Sultana: A Novel of Moorish Spain Read online

  Sultana

  Lisa J. Yarde

  SULTANA

  Copyright © Lisa J. Yarde 2011

  ISBN-10: 1456487612

  ISBN-13: 978-1456487614

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locations or events is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the Author.

  www.lisajyarde.com

  Cover Artwork

  A Jewish Girl of Tangiers, Charles Landelle, undated

  File source: Creative Commons, Attribution License

  http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Landelle.jpg

  Innenhof der Alhambra, Adolf Seel, 1892

  File source: Creative Commons, Attribution Licensehttp://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Adolf_Seel_Innenhof_der_Alhambra.jpg

  Cover design by Lance Ganey

  www.freelanceganey.com

  Dedication

  To Anita K. Davison and Mirella Sichirollo Patzer, dear friends who have always believed in this story

  Acknowledgments

  This book has been a labor of love and commitment. The members of my critique groups were invaluable sources of help, especially Anita Davison, Jen Black, Philip Essely, Jennifer Haymore, Laura Hogg, Sheila Lamb, Mirella Patzer, Rosemary Rach, Ginger Simpson, Steve Vissel and Anne Whitfield.

  To the readers of the final manuscript, Judith Arnopp, Victoria Dixon, Kristina Emmons, Mirella Sichirollo Patzer and Tricia Robinson, you have my enduring thanks. Lastly, I appreciate the skill and patience of Cindy Vallar, who worked on this book in the early stages.

  As always, to my loving family, my work would not be possible without you.

  Foreword

  Dear Reader,

  The events in this book take place during a turbulent period for thirteenth-century Moorish Spain, in the kingdom of Granada. Historians have referred to the rulers of Granada as princes or kings. I refer to them as Sultans. While the first four Sultans of Granada are members of the Banu’l-Ahmar, and other clans were the Banu Ashqilula and Banu Marin, I have chosen the more commonly accepted names, such as the Nasrids for the Banu’l-Ahmar, then the Ashqilula, and the Marinids. Many of the male characters bear the name Muhammad. I have distinguished between them by using titles where possible. I have used Arabic words for Moorish cities, regions and certain terms. The chronology of events differs in a variety of sources, but I have kept the narrative close to the best-documented dates in the Moorish period.

  I am indebted to invaluable research materials for an understanding of thirteenth-century Spain and its inhabitants, including Simon R. Doubleday’s The Lara Family: Crown and Nobility in Medieval Spain, Shirley Guthrie’s Arab Women in the Middle Ages, and L.P. Harvey’s Islamic Spain 1250 to 1500. Other vital sources of information on the detailed history of the Alhambra and Moorish architectural achievements came from Antonio Fernandez Puertas’ masterwork, The Alhambra: Volume 1 from the Ninth Century to Yusuf I, and Michael Jacobs’ Alhambra.

  Months of the Hijri Calendar

  Dates approximate the equivalent periods of the Hijri and Gregorian calendars. The sighting of the crescent moon determines dates in the Hijri calendar. The term AH refers to events occurring in numbered periods after the year of the Hijra or the emigration of the Prophet Muhammad from Mecca to Medina in September AD 622.

  Months

  Muharram: the first Islamic month

  Safar: the second Islamic month

  Rabi al-Awwal: the third Islamic month

  Rabi al-Thani: the fourth Islamic month

  Jumada al-Ula: the fifth Islamic month

  Jumada al-Thani: the sixth Islamic month

  Rajab: the seventh Islamic month

  Sha`ban: the eighth Islamic month

  Ramadan: the ninth Islamic month, a venerated period of abstinence and fasting from sunrise to sunset

  Shawwal: the tenth Islamic month

  Dhu al-Qa`da: the eleventh Islamic month

  Dhu al-Hijja: the twelfth Islamic month, a period of pilgrimage to Saudi Arabia

  Characters

  The Nasrids

  Fatima bint Muhammad, daughter of Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah

  Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah, the first Sultan of Gharnatah (r. 632-671 AH), Fatima’s grandfather

  Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah, the second Sultan of Gharnatah (r. 671-702 AH), Fatima’s father

  Muhammad ibn Muhammad, Fatima’s elder brother

  Muna bint Muhammad, Fatima’s first sister

  Alimah bint Muhammad, Fatima’s second sister

  Azahra bint Muhammad, Fatima’s third sister

  Tarub bint Muhammad, Fatima’s fourth sister

  Nadira bint Muhammad, Fatima’s fifth sister

  Abu Said Faraj ibn Ismail, the Sultan’s nephew and Fatima’s husband

  Muhammad ibn Ismail, the Sultan’s nephew and Faraj’s brother

  Faridah, sister of Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah, mother of Abu Muhammad

  Maryam, daughter of Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah

  Hamda, the second wife of Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah

  Qamar, the third wife of Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah

  Lateefah, the favorite of Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah

  The Ashqilula

  Abu Ishaq Ibrahim, a chieftain of the Ashqilula, former son-in-law of Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah, Raïs of Qumarich

  Abu Muhammad, a chieftain of the Ashqilula, maternal nephew of Muhammad I ibn al-Ahmar of Gharnatah, Raïs of Malaka

  Aisha bint Ibrahim, Fatima’s mother, first wife of Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah

  Abdallah ibn Ibrahim, Fatima’s maternal uncle, Raïs of Naricha

  Saliha bint Muhammad, Fatima’s maternal grandmother

  The Marinids

  Abu Yusuf Ya’qub al-Marini, the Sultan of the Marinids (r. 656-685 AH)

  Abu Zayyan, son of Abu Yusuf Ya’qub al-Marini

  Shams ed-Duna, daughter of Abu Yusuf Ya’qub al-Marini, second wife of Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah

  Ibn Yala, chief minister to Abu Yusuf Ya’qub al-Marini

  Umar of Mahalli, the Shaykh al-Ghuzat, commander of Marinid forces in al-Andalus

  The Royal Court of Castilla-Leon

  King Alfonso X, the Wise, the King of Castilla-Leon (r. AD 1221 – 1284)

  Queen Violante de Aragon, wife of King Alfonso X, the Wise

  Doñ Nuño Gonzalez de Lara, the chief advisor of King Alfonso X, the Wise

  Retainers, Slaves and Others

  Ibn Ali, chief minister to Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah, former royal tutor, head of the Sultan’s chancery

  Abu Omar, minister to Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah

  Nur al-Sabah, Galician favorite of Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah

  Hasan, chief eunuch of Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah

  Halah, governess of Abu Abdallah Muhammad II of Gharnatah’s children

  Ulayyah, a maidservant of the Ashqilula, Halah’s sister

  Niranjan al-Kadim, Fatima’s eunuch-guard

  Leeta, Fatima’s maidservant, Niranjan’s first sister

  Amoda, Fatima’s maidservant, Niranjan’s second sister and twin of Leeta

  Marzuq, Faraj’s chief steward

  Baraka, Faraj’s Genoese concubine

  Hayfa, Faraj’s Nubian concubine

  Samara, Faraj’s Provençal concubine


  Ayesha, a Sicilian slave girl

  Abu Umar of al-Hakam, a pirate chieftain

  Sitt al-Tujjar, a Jewish merchant

  Chapter 1

  Pawns in the Game

  Princess Fatima

  Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Muharram 664 AH (Granada, Andalusia: October AD 1265)

  A hot, dry hand covered Fatima’s mouth, smothering the scream in her throat. She awoke to a nightmare unfolding in the darkness of the bedchamber she shared with her siblings.

  A lonefigure in a black hood and cloak hovered in silence next to her on her pallet. An unwelcome weight and warmth from a burly hand held her pressed against the pillow beneath her head. The odor of saffron and rosewater filled her nostrils. In the fading glow of a dying iron scone on the wall, she could hardly tell where the folds of the cloak began or ended. She guessed by the rough touch and strength of the hand on her mouth, as well as the husky shape in the darkness meant her captor was a man. Raspy breaths escaped the stranger’s throat, as if he had been running and fought for each breath now.

