Sultana's Legacy (28 page)

“I thought I knew you. Now, you are a stranger to me.”

She turned from him and looked out to the sea again.

“What are you planning, Fatima?”

She did not respond. Faraj grabbed her arm, his face a dark guise of enraged passion. She met his wild-eyed stare with quiet fury of her own.

“If you intend to hit me again, husband, do so. It shall not undo my sentiments about you, or your master in Gharnatah.”

“I tell you, do nothing to jeopardize our children’s future. If you harm my interests, I promise I shall strike at you in any way I can. Muhammad is Sultan and you shall accept it. Obey me! Never let me hear of your involvement in any intrigue against your brother. Do you understand me?”

He released her from his harsh grip without awaiting her answer and stalked away.

For a long time, she stared at the archway through which he had disappeared. Then, she looked down at the puckered slash across her palm. The vow she had offered at her father’s gravesite echoed in her mind. It weighed upon her.

She whispered to the wind, “I can promise you this, husband, you shall never hear of it.”

Chapter 17

The Spy

Prince Faraj

Malaka, Al-Andalus: Shawwal 704 AH (Malaga, Andalusia: May AD 1305)

When the family finished the morning meal, Faraj dismissed his children and retired to the belvedere overlooking the sea. The summer sun burnished his forehead and warmed the marble ledge as he leaned against it.

At the base of the promontory, Fatima rode her dun- brown mare down to the shoreline. A gentle breeze tugged at the gossamer black veil over her face and revealed contours of her profile. She lingered and looked out across the expanse of the sea. Her horse shied away each time the surf rushed to the shore. She calmed the mare with a steady hand.

Faraj bridled with jealousy at the sight of her long finger on the beast’s neck. How long had it been since she touched him with such familiarity?

How had it come to this? He and Fatima were strangers to each other. They had shared nothing more than polite words in the months after the death of her father. Almost three years later, they hardly conversed except when necessary. He did not understand her anymore.

He could not forgive or forget her angry words spoken upon their return to Malaka, in the wake of her brother’s ascension. She had accused Faraj of betraying her father’s memory. Until then, he never suspected that her words would have wounded him more keenly than a blade thrust to the heart.

Even after three years, Fatima held her brother responsible for their father’s death. Faraj had seen the Sultan’s depravity. He no longer denied Muhammad could have committed the deed. The Sultan had spilled too much blood to deny the title of murderer.

Yet, Faraj could not risk the governorship in an ill-starred attempt of rebellion against the Sultan or question his rule. Faraj had taken too many risks and endured too much to secure Malaka. The province belonged to his heir. Faraj held out the hope Fatima would do nothing to jeopardize his administration of Malaka. He could not lose his birthright, even if it meant going against her wishes.

She glanced in his direction. From between the narrow slit of her veils, her eyes found his. In previous years, he would have been lost in those liquid pools, seeing love, desire and admiration reflected in her tender gaze. Now her eyes revealed nothing. Her stare did not waver. Her expression remained impenetrable.

Still he offered a faint smile and waved, certain that even at a distance, she would see his gesture. She jerked the reins and wheeled the mare around. Her horse nickered. The mount swayed as it cantered along the shoreline, away from him.

Khalid appeared at his side. He stared at the lone horse riding across the sands. “The peace of God be with you, my prince. I see the Sultana enjoys her morning ride.”

“Yes, in her usual fashion.” Faraj stared at her until she disappeared from view behind a craggy rock.

He turned to Khalid. “Thank you for coming.”

His captain nodded. “I am yours to command.”

“I have never doubted it.” Faraj crossed his arms over his chest and settled his backside on the ledge.

“How may I aid you?”

“I need your assistance with my wife. Fatima is very dear to me, but her behavior of the last few years is troublesome. She goes for long rides by herself, on the beach or through town. She is cold and silent, even with our children. She takes no pleasure in the things she used to love. Indeed, we have not enjoyed our marital bed in some time. The tension between us is a matter of great pain to me. Otherwise, I would not speak to you of such troubles. You understand?”

