Author's Note: This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
The afternoon sun hung low over the hills east of Fez as Abd al-Malik rode alongside Qaid Ibrahim al-Mandri, their horses picking their way carefully along the rocky trails that led to the traditional hawking grounds. The prince's falcon, a magnificent peregrine named Malik after one of his ancestors, perched on his leather-gloved wrist with the calm alertness of a seasoned hunting bird. Behind them followed a modest retinue—two falconers, a handful of guards, and Hakim, who had insisted on accompanying his master despite the obvious desire for privacy that this expedition represented.
The choice of location had been deliberate. These hills, dotted with scrub oak and wild olive trees, were far enough from the palace to ensure against casual eavesdropping, yet familiar enough that their presence here would not seem unusual. For generations, Marinid princes had come to these grounds to train their hunting birds and escape the suffocating atmosphere of court politics.
"Your falcon shows promise," Ibrahim observed as they reached a small plateau that offered an excellent view of the surrounding countryside. "Malik has the look of his namesake—proud, patient, and ready to strike when the moment is right."
Abd al-Malik smiled at the compliment, though he sensed it carried deeper meaning. In the coded language of palace intrigue, comments about hunting birds often served as metaphors for political strategy. "He was trained by the same master who taught my grandfather's birds," he replied. "There is value in learning from those who understand traditional methods, even as circumstances change around us."
They dismounted near a grove of ancient olive trees, their gnarled trunks speaking of centuries spent weathering the harsh Moroccan climate. The falconers took charge of the horses while the guards positioned themselves at strategic points around the grove, close enough to provide protection but far enough away to allow for private conversation.
Ibrahim settled himself on a flat boulder, his experienced eyes scanning the sky for signs of suitable prey. "It has been too long since I hunted in these hills," he said conversationally. "The pressures of court life leave little time for such pursuits, and I find myself missing the simple clarity of the hunt."
"Simple clarity can be valuable," Abd al-Malik agreed, releasing his falcon to a nearby perch where the bird could rest while they talked. "Sometimes the complexities of palace life obscure the fundamental questions that should guide our actions."
"Indeed." Ibrahim's tone grew more serious. "Your interest in military matters this morning suggested that you have been giving thought to such fundamental questions. May I ask what has prompted this new direction in your thinking?"
Abd al-Malik settled on a boulder facing the older man, choosing his words carefully. The conversation he was about to have would be crucial to his future plans, but it would also be dangerous. Ibrahim al-Mandri was known for his loyalty to the dynasty, but he was also a practical man who had survived decades of palace politics by understanding when to speak and when to remain silent.
"The fever dreams I experienced during my illness were... illuminating," he said slowly. "I saw visions of what might come to pass if our kingdom continues to drift as it has been. Foreign armies marching through our cities, our people subjected to Christian rule, the tombs of our ancestors desecrated by infidel hands." He paused, allowing the weight of these words to sink in. "Whether these were true visions sent by Allah or merely the products of a troubled mind, they have shown me that our dynasty faces challenges that require more than scholarly contemplation to address."
Ibrahim listened intently, his weathered face revealing nothing of his thoughts. When Abd al-Malik finished speaking, the older man remained silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the Atlas Mountains rose like a protective barrier against the southern desert.
"Visions or not," Ibrahim said finally, "your concerns are not without foundation. I have served this dynasty for thirty years, first as a young warrior in your grandfather's campaigns, then as a commander of tribal levies, and now as an advisor whose counsel is sought less frequently than it once was." His voice carried a note of bitterness that he quickly suppressed. "In that time, I have watched our military strength diminish, our administrative independence erode, and our enemies grow bolder along our borders."
"The Portuguese continue to hold Ceuta," Abd al-Malik observed.
"And show every sign of intending to expand their holdings," Ibrahim confirmed. "Their ships patrol our coasts with increasing boldness, their merchants demand ever greater privileges in our ports, and their spies map our defenses with impunity. Yet when I raise these concerns in council, I am told that the cost of military action would be prohibitive, that our resources are better spent maintaining internal stability."
