyes betray your surprise. Yet, who should you have clung to except each other?”
Her knowledge astonished him, in particular her pertinent observations. His gaze slid away under her scrutiny. The intent warmth of her expression unnerved him, though he sensed her stare held no pity, only curiosity. He worried about what else might she have learned of him.
After a time, he inhaled deeply. “My half-brother has no love for me. I share the same views of him. There was always a little rivalry between us. My younger sisters are married. I suppose their duties as wives and mothers keep them to their respective homes. Not every family can be as fortunate to be close, like yours.”
“Have you ever tried to know your family better?”
He shrugged. “They’ll never have a high opinion of me, so it’s useless.”
She nodded. “I may not know you as well as I should like, but my instincts tell me you don’t avoid a challenge, if you really want something.”
He drew back, flabbergasted. Damned girl, how did she perceive the worst and best of him? She edged too close to the truth, one he could not confront. Not yet.
He forced a smile. “For the moment, I’m focused on improving your opinion of me.”
Her blush returned. “Why do you say that?”
“You have made many assumptions, some true, but most of them unfair. If I don’t take the trouble to correct you, we shall never have a companionable relationship.”
“Is that what you want from me, a companionable relationship?”
She awaited his answer in silence, her gaze stark, piercing to his very soul.
He sucked in a harsh breath and looked at her companions, who had intently followed the conversation. The women exchanged abrupt, wary glances with him and each other, before they looked away. The eunuch’s black eyes darted to Faraj’s face before
he studied the blackened sky.
Faraj nodded to Fatima. “My parents married according to the wishes of the Sultan, as we did. They shared a delicate peace. If we are fortunate to have a small measure of the happiness they did, it would suit me.”
She lowered her eyelids. “Only a small measure would suffice, humph? If that is what you wish, then it is what you shall have.”
Those sparkling eyes that had intrigued and invited a moment ago closed him out. A chill rippled through his body that had nothing to do with the soaking rain.
He looked down at his muddied, sandaled feet. No words passed between them but thoughts swirled in his head, all revolving around her. How had she stirred his anger, curiosity, and now, regret, in such a short span of time?
He began, “Fatima, I….”
“I believe the rain has stopped, my prince. Please, allow me to return to my father’s harem.”
At the sound of her voice, he looked heavenward. As suddenly as the rain had started, it tapered off.
She curtsied before him. “The peace and blessings of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, be with you.”
Her servants bowed, before they all turned away and left him.
He hung his head and kicked a pebble in his path. Snagging the reins of his sodden, snorting horse, he glanced over his shoulder. Fatima’s silken jubba grew fainter in the distance, the thin material of her robe clinging to her smooth hips.
He arrived at his house just before another abrupt downpour started. He bellowed for Marzuq and gave him terse instructions. The steward bowed and departed.
Faraj handed his wet cloak to a waiting slave and went to his bedchamber. There, he undressed hastily and changed into a woolen caftan and trousers. Dim light illuminated his way as he crossed the corridor.
Entering the cavernous chamber where his women resided in the harem, Faraj beheld a delectable sight. His jawari waited in the center of the room in various stages of undress, their sheer, pastel silk garments betraying and hiding sensuous curves at the same time.
“Master, Marzuq said you were unsettled. Surely we can improve your mood.” Samara looked up at him beneath hooded eyelids painted with malachite.
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