Chapter XVI: Petros Returns
The Khwarezmian attack had exhausted Georgia, forcing them to surrender unconditionally and suffer large land grabs for their enemies. The Khwarezmian shah now controlled most of Georgia proper, causing Alexios’s court to take retreat in the Armenian highlands. Half of Alania was handed to the Kipchak chiefs for grazing land against a loose agreement that the raids into Georgia would cease. Georgia was effectively divided into three parts; the southern Georgian holdings in Armenia, the region of Abkhazia on the Black Sea coast and a small region near the city of Derbent what is today as Dagestan.
On the other hand, a group of North Aegean Islands controlled by the rulers of Samos and the city of Ephesus had fallen under Georgian protection after a successful struggle for independence against the Byzantine Emperor – numerous rumours of a new civil war breeding in the East Rome were spreading like wildfire.
***
February 1216 – Back in Cyprus
Osmond kept walking around in circles, nervously tapping his chin with his finger – he feared for the worst. He wondered what was taking them so long, it had been quiet for some time now; all the screams had ended and no laughter, no cries could be heard.
‘Not all premature births end in sorrow’ he kept repeating to himself, yet knew there wasn’t much hope when Veronica began labour just days into seventh month of pregnancy. They had already been blessed with a healthy daughter, Adele, who was still in her infancy.
The door let out a breathtaking clack as someone opened the lock. The young marshal stopped on the spot and stared at the door. Those few seconds felt like eternity; beads of sweat appeared on his hands and forehead. The news brought to him was expected, yet none the easier to swallow. The little boy had passed away before having his first glance in this world.
Osmond couldn’t feel his legs any more and leaned towards the wall, trying to hide all signs of weakness from the priests and doctors present. He tried to mutter something and started to slowly move away, taking support from the wall and various objects on his way.
Anna was crying on the birth bed, holding tight to the lifeless being. Nurses were desperately trying to convince her to let go.
For the following weeks Osmond was given plenty of peace and support, the latter of which he usually turned down. Even Romanos held back from picking fights with his archenemy, although he would later on make remarks of the death of his son being ‘divine justice’, pointing out the immoral relationship of the two siblings’ – something he would gravely regret in the future and which would make Anna brake up all connections she had with her brother and old lover.
Remembering the words of Anahild, Manuel was trying to comfort his half-brother – after all, he had gone through the same emotions himself. Osmond on the other hand was overly sceptical, believing that his brother was trying to victimize him to make him look weak and pitiful – or to simply remind the court how much sorrow the Norman marshal had brought to the prince’s life. Although he did accept the helping hand from time to time (as it actually made him feel better and somewhat helped him get over the event), he decided it was best to hold a grudge and added this to Manuel’s long list of injustices towards him.
But the relative calmness of the court wouldn’t last for long.
***
After nearly ten long years in Constantinople Petros was finally on his way home. The carriage was bumping on the road, left full of potholes by the recent rains. He was complaining the dry and hot weather and cursed the Cypriots for not paving their highways while coughing dust from the dirt road.
He also had to try to keep his wife calm during the trip from Famagusta who was terrified of having to be among ‘these savage southern heretics’. Her name was Zofia Grot, widow of a wealthy Polish Szlachta and now one of the richest women in all Christendom – and old enough to be Petros’s grandmother.
The horses curved inside through the castle gates and the couple pretended to be shocked by the modest castle and small size of the city upon descending from their transport. Zofia swore she wouldn’t spend one night in ‘that rat-infested pile of stones’ and expressed great disgust towards the ‘God-forgotten village built by barbarians in the middle of this wasteland’.
“Welcome home, Petros!” Manuel greeted his younger brother with arms open as the couple entered the throne room, assuming it would be a happy reunion.
Instead of greeting his brother in a more accustomed way, Petros started to complain about the castle’s conditions, wildly exaggerating its minor flaws. He grumbled about the draughty corridors, the servants whom hadn’t greeted them with a wide smile or a slender bow and most importantly, the lack of proper welcome ceremony.
Petros Komnenos
Petros was a person who tended to ride on the success and achievements of others – particularly that of his foster court and the old Roman autocrats (albeit not completely in vein, for being related to the Komnenid emperors) and the wealth of his wife, in order to shadow his own incompetence. As the second youngest of Isaakios’s children the 17-year old had always felt as an underdog, as his only younger brother Basileios (who would later on play a significant role in shaping the realm) was considered a highly gifted child. The ambitions of the young boy combined with the intentional spoiling by the East Roman court led him to believe he was above most mortals and most importantly; better and more civilised than his brethren in Cyprus.
“You cannot expect my wife to spend one night in this second-rate palace!”
“Your wife?” Manuel now realised the over half-a-century old woman wasn’t an elderly servant, such as a nanny, whom the young man had brought with him, but the two were married.
Zofia Grot
It was hard to tell was Zofia was thinking for she was always looking angry with her squinted eyes and sulky expression. The granny was wrapped in a heavy fur coat, even though it was nearly 18 degrees outside, and wore jewellery expensive enough to be considered a royal lady. She held her young husband as a relic, a proof that she hadn’t lost her charm over the years although everyone – even herself, knew that Petros was only after the money. She was probably even more arrogant than her husband and was a staunch Catholic who considered the Orthodox denomination to be nearly as bad as the heathen religions of the east.
“Pleased to meet you”, Manuel greeted his brother’s wife in a baffled and cold manner. The old woman opened her mouth as if she had been gravely insulted and stepped backwards, saying something to his husband in Polish.
“Don’t bother, brother. She doesn't socialise with your kind.”
If Petros had put as much effort into doing something productive as he had put into marrying the old lady and boasting about what others had done, he might have actually accomplished something meaningful himself. If learning Polish and the proper etiquettes weren’t enough, the young man had also had to convert to Catholicism in order to please Zofia.
Manuel sighed, he knew the situation wouldn’t be getting any easier and right he was.
When Petros met Osmond the next day, in a welcome ceremony he had yearned for earlier, he thought he had finally found someone to boss around. After all, the young marshal wasn’t much older but most importantly; he was a bastard and hereditarily in a lower position than Petros.
Things didn’t turn out as the young man had assumed and he soon realised that the Norman possessed a strong personality and had the upper hand. After being insulted numerous times by Petros, Osmond started making fun about the boy’s small size and his wife, angering his brother.
“You take that back!” Petros yelled at his half-brother, “I’d challenge you if I only I was armed.”
Osmond gave a grin and threw his sword towards the brat who let out a squeak and jumped backwards as it hit on the floor just in front of him.
“You don’t expect me to actually fight you?” the shocked brother wondered uneasily, “It is so... barbaric!”
Teasing those weaker to him wasn’t pleasing for Osmond as it offered no challenges, but it was good enough for killing time. Besides, the whole court had a certain dislike for the pampered teenager and even Romanos found himself cheering for the Norman, albeit not aloud.
“Up to you”, Osmond sneered, drew a dagger from inside his coat and charged towards his brother.
Petros screamed in panic and ran out of the hall faster than one would expect from a man of such build. The courtiers left behind burst in laughter and went on with the feast happy about the main guest's absence. Zofia didn’t understand what was going on, but it all enforced her prejudices that the Orthodox believers were nothing but a bunch of feral beasts.
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