The last phrase was spoken with particular emphasis, and Abd al-Malik understood the implied criticism. Internal stability—maintaining the current power structure while avoiding the risks that might come with external campaigns—was exactly the sort of short-sighted policy that would doom the Marinids in the original timeline.
"What would you recommend, if your counsel were sought more frequently?"
Ibrahim's eyes sharpened. "That depends on what the questioner is prepared to hear, and what he is prepared to do with the answer."
It was a careful response, designed to gauge Abd al-Malik's seriousness without committing the older man to any particular course of action. The prince recognized the diplomatic skill behind the words—Ibrahim had survived three decades of palace politics by understanding exactly this sort of strategic ambiguity.
"I am prepared to hear the truth," Abd al-Malik said firmly. "And I am prepared to act on it, if action is warranted and possible."
"Truth." Ibrahim smiled grimly. "A dangerous commodity in any court, but especially in one where truth threatens entrenched interests." He stood and walked to the edge of the grove, where he could survey the approaches to their position while he spoke. "The truth is that our kingdom grows weaker with each passing year. The truth is that our enemies grow stronger while we debate administrative procedures. The truth is that the men who claim to serve the dynasty's interests often serve their own interests first."
"And what would you do to address these problems?"
"First, I would restore the military to its proper strength and independence," Ibrahim said without hesitation. "Our fathers and grandfathers conquered half of Iberia with cavalry charges that struck like lightning and infantry that held ground like rocks. Now we are told that such methods are outdated, that we should abandon our horses for crossbows and our tribal levies for hired mercenaries."
The professor's knowledge provided context for understanding the full implications of this statement. The proposed military reforms weren't just about tactical effectiveness—they were about political control. Traditional Moroccan military power had been based on tribal cavalry units led by men like Ibrahim whose loyalty was to the dynasty rather than to any particular minister. If Muhammad ibn Yahya could replace these units with professional soldiers under administrative control, he would eliminate one of the main checks on his authority.
"You believe these proposed reforms serve political purposes rather than military ones?"
"I believe they serve the purposes of men who wish to concentrate power in their own hands," Ibrahim replied bluntly. "A professional army dependent on administrative funding and direction is easier to control than tribal warriors who serve their traditional chiefs first and the Sultan second. But it is also an army that lacks the deep roots in Moroccan soil that have always been our greatest strength."
Abd al-Malik nodded, appreciating both the strategic insight and the political courage required to voice such criticisms. "And beyond military matters?"
"Beyond the military, I would restore the balance of power that made our ancestors strong," Ibrahim continued. "The Marinid system succeeded because it distributed authority among different groups—tribal leaders, religious scholars, urban merchants, and royal administrators—each checking the others' ambitions. Now we see power flowing toward a single group of administrators who claim to speak for the Sultan while gradually marginalizing everyone else."
"Including members of the royal family?"
Ibrahim's expression grew cautious. "That would be a dangerous observation to make openly."
"But an accurate one?"
After a long pause, Ibrahim nodded. "Your brother Prince Ali has been courted by certain administrative factions as a potential heir who would be... receptive to their guidance. Your brother Prince Muhammad shows little interest in political affairs, preferring his religious studies. That leaves..."
"That leaves me," Abd al-Malik finished. "And until recently, I showed little interest in practical politics myself."
"Until recently," Ibrahim agreed. "But fever dreams or divine visions aside, you seem to have developed a new perspective on the challenges facing our dynasty."
They stood in comfortable silence for several minutes, watching as Abd al-Malik's falcon spotted a small bird in the distance and began the patient stalking behavior that preceded a hunt. The metaphor was not lost on either man—successful predators understood the value of patience, careful preparation, and striking at exactly the right moment.
"Qaid Ibrahim," Abd al-Malik said finally, "if I were to seek your counsel on how to address these challenges we have discussed, what would you recommend as first steps?"
