Sultana's Legacy (2 page)
Doñ Alonso Perez de Guzman, the defender of Tarifa, a Leonese knight in the service of King Sancho IV of Castilla-Leon
Doña Maria Coronel, the wife of Doñ Alonso Perez de Guzman
Doñ Fernan Alonso, eldest son of Doñ Alonso Perez de Guzman and Doña Maria Coronel
Retainers, Slaves and Others
Ibn al-Hakim al-Rundi, the
Hajib
(chief minister) to Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah and Abu Abdallah Muhammad III of Gharnatah, head of the Sultan’s chancery
Ali ibn al-Jayyab, the
Hajib
(chief minister) to Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah, Abu Abdallah Muhammad III of Gharnatah, Abu’l-Juyush Nasr I and Abu’l-Walid Ismail I ibn Faraj, head of the Sultan’s chancery
Ibn Safwan, the
Hajib
(chief minister) to Abu’l-Juyush Nasr I, head of the Sultan’s chancery
Ibn al-Mahruq, minister to Abu’l-Walid Ismail I ibn Faraj and Abu Abdallah Muhammad IV ibn Ismail
Nur al-Sabah, Galician favorite of Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah
Khalid of al-Hakam, the
Shaykh Khassa
(captain of the guard) of Malaka. Alimah bint Muhammad's brother in-law
Adulfo, the captain of the Galician guard of Abu’l-Juyush Nasr I
Abu’l-Qasim of Bannigash, chief eunuch of Abu’l-Walid Ismail I ibn Faraj and Abu Abdallah Muhammad IV ibn Ismail
Niranjan al-Kadim, Fatima’s eunuch-guard
Marzuq, Faraj’s chief steward
Leeta, Fatima’s maidservant, Marzuq’s wife, Niranjan’s first sister
Amoda, governess of Fatima’s children, Niranjan’s second sister and twin of Leeta
Faisal, chief eunuch of Shams ed-Duna
Haniya, Fatima’s maidservant, Faisal’s third sister
Basma, Fatima’s maidservant, Faisal’s fourth sister
Asiya, Fatima’s maidservant, illegitimate daughter of Khalid of al-Hakam and Haniya
Sabela, a Galician slave in the service of Nur al-Sabah
Amud, a Tuareg in Faraj’s service
Bazu, a Tuareg in Faraj’s service, Amud’s brother
Baraka, Faraj’s Genoese concubine
Hayfa, Faraj’s Nubian concubine
Samara, Faraj’s Provençal concubine
Sitt al-Tujjar, a Jewish merchant
Musa ibn Qaysi, a hashish seller
Ali ibn Musa, Musa’s son
Jumaana, a Castillan concubine of Abu’l-Walid Ismail I ibn Faraj
Fathers and Sons
Prince Faraj
Tarif, Al-Andalus: Dhu al-Qa`da 693 AH (Tarifa, Andalusia: October AD 1294)
Faraj stood on the white, sandy shores of Tarif. His legs spread apart, dark red leather boots encased his feet. Dawn’s pale pink glow illuminated the sandblasted, stone battlements of Tarif’s citadel. The tides surged and brought an autumnal breeze ashore from the White Sea. The tangy scent of salt spray wafted through the cool air. The aroma mingled with lingering smoke from the previous night's cooking fires. Atop the weathered ramparts of the citadel, Castillan banners unfurled, caught in the whip-like motion of the wind.
The camp at the beachhead on Tarif’s eastern coast stirred to life under the rising sun. Men readied themselves for war and death after the observance of the first prayer,
Salat al-Fajr
. Birds squawked and weaved a dizzying pattern of flight over the camp, before the flock raced across the Straits of Jabal Tarik.
Faraj imagined the majestic Arif Mountains of al-Maghrib el-Aska dominating the opposite shore. Yet the coastal landscape remained obscure behind a thick, morning mist that rose to the height of the billowing, white clouds. Hundreds of black hulking shapes, barely visible in the haze, bobbed on the water. Marinid ships hugged the coastal waters of the White Sea, their captains undaunted by Castillan bowmen aligned along the ramparts.
Faraj crouched and grasped a rough stone. He rolled it between his palms. It remained cool to the touch.
He stood and scratched his wiry beard. “The Nasrids would bring honor to our family today, if our Marinid allies from al-Maghrib el-Aska would let us. Why do we wait? Why hasn’t Sultan Abu Ya’qub Yusuf ordered the attack?”
