8 February 1505

“What?”. Abu Abdallah V looked up from the breakfast table at the servant standing in the doorway. Despite the man's burly frame, in this moment he could not have looked smaller, his bowed head and cowed demeanour betraying his anxious state.

“Y-your father, he did not wake this morning. He is no longer with us. A medicus will arrive within the hour to determine the cause. I’m sorry”

Abdallah had heard him the first time, but the confirmation still caused a lump to rise in his throat, threatening to strangle him as he quickly looked down in a futile effort to disguise the tears welling up in his eyes. “Go begin the f-funeral arrangements” he managed to force out, still not making eye contact.

“Yes m’lord” the servant quietly departed, allowing Abdallah privacy to grieve.

He stayed like this for over an hour, eyes idly tracing the patterns on the table while his brain swirled with thoughts. It was no secret that Abdallah IV’s health had been ailing in his old age, but it did not make the shock any less, nor the pain more bearable. His grip on his knife tightened as he attempted to ward off a fresh wave of tears. He was spiraling, spiraling into grief and depression at a time when he needed to be at his most alert. In a few days he would be crowned the new Sultan of Tlemcen, which means that they would come. His brothers and his father’s brothers would be descending on the city, hoping to get their filthy paws on the throne before he could. Zayyanid succession is not a pretty one, Abdallah knew they would begin even while his fathers body was being laid to rest.

As the searing sun set, a large fire was lit at the Zayyanid necropolis, illuminating the mourners and casting flickering shadows over the headstones of rulers long dead. Abu Abdallah V stood motionless, staring into the hole into which he had just lowered his father, where even the glow of the fire did not penetrate. Lost in thought, he barely noticed that the Imam was standing ready, realising only as the funeral prayer began. He quickly clasped his hands on his chest and followed along.

Bismi l-lāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīmi

alḥamdu lil-lāhi rab-bi l-‘ālamīna

’ar-raḥmāni r-raḥīmi

Māliki yawmi d-dīni

’iy-yāka na‘budu wa’iy-yāka nasta‘īnu

’ihdinā ṣ-ṣirāṭa l-mustaqīma

Ṣirāṭa l-ladhīna ’an‘amta ‘alayhim, ghayri l-maghḍūbi ‘alayhim wala ḍ-ḍāl-līna

As the final ritual clumps of dirt were placed on the grave, those less close to the late Sultan began filtering out in single file, the shuffling of their feet the only noise penetrating the heavy blanket of silence that now enveloped the necropolis. Eventually, only seven people remained in the room: Abu Abdallah V, Abu Zayyan III, Abu Yahya, and the four wives of Abu Abdallah IV. Abu Hamo Musa III, the late Sultan’s last surviving brother, was in Oran and could not be present for the funeral. The three sons stood an awkward distance from one another, unsure of how to convey their thoughts or feelings. Eventually Yahya broke the standoff, briskly turning on his heel and wordlessly departing into the night. After a brief moment, Zayyan too started heading for the door, stopping only to quickly squeeze Abdallah’s shoulder. “Good luck, brother”, he murmured before disappearing into the darkness.

TLDR: Abu Abdallah IV has died, being succeeded by his son Abu Abdallah V as Sultan of Tlemcen. He will ascend to the throne at age 26