The older man studied the prince's face carefully, as if trying to gauge the depth of his commitment to the path they were discussing. "First steps toward what goal, my lord?"
"Toward ensuring that the Marinid dynasty survives and prospers, that Morocco remains strong and independent, and that our enemies do not achieve their apparent objectives through patience and infiltration rather than open conquest."
It was a careful formulation that emphasized dynastic loyalty and defensive objectives rather than personal ambition or aggressive expansion. Ibrahim seemed to approve of the diplomatic phrasing.
"If those were indeed the goals," he said slowly, "I would recommend beginning with a careful assessment of potential allies within the existing power structure. Change imposed from outside is rarely sustainable—better to work within the system while gradually shifting its balance."
"And who might constitute such potential allies?"
Ibrahim settled back onto his boulder, his expression growing thoughtful. "There are perhaps a dozen men at court whose loyalty remains primarily to the dynasty rather than to any particular faction. Most are older men who remember when the Marinids ruled with strength rather than merely surviving by the grace of their ministers."
As he spoke, Ibrahim provided a detailed analysis of the court's political landscape that complemented and expanded upon the information Hakim had shared that morning. The picture that emerged was of a divided administration where traditional power centers still existed but were being gradually undermined by systematic Wattasid encroachment.
"Said ibn Musa al-Mandri, my cousin, maintains significant influence over military administration despite pressure to accept reforms that would reduce his authority," Ibrahim explained. "Ahmad ibn Yusuf al-Fasi, your former tutor, grows increasingly frustrated with the decline of learning and scholarship at court. Qadi Ahmad ibn Muhammad al-Lamti struggles to maintain the independence of religious law in the face of administrative interference."
Each name came with a detailed assessment of the man's personality, family connections, current position, and potential motivations for supporting change. Abd al-Malik listened carefully, his professor's mind organizing the information into a mental map of potential alliances and opposition.
"What of the tribal leaders beyond the court itself?" he asked.
"That is where our greatest potential strength lies," Ibrahim said with the first note of enthusiasm he had shown during their conversation. "The Banu Marin themselves, our ancestral tribe, remain largely loyal to the dynasty despite decades of administrative encroachment on their traditional privileges. The Zenata confederation that supported our ancestors' rise to power still commands significant military resources, though they grow restless under the current system's restrictions."
The professor's knowledge provided crucial context for understanding these tribal relationships. The Marinids had originally been a Zenata Berber tribe that had risen to power in the 13th century by uniting various tribal confederations against the weakening Almohad dynasty. Their success had been based on maintaining the support of these tribal allies while gradually adopting the administrative sophistication necessary to govern a complex state. If that tribal support could be revived and properly organized, it might provide the military and political foundation for challenging Wattasid dominance.
"Would these tribal leaders be receptive to approaches from members of the royal family?"
"That would depend on what was offered and how it was presented," Ibrahim replied diplomatically. "The tribal sheikhs respect strength and decisive leadership, but they have grown suspicious of court promises after years of seeing their traditional rights eroded by administrative decree."
"What would convince them that this time might be different?"
Ibrahim smiled grimly. "Actions rather than words. Concrete steps that demonstrate respect for tribal autonomy and recognition of their military value. Perhaps most importantly, evidence that the royal family is prepared to reassert its authority over the administrative apparatus rather than simply serving as its ceremonial head."
This was the crucial challenge, Abd al-Malik realized. The traditional support structure for Marinid power still existed, but it would require active leadership from the royal family to revive and organize it effectively. The question was whether he could provide that leadership without triggering premature retaliation from Muhammad ibn Yahya and his supporters.
"Such evidence would need to be provided carefully," he observed.
"Very carefully," Ibrahim agreed. "The current administrators have had years to build their network of informants and supporters. Premature action could result in... unfortunate consequences for those involved."
They both understood the euphemism. Palace politics in medieval Morocco, like palace politics everywhere, could be a deadly game for those who miscalculated their moves or revealed their intentions too early.