He spoke to no one in particular, not even among his personal guardsmen standing at his back, but an answer soon followed. “Are you so eager to die, brother?”
Faraj glared across the encampment as his brother Muhammad ibn Ismail emerged from a cluster of green silken tents. The wind whipped thinning strands of graying hair back from the glistening pate of Muhammad’s egg-shaped head. Time had not been kind to him.
Both men were in their forty-eighth year, one of a few similarities that remained between them. Muhammad’s face mirrored Faraj’s own, though fleshier with jowls of dark olive skin and the same hawkish nose of most males in their family. Streaks of gray lined each remaining strand on Muhammad’s head.
Faraj twirled a lock of his own dark, silky hair at the nape. His brother displayed a sizable paunch beneath the folds of his tunic. His belt hung low beneath his ponderous belly rather than encircling his waist. Faraj straightened at the sight of his bandy-legged gait and patted the trim stomach beneath his own chainmail tunic.
He said, “How brave of you to leave the comforts of your fortress at Qumarich to attend our master’s wishes.”
Muhammad chuckled and halted beside him. “You would know more about comfort than I could guess. You still hold the prize of Malaka, a pearl compared to the rocky outcropping of
al-Hisn Qumarich
. The Sultan’s warriors ravaged the city when he took it from our Ashqilula enemies.”
Faraj clamped his jaws shut and glared at Muhammad before he spoke again. “Yet, fifteen years after we defeated the Ashqilula, you would have me believe Qumarich has not recovered?”
“It is not a rich territory like Malaka.”
When Muhammad fell silent, Faraj ground his teeth together. “Nothing is like Malaka.”
“True, for you are well-protected at your harbor and inland.”
Faraj rolled his eyes heavenward.
“Does the promontory of
al-Hisn Qumarich
offer you so little security?” He moved closer and bent toward Muhammad’s ear. “Does it require a worthy defender?”
His brother sneered at him. “I hold what is mine. I do not need anyone’s help.”
Muhammad glanced behind him. “The Marinid Sultan has not appeared. Do you think he has decided the terms we should offer the Castillans?”
Faraj shook his head. “Terms? We have besieged King Sancho of Castilla-Leon for three months. What do you think the defenders intend to do? They shall fight to the death for control of this citadel. Terms, indeed.”
“Do you doubt the resolve of our Marinid friends?”
“I doubt any ally who shifts loyalties like the Marinids have in the past. Even worse, they fight with the support of the rebel Prince Juan, whose only aim in life is to steal the throne of Castilla-Leon. The greatest danger for us lies in the unpredictability of Prince Juan. He can be foolhardy and rash, as when he first ordered our initial attacks without the benefit of siege weapons. I have also heard his tactics are brutal. He gains advantage by means of subterfuge and secrecy. It is the coward’s way.”
Muhammad nodded, but his face took on a haunted, gray pallor. Faraj wondered why his brother suddenly seemed so pensive and silent, his eyes fixed on the tableau before them. Faraj’s hands tightened into fists before he sighed.
“You disagree with my view? Speak what is in your heart, Muhammad.”
“I do not disagree with you, but your answer surprises me. It would seem the rumors are true. You have changed. You did not always disclaim ruthless and mercenary means in the achievement of any goal.”
Though he hated the reminders of his history, Faraj nodded. “In my past, I was a selfish man. I have learned there are other values that mean more to me. The blessing of fine daughters and strong, proud sons. The heart of my beloved Fatima.”
Faraj grinned at the mention of his wife’s name. Her beautiful visage stirred into clear view within his mind. To think, he had once feared life with her would bring no joy or contentment. The image of her dark waves of hair beckoned him, silken strands slipping through his fingers, as vivid as the last day he had beheld her. He recalled her pale olive brow, which had remained smooth even as they parted. Yet, he knew her well, as he knew himself. She had concealed her concerns from him and their family.
In the long months since his departure from Malaka, Fatima and their children remained ever-present in his thoughts. His grasp tightened around the pebble. He closed his eyes for a moment. He sighed with longing for the prospect of holding his family close. He would kiss the dark brown and red curls on his children’s heads and inhale the jasmine scent in his wife’s hair soon enough, if Allah the Compassionate, the Merciful willed it.
