Sultana's Legacy Read Online Free

mercilessly. He longed for the evening when the sky in its myriad colors ranged above. However, today he felt hollow and suspected the view would not provide the same enjoyment as it had in the past.
    An abrupt silence descended. Even the wind had calmed, leaving the air brittle. Doñ Alonso returned to the battlements. He strode toward the wall with his men at-arms following him. Faraj’s gaze swayed to the tower window to the right. Guzman’s woman stood there. Her sharp nails gripped the ledge. She stared down at the child and waited to hear his fate.
    Suddenly, a fierce coastal breeze reared up again, whipping about Doñ Alonso’s short, red cloak. His gaze resolute on the boy below him, he withdrew a dagger from his belt, its handle covered with spinel and bloodstone. Christians believed gemstones carried certain properties that aided the bearer. Spinel improved character. Bloodstone, a form of jasper, strengthened the will. The cutting edge of Doñ Alonso’s dagger caught the sun’s rays. Prisms of light danced across the blade.
    Doñ Alonso began, “Fernan Alonso de Guzman y Coronel is my firstborn son. No parent ever felt so much pride as when my wife and I first beheld him. No father has ever felt the satisfaction in a son as I feel today. Now, Prince Juan would have me choose between the pride of my heart and the honor of my family. I did not father a son to be a pawn against the country I love and the land I call my own. I fathered a son who, in my stead, might have one day fought against the enemies of Castilla-Leon, be they Moorish or Christian.
    “Prince Juan has by his actions, by his treason, made himself an enemy of Castilla-Leon. I shall never yield Tarifa or betray the mantle of trust that King Sancho has placed upon me, not even to save my own son. If this rebel prince, who is little more than a dog, should put my son to death, he shall affirm my honor as the loyal defender of his sovereign, King Sancho. He shall ensure my son’s place in heaven as a martyr of the Christian faith, who died doing his duty before a faithless lord. He calls down eternal shame on himself in this world and the everlasting wrath of Christ Jesus after death. If Prince Juan wants to test my resolve, if he needs a weapon with which to murder my son, he may have my blade for his cruel purpose!”
    Doñ Alonso flung his dagger over the wall. The weapon spiraled before it landed with a heavy thud, a short distance from where the Prince sat mounted. Doñ Alonso nodded to his weeping son, bowed his head and turned away.
    His shoulders stiff, he strode across the battlements. His steps never faltered. As one, those who ringed the ramparts bowed their heads as he passed them.
    Faraj did the same to honor the noble but tragic sacrifice the adversary of Gharnatah had chosen. His heart tore inside his breast for his enemy’s sake.
    Prince Juan leapt down from his horse and now brandished Doñ Alonso’s dagger. He dragged the kicking and squealing child against him and forced his head back, exposing the boy’s tender neck. With a snarl directed toward the battlements, he pressed the glittering blade against the pale flesh. Tears flooded the boy’s face. In a swift motion, Prince Juan sliced a deep cut from ear to ear. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc across the glittering sand. Shouts of dismay and horror flowed from those assembled on the citadel walls.
    As the thick redness gurgled and spilled down the dying child’s throat, he sagged against his captor. Prince Juan pushed him forward into the sand. The mutilated child fell at the feet of the horse. The stallion nickered and sidestepped the body. A crimson line ran from the dead boy’s wound and pooled on the sand beneath his nearly severed neck. The Castillan Prince tucked Doñ Alonso’s dagger, still stained with blood, into the empty sheath fastened to his belt. He wheeled his horse around and dragged the lifeless body behind him.
    No one within the Marinid encampment spoke.