Sultana's Legacy (33 page)

He chuckled. “Perhaps it’s a little too late for you to practice submission. It seems your understanding of kindness has also altered. You have accomplished what you and Nasr wished. I suppose you’re proud.”

She shook her head. “I am not. Many people have died because of Muhammad. His abdication means nothing compared to the loss of those lives. Yet, I recognize in it, there is a chance restless spirits may be at peace finally.”

“The dead may have their peace. What is there of it for those of us who yet live?”

Fatima looked at him. “I don’t understand.”

He cupped his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes. He could not bear the sight of her.

“What you and Nasr have set in motion has greater consequences than justice for your loved ones. Gharnatah shall never be safe for another ruler, because the
Diwan
or some other faction shall presume to remove a man from his throne. No Sultan shall ever keep his throne without fear of an insurrection. A precedent has been set here, because of you and your traitorous brother. Muhammad may have destroyed those closest to him. You and Nasr have shattered the sanctity, which held the Sultanate of Gharnatah inviolate.”

For a time, neither of them spoke.

Then Fatima’s furtive touch alighted on his forearm. “What about us?”

“Us? There is no ‘us’, Fatima. There can never be, not in the way we were before.”

Tears pooled in her eyes.

He sneered at her sorrow. “Don’t concern yourself. I won’t divorce you. No, I’m not so stupid as to divorce the sister of the next Sultan of Gharnatah.”

Her fingers closed on his limb. “I mean more to you than that!”

“You’ll remain my wife in name only. You’ll have the freedom of this place, to do as you wish. The Tuareg brothers shall join the corps at
al-Jabal Faro
. They shall never spy on you again. I must warn you, keep far from me. The sight of you wounds my soul. How can I look at you now and see anything, except your years of deceit?”

Her trembling hand remained on his arm. “I know I have hurt you. I can make it right.”

He looked down at where they touched. “You are so quick to resolve matters between us, now that you and your brother have won. If only you had thought of the consequences of your actions before you ruined our marriage. You have jeopardized our lives. You want me to forgive. I’m afraid you ask for more than is possible.”

“In time, you could forgive me, if you tried. Please Faraj, I have much to atone for. My heart….”

He jerked away from her. “Your heart! What of mine? If I have no heart with which to love you, the blame lies with you. You betrayed my trust. How could I ever give you my heart whole again?”

She dashed to the window. Her shoulders heaved. Once, those tears would have moved him, but no more.

“I’ll summon Basma and Haniya for you. We leave for Gharnatah in the morning.” When she raised her head, he added, “This is your brother’s moment of triumph, what you have worked so hard to accomplish. Surely, you would not miss it?”

Princess Fatima

After four years of confinement, Fatima took her first steps to renewed freedom later that day. Her children’s hugs and kisses were a joy, but they could not comfort her. Saliha, the youngest who remained unmarried, looked at her with eyes that shone with pleasure, but they also reflected uncertainty. Her second son Muhammad seemed more reserved than when she last spoke with him. Although she and Nasr had achieved their goal after eight years, she had paid the price with her children.

Basma and Haniya packed her garments for the journey to Gharnatah. Haniya was more pleasant than Basma, who did her duty in silence.

While they toiled, Leeta appeared in the doorway. “Forgive the intrusion, my Sultana.”

“There’s no need to seek forgiveness for anything you do.” Fatima embraced her. She did not return the gesture.

“Your husband is leaving for Gharnatah now. He has said that you and the children may follow tomorrow.”

Fatima swallowed. “I understand he is angry with me. I’ve disappointed you too, Leeta. I shall atone, if you’ll let me.”

The treasurer shook her head. “I have no right to cast judgment. I am, but a servant of this house, as you have reminded me in the past.”

Fatima recalled the exchange, when she had shunned Leeta’s kindness.

“Pray excuse me, my Sultana.”

Fatima went to the window, took the yellow poppy from the sill and looked down into the courtyard.

Faraj emerged from the house with Khalid. Soldiers rode to the summit of the hill from the citadel. An aged man in dirty rags shuffled between them. Fatima covered her mouth as she recognized Niranjan.  

