Author's Note: This story exists in no reality but the one in my head. 'Cuz however much I wish it weren't so, in those days there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that any woman, Sultan's daughter or not, would be sitting as part of the Shura Council. But whatever... here's the story, so read and review, peeps:)
The Shura Council of Salahhuddin was assembled. Bearded, robed men sat cross-legged on the rich, plush carpet that covered the dirt floor in a rough circle, some of them reading softly out of the Qurans they held in their hands, others sitting with their heads together, talking earnestly. All were waiting for the two who would fill the last empty spaces left in the circle.
They didn't wait much longer. The door flap of the tent opened, and a man, tall, dark, bearded, and attired in a rich black dishdasha embroidered with silver, ducked his head as he entered the tent.
"As-salaamu 'alaikum wa rahmatullaahi wa barakaatu," Salahhuddin greeted his men, his dark, kohled eyes scanning the faces of the men assembled. "Forgive our tardiness. There was a matter that caused a delay."
His usage of the word 'our' referred to himself and to the slender figure that had entered the tent right behind him, swathed entirely in a loose black robe, face veiled. Salahhuddin's daughter. Zainab.
Mullah Khaled frowned. He severely disapproved of the Sultan allowing – nay, bringing – his daughter to be a member of the Shura Council. But no matter how many times the mullah argued with Salahhuddin, trying to convince him that it was wrong to allow a women to not only observe but take part of matters best suited to men, the Sultan refused point-blank to forbid his daughter from joining the Council and participating actively. The mullah wondered, somewhat sulkily, if Salahhuddin did it simply to vex him.
Salahhuddin and his daughter, Zainab, settled themselves on the carpet; Salahhuddin reclining slightly against a pile of propped cushions, Zainab folding her gloved hands demurely while her eyes, so like her father's, swept over the men in attendance, pausing momentarily on Mullah Khaled before lowering her gaze. She well knew of the mullah's disapproval, and flaunted it outrageously, much to his infuriation.
"Bismillaahir-rahmaan ir-raheem," Salahhuddin's quiet but powerful voice filled the tent. "Innal-Hamdulillaah, nah-maduhu wa nasta'eenuhu wa nastaghfiruh…" "All praise is due to Allah…We praise Him and seek His help and forgiveness."
After the opening du'aa (supplication), Salahhuddin sighed. "The Franks have attacked another caravan. They were led by Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan. The peace is no longer threatened. It has been attacked. Now, the question is, what do we do?" "Attack!" many voices cried out in unison, Mullah Khaled the loudest. The other few Council members remained silent. Salahhuddin looked at them all, his gaze piercing.
"Truly?" he questioned. "If I may, Father?" The soft, clear voice was Zainab's. Salahhuddin inclined his head graciously. "Speak."
The Sultan's daughter raised her head. "I do not think that we should be so swift to attack," she said , her veil fluttering as she spoke. "Have you contacted King Baldwin yet?"
Salahhuddin shook his head. "First, I wish to know what my Council advises"
"Then I advise care, and caution. Let us assess the situation. Would it be more beneficial to us to hold back rather than to attack? What would our actions mean to the Muslims of Jerusalem? If we attack, the Templars may take revenge on the Muslim citizens. We must remember them."
She fell silent. Mullah Khaled raised his voice. "Attack!" he cried. "Attack! Shall we sit still and do nothing while our brothers and sisters continue to be harassed and persecuted? Will we let the Christians continue to kill and maim? Are we to twiddle our thumbs in the name of peace and mercy? Chatillon and Lusignan have gone too far. Too many times have we let the opportunity to gain a stronger foothold slide, to let Baldwin deal with his men as he sees fit. Do you think the Frankish king will truly punish his own subjects? If he kept his word, Chatillon and Lusignan would not have attacked again! Retaliation is in order! It must be swift, and powerful! Let us show them what happens when they cross us!"
The men of the Council nodded in agreement. Several voiced their opinions, all in favour of attacking. Salahhuddin raised his hand. Everyone fell silent. "Is this what you wish?" he asked the Council. "Aye!"
It was unanimous, but for the Sultan's daughter. Salahhuddin turned to look at her.
"Very well, then," she said. She sounded resigned. "Attack Kerak, the stronghold of Reynald de Chatillon. But send word to Baldwin first. Let us know of his thoughts and intentions. He is a good man, and I am loath that we do something that would weaken him further."
Mullah Khaled scowled. "You are too fond of Baldwin. Keep in mind that he is a Christian, one of the enemy!"
Zainab raised her head, and stared him in the eye, her own kohled eyes flashing. "He is a good man. Far better than Guy de Lusignan. The peace we have had could not have taken place without Baldwin. He may be an enemy, but he is an enemy I am proud to have. He is good, and noble. And humble," she added.
That stung. Mullah Khaled knew all too well that she, and many others besides, considered him to be arrogant. He remained silent, glowering. Glancing up, he could have sworn that the Sultan's daughter was smirking at him behind her veil. He scowled.