Sultana (23 page)

Faraj shook his head. Niranjan’s skill with words could rival any diplomat in Gharnatah or al-Maghrib.

“Does the Sultan know you are here in al-Maghrib el-Aska?”

“Yes, I asked his permission before I left Gharnatah. Only the Sultana Fatima knew the full purpose of my coming here. Others, including the Sultan, were misled. They believed my sole purpose was to visit the great slave market of Fés el-Bali, in search of a rare and special gift from Sultana Fatima for her father.”

“Who concocted the lie, you, or her?”

“Such a thing is not a lie. My mistress charged me to find a new pleasure slave for her father. I have found the girl, a most exquisite slave of noble birth, with hair as black as the
Kaaba
in the Holy City. I have fulfilled the dual responsibilities with which my mistress charged me. I merely omitted half of my purpose from everyone else.”

“I understand. Are you returning to al-Andalus now?”

“I’ll fetch the slave from the marketplace and make my way homeward. Is there a message for my mistress?”

Faraj considered his words. “Tell her we shall talk when I return to Gharnatah.”

Niranjan bowed and left him.

Later, when dressed for dinner, Faraj followed the escort Ibn Yala provided. The Sultan’s minister met him at the entrance of the palace.

A group of men exited the ornate horseshoe gateway, chattering loudly. Recognizing their language as the vernacular spoken in the Christian kingdom of Aragon, Faraj asked Ibn Yala about them.

The chief minister answered, “Those are the ambassadors of the King of Aragon, my prince. We have signed a peace treaty with them.”

Faraj asked, “Is this the reason your honorable master delayed our meeting?”

“Yes. Understand if I could not tell you so beforehand, but now you know.”

“This is interesting. I wonder what Castilla-Leon shall think of this treaty, since it is Aragon’s neighbor and the Castillan King is married to a daughter of Aragon.”

Ibn Yala raised his eyebrows. “I expect the Castillans might not be pleased by our new alliance. The treaty forbids Aragon from aiding its neighbors in aggression against other Muslim lands, including wars in Gharnatah.”

Faraj smiled. “It is remarkable you were able to effect such terms.”

Ibn Yala nodded. “The world is remarkable, made even more so by money and greed.”

The pair bypassed the gate and entered a spacious courtyard with a murmuring fountain at its center, surrounded by palm trees, acanthus leaves and the pale yellow of the narcissus flower. The setting sun threw long shadows against buildings ornamented with glazed tiles, each entryway bordered by carved and painted wooden arches, cornices and marble columns. The harsh desert climate sharply contrasted against the lushness of al-Andalus.

Guards lined a long, intricately carved wall. Ibn Yala gestured to the doors ahead.

Faraj had prepared his arguments with the Marinid Sultan against the Ashqilula. They wanted to kill him, as they did when he was a child. He would not allow them to do what they had done to his father.

“Prince Faraj!” Ibn Yala pushed him to the ground and drew his dagger.

So, the chief ministerwas the assassin. There was no Ashqilula plot to murder him, just Marinid treachery. Faraj faced the prospect of the violent death he had escaped as a child. But he would not submit to fate. If he died today, the Sultan’s devious minister would fall with him.

 Then, he realized the guards had surged forward and restrained one of their own. One of the soldiers tore the lance from the man’s murderous grasp.

Ibn Yala’s expression betrayed shock, fierce anger and relief in turns. “Are you unharmed, Prince Faraj? I’m sorry I was so rough, but he was prepared to kill you.”

When Faraj nodded, Ibn Yala sheathed his dagger and faced the would-be murderer. “Who is this traitor who would attack a guest?”

The captain of the guardsmen answered, “He arrived nearly two weeks ago from the fort at Sebta. The commander wrote that he is a cousin of his and fit to join the royal corps.”

“I know the commander at Sebta,” Ibn Yala snarled. “He’s an orphan with no relations. Bring the letters of assignment to me. I’ll prove they are forgeries. Take our prisoner to the dungeon. I want him unharmed but prepared to talk. The Sultan and, I believe our guest, shall wish to speak with him before he’s executed.”