She bit back a sob and she peered through the lattice. Faraj spoke with Niranjan, who abased himself. Remnants of stringy, whitened hair fell over his eyes. He was a shadow of his former self, all because of his devotion to her. She had to make amends to him, too.

Then Faraj mounted his horse, along with his captain. Her husband looked up, his gaze fixed on the spot where she stood. Deep lines scoured his face and his brows knitted together. Did he sense that she stood hidden behind the lattice?

She shrank alongside the wall and did not dare look again, until the sound of clattering hooves faded.

She shuddered at a light touch on her arm.

Haniya asked, “Are you well?”

“Yes. Thank you for your continued kindness.”

Fatima touched the rounded belly jutting beneath her servant’s tunic. “The child thrives within you?”

“Yes. It shall come soon, I believe next month.”

“Who is the father?”

Haniya lowered her gaze. “Khalid of al-Hakam.”

Fatima covered her mouth with a hand. “Khalid? I never knew you shared the captain’s bed.”

“He is still in love with Amoda. He is also a man of natural desires. The news of a child did not please him, but he has promised to acknowledge the babe as his own.”

Fatima struggled with her shock. Haniya patted her shoulder. “Nothing stays the same forever.”

Chapter 21

A Vow Fulfilled

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, Al-Andalus: Shawwal 708 AH (Granada, Andalusia: March AD 1309)

The next morning, Fatima and her children traveled with a camel caravan to Gharnatah. She left a weakened Niranjan in Malaka. His imprisonment had robbed him of his former strength. Sores and bruises covered him. He could not make the journey homeward. She missed him at her side.

On the outskirts of the capital after the sixth day, she studied the expanse of white clouds and azure sky over their heads. Did her father watch over her in Paradise?

“Now, there is justice for you. You can be at peace.”

Beside her camel, mounted on his horse, Muhammad asked, “Were you speaking to me,
Ummi
?”

When she shook her head, he said, “Ismail shall be very happy to see you. You have not met his daughters. In his letters, my brother has often said they have your eyes.”

Ismail’s wife had died in childbirth a year before, leaving him a widower with two daughters, Fatimah, named for his mother and Leila, for his beloved sister. In time, Fatima hoped he might re-marry with a bride of his own choosing.  

When she arrived in Gharnatah, the city markets thronged with residents. A buoyant mood, as under the days of her father, rose up under a mid-morning sun. They climbed the steep incline of the
Sabika
hill. Courtiers milled about, some haggling with vendors who offered their wares near the citadel gate.

Sadness tinged Fatima’s return. Many things were different now. Muhammad had razed their grandfather’s mosque and built his own to the south. The gardens where she had played as a child gave way to jumbled buildings juxtaposed against each other. Smooth stone supported terraces and columns, instead of marble walkways and porticos. A portion of a new palace covered the area where Faraj’s old house once stood, where they had spent several happy years together.

Fatima’s father had died more than seven years before, his beloved Nur al-Sabah gone to Paradise with him. His Sultana Shams ed-Duna lived across the White Sea. She had never returned to Gharnatah. His remaining children were scattered throughout Al-Andalus or to distant lands. For years, his power and love had bound their family. She recalled her promise to him before his death.

She closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer.
‘Honorable father, oft remembered, grant me this one wish. Watch over us always. I shall guide our family until my last breath, Father, if you would do the same for me. Let your wisdom and strength flow through me, so I may protect those whom you love. In my care, let your legacy be fulfilled.”

Her second son’s touch on her arm stirred her. “Look, here are Ismail and Father.”

Faraj had aged. Even at sixty-two years, his mannerisms remained dignified and the actions of a younger man. She drew a sharp intake of breath at the sight of him. Nervousness coupled with fear. Her stomach fluttered.

Ismail helped her from the camel’s back. They clasped each other’s forearms and stood in silence. Then she caressed his bearded cheek and recalled her father in his youth looking down at her. Ismail returned her watery stare and smiled.