A distant cry from one of the guards interrupted their conversation. Both men turned to see a small party of horsemen approaching along the main trail from Fez. Even at this distance, the elaborate dress and large retinue identified the newcomers as members of the court nobility rather than ordinary travelers.
"It appears our privacy is about to be interrupted," Ibrahim observed dryly.
Abd al-Malik shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun, trying to identify the approaching party. As they drew closer, he recognized the distinctive banners and clothing of his brother Prince Ali's household. Either this was an unfortunate coincidence, or someone had decided that the meeting between Abd al-Malik and Ibrahim required surveillance or interruption.
"My brother seems to have developed an interest in hawking," Abd al-Malik said with careful neutrality.
"An interest in hawking, or an interest in those who go hawking?" Ibrahim replied quietly. "We should prepare to receive him with appropriate courtesy, while being mindful that our conversation may have been less private than we hoped."
The approaching party consisted of Prince Ali, two of his personal guards, and Yusuf ibn Ahmad al-Wattasi—the same nephew of Muhammad ibn Yahya who had been present during that morning's encounter at the stables. The inclusion of Yusuf in what was ostensibly a recreational hunting expedition confirmed Abd al-Malik's suspicions about the political nature of this interruption.
"Brother!" Ali called out as his party reached the grove. "What a pleasant surprise to find you here. I had not realized you were sufficiently recovered to venture so far from the palace."
"Allah has been merciful in restoring my strength," Abd al-Malik replied diplomatically. "I felt the need for fresh air and the clarity that comes from pursuing traditional pastimes."
As the new arrivals dismounted, Abd al-Malik noted the subtle dynamics within Ali's group. His brother moved with the confidence of someone secure in his position, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his interactions with Yusuf that suggested their relationship was more complex than simple friendship. Yusuf, for his part, maintained the watchful alertness of someone gathering intelligence rather than simply enjoying a recreational outing.
"Qaid Ibrahim," Ali said with proper respect to the older man. "Your presence honors this hunting ground. I trust the afternoon has been productive?"
"The hunting has been... educational," Ibrahim replied carefully. "Though we have spent more time in conversation than in pursuit of prey."
"Conversation can indeed be valuable," Yusuf observed, his eyes moving between Abd al-Malik and Ibrahim with calculating interest. "Particularly when it involves men of experience and wisdom discussing matters of common concern."
The statement was layered with meaning. It acknowledged that some form of significant discussion had taken place while simultaneously probing for information about its content and implications.
"We were discussing the decline of traditional hunting skills among the younger generation," Abd al-Malik said smoothly. "Qaid Ibrahim was sharing insights about the training methods used by our ancestors to develop the patience and strategic thinking that made their falcons legendary throughout North Africa."
It was a plausible explanation that touched on themes relevant to their actual conversation while revealing nothing of political substance. Ibrahim nodded approvingly at the diplomatic deflection.
"Such traditional knowledge is indeed valuable," Ali agreed. "Though I sometimes wonder whether our ancestors' methods remain relevant in changing circumstances."
The comment seemed casual, but Abd al-Malik recognized it as another probe designed to elicit information about his current thinking. Ali was testing whether his brother's apparent changes extended to questioning traditional approaches to governance and military affairs.
"Circumstances do change," Abd al-Malik acknowledged. "But the fundamental principles that made our ancestors successful—careful planning, patient preparation, and striking decisively when the moment is right—these remain as relevant today as they were centuries ago."
Again, his response could be interpreted as discussing either falcon training or political strategy, depending on the listener's perspective. The ambiguity was intentional—it allowed him to communicate with Ibrahim while avoiding giving Ali and Yusuf concrete information to report back to their sponsors.
The conversation continued for another quarter hour, a delicate dance of probing questions and diplomatically ambiguous responses. Ali and Yusuf clearly hoped to learn something significant about the meeting between Abd al-Malik and Ibrahim, while the prince and the old soldier worked to maintain their privacy without appearing secretive or defensive.