Ibn Yala helped Faraj to his feet. “Someone wanted to prevent our meeting.”

Faraj nodded. “Yes and I know exactly who’s responsible.”

Chapter 17

Homecoming

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Sha’ban 672 AH (Granada, Andalusia: February AD 1274)

A month passed once Niranjan returned to Gharnatah. Fatima waited for word of her husband. Each messenger who arrived at court every day filled her heart with terror. Fearful imagining of Faraj’s brutal death at the hands of some unknown assassin haunted her nights.

Dreading sleep, she stood in her father’s garden in the late evening. A wintry chill swept down from the mountains, scattering dried leaves and wilted petals. The sky glowed in ominous hues of orange, red and purple, as though fire had set the heavens ablaze.

Leeta bowed beside her.

She sighed. “Yes, Leeta, I know it’s time for dinner with Father and my sisters. Can you tell them that I won’t come tonight?”

“The invitation to dine came from your husband.”

The breath caught in her throat. “He’s…home?”

Leeta smiled. “The message just arrived from your husband’s house. He wants to dine with you this evening. Isn’t that wonderful news?”

A chill swept up her spine. She clasped and unclasped her icy fingers.

Leeta patted her shoulder. “Don’t be nervous, you’ve longed for his return. Now he’s here and we must find some lovely attire for the evening. Perhaps the black
jubba
with the braid embroidery? Let’s consider it in the
hammam
.”

Leeta ushered her from the garden into the small alcove at the entrance to the bath. Beautiful turquoise and beige pigments covered the walls of the room.
Naksh
calligraphy incised at the top of each wall extolled the virtues of cleanliness. The colors and artistrytransformed the otherwise utilitarian area into a place of beauty. In one corner, a marble water fountain stood at the center of a low pool. A carved stool sat before the fountain, while a tray of implements lay on a smaller stool next to the wall. Two thick wool towels hung on a brass rod.

“Sit and I shall tend to you, my Sultana.”

Fatima relaxed as Leeta pinned her hair up, before inspecting the bathing tools. Fatima gestured to a thick scrub, made of ground apricot seeds mixed with milk and almond oil in a copper jar. Leeta smoothed it from her neck downward. Then she took a bronze scraper from the tray and removed the sticky mixture, occasionally rinsing the scraper in the fountain. Fatima sighed as Leeta dipped a thick sponge in the water and lightly wiped the contours of flesh.

 When Leeta finished the ritual, she reached under the stool where Fatima sat. Removing two pairs of bath sandals made of cork. Fatima stepped into the smaller pair. Fatima led the way into the next chamber, while Leeta followed with towels draped over her arm.

Three times the size of the first room, the harsh glare of sunset sent light streaming into the bathing area through rounded glass windows near the ceiling. Torches in the corners reflected light toward a large square pool at the center. Four columns at each corner of the room supported the roof.

Fatima sat at the edge of the pool, while her servant scrubbed her skin with olive oil, alkali and natron. Then she dove under the water and washed.

Later, perfumed and massaged, she returned to her bedchamber where Leeta and Amoda dressed her. The women wrapped her in a black silk robe. Slippers, a beautiful full-length wrap and gossamer black veils completed her attire.

She frowned at the number of jewelry pieces on the bed; a long necklace of opals and rings, bracelets and anklets. “This is not a state occasion, Leeta.”

“But my Sultana, this is your first occasion to dine in private with your husband. Show him that you value your bridal trousseau.”

While Amoda affixed the necklace, its pendant the size of an egg, Fatima replied, “I doubt my husband shall be concerned about whether I am wearing anything among the gifts he has given me. He’s probably deciding whether to beat me or have me locked in my rooms.”

Amoda applied light cosmetics to her face. “My Sultana, surely he’s not cruel.”

“Neither of you have husbands yet, so you wouldn’t know.”

Behind Fatima, her pet kite twittered loudly, perched on the bow of her cage. She patted the cage. The bird was the only present from Faraj that she truly treasured.

Niranjan entered the room. “You look enchanting, my Sultana. By your permission, may I escort you to dinner with your husband?”

She glared at her servants, who blushed and tittered behind their hands. “Does everyone in the palace know I’m to dine with Faraj?”