  Though her heart pounded steadily, she forced herself to remain calm. She did not know what this stranger intended or what he might do to her. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness of the shadowy chamber, she made out the images of three others, cloaked and hooded like the one who held her captive. Two of the intruders stood on either side of the olive wood door, occasionally peeking through the slats of the entryway. Another who stood taller than the other two walked toward the window and closed the lattice, shutting out the sounds of crickets chirping and owls hooting at night, before crossing the room and standing beside the boy who slept closest to the door. The intruder bent and moved closer to Muhammad, peering into his smooth, olive-skinned face.

  Fatima froze, paralyzed interror. Her brother Muhammad ibn Muhammad, only a year older than her, slept peacefully on a pallet below the wall scone. The ebbing light revealed the disheveled mass of his dark hair on the silken pillow. Thin and lean like her, he stretched out on his back and snored lightly. He must have kicked off his woolen blanket during the night. One arm dangled off the pallet and touched the floor immediately below, while he had thrown the other back behind the pillow. In a deep slumber, he did not know the danger they faced.

  One thought filled Fatima’s mind, mirroring herwhimpering plea behind her captor’s hand. “No! Don’t hurt my brother!”

  Muhammad was only nine years old, the eldest child of her parents and herfather’s heir. She could never let anyone harm him.

  She clawed wildly at the hand pressed against her mouth, but her little fingers could not fight off the heavy hold. Then hercaptor pinched her nostrils closed with his other hand. A choking wave of terror swelled in her throat and squeezed her chest. Tears trickled beneath the lashes, blinding her.

  On a low table at her side, the sparrow in its gilded cage whistled cries of alarm and battered its wings against the metal bars.

  The person beside her brother stood and approached her pallet, bypassing the white marble alcoves where her younger sisters Muna, Alimah, Azahra and Tarub also slept. Only the baby Nadira, born two months before, was absent. Fatima prayed Nadira’s wet-nurse would keep her safe and away from harm.

  Each noiseless footfall brought the intruder closer to Fatima. Her fingers stillscratched at the hands that cut off her breathing. The tightening sensation grew inside her throat. Her body went limp and her limbs slackened.

  The silent figure knelt beside the cage and withdrew a square of black cloth. Fatimapanicked, fearing for her pet as much as she worried for her family. The cloth went over the cage and covered it. The sparrow quieted except for a few clicks and chirps.

  Then thin, almost womanly, fingers rested on her captor’s shoulder. At this silent command, the one holding her nostrils released the brutal hold, though the other hand remained on her mouth. Wonder at whether this was the leader of the intruders died away, as the first blessed lungful of air burned at the back of her throat. Despite the burning, she sucked in the next breath with a heavy wheeze, before she stared at the trespassers. Tears spilled from her eyes but she immediately swiped them away. She was not going to let them see her cry or show them that she was afraid.

  She could not make out their features in the darkness, except that both hadheavy lidded eyes lined with kohl, gazes that returned her watery stare. The one standing her side had a smaller frame than his companion did, but beyond the differences in their shapes and the size of their hands, she could not discern anything else. Who were these people? She felt sure they hid their characters further by not speaking. She would have known any of the eunuchs or retainers in her father’s palace by the sound of their voices alone. Had their servants risen against her father and betrayed the family?

  Fists tightening at her side, she trembled with fear and a growing rage. If they had hurt her father or kept him captive like her, not knowing of the danger to his children, she would…. She sagged against the pallet. What could she do, a girl who might now not live to see her ninth birthday?

  She glared defiantly at the cloaked intruders. If they had harmed her father, she prayed Allah would give her some means to avenge him.

  The tall man bent toward her. His eyes were large and luminous in the dark. Soft fingertips glided across her wet cheek, startling her. She jerked her head away, pulling away from the unfamiliar touch.

  “Take her.”

  His nasalized voice barely rose above a whisper. The hand over her mouth withdrew for the course of one breath. In the next, a cloth, thick with the smell of horse manure and camphor, covered her lips and nose.