“It has been too long, my son.” Fatima’s voice wavered.

“I’m glad to see you again,
Ummi
. I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you. Where are my granddaughters? Are they both well?”

“They thrive in the care of their nursemaid. You shall see them tonight. Your brother Nasr has granted us rooms in the new palace.”

He gestured to the structure behind him. Though Fatima hated the thought of residing in any place Muhammad had commissioned, she appreciated Nasr’s thoughtfulness.

“May we see the Sultan today, my son?”

“No, he is in solitude before the coronation. His Galician guards have barred anyone from seeing him.”

Ismail greeted his sisters. Fatima snuck a furtive glance at Faraj. He did not look at her, as he embraced their second son.

Soon, they strolled through the new palace, a gaudy tribute to the power Muhammad once held, with its slender, carved columns, silk cushions and bedding. Ornamentation fashioned in gold and inlaid with mother-of-pearl shimmered throughout the rooms. Fatima met her twin granddaughters, who did possess her eyes. She nuzzled their sweet, smiling faces and knew the simple pleasure of being with part of her family again.

***

The morning of the Sultan’s coronation arrived. All the governors had converged at the capital at the request of the
Diwan al-Insha
. Fatima reunited with some of her family members. Her daughter Leila’s three sons came to with their father. Her daughters Qamar and Mumina had also married provincial governors, while the husbands of Aisha and Faridah had risen to similar positions of power. With the addition of Ismail’s daughters, twelve exuberant and loud grandchildren surrounded Fatima. Only one other thing could have completed her happiness.

Her husband, absorbed in the beauty of his grandchildren, embraced and spoke to them in loving murmurs. He had ignored her since her arrival. She sighed, understanding how he must have suffered through the years. What could she do to bring them back together?

Her domestic concerns would have to wait. Sunlight glittered among the courtyards and pavilions of
al-Qal’at al-Hamra
as the large family followed Faraj to Nasr’s coronation. Foremost among the governors, Faraj proceeded to the front of the throne room. As sister of the new Sultan, Fatima joined him. The rest of their family except one hugged the recesses of the chamber. Others congregated outside the square-shaped building, while those who could not enter peered through the oak and brass doors.

When Nasr strode into the room, Fatima marveled at his resemblance to his mother. From his blond curls swept back from his forehead to his robe of state, the traditional
khil’a
of red silk, he radiated the majesty of his office.

Ismail stood among a cadre of fellow ministers. He had begged Nasr’s leave to resign his post as
wazir
and return to Malaka. Fatima did not question the timing of his withdrawal from the capital. It delighted her heart to know he would be at home again. She could spend as much time as she wished with her granddaughters.

The court herald, Ibn Safwan, stepped forward and with a nod from Nasr, he recited the Profession of Faith. Then the
Hajib
, Ali ibn al-Jayyab, stooped with age, now shuffled forward. His venerable state reminded Fatima of the first minister of the
Diwan
, her former tutor, dead for almost fourteen years. Ibn al-Jayyab held aloft the crown of state, which all of Nasr’s predecessors had worn. He placed it on her brother’s head. He listed the new Sultan’s titles and praised him.

As one, every occupant of the room fell on their knees. Fatima pressed her forehead to the cool floor. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

Nasr commanded everyone to stand. At the age of twenty-one, he would be the youngest sovereign Gharnatah had ever known. He possessed his father’s calm exterior despite his youthfulness. He stared straight ahead, while each of the provincial governors rounded the square patchwork of tiles before the throne and offered him homage.

Faraj followed suit. When he returned to Fatima’s side, her furtive glance spied his lips set in a firm, thin line.

At the end of the ceremony, he stepped to the forefront. “My noble Sultan, I am your loyal governor. May I speak?”

Nasr smiled and beckoned him. “You are kin and a brother by marriage. Speak what is in your heart, Prince Faraj.”

Fatima whispered to her husband. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her.  

“I would ask a boon of you, my Sultan. It is a tradition, which your brother established, for the new master of Gharnatah to favor one request from his courtiers upon his ascension to the throne.”