Bundling her wrap around her shoulders, she murmured, “But perhaps it’s for the best. He’ll be less inclined to kill me if more people are aware of my evening with him.”

In silence, she followed Niranjan to Faraj’s house at the southwest limits of the
madina
. The red brick residence with its walled gate looked sinister in the dim light. She recalled her first visit, which had been pleasant until Faraj’s slave appeared. Now, a household servant waited outside the horseshoe-arched door.

Niranjan stopped under the shade of a juniper tree. “I await you here, my Sultana.”

She drew in a deep breath and crossed the smooth cobblestones to meet the prince’s servant.

“My Sultana, I pray the peace of God be with you. I am the steward of the house, Marzuq. I welcome you in your husband’s name.”

“Thank you for your gracious welcome.”

The steward led her inside. She remembered the small antechamber strewn with cushions. They emerged at an indoor courtyard with a lonely fountain, which led to a small dining hall, where Faraj waited.

After so many weeks apart, she took in the full measure of him, her heart swelling with pride, which dampened all her fears. He looked very handsome, dressed in black and gold robes.

“I bid you welcome.” He gestured to the cushion at her feet.

Fatima stopped staring and sat down. The servant bowed and left.

Puzzled, she turned to her husband, “If he goes, who shall serve us?”

Faraj chuckled. “You’ve never been without servants for even one night?”

“I’m a princess.”

“Indeed. Allow me to attend you.”

He lifted the covers of the platters and she gasped.

“I asked your father about your food preferences when I returned to Gharnatah this morning. He said lamb kebabs and rice with carrot, onion, garlic and scallion were your favorites, but
‘tharid
was also something you enjoyed. He also said my cook should not flavor the dessert pudding with too many almonds or too much sugar. Was he right?”

Their conversation throughout the meal began on a light, entertaining note, but soon Fatima dug her fingernails into her palms, stifling a scream of exasperation. After her husband praised the Marinids for saving him from the assassin and shared the success of his meeting with their Sultan, now he spoke of the architectural wonders and cuisine of Fés el-Bali.

“You’re not really listening to me, are you?” His voice intruded on her internal ramblings.

“What? I am listening. You just said the people of Fés el-Bali eat too much camel meat, which they sell within the sacred confines of
al-Qarawiyyin
Mosque.”

“Indeed. What is the matter?”

“Can you truly ask that? Have you no idea what might be bothering me?”

“It is obvious I do not know, so please tell me.”

She threw up her hands. “I’m awaiting your judgment, your punishment! Yet, you relate ridiculous stories of the people of Fés el-Bali and their camel meat. I wish you would simply shout at me and be done with it.”

Faraj smiled. “You’d prefer my anger to my hospitality? It’s a strange choice.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, fuming.

He tugged her hands away. “If you await punishment, Fatima, you wait in vain. I knew you would disobey me when you promised never to be involved with the Ashqilula slave again. I’ve always known how you value the safety of your family above all else.”

“I didn’t send Niranjan just to protect our family. I sent him for you.”

“It was very loyal of you.”

“You’re my husband. You should have my loyalty.”

“I am grateful for it. As to future letters from this slave, you shall deliver them to me. I shall commend them to the Sultan. Do you understand me, Fatima? I want to see every letter. No more secrets between us.”

She stared at him, perplexed by his easy resolve. “I understand and I swear upon the blessed ninety-nine names of God, you shall have every letter.”

“You have sworn by our God and such is a sacred oath.”

“I know, you needn’t caution me. Why did you send for me if not to punish me?”

“I wished to enjoy the company of my wife whom I have not seen for nearly two months. Is it not right that I should wish to be with you?”

His candid expression made her heart soar. “May I ask something?”

“What is it that you wish to know?”

She cleared her throat. “In the years we have been married, you’ve never tried to kiss me. Don’t you want to kiss me? I’m not a child anymore.”

He stared wide-eyed and laughed, an uproarious sound filling the room.

Her face grew hot. “I do not understand what is so amusing about my question.”

He wiped the corner of his eyes. “There shall never be a dull moment in this marriage.”