  Fatima awoke to the glare of lamplight. She blinked against the golden glowcast by iron brackets hanging from a wall. She rested on a pallet in one corner of an otherwise empty room. At its center, the lamplight shimmered and reflected in the depths of a pool lined with marble. Fatima trembled anew at the unfamiliar surroundings. She could not be at home in her father’s palace.

  As she sat up and tucked her legs into the folds of a silken coverlet, a brisk wind raced inward and rippled through her curly hair. A shudder ran through her, as the chill penetrated the thin, calf-length tunic she wore. She looked around her, wondering where the breeze had come from. There were no windows in the room. She pushed aside strands of ink-black hair from her face.

  A water channel connected to the pool, carrying the liquid around a corner. From that direction, a feminine voice echoed.

  “…she wanted to see her, Abdallah. How could I have refused her request?”

  A man answered, “You risk too much. You should not have brought the girl here, all for the whims of an old woman.”

  “A dying woman, Abdallah. My mother.”

  “Still, it is a heavy burden you bear. Now, to involve the child and expect her to….”

  “I ask nothing more from her than her grandfather has already demanded. He knew the risks when he married her off. If you had seen her earlier today at the wedding…. She is barely eight years old and already a bride. She cannot begin to understand the consequences of this union, what it may mean for her and for us all. This husband of hers,” the woman’s voice rose a pitch. “Prince Faraj has his father’s selfishness. He shall ensure his own protection, not Fatima’s. The Sultan and his son are responsible for her final fate. She is a mere child, not a pawn in this game of her father and grandfather.”

  Fatima frowned at the woman’s words. How could a person be a pawn? Pawns belonged on the chess board with which she and her father played in the evenings. She did not recognize the voices, though each person knew of her. Had they brought her to this unknown place? Even more, she hated the way the two talked about her, her grandfather and father. Who were these people?

  The man continued, “It is finished now. The girl has done her duty.”

  “Duty! She had no choice. Just like me. My husband thinks I am a fool, who knows nothing of the Sultan’s plans. He thinks to keep me an unwitting fool, a prisoner caged within the walls of
his palace. I have been nothing more than his broodmare, forced to endure birthing after birthing. I can hardly bear the sight of the children, knowing they are his.”

  “They shall not understand your actions.”

  “By the blessings of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, they are too young to know why I must leave this place, except perhaps for the boy. His eyes have seen things…he is always watching, like his grandfather. When the children are older, their father’s lies shall comfort them.”

  “We must leave the city at first light when the gates are opened. My coming to Gharnatah cannot remain a secret for long. Are you certain of this course? Your husband shall believe the worst of you, that you have betrayed him. He shall hate you.”

  “No more than I have hated him.”

  Fatima pushed away the silken coverlet on her legs and crept across the marble floor. She winced at the coldness of the tiles and peeked around the corner into anantechamber.

  A copper brazier pierced at the sides cast a shadow against the wall. The smell of ambergris and musk wrinkled her nostrils. Opposite the brazier, a rectangular channel at the base of the floor held copper bowls, each connected at the top by a thin, metal shaft. A bronze water clock dripped fluid from a tiny hole at its base, which collected in the bowls below. Three of the vessels already overflowed with water. The last of these dribbled its runoff into a fourth bowl.

  The man and woman had settled before a lattice-covered window, where the pool’s water channel disappeared under the wall. Behind them, yellow damask curtains edged with gold filigree flapped in the breeze. The man knelt beside her while she sat on a low, wood carved stool. Deep pockmarks pinpricked his cheeks. She wore silver silk robes and a black hijab covered her hair. The opaque veil trailed to the floor. The man placed his large, olive-brown hands over her smaller, slender ones. Her sun-browned skin glistened with health and vigor, and her cheeks colored a tinge of pink. She inclined her head toward him, dark brows flaring beneath the fold of the hijab.

  “There is hope for Fatima. You have given it to me, Abdallah, the means to save her from the schemes of her father and grandfather.”

  “Neither of them can trouble you here. Still, I regret my part in this. You risked too much in coming. I should never have asked it. I have placed you in grave danger, Aisha, you and your daughter.”