The Hand of Fatima Page 21
‘You would have to seek permission from the King first. It is his money. You must search out a dowry for her because you cannot expect your stepfather, who is your only family, to give anything towards it. You’, she said, turning to Fátima, ‘are a free woman. Following the death of your husband you have fulfilled the edicts of our law by honouring the four months and ten days of idda or mourning. I counted them,’ she added before either of them could begin to work it out. ‘ Of course, you have not fulfilled your obligation to remain in your husband’s house during the period of mourning, but with the marquis’s army in Terque, it was impossible for you to do so. As regards the dowry,’ she said, addressing Hernando, ‘you have three months to sort that out. Since you have slept together without being married, a wedding is not possible until she has bled three times, unless . . .’ Aisha clicked her tongue. ‘If you were with child you would be unable to marry until after the birth, nor would you be able to enjoy your love during this time. Our law forbids it. We would never find a witness willing to attend the wedding of a pregnant woman. Remember, my son: you have three months to secure the dowry.’
To continue to make love would have meant postponing the wedding even further. Fátima’s first bleeding calmed them both. The decision, however hard, was a simple one: three months of abstinence.
As for the dowry, Hernando determined to approach the King as soon as his wounded leg had healed. If anyone could help him it was Aben Humeya, the man who had taught him to ride and who had presented him with a horse. Had he not shown him his gratitude in the past? Despite himself, Hernando was concerned what those signs of affection meant. Rumours about the King’s decadent lifestyle were spreading throughout the mountains. What Hernando did not know was that time was not on his side.
Unfortunately, the rumours were not unfounded: power and money had made a tyrant of the King. Aben Humeya was consumed with greed and there was not a single dwelling he did not ransack; he lived a debauched existence, doing exactly as he pleased. He surrounded himself with women and took them without scruple. As a descendant of a long line of nobles from Granada, he distrusted Turks and Berbers; he lied, swindled and treated those in his service cruelly. His behaviour had already made public enemies of some of his best captains: El Nacoz in Baza, Maleque in Almuñécar, El Gironcillo in Vélez, Garral in Mojácar, Portocarrero in Almanzora and of course Farax, his rival for the crown.
Almost inevitably, it was a woman who put an end to Aben Humeya’s dissolute life. The King was much taken with the widow of Vicente de Rojas, brother of Miguel de Rojas, his father-in-law, whom he had had murdered in Ugíjar before divorcing his first wife. The widow was a great beauty and noted dancer who also played the lute with consummate skill. In accordance with custom, on the death of her husband, his cousin Diego Alguacil of the Rojas clan, a secret enemy of the King, courted her. Aben Humeya kept Diego Alguacil busy, sending him on journeys and missions throughout the Alpujarra, until on his return from one such venture he discovered that the King had raped the widow and was keeping her as a common concubine.
Humiliated, Diego Alguacil hatched a plot to get rid of Aben Humeya, who was then in Laujar de Andarax.
The King could not write, so all the commands he dispatched to his captains throughout the Alpujarra were written and signed in his name by one of Alguacil’s nephews. By now, Aben Humeya had freed himself from the troublesome, arrogant Turks and Berbers by sending them off to fight with the army of Aben Aboo, around Órgiva. Through his nephew, Diego Alguacil became aware of a letter on its way from the King to Aben Aboo. He intercepted the messenger, killed him and together with his nephew drafted another letter in which the King ordered Aben Aboo to use his Morisco soldiers to slaughter all the Turks and Berbers in his ranks.
Diego Alguacil himself took this letter to Aben Aboo, who could not contain the anger of Turks such as Hussein, Caracax and Barrax. Aben Aboo, with Brahim by his side, Diego Alguacil, the Turks and the leaders of the corsairs rode quickly towards Laujar de Andarax, where they found Aben Humeya in the Cotón inn.
None of the three hundred Moriscos who made up Aben Humeya’s personal bodyguard did anything to prevent Aben Aboo and his followers from entering the inn. Once inside, such was the hatred that Aben Humeya aroused among even his closest followers, that a further select bodyguard of twenty-four men allowed the Turks to break down the King’s bedroom door.
Aben Aboo and the Turks and Berbers caught the King in bed with two women, one of whom was the Rojas widow.
