He waited for her to speak.
She looked away. “I know a slave in the house of the Ashqilula. Her name is Ulayyah. When Ibrahim tried to kidnap me as a child, she and the Jewish trader the Sitt al-Tujjar aided my return. Since then, Ulayyahhas sent me news of the Ashqilula’s treachery, whenever she can.”
He shook his head. “You were but eight years old when you escaped from Ibrahim. Yet you couldn’t allow your family to deal with the aftermath. Instead, you recruited a spy among his household. Don’t you see how you risked your own life?”
She wrung her hands. “I would do anything for my family. Isn’t that my duty as a princess of Gharnatah?”
He grasped her by the shoulders. Though she winced and pulled away, he jerked her toward him. “Your first duty is to your husband, to my interests. I knew you had your father’s pride, but this is beyond my expectations. You are my wife. I won’t let you come to harm.”
“You want a simpering wife who’ll do as she’s told?”
“I want a wife who considers the consequences of her actions before she undertakes them. What do you think the Ashqilula would do to you if they ever discovered your arrangement? Your father hasn’t weeded out all their spies. They can still attack us. How would your father react if you were hurt? Did you weigh his fears when you plotted with this slave? And, what of my feelings? Does my concern mean so little to you?”
He released her and buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.
When she touched his arm, he shrugged her off, massaging his temples. “You haven’t finished.”
“When Sitt al-Tujjar travels between Gharnatah and the other cities of al-Andalus, she carries payments for Ulayyah to Naricha. She returns to Gharnatah with Ulayyah’s letters sewn between silk. I last received a letter from Ulayyah yesterday. The governor of Madinah Antaqirah has dispersed most of his household guards and half of the province’s guards to quell a rebellion against him at the town of Arsiduna. By Ulayyah’s account, he has left Madinah Antaqirah almost defenseless. This is all I know from her. I swear it by the blessed ninety-nine names of our God.”
“Do you understand why your father is disturbed by your knowledge of his enemies’ doings?”
“I know he was very angry with me,” Fatima murmured. “I disobeyed him with my continued exchange of letters from Ulayyah. He thought our communication had ceased.”
“Fatima, I don’t believe the Sultan is angry with you. Your audacity shocks him. It frightens me. But his greater concern is for your well-being. Your involvement in these intrigues must stop.”
“What are you saying?”
“Can I speak more plainly? You must cease all contact with the slave Ulayyah. Your father’s wishes are clear, as are mine. You belong to me. It’s my duty to protect you from all mischief, including that of your own making. Heed my words and do as I ask.”
Fatima nodded, her eyes averted. Faraj raised her face for his inspection. A glimmer of rebelliousness shone in her gazeand in the thrust of her narrow chin.
He shook his head. “You intend to defy me and your father?You won’t stop?”
“You must try to understand.”
He stood and towered over her. “I’m your husband. I won’t accept your insolence!”
She sank to the ground and clutched his legs, her eyes brimming with tears. “Our family is very important to me. I cannot do what you ask if I can somehow prevent the destruction of my family, even if I risk Father’s censure…and your wrath.”
Exasperated, he grasped her shoulders and brought her to her feet. “You risk more than my wrath and your father’s censure.”
“Tell me,what would you do if you had the knowledge to help rid Gharnatah of its enemies? Wouldn’t you do the same as me?”
“You’re the daughter of the Sultan, a mere female.”
“A mere female? How dare you?But for the endurance of some ‘mere female’ as you say, neither you nor my father would exist. You think because I’m a princess, I should feel less loyalty to my family than you? I cannot accept such an argument.”
“You cannot ask me to condone your actions, to accept the risks you undertake. I’m going with your father to Madinah Antaqirah. When I return, we’ll talk again. I hope by then you’ll have stopped this childish behavior. I won’t let you continue this way.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. She settled on the bench with soft sobs. He longed to soothe her, but clenched his fists at his sides. She had to understand the seriousness of her actions.
He bowed stiffly in farewell. Then Fatima clutched at his hand and kissed the skin. Her tears tracked across his hand. Tears, which he knew now, would always rend his heart.
“If I disobey you?”
