III - The lion's share
Rasid, 1250
THE LION OF NUBIA burst into the Palace courtyard. Two men hurried at once to tend to his horse.
“Where is my Father?” he roared as he dismounted.
“You father is in his bedroom,” a soldier said. “He is in very… poor… condition.”
“Take me there.”
There hurried through once-familiar corridors.
“I had the honor of serving under you at the battle of Suakin, Prince Muhammad. When we broke the kafir line at the River of Blood in a daring charge.”
THE LION OF NUBIA hardly need to be reminded of how he had broken the kafir line at the battle of Suakin. Begging and flattery around him would get worse now that he would be emir, he expected. What would it be once he was sultan?
Then he recognized the door they came to. It was wide open and the guard boggled at them.
“He is dead! The emir is dead.”
Muhammad pushed past him. Father was lying on a bed without sheets, eyes and mouth wide open. His brother Musa was kneeling by his side, folding back bundle of clothes around something golden.
“Brother,” he said, in a strange ton of voice. His entire demeanor was awkward, like that of a man standing up after sitting for hours.
“Father is dead.”
“Yes… Father.” He must be afraid, Muhammad realized. Afraid of what his younger brother would do as sultan. He needed not fear, though. THE LION OF NUBIA was fierce but not cruel. That small, balding man was no threat and he had his uses.
“I will confirm you in your lordship of Aydhab, he said. But for now we have a lot to arrange. Father…”
“Father designed me his heir. On his deathbed.”
What? That was really absurd. Ever since Scorpio had died, THE LION OF NUBIA had been his father’s favorite, and the nobles’, and the smallfolk’s. He had broken the kafir line at Suakin, saved the best of the army in the disaster at Dongola, taken Atbara and Abu Hamad by storm. He had survived a decade of bush wars in Nubia, where living was mistakes not made. Of course he would be the new Sultan.
“When you could not came of time, he said I should succeed him. As his body was failing.”
“Liar!”
“Several guards witnessed it. Then he sent them away, to give me his last insights.”
Muhammad stepped forward, and normally Musa would have shirked back, but he stood his ground, muscles tensed. There was something of Father in him, after all. Was it what Sultan Ali had seen in his lesser son, at the last of life?
“He might have said that, when his mind faded. You might have made him said that. Still I am the rightful heir.”
“You are the Lion of Nubia, no doubt. Do you not see? This is why father chose me.”
“What?” It made no sense. Some word trick.
“The real battle is fought in the South, and you must be the one fighting it. For the glory of our family. Down in Nubia is where we must build a kingdom before anything can come out of emirate in Egypt. And that kingdom is yours to build. Yours. The Lion of Nubia’s. That’s your share of power and glory. Mine… Taking care of mundane business in Rashid. Trying to bribe the Venetians kafirs away.”
It might be a trick, a lie. But then, Musa had only daughters, which left his younger brother a chance at succession. And it certainly was true that Muhammad could not at once command in Nubia and rule in Rasid. The distances were too enormous, the roads too bad.
He was aware of guards around them, four at least. How would they react, if he killed his brother? Somehow he knew it would be his last chance.
And he let it pass.
So because I'm an idiot I bungled my succession and my second best son took the throne instead of the best. Heh, whatever.
Rasid, 1250
THE LION OF NUBIA burst into the Palace courtyard. Two men hurried at once to tend to his horse.
“Where is my Father?” he roared as he dismounted.
“You father is in his bedroom,” a soldier said. “He is in very… poor… condition.”
“Take me there.”
There hurried through once-familiar corridors.
“I had the honor of serving under you at the battle of Suakin, Prince Muhammad. When we broke the kafir line at the River of Blood in a daring charge.”
THE LION OF NUBIA hardly need to be reminded of how he had broken the kafir line at the battle of Suakin. Begging and flattery around him would get worse now that he would be emir, he expected. What would it be once he was sultan?
Then he recognized the door they came to. It was wide open and the guard boggled at them.
“He is dead! The emir is dead.”
Muhammad pushed past him. Father was lying on a bed without sheets, eyes and mouth wide open. His brother Musa was kneeling by his side, folding back bundle of clothes around something golden.
“Brother,” he said, in a strange ton of voice. His entire demeanor was awkward, like that of a man standing up after sitting for hours.
“Father is dead.”
“Yes… Father.” He must be afraid, Muhammad realized. Afraid of what his younger brother would do as sultan. He needed not fear, though. THE LION OF NUBIA was fierce but not cruel. That small, balding man was no threat and he had his uses.
“I will confirm you in your lordship of Aydhab, he said. But for now we have a lot to arrange. Father…”
“Father designed me his heir. On his deathbed.”
What? That was really absurd. Ever since Scorpio had died, THE LION OF NUBIA had been his father’s favorite, and the nobles’, and the smallfolk’s. He had broken the kafir line at Suakin, saved the best of the army in the disaster at Dongola, taken Atbara and Abu Hamad by storm. He had survived a decade of bush wars in Nubia, where living was mistakes not made. Of course he would be the new Sultan.
“When you could not came of time, he said I should succeed him. As his body was failing.”
“Liar!”
“Several guards witnessed it. Then he sent them away, to give me his last insights.”
Muhammad stepped forward, and normally Musa would have shirked back, but he stood his ground, muscles tensed. There was something of Father in him, after all. Was it what Sultan Ali had seen in his lesser son, at the last of life?
“He might have said that, when his mind faded. You might have made him said that. Still I am the rightful heir.”
“You are the Lion of Nubia, no doubt. Do you not see? This is why father chose me.”
“What?” It made no sense. Some word trick.
“The real battle is fought in the South, and you must be the one fighting it. For the glory of our family. Down in Nubia is where we must build a kingdom before anything can come out of emirate in Egypt. And that kingdom is yours to build. Yours. The Lion of Nubia’s. That’s your share of power and glory. Mine… Taking care of mundane business in Rashid. Trying to bribe the Venetians kafirs away.”
It might be a trick, a lie. But then, Musa had only daughters, which left his younger brother a chance at succession. And it certainly was true that Muhammad could not at once command in Nubia and rule in Rasid. The distances were too enormous, the roads too bad.
He was aware of guards around them, four at least. How would they react, if he killed his brother? Somehow he knew it would be his last chance.
And he let it pass.
So because I'm an idiot I bungled my succession and my second best son took the throne instead of the best. Heh, whatever.
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