Aben Humeya denied the contents of the letter but his fate was already sealed. Aben Aboo and Diego Alguacil tied a rope round his neck and, one on either side, pulled until the King was strangled to death. They immediately divided his women among themselves, not only the two who had been sharing his bed, but also the many others who were part of his retinue. They also shared out his hoard of looted treasure.
Before he died, Fernando de Válor, King of Granada and Córdoba, renounced the revelation of the Prophet and cried out that he was dying in the Christian faith.
19
‘I COULD NOT wish for more nor be content with less’. This was the motto that Aben Aboo, the self-proclaimed new King of al-Andalus, had emblazoned on his standard. Just like his predecessor, the new monarch was presented to his people clad in purple, with an unsheathed sword in his right hand and the standard in his left. With the exception of Portocarrero, all the enemy captains who had been with Aben Humeya swore allegiance to the new King, who at once promoted the Turks to the highest ranks of his army. The money and prisoners Aben Humeya had amassed were sent to Algiers to purchase weapons, which Aben Aboo then distributed at low cost to the Moriscos until he had created an army of six thousand harquebusiers. Apart from the division of the spoils, he set in place a monthly stipend of eight ducats for Turks and Berbers and regular provisions for the Moriscos. He nominated new captains and bailiffs amongst whom he divided up the territory of the Alpujarra, and gave orders that the watchtowers be constantly manned, using smoke during the day and fires by night to make known any incident and to prevent the passage of anyone who was not part of the army. The eunuch Aben Aboo was determined to succeed where his dissolute predecessor had failed: he would conquer the Christians.
Hernando heard the news of Aben Humeya’s execution. His legs trembled and a cold sweat ran down his back when he heard the new King’s name: Aben Aboo. Salah, who was also listening to the messenger, narrowed his eyes and mentally weighed up the shift of power.
Hernando went in search of Aisha and Fátima who were in the kitchen preparing a meal with the merchant’s wife. ‘Let’s go!’ he shouted to them. ‘We have to get out of here!’
Aisha and Fátima stared at him in surprise.
‘Ibn Umayya has been murdered,’ he explained hastily. ‘Ibn Abbu is the new King and with him . . . Brahim! He will come for us. He will come for Fátima! He is the King’s lieutenant, his friend, his confidant.’
‘Brahim is my husband,’ Aisha said quietly, interrupting him. She looked at Fátima and her son and leant back defeated against one of the kitchen walls. ‘You two go.’
‘But if we do that,’ Fátima protested, ‘Brahim . . . he’ll kill you.’
‘Come with us, Mother,’ Hernando begged her. Aisha shook her head, tears filling her eyes. ‘Mother . . .’ he tried once more, stepping closer to her.
‘I don’t know what Brahim will do: whether he will kill me or not if he does not find you here with me,’ murmured Aisha, trying to control the panic in her voice, ‘but what I do know is that I will die anyway if you don’t escape. I could not bear to see you . . . Flee, I beg you. Go to Seville, or Valencia . . . Go to Aragón. Get away from this madness. I have other children. They are his sons. Perhaps . . . perhaps it won’t go beyond a beating. He cannot kill me! I haven’t done anything wrong! The law forbids it. He cannot blame me for what you two do . . .’
Hernando tried to embrace her. Aisha’s voice became firmer as she straightened up and pushed
him away.
‘You can’t ask me to abandon your brothers. They are younger than you. They need me.’
Hernando shook his head at the thought of how Brahim would unleash his anger on his mother. Aisha looked at Fátima pleadingly. The girl understood Aisha was seeking her support.
‘Let’s go,’ she said resolutely. She pushed Hernando out of the kitchen but before leaving Aisha, she turned round and looked sadly at her. Aisha forced a smile. ‘Get everything ready,’ Fátima urged Hernando once they were out of the kitchen. ‘As fast as you can.’ She had to shake him, shocked as he was, his eyes still fixed on Aisha. ‘I’ll see to Humam.’
Get everything ready? He watched Fátima take the child in her arms. What was there to get ready? How would they get to Aragón? And his mother? What would become of her?