He met his brother’s gaze again and found him aghast, his lower jaw drooping. Muhammad blinked rapidly before looking away. “Then your family prospers? The Sultana Fatima is happy?”
“My wife and children are happy and safe at Malaka.”
Muhammad smiled and relaxed visibly, as the tension eased from his sloping shoulders. “I am pleased to hear it. You are fortunate to have wed the Sultan’s daughter.”
“I am blessed to call her my bride and the mother of my children.”
“I have never met her.”
“Likewise, I have never met your wife or children.” Faraj sighed. “We can agree that the past is the past between us? It cannot be altered.”
Muhammad nodded and Faraj continued. “The future, however, it is possible for us to change that. My wife is a very wise woman. She is also deeply devoted to her family in all respects. She has oft chided me that I have not restored relations with you since my departure to Malaka. We have not spoken for over fifteen years, Muhammad. It would please her greatly…it would honor me, if you would consent to visit us at our home, you and your family.”
Muhammad drew back, but Faraj’s hand closed on his meaty forearm. “Malaka was your home too, when we were children. I would like you to see it again, brother.”
Muhammad did not answer for a long time. He only offered a stark gaze.
Then he said, “I shall consider it. First, we must both survive this.”
He nodded toward Tarif’s battlements, where Castillan warriors glared down at their company. Faraj followed his gaze. The rock he held now clattered against the other stones.
From the time of the Muslim conquest of the peninsula over five centuries ago, Tarif had been the gateway to Al-Andalus. Every invading army of the Muslims had landed at this strategic site. Tarif had also been the negotiating point of every monarch who vied for control of the Andalusi coast. Today would be no different.
Five thousand Marinid, Gharnati and Castillan warriors stood amassed for the recovery of Tarif. That he stood shoulder to shoulder with supporters of a rebel Castillan prince did not surprise Faraj. The taciturn nature of Gharnatah’s politics never amazed him. He suspected his master, the Sultan, would one day be on the opposite side again and in favor of King Sancho of Castilla-Leon.
For now, Muslim imams and Christian priests strolled through the ranks, blessing the faithful. Faraj did not doubt priests behind the enemy walls performed the same actions. He only wondered whose prayers God would listen to today.
His gaze intent on the battlements, Faraj said, “Doñ Alonso Perez de Guzman is expecting our siege weapons again this morning. He must wonder why we are late. If we do not find a way to force the surrender of the citadel’s defenders, I fear our cause shall be lost.”
Muhammad replied, “I have never heard of this Doñ Alonso before this conflict. Yet Prince Juan said his brother the King once proclaimed the defender of Tarif to be the greatest strategist in Castillan history.”
“He is wrong, brother. I have met their greatest strategist and killed him at the battle of Istija. In that battle, I fought beside our Maghribi brethren of the Faith. There is no warrior with more daring and cunning than the Marinid soldier. He uses tactics of attack and withdrawal. When you think you have him on the run, cavalry and mounted bowmen surround you. This Doñ Alonso Perez de Guzman shall discover what Marinid resolve can do against this citadel soon enough.”
“You speak thusly of the Marinids, yet earlier you accused them of wavering and changing sides too often.”
“I can only hope for better on this battlefield. In warfare, the enemy is the enemy and an ally is an ally, until fate alters all circumstances and exchanges friend for foe. In the long history of Castilla-Leon and Gharnatah, the boundaries between adversaries and allies have changed often. Today we meet them on opposing sides. Tomorrow, we may form an alliance with King Sancho and be at odds with the Marinids. That possibility does not alter my resolve today.”
“It would seem you have no difficulty recognizing your allies among former adversaries.”
When Muhammad offered him a lazy smile, Faraj inclined his head and returned the gesture. He was about to speak again, when a lone rider emerged from the midst of the encampment.
The Castillan Prince Juan wore the blackened iron mail and heraldry of a Christian knight over most of his body. His brilliant silk garments bore the red lion of Castilla-Leon on the tunic and mantle at the center in four yellow squares. His helmet, flat at the top, concealed most of his face except for the dark brown eyes, which stared resolutely ahead. He hefted a heavy mace in one hand and held aloft a spear affixed with a white flag in the other. His steed, caparisoned in the same colors that he wore, snorted as Prince Juan’s silver spurs dug into his sides.