Eventually, social conventions required that they separate. Ali suggested that they hunt together, but Ibrahim politely declined, citing the lateness of the hour and his responsibilities back at court. Abd al-Malik supported this decision, expressing concern about overtaxing his strength so soon after his illness.
As they prepared to return to Fez, Ibrahim approached Abd al-Malik's horse with the apparent intention of checking the prince's equipment. Under cover of this routine activity, he spoke quietly enough that only Abd al-Malik could hear his words.
"Our conversation has been noted, as we expected," he said. "This means that future discussions will need to be even more carefully arranged. But it also means that certain parties are taking your potential involvement in political affairs seriously."
"Is that encouraging or concerning?"
"Both," Ibrahim replied grimly. "It means you are being recognized as a potential player in the game, which is necessary for anything we have discussed to proceed. But it also means you are now on the game board, whether you wished to be or not."
The ride back to Fez passed in relative silence, each man absorbed in his own thoughts about the implications of the afternoon's events. Abd al-Malik found himself analyzing not only what had been learned from his conversation with Ibrahim, but also what Ali and Yusuf might have deduced from their interruption of that conversation.
By the time they reached the palace gates, the sun was setting behind the western hills, painting the ancient walls of Fez in shades of gold and crimson. The call to evening prayers echoed from the minarets scattered throughout the city, a familiar sound that reminded Abd al-Malik of the continuity that connected him to centuries of Moroccan history.
After seeing to his horse and falcon, Abd al-Malik made his way to his chambers, where Hakim was waiting with a simple meal and updates from the day's palace activities. The servant's expression suggested that he had news to share, but he waited until they were safely behind closed doors before speaking.
"My lord, there have been several developments during your absence," Hakim began as Abd al-Malik settled onto his favorite cushions near the window that overlooked the palace gardens. "Your brother Prince Ali returned to the palace approximately an hour before you did, and immediately went into private conference with Muhammad ibn Yahya. The meeting lasted nearly half an hour."
This confirmed Abd al-Malik's suspicions about the political purpose behind Ali's appearance at the hawking grounds. His brother had clearly been tasked with gathering intelligence about the meeting with Ibrahim, and was now reporting his observations to the chief minister.
"What else?"
"A messenger arrived from the court of Fes carrying letters for several court officials, including one addressed to you personally." Hakim produced a sealed document bearing the distinctive calligraphy and wax seal that identified it as official correspondence from the religious authorities at the Qarawiyyin mosque.
Abd al-Malik examined the letter carefully before breaking the seal. The message was from Ahmad ibn Yusuf al-Fasi, his former tutor and one of the men Ibrahim had identified as a potential ally. The content was formally polite but carried clear undertones of invitation for private discussion.
"The learned Ahmad ibn Yusuf sends his respects and hopes for your complete recovery from recent illness," the letter read. "He expresses the hope that your renewed health will allow you to resume the scholarly discussions that have always brought him such pleasure. He extends an invitation to visit him at his residence in the scholarly quarter of the city, at whatever time might be convenient for your honored schedule."
Like the hawking expedition with Ibrahim, this invitation provided an opportunity for private political discussion disguised as routine social interaction. But it also represented a risk—if Ahmad ibn Yusuf was indeed a potential ally, meeting with him would further confirm to Muhammad ibn Yahya's network that Abd al-Malik was actively building relationships with figures who might oppose current policies.
"There is more," Hakim continued. "Fatima has learned from her contacts in the women's quarters that preparations are being made for a significant court ceremony within the next few weeks. The nature of the ceremony has not been announced, but the scale of preparations suggests something more important than routine religious observances."
Abd al-Malik frowned. Unscheduled court ceremonies often served political purposes—announcing new appointments, celebrating diplomatic agreements, or marking significant policy changes. The timing, so soon after his own return to active court life, might not be coincidental.
"Any indication of the ceremony's purpose?"