‘Didn’t you hear her?’ Aisha insisted from the threshold of the kitchen. Hernando made as if to return to her side, but Aisha was adamant. ‘Flee! Don’t you realize? He will kill you first. When you have sons of your own one day you will understand my decision, a mother’s decision. Go!’
I could not wish for more nor be content with less. Brahim, elevated to a position of power by the man he had saved from certain death, contemplated that motto and its implications for him.
They captured Hernando in the cellar, together with Salah, as he was trying to take what was left of the three hundred ducats the merchant had been forced to give him. Hernando and Fátima would have more need of it than the unfortunate Aben Humeya. From the cellar they heard the shouts of the soldiers Brahim had sent to break into the house; they did not move a muscle. Then, after some confusion, they heard footsteps clattering down the steps that led to the merchant’s treasure trove.
Somebody kicked open the half-closed door. Five men entered the basement, swords drawn. The man who appeared to be in charge began to say something but fell silent when he caught sight of the sacred objects piled up there; behind him, the others peered into the shadows.
Crucifixes, gold-bordered chasubles, a statue of the Virgin, some chalices and other religious objects lay at Aben Aboo’s feet. Close by, their hands bound, stood Hernando and Salah, and behind them Fátima and Aisha. Unlike Aben Humeya, the new King did not stand on ceremony and listened to Brahim where they happened to be: in a narrow alleyway in Laujar de Andarax with a retinue of Turks and captains crowding around them. The soldiers accompanying Brahim had noisily dropped the objects seized from the merchant's basement on to the ground in front of the new King.
Before the tinkle of a chalice rolling on the stones had faded, Salah whimpered and tried to excuse himself. Brahim silenced him with a blow from the butt of his harquebus; a trickle of blood spilled from the merchant’s mouth. Hernando was looking straight at Aben Aboo, who was much fatter and flabbier than he remembered from the wedding party at Mecina. Women and children were leaning from the windows and balconies of the small two-storeyed whitewashed houses.
‘Is this the woman you have talked so much about?’ asked the King, pointing at Fátima. Brahim nodded. ‘Then she’s yours.’
‘But I’m going to marry her,’ Hernando protested. ‘Ibn Umayya . . .’ He waited for Brahim to strike him, but it did not happen. They let him speak. ‘Ibn Umayya has granted me her hand and we are to marry,’ he stammered.
Twenty or more people, including the King, were staring straight at him.
‘The law . . . the law says that since she is a widow she has to consent to marry Brahim,’ pleaded Hernando.
‘And she has done so,’ said Aben Aboo cynically. ‘I saw her give her consent. We all saw it, did we not?’
All the men around him agreed.
Hernando instinctively turned towards Fátima, but this time Brahim did strike him, and her face became a distant blur.
‘Are you doubting the word of your King?’ asked Aben Aboo.
Hernando did not reply; there was no answer. Disgusted, the King poked the statue of the Virgin with his foot.
‘What is the meaning of all this?’ he went on, regarding the matter of Fátima as closed.
Brahim explained about all the objects the soldiers had found in the cellar of Salah’s house. When he had finished, Aben Aboo intertwined the fingers of both hands and rested his forefingers on the tip of his nose. He thought for several moments without taking his eyes off the Christian treasures.
‘Your stepfather always said you were a Christian,’ he said to Hernando. ‘They call you the Nazarene, don’t they? I understand now why Ibn Umayya always protected you: the heretical dog died entrusting himself to the god of the papists. As for you . . .’ he continued, pointing at Salah. ‘Kill them both,’ he suddenly barked, as if he was tired of the whole business. ‘Put them on a spit in the square and roast their bodies, then leave them to the animals.’
Salah fell to his knees and howled, begging for mercy. Brahim struck him again. Hernando paid no attention whatsoever to the sentence. Fátima! Better to die than to see her in Brahim’s hands. What did life matter if Fátima . . .?
‘I will buy the young man!’
The offer stunned Hernando. He lifted his head and, straightening up, found himself facing Barrax, who had stepped in front of him. Many of those present smiled openly.
Aben Aboo thought some more. The Nazarene deserved to die; it was apparent that this was what Brahim wanted, but one of the causes of Aben Humeya’s misfortune had been his failure to satisfy the Turks and corsairs. He did not want to make the same mistake.