Her faltering voice quivered with so many emotions thathe renewed his struggle not to enfold her in his arms and never leave her side.
“Then you go against the clear wishes of your father and my own. If you defy me, I’ll end your lessons with the royal tutor. I’ll ask the Sultan to keep you confined to your rooms. All your correspondence shall cease to be private.”
She shrank away from him, but he grasped her hand.
“I care for you, perhaps more than I first believed possible when we wed. Don’t force my hand in this, I beg you. When I return from Madinah Antaqirah, I pray you’ll have made the right choice. Until then, may the peace of God be with you.”
The next day, Faraj departed for Madinah Antaqirah at the side of Muhammad II, along with the Sultan’s brothers and others of his retinue. They traveled southwest in the wake of the commanders who led the Andalusi army and the Maghribi and Castillan mercenaries.
The Sultan slowed his horse to a canter beside Faraj. “You’ve spoken with my daughter?”
Faraj stiffened. Had the Sultanguessed he had been thinking of Fatima since midmorning when they rode out? How had she managed to beguile him, so that he would do anything to keep her from harm? It was dangerous to care so much for the Sultan’s daughter, but he couldn’t deny his feelings any longer.
“We talked yesterday.”
“She’s very spirited like her mother. Indeed, she is even more like Aisha than I knew. You know she shall defy both of us in this?”
Faraj clamped his jaw tight. “I’m aware of the possibility.”
“I won’t allow it. Neither can you.”
“I’m also aware of that.”
“Then, what shall you do when she defies us both?”
He scrutinized his father in-law’s features for clues as to the Sultan’s thoughts. “You’re deferring her punishment to me?”
“You’re her husband.” The Sultan’s hooded eyes and guarded smile belied his smooth reply.
Faraj wondered if he merely didn’t want to deal with his daughter’s resentment. Despite chiding himself for such base thoughts, he recalled that this wouldn’t be the first time aSultan rejected responsibility for his own actions. If the father of Muhammad II had not conspired against the Ashqilula, they would never have tried to kidnap Fatima. She might have never encountered the slave Ulayyah or startedher dangerous correspondence.
“Master, do you allow me to decide her punishment, without your interference?”
“She’s your wife, but she is also my daughter. You won’t harm her, I trust?”
“I could never hurt her.”
“I don’t envy your lot. I trust your judgment where my daughter is concerned.”
The Sultan kicked his horse into a canter. Faraj’s thoughts returned to Fatima. More than her actions and their argument, he regretted leaving Gharnatah without bidding her farewell. She had not appeared among their family and courtiers this morning. He feared what might happen when they saw each other again. If she did not submit to his wishes, he would have to punish her. He could not bear the thought of causing her pain.
At Madinah Antaqirah, Gharnatah’s army poured into the poorly defendedcity. In a mindless frenzy, they cut down all those who raised a weapon. The hacking and slashing of swords vied
with horrific screams and pleas for mercy. The massacre spilled acrossthe alleyways of the city. Rivulets of blood surged along the channels between the cobblestones.
Over the fray, Faraj shouted to the Sultan, “What of the people of Madinah Antaqirah? Surely you shall spare them?”
The Sultan bellowed, “Do you want me to go amongst my enemies to determine who my friends are? I shall not give them my own khanjar to slit my throat.”
He ordered his commanders, “Cut down every male of an age to bear a sword!”
Outraged, Faraj shouted, “We came to capture the governor, not decimate the town!”
“You don’t have to like my orders. Just obey them.” The Sultan urged his horse forward, his sword swinging wildly. He plunged it into the chest of a spearman who rushed him. His attacker screamed as if in surprise and fell backward. His helmet rolled away, revealing a youthful boyish face. Faraj shook his head in disgust.
Fifteen days later, the Sultan’s entourage returned to Gharnatah. Despite strict orders to the contrary, a great deal of rapine and looting had occurred. Most, if not all, the accused were Muslim soldiers, not the Castillan mercenaries among the Gharnati companies.
While on the journey home,Faraj blotted out images of starving, orphaned children andthe disgraced women picking among their men’s corpses littering the earth. Gharnatah and his return to Fatima beckoned.
