Sultana's Legacy Read Free Page A

and glanced over the wall, before he disappeared.
    A prickling sensation crept up Faraj’s spine. The couple had recognized the little boy. The woman and the child shared the same hair color. What relationship did the child bear her that caused the woman such fright?
    The black-haired man reappeared on the rampart. In a voice that Faraj could not overhear at such lengths, he issued instructions. Footmen dispersed along the wall and stood shoulder to shoulder.
    The dark-haired man shouted across the distance in his native Castillan tongue. “Traitorous dog! What cruelty is this that you should bring my son before me in such a state?”
    Faraj sagged, as his worst suspicions became reality. He looked at the pitiable boy. The child’s head drooped and his shadow cast a dark blot across the shimmering sand.
    Prince Juan answered, “Indeed, Doñ Alonso, I am pleased you recognize your firstborn, Fernan Alonso. If you wish to see him leave this battlefield alive, surrender Tarifa to the forces before you. Otherwise, I shall kill Fernan. I give you until midday to send word that you mean to withdraw. If you give up the citadel, I shall return your son unharmed.”
    Faraj’s gaze remained on the child and he shook his head at the cruelty of the Castillan prince. Prince Juan relied on the same brutal tactic he had once employed against Zamora. Many years ago, he forced the capitulation of that fortress by similar means. He had promised death to the young son of the woman who held the castle in her husband’s stead. Clearly, he expected a similar result at Tarif.
    “My son was a page at court where he nobly served your brother, the rightful King of Castilla-Leon, Sancho.” Doñ Alonso’s strident voice held no warmth or spark of life. “By what treacherous means have you brought him here?”
    Yet when Doñ Alonso looked over the wall to his young son, his darkened face betrayed the agony within him. Faraj’s heart wrung with pity, as he cast aside all he had said earlier to Muhammad regarding the defeat of an enemy.
    This was no longer a contest between equals, not when the Castillan prince intended to force the capitulation of his adversary by foul means. Faraj thought of his own two sons, whom he would do anything to protect. He knew and understood the love of a father for his children. Had he been in the Castillan commander’s position, his choice would have been clear. No fortress, not even his beloved home at Malaka, would be worth the life of either of his sons. Yet, he was not Doñ Alonso.
    The little boy raised his hands as if in supplication. Doñ Alonso shook his head. The boy sank on his knees. He covered his face with his hands.
    Prince Juan shouted, “Until midday, Doñ Alonso. Do not delay or the consequences shall prove deadly, for your son especially.”
    As he jerked the reins and the momentum of his horse forced the boy through the campsite, a din of conversation buzzed among various pockets of the Marinid soldiers. Those who understood the Castillan language, as Faraj did, spoke of the scene that had transpired. News of it spread through the encampment like wildfire.
    Each man, from Marinid warrior to Castillan cavalryman offered his opinion on what had just happened. Some felt the Marinids forces should withdraw. Prince Juan could not gain the victory by unfair and dishonorable means. Others, especially the mounted horsemen supporting Prince Juan, believed Doñ Alonso should surrender and reclaim his son, though they were in the minority of opinions.
    Faraj watched the walls of the citadel. The woman reappeared at Doñ Alonso’s side, her eyes red-rimmed. Her gaze held the same stark fear as that of the man next to her. Yet, Faraj also recognized strengthening resolve in the firm line of her mouth and her unwavering stare, which followed the child’s progress.
    Although they could not have been more different, her bravery reminded him of Fatima’s strength. He did not doubt what his own wife would