"Nothing definitive, but there are rumors of possible announcements regarding administrative reforms and royal appointments. Some of the kitchen staff have been told to prepare for hosting foreign dignitaries, though from which courts or regions remains unclear."
The professor's knowledge provided several possible interpretations for this information. Administrative reforms could mean anything from routine bureaucratic adjustments to major changes in governmental structure. The presence of foreign dignitaries might indicate diplomatic negotiations, marriage arrangements, or even discussions of military alliances.
"We need more information," Abd al-Malik said. "But we also need to be careful about how we gather it. Too many questions from our people might attract unwanted attention."
"Understood, my lord. However, there is one more development that may be relevant. This afternoon, while you were hunting, a small party of Zenata tribesmen arrived in the city and requested audience with the Sultan. They were received politely but told that such audiences must be arranged through proper administrative channels."
This was potentially significant. Zenata tribal leaders didn't typically travel to Fez for routine business—their presence suggested either specific grievances that required royal attention or political developments in the tribal territories that might affect the kingdom's stability. The fact that they had been directed to administrative channels rather than granted direct access to the Sultan indicated that Muhammad ibn Yahya was maintaining strict control over communications between the royal family and tribal leaders.
Abd al-Malik spent the evening reviewing everything he had learned during the day's activities, trying to synthesize the various pieces of information into a coherent understanding of the political landscape he was attempting to navigate. The picture that emerged was both encouraging and alarming.
Encouraging because potential allies like Ibrahim al-Mandri and Ahmad ibn Yusuf al-Fasi clearly existed and seemed willing to consider alternatives to current policies. Alarming because Muhammad ibn Yahya's control over court activities appeared to be even more comprehensive than he had initially realized, and because the chief minister was obviously taking steps to monitor and potentially counter any challenges to his authority.
Most concerning was the apparent coordination between Ali and the Wattasid faction. If his brother was indeed positioning himself as heir apparent with administrative backing, it created the possibility of a succession crisis that could tear the dynasty apart from within—exactly the sort of internal conflict that would leave Morocco vulnerable to Portuguese expansion and other external threats.
As he prepared for sleep, Abd al-Malik found himself grappling with the enormity of the task he had set himself. The professor's knowledge provided him with an almost god-like perspective on the historical forces that were shaping Morocco's future, but translating that knowledge into effective political action required skills and resources he was still developing.
One step at a time, he reminded himself. Today had been about reconnaissance and initial contact. Tomorrow would bring new opportunities to build the network of allies he would need to influence the kingdom's direction.
But even as he tried to focus on incremental progress, Abd al-Malik couldn't shake the feeling that events were moving faster than he had anticipated. Muhammad ibn Yahya's preparations for some kind of court ceremony, Ali's increasingly bold alliance with the Wattasids, and the arrival of tribal delegates seeking royal audience all suggested that significant changes were imminent.
The question was whether he could build sufficient support to influence those changes before they became irreversible. The hawking expedition with Ibrahim had been a promising beginning, but it was only a beginning. Much more would be required if he hoped to prevent the historical disasters that awaited Morocco in the coming years.
As sleep finally claimed him, Abd al-Malik's last conscious thought was a prayer for the wisdom to navigate the treacherous waters ahead and the strength to fulfill whatever purpose Allah might have intended for his impossible second life.
The ancient walls of Fez stood silent guard around the palace complex, their stones holding the secrets of centuries of political intrigue and dynastic struggle. Within those walls, a young prince who carried the memories of two different lives worked to change the course of history itself, one carefully planned step at a time.
In the morning, he would accept Ahmad ibn Yusuf al-Fasi's invitation and take the next step in building the alliance that might save his dynasty. But tonight, the future remained unwritten, balanced on the knife's edge between disaster and redemption.
The oil lamps flickered lower in Prince Abd al-Malik's chambers, casting dancing shadows that seemed to dance with the possibilities and perils that lay ahead. Outside, the night watchmen called the hours, their voices echoing through the ancient corridors where the fate of a kingdom was slowly being decided.