Muhammad II entered his capital city in triumph. People lined the streets and acclaimed him, as they had done for his father. Trailing the edge of the royal retinue, Faraj rode his wearied mount up the Sabika hill and into al-Quasaba. He searched for Fatima’s face among those who thronged to greet the victors. Disappointment at her absence crowded his heart. He welcomed the prospect of seeing her again. Yet he also dreaded their reunion.
When he dismounted, the Sultan beckoned him. The pair had barely spoken in the aftermath of Madinah Antaqirah.
After they held each other’s gazes for a moment, the Sultanaverted his eyes. “I celebrate the victory with the rest of our family tonight in my palace garden.” A sheepish grin spread across his face. “You must attend. Fatima shall be there.”
Faraj nodded and returned to his house. Marzuq and his concubines greeted him. After a brief exchange, he withdrew to his room alone.
Later in the evening, he joined the revelry. There was nothing to celebrate after the carnage and destruction at Madinah Antaqirah, but he longed to see Fatima. She spied him first and ran toward him. With just a few paces separating them, they both halted.
He admired her elegant appearance. She wore a black jubba embroidered with silver threads. A gossamer veil matched the robe. Trousers peeked from beneath, nearly covering her leather sandals. She hesitated for a moment before approaching. He took her slim hands in his.
She smiled. “You’re not hurt. I was worried. Forgive me, but I could not see you off before you left, when I feared the worse.”
“You weren’t avoiding me?”
Under hooded eyelids, she snuck a furtive glance. “Why would I have done that?”
“Don’t dissemble. Please, I must have your answer on the issue we discussed before I left. Tell me the truth now. Can you leave it to your father to deal with our enemies? Do I have your promise I won’t hear of your letters to Ulayyah anymore?”
She sighed. “I promise you’ll never hear of the letters again.”
He studied her angular features. She met his gaze without wavering. Then she smiled demurely and drew closer. “Trust me, husband.”
Chapter 15
A King in His Own Land
Prince Faraj
Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Jumada al-Ula 672 AH (Granada, Andalusia: November - December AD 1273)
Some months after the victory at Madinah Antaqirah, a frigid winter descended, during which King Alfonso of Castilla-Leon sent an emissary with entreaties of peace to the court of Muhammad II.
Faraj attended the Sultan’s meeting with his counselors and the Castillans in the throne room on a blustery afternoon after Salat al-Asr, the third daily prayer. Standing in the northern recesses of the shadowy tower, with the guards flanking him, he grinned at the incredulous looks on the Castillan faces. With good reason, he had never trusted them. Now, the Sultanseemed ready to get rid of them, too.
Doñ Nuño Gonzalez abased himself on both knees. “Great Sultan, I beg permission to address your court.”
When the Sultan nodded, Doñ Nuño continued, “Your army decimated the Ashqilula and their allies, with your glorious victory at Madinah Antaqirah. King Alfonso recognizes the folly of supporting the Ashqilula. He knows you are the stronger adversary, with my loyal aid. This is why he presses for my return and an end to our alliance. He bargains from a position of powerlessness. Why would you parlay for peace with him now?”
The Sultangroaned softly. Faraj stood close enough to hear it, but perhaps Doñ Nuño did not for he continued, “You are the master of this domain, the prince of the Faithful. Our alliance has proved fortuitous, has it not? Do not turn from my cause now. With my support, you have strengthened your position and mine. We won at Martus. We vanquished the Ashqilula at Madinah Antaqirah.”
The Sultan pounded the samite-covered arms of the throne. “Doñ Nuño, don’t take me for a fool. Do you think I don’t perceive the real threat? The Ashqilula are but flies upon a festering wound. The real threat remains in Castilla-Leon. The Castillans can’t be beaten back forever, one little town at a time. Martusand Madinah Antaqirah are nothing compared to the entire Sultanate! It doesn’t matter if we control one border town. Your King Alfonso intends to pierce the very heart of Gharnatah, by supporting his Ashqilula allies.
“If Castilla-Leon offers the boon of peace, I’ll accept it for the sake of my people, who tire of war. You read the King’s promises. You’ll return to your homeland, with all honors and rights restored to you. We’ll never forget your service to us.”