“Your confidence honors me. I would never speak of matters between you and the Sultana with anyone.”

“It is a sign of my trust in you, captain, that I share my travail. I want you to help me. To help the Sultana.”

“I shall do anything I can to aid you.”

“I cannot allow anyone outside our home to question my authority or loyalty to the Sultan, least of all because of Fatima.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, master. Who would question your loyalties? What does that have to do with the Sultana?”

“Her grief for her father has made her do and say strange things. She thinks her brother poisoned their father. She despises Muhammad and cannot bear the thought of him on the throne. She is a danger to herself, Khalid. I want you to assign someone to watch over her whenever she leaves our estate. Someone who can be discreet.”

Khalid exhaled sharply. “You want me to have someone spy on the Sultana?”

Faraj nodded. “I do it as much for her protection as my own. It must be someone she has never seen before. She knows most of the garrison at
al-Jabal Faro
on sight, even if not by name.”

The captain shuffled his stance and looked down at his feet. Faraj grasped his burly shoulder. “It is a heavy burden, I know, but I must ask you to bear it for a time. I would not risk such a venture if necessity did not demand it. I love my wife. I must protect her, even from herself. Do you trust me to do what is right by her?”

Khalid stared at him for a moment. “I trust you, master, in all things.”

“Then do as I command.”

Khalid nodded and sketched a stiff bow, before he departed. His heavy boots resounded on the marble floor. After his footfalls had faded, Faraj looked to the craggy rock behind which Fatima had vanished.

He whispered a fervent plea. “Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, please, show me my concern is for naught. Tell me I have nothing to fear. Let Fatima be guiltless. Let her forgive me for this thing I have done.”

Princess Fatima

Fatima returned from her solitary ride in the late afternoon. She dismounted just outside the stables and slapped the reins into the waiting hands of a groom. Niranjan approached, bowing stiffly.

She joined hands with him and squeezed with lingering affection. “You’ve returned at last. Your trip to the slave market at Madinah Antaqirah was a success?”

“As you knew it must be, my Sultana.”

The gravity of his sullen tone made her extract her fingers from his hold. “You do not approve of my choice.”

“I do not. Think of what your husband would say of your gift.”

“He should thank me for a show of wifely devotion.”

“Forgive my boldness, but I doubt that very much.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You were ever bold, loyal one. You’ve never needed to ask forgiveness before.”

They walked the pathway together, he in his customary position just at her back.

“There is another matter we must discuss, my Sultana. I have kept ties to the few servants of your father’s household who remain in Gharnatah. Praise be to the one God that the Sultan has not murdered them all. A eunuch has informed me of the reason the Sultan cannot attend the marriage of your daughters.”

Fatima slowed and turned to him. “Muhammad has refused Faraj’s invitation? I do not know why my husband bothered to extend it. Why would Muhammad care about the unions of Aisha and Faridah?”

“Your husband knew it was the proper thing to invite the Sultan, of which the Sultana is also well aware.”

Niranjan’s gaze narrowed on her. For a moment, a spark of anger flared in her heart at his attempt to chide her. Then she recalled his lifelong devotion. For it, she could forgive him anything.

As she continued walking, his footsteps followed.

“Speak then. Why won’t Muhammad come to Malaka?”

“One of his concubines has delivered a child. As the court astrologers have predicted, his long-awaited son has arrived.”

Fatima stopped. “A boy?”

“An heir.”

She grasped the blue-black prayer beads hanging from her belt. A pained breath wheezed between her lips.

She faced Niranjan. “Then we must do something about the child.”

He halted at her side, his sheepish gaze downcast. He mumbled, “I do not see what we can do.”

She shook her head. “Surely, you must.”

A long, tense silence passed before Niranjan sighed. “I have done much to aid you against the Sultan. I have kept your secrets from your husband, even from my own sisters. You tread a dangerous path. You are advocating the murder of a woman and her child.”

