Sultana's Legacy Read Online Free PDF

betrayed his people and their blood?”
    Faraj shook his head. “You cannot mean Doñ Alonso? Prince Juan told us that he was born in Leon. He and his father before him have served the Castillans all their lives.”
    “He is a Moor by blood, even if not by faith. His grandfather was born in Al-Andalus. Yet, he holds to the beliefs of the Christians. Why should I care for his suffering?”
    “You understand the nature of war and just dealings. What happened here was not fair recompense for Guzman’s rejection of his heritage. It was not a test of one army’s mettle against another. Murder and deceit flowed upon the sands of Tarif today.”
    Abdallah’s gaze shifted to the encampment on the shore. “Speak your terms.”
    Faraj followed his stare. “Leave, retire from the field of this dishonorable battle. I saw the banners of your men unfurled among the mounted archer and cavalry divisions. How many warriors do you command?”
    “Two thousand,” Abdallah muttered, still looking at the beachhead.
    Faraj nodded. Two thousand archers and riders amounted to less than half of their combined forces. That left another two thousand Marinids, in addition to fifteen hundred Gharnati warriors and less than three hundred and fifty Castillan and Portuguese mercenaries whom Prince Juan had bribed into his service. Perhaps less than a thousand Christians protected the citadel at Tarif. If the defenses held, if King Sancho sent reinforcements south across the White Sea, he might lift the siege in time.
    Although Faraj’s head warred with his heart, warning him against such treasonous thoughts, he continued, “Take your men and go.”
    Abdallah pinned him with a ferocious glare. “Where should I go? Al-Maghrib el-Aska has been my refuge these last seven years. You do not know what it is to be hunted, to be without a home.”
    Faraj’s belly soured. Bile rose up in his throat. He tamped down the fear and buried it beneath his resignation. Even before he spoke the words, he knew this action could only lead to his death. Before he surrendered to his fate, he would return to Malaka one last time, to his beloved.
    He said, “I shall soon learn, after I have left this battlefield.”
    Abdallah turned his back on him, his shoulders rigid.
    Faraj approached, heart hammering in his chest, his footfalls light and cautious. The galley swayed beneath his feet.
    “The Castillan commander cannot surrender now. He has paid the price of delay and inaction with his son’s life. His honor is at stake. Prince Juan’s treachery has sullied whatever you and your men might do here from this day forth. Leave this place with your honor intact. A man such as you would be welcomed in any other land.”
    Abdallah’s stark stare returned. His mouth tightened in a stubborn line. “Except the land of my birth, Al-Andalus. You cannot offer me protection here, not when your Sultan has vowed to take the heads of any among the Ashqilula who ever dared return. Where should we go, my two thousand warriors and I? Would you have me and my men abandon the Marinids, so they can call us cowards?”
    Faraj shook his head. “Let others call you men of honor, who did not gain from the grief of another. There is no dignity in defeating a commander already broken by the death of his son.”
    Abdallah’s lips pursed in barely suppressed fury.
    Faraj added, “You have the power to change the course of these events. Men have always flocked to your banners and aided you, because they know you believe in justice and truth. If you are rightly guided, then you know what you must do. The Marinids cannot win without you. Could they strike at you in al-Maghrib el-Aska?”
    Abdallah shook his head. “My wives and children remain safe in Jumhuriyat Misr, the land of the pyramids. It is where my wives were born, where our children have always lived. They have never desired to leave it and I have never forced them.”
    “Then it has been seven years since you last saw