‘Agreed. Speak with Brahim about the price. The Christian is yours.’
Hernando found himself dragged through the alleyways of Laujar in exactly the same way as he had pulled Isabel along. He stumbled behind several of Barrax’s men as they took him towards the corsair chief’s camp. He lost a shoe but kept going. As he dragged his feet, he also dragged up memories. What would become of Fátima? He shut his eyes in a vain effort to dispel the image of Brahim lying on top of her. What would she do? She couldn’t refuse him, but . . . what if she did? He came to a halt until a rough tug on the rope forced him on. He stumbled again. Someone spat the word ‘Nazarene’ at him loudly. He glanced at the Morisco; he did not recognize him. Nor did he recognize the man a little further on who called him a heretic dog. As they rounded a street corner, several Moriscos mocked him in front of a group of women they were talking to. One of them handed a stone to a child no more than five years old to throw at him. When it struck his hip weakly the whole group cheered the little boy. Hernando put Fátima out of his mind and lunged at the Moriscos. Barrax’s man, taken by surprise, lost hold of the rope. Hernando threw himself on the man nearest him. His guffaws of laughter turned into a shriek of panic before he was tumbled to the ground. Hernando tried to punch him but his hands were tied. The man raised his arms to push him away, but in an uncontrollable fit of rage Hernando bit him as hard as he could. Barrax’s henchmen hauled him away unceremoniously; Hernando stood up defiantly, his mouth stained with blood, ready to do battle, but not only did the Berbers not harm him, they seemed ready to protect him from the other Moriscos; swords and daggers were drawn as the two groups faced each other.
‘If you have any complaint,’ one of the Berbers cried, ‘take it up with Barrax. This man is his slave.’
At the mention of the corsair leader’s name, the Moriscos put away their weapons. Hernando spat at their feet.
From then on, the Berbers lifted him up and carried him as though he were a piece of valuable merchandise. It took four of them to deal with his kicking, howling and biting.
When they reached Barrax’s camp they tied him to a tree. Hernando went on shouting, hurling insults at anyone who came near. He fell silent only when Ubaid approached and stood in front of him, rubbing the stump of his right wrist.
‘Get away from him,’ a soldier ordered. When Hernando had forced Barrax to make Ubaid leave the house in Ugíjar, news of their dispute had spread by word of mouth. ‘This lad is untouchable,’ the soldier warned him.
‘Try it!’ Hernando challenged him.
‘Get out of here,’ the soldier shouted in turn, pushing away the one-armed muleteer.
The wedding party and the bride’s dowry; that was the price Brahim agreed with Barrax for the purchase of his stepson. The commander insisted that the deal also included Hamid’s scimitar; he had noted the tender way the lad caressed the sword and wanted to make a gift of it to him the moment he submitted to his will, which he surely would. They all did in the end! Thousands of young Christians were living very comfortably in Algiers as the playthings of Turks and Berbers after they had renounced their religion and converted to the true faith.
‘Take the sword,’ Brahim answered. ‘Keep all his clothes. Take everything that belongs to him. I want nothing that might remind me of his existence . . . I have enough with his mother.’ Brahim narrowed his eyes and thought for a few moments. His days as a muleteer were over: he was now the King of al-Andalus’s lieutenant and had acquired a valuable amount of gold booty. ‘I also need a white mule for the bride, the most beautiful white mule in the whole of the Alpujarra. I will exchange my entire pack of mules for that.
‘You are getting a bargain,’ he insisted, as the corsair hesitated. ‘White mules can be found in many villages throughout the Alpujarra. Perhaps even here. I don’t have time to bother with such details.’
A couple of days after agreeing the deal with Brahim, Barrax approached the tree where Hernando was tied, showing him a beautiful white mule Ubaid had bought in a nearby village. Barrax had ordered that Hernando be chained and left without food, with only water for sustenance. Hernando refused to speak to his new master.
‘Your beloved will ride this when she gives herself to your stepfather,’ Barrax said, stroking the mule’s neck. His blue eyes sunken and bruised, Hernando stared at the animal. ‘Renounce your religion and give yourself to me,’ Barrax insisted.