She sighed and pressed a hand to her temple. “A child that can ruin our plans forever!” She paced before him. “Don’t you see? If Gharnatah already has an heir, if this child lives, no one shall dare support my brother Nasr’s claim to the throne. I cannot allow that to happen! The blood of my father demands an end to Muhammad’s cruel reign.”

 She paused and cast a glare at him. “You have aided me before against Muhammad. Why do you hesitate now?”

“The murder of the hashish seller was just. He deserved death after all he had done to your father. We have removed him and his poison from this world.”

“Muhammad’s son is an obstacle we must also remove.”

Niranjan drew back with a sharp cry of disgust. She met his gaze, unflinching.

“Years ago, you chided me for my kindness to my brother. I let him live. He has murdered our father. I have paid a terrible price for my generosity. I have learned the error of sentiment, as you wished. Why do you recoil from me now when your caution has proved justified?”

“I marvel at how hard you have become. Where is the good and sweet lady I knew from her childhood? The kind mistress whom I have served and loved? The one who would never hurt an innocent babe?”

She turned away from him. In the privacy of her chamber at night, she had often wondered the same thing. Nothing gave her any pleasure. Not even the celebration of her daughters’ marriage within a few weeks stirred her heart to joy. She lived only for vengeance now. It comforted her in the lonely dark of night and gave her the will to survive the Sultan’s tyranny each day.

When Niranjan touched her arm hesitantly, she jerked away from him.

“Do not! I shall tell you where your kind and good mistress is.” Her voice lapsed into a low whisper. “She lies dead and buried at Gharnatah, beside her murdered father.”

She raised her chin a notch, eyeing him. “I made a sacred vow to avenge him. If you remain loyal to me and my cause, then get rid of the slave and her child.”

“I would not be your dutiful servant, if I did not caution you against this move. If you have become so cold and ruthless, if you no longer care for the sanctity of life, then the Sultan has already won. He shall have turned you into a likeness of himself.”

She shook her head. “You do not understand. To defeat him, I must be like him. I must be cruel. I must be without care. How else can I avenge the deaths of those he has taken from me?”

“This cannot bring your noble father, or the
kadin
Nur-al-Sabah or anyone else back from the grave. This slave girl and her son are blameless.”

“Yes, yet more innocent lives that must suffer because of Muhammad! The woman and her son must die if Nasr is to take the throne.”

Her chest tightened, rising and falling rapidly with each breath. When she resumed walking the pebble path, Niranjan fell into step beside her. They mounted the steps together.

He said, “I shall hasten to Gharnatah. I must first learn whether the slave nurses her child.”

“Why is that important?”

“If she does, there are certain poisons which, if introduced into the mother’s body would slowly weaken her, but shall certainly kill the child.”

Fatima nodded. “I don’t care how you do it, only be certain that it is done before you return to Malaka.”

Niranjan stopped as they reached the portico of columns. “It shall be, but I go to my duty with a heavy heart full of sorrow for you.”

She paused and eyed him over her shoulder. “Save your pity for Muhammad. He shall need it in the end.”

Niranjan whispered, “It saddens me to see you this way. You risk everything to pursue this course, but it may cost you everyone you hold dear. Do you not fear the madness that lives inside your brother has tainted you?”

She laughed, throwing back her head, before she continued into the house. “I am not afraid. If I am mad like Muhammad, at least I can control it.”

“Can you?” Niranjan’s voice echoed on the breeze as she left him.

***

Late in the evening, Fatima bathed and retired to her chamber without dinner. She often preferred her meals in solitude. Except for the nightly ritual her younger children still insisted upon, she would have spent her days and nights alone. She preferred it.

At the unexpected knock on her door, she exhaled a pent-up sigh. Haniya set the hairbrush down on the windowsill. Fatima sat naked on a low cedar stool, covered by a gold silk cushion. The brazier near her feet emitted fragrant ambergris and warmed the room.

Haniya swung the portal open and Faraj entered. Fatima looked at his reflection in the silver gilt mirror she held in her hand. He stood in the doorway.