Doñ Nuño shook his head. “If you wish me gone, I’ll leave with your blessing. But I still believe, given your victories, it is you and not King Alfonso, who hasthe right to demand peace on your own terms. You have seen the Castillan approach to peace before. Broken promises and half-truths.”
The Sultanleaned forward. “Tread carefully, Doñ Nuño, lest you slander yourself along withyour King. I remember well your broken promises to my father. It cost the Sultanate many lives at a useless siege of Malaka.”
Doñ Nuño showed no reaction to this insult. His face never colored, he barely raised a yelloweyebrow.
“But it’s humiliating to submit to the dictates of Alfonso’s treaty,” he continued. “Would you have Castilla-Leon trample on your pride?”
The Sultan rested his chin on his hand. “My pride can bear it well, Doñ Nuño, as can yours. I hope you do not suggest your pride is worth more than mine.”
His face blanched, Doñ Nuño shook his grizzled head and stood, sketching a stiff bow. The Sultan waved him off. “It is the hour of prayer. We’ll re-convene in the afternoon.”
Muhammad II invited Faraj to join him and his family at Salat al-Zuhr. After the noon prayer, Faraj stayed with them for an early lunch. Fatima seemed surprised and then delighted in turn, by Faraj’s appearance. She sat beside him. He struggled with his concentrationwhile the Sultan explained the day’s events to hischildren. Faraj found himself surprised at how the Sultan kept his daughters so well informed. They asked thoughtful questions in response. They were a remarkable family, unlike any he had ever known.
Fatima proved the distraction. More often than not, a glimpse of her profile, the curve of her soft cheek, or the tinkling melody of her voice as she addressed her father, held him entranced.
After they finished the meal, slaves removed the platters and plates, replacing them with enticing desserts. He did not indulge, having barely touched the spicy chicken served with fresh greens and herbs. Fatima didn’t eat much, either.
Sheasked, “You didn’t like the food?”
He turned to her. “It was g
ood, but I wasn’t very hungry.”
Just then, his belly rumbled and belied his words. She chuckled and smiled at him.
In the midst of their easy rapport, a message arrived from the chief eunuch Hasan.
“What is the matter?” Fatima asked, looking at her father’s ashen face.
Faraj immediately worried whether some tragedy had befallen them. Worse, had the Castillan King already rescinded his invitation to the Christian rebels?
The Sultan said, “Nur al-Sabah’s child shall be born today.”
Fatimaplunked her spoon in the center of the dessert. After a while, she pushed it away. Faraj reached for her hand beneath the low table. When their fingers touched, a warm jolt rippled through him. He barely noticed when the Sultan left. Only Fatima mattered now.Their gazes wound together as tightly as their hands. His heart pounded in a fierce rhythm. Her eyes, now wide and expressive, betrayed deep emotion that robbed him of his speech. Had she always been so beautiful, he wondered. When had the unremarkable child given way to the enthralling woman at his side?
Ishbiliya, al-Andalus: Jumada al-Ula 672 AH (Sevilla, Kingdom of Castilla-Leon: December AD 1273)
Shortly after the Christian Yuletide season began, the Sultan, his bodyguards, Umar the Shaykh al-Ghuzat and the Castillan mercenaries rode to Sevilla, to parlay with King Alfonso. Faraj joined the Sultan’s retinue.
The riders skirted north of Ashqilula territories. After a three-day journey, they arrived at the outskirts of their destination. Sevilla straddled the Wadi al-Kabir, or Guadalquivir River. Trade thrived along the riverbank, with vessels plying its depths to reach the southern marketplace.
Faraj viewed the city sprawling across the plains. Two years after his birth, the Castillans had defeated the Hud family and conquered Muslim Ishbiliya, with the help of his uncle the old Sultan, who often spoke with regret of his role in the re-birth of Christian Sevilla.
King Alfonso’s guards met the riders at the city gates. Heading northeast, they forded the Guadalquivir. They entered under the watchful eyes of the city’s residents. Many new arrivals had repopulated the town after the King’s father, Fernando, expelled its former Moorish and Jewish inhabitants.
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