Chapter IV: The Pains of Love
January 1199
Every islander important enough had crammed into the big hall of Isaakios’s new castle. His son had returned with his new bride from a proposal journey. The mood was festive, wine and food was aplenty, music was played and jesters brought much needed amusement. Cyprus was recovering.
“Ladies, gentlemen”, Manuel Komnenos, son of Isaakios began, “I would like to represent you to my bride before we start with the formalities. My dearest Maria, this is your future court and these people here today shall fulfil all your needs may such arise.” The audience laughed and the music resumed. Manuel had married with Marie Albine de Hauteville, nice of William II de Hauteville, King of Sicily.
“Father, father!” Manuel ran to Isaakios, he seemed to be on an excepptionally good mood today, not that he was ever moody, lazy perhaps but definetely not a low-spirited soul.
“Have you met my wife yet?”
“No, not yet my son. Where is she?”
Manuel disappeared back into the crowd and brought Marie with him.
It was like time had stopped running around Isaakios and everyone went into slow-motion. He had never seen face as beautiful before, skin as soft or body so perfect.
“Father?”
Isaakios startled: “Ah yes, apologies. I am pleased to meet such a beautiful creature.” Marie smiled shyly looked Isaakios straight into his eyes. The man was getting uneasy. “E-excuse me son, I... I have something urgent that needs to be dealt with”, Isaakios stuttered and walked away.
Marie Albine de Hauteville
It was getting dark and Marie Albine was yawning while walking down the castle corridor. She was pleased with her new position; married to a rich heir she actually loved. She was smiling at herself when she reached her bedchamber.
“Marie!” someone whispered behind her. She turned around; her husband’s father was standing there with a bottle of wine. Isaakios approached her and smiled.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
“What... what do you mean?” Marie wondered; she knew very well at this point what Isaakios was up to.
“I just wanted to share this bottle with such a beautiful creature”, Isaakios said and touched Marie’s hair. Marie stepped back, she was getting uncomfortable now. “I am your son’s wife!” she yelled.
“But that doesn’t stop us from enjoying the pleasures of wine, does it?” Isaakios asked and tried to put his hand on Marie’s waist. She grabbed the hand and yelled at him:
“You cannot! Decency, where is your decency!”
Isaakios grit his teeth and threw the bottle on the stone floor in rage. “Fine, wine or no wine I will bed you tonight!” Isaakios grabbed her arm and took her into his bedchamber and slammed the door behind them.
***
September 1199
“What shall I do?” Isaakios asked in despair. “You must claim fatherhood, it is the only reasonable option”, his spymaster Alice Rubenid [Niece of Leon Rubenid, Prince of Armenia] advised him. “I cannot! My son thinks he is the child’s father. He has been eagerly waiting for this day.”
“Then why don’t you let your son keep his illusion”, Alice wondered. “No, he would find out one day. Secrets like these tend to unveil themselves later on. I am doomed and I have doomed my family with me”, Isaakios answered and leaned against the wall.
Alice soothed him: “It was a mistake and we must live with the burden.” Suddenly Isaakios straightened himself: “Yes, indeed. It was mistake!” Alice was taken by surprise by his sudden enthusiasm. “And there isn’t a mistake that can’t be fixed with the sharp edge of a blade!” Alice had been afraid Isaakios might say something like that. She sighed and responded: “I guess I must do my duty as your spymaster then.” She turned around and started to walk away.
“Wait!” Isaakios stopped her, “No I... I cannot murder my own son!” He fell back into despair and sat on the floor, but Alice was relieved. Isaakios jumped up again.
“I know! I will send him into exile to Sicily, the native land of his mother. We must make sure he never learns of this incident and most importantly, never returns!”
Alice was pleased of this solution, it sounded like something she should have had come up with. “What about your son? And the mother?”
“My son must never know of this. We must inform him that the child died in labour. We must reveal our plan to Marie. I know she won’t reveal the secret; it is painful for her too. Besides, she must be allowed to stay in contact with the fostering parents – I have caused too much pain already to refuse her right for it. But she may never contact her child, our child.”
Alice nodded and entered the delivery room. “It’s a son!” she yelled soon afterwards.