From Cyprus They Rose - Tales from the Mediterranean
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Congratulations on the honor! Good to hear the diadem might be coming. Us fanatical-to-the-point of insanity Byzantophiles will have to wait then. 
Chapter X: Young Hopes of the Future
May 1210
It was late spring on the island; flowers were blossoming and the castle garden’s cherry trees created a floating ocean of pure white. Romanos Komnenos was staring at Anna who was sitting below one of the trees doing simple embroidery and humming something. She noticed her brother and waved at him to come and sit next to her. Romanos swallowed up, he knew they were siblings but he couldn’t help himself. Anna was the most magnificent girl he knew on the whole island; humble as she was, his sister never asked for much and she was always friendly, albeit quite shy.
Romanos greeted his sister and sat next to her under the shadow; the cold breeze flying through the gardens felt refreshing in the midday heat. Anna was talking about something but Romanos didn’t listen, he was just staring downhill towards the horizon, grieving about his sorry situation and all the unfairness in life. His sister cuddled up against her blushing brother and kept on talking. Suddenly Romanos grabbed her hand and told her to follow him.
The two youngsters weren’t the only ones who had ‘found each other’; their sister Eudokia was marrying Frédéric de Poitou, son of Raymond de Poitou duke of Antioch. The formal ceremonies were about to end and festive mood was taking over the whole court and the various guests. Wine ran in rivers and people were dancing and socialising in the halls and corridors.
It reminded Manuel of his own wedding and he recalled how his wife, Marie, seemed very distant the next day. She wasn’t hungry for the whole week and Manuel had already feared for the worst, but she soon started to get better, although the relations between his father and wife turned quite cold after the wedding night. Manuel’s thoughts soon wandered to the tragic day when ‘their’ first-born died.
Luckily they were blessed with a healthy son the next year. Manuel had given his wife the right to name him in order to compensate for their earlier loss, but had soon regretted the decision: ‘William!’ he thought, ‘What kind of a silly name is that.’
***
1208
William was hurt and upset when he ran through the corridors. His uncle Romanos, who happened to be only a year older, had again started a fight with him. Just a few years ago they had been the best of friends, but something had come between them. William suspected it had something to do with the special treatment he received for being heir to the throne.
He used to take the same courses in diplomacy and arts of war with the other children in the court, but his mother had insisted that as a future prince, William would require better treatment than the others. She managed to persuade Manuel to hire Norman educators from Sicily to teach their son. William was sure an element of jealousy was involved, as soon after this they started to become more distant with Romanos. As the first son of Isaakios’s second wife he must have gotten special treatment as well; perhaps he was even told he might rule the island one day.
William shrugged; he decided to ask his teacher for answers, his lesson in Anglo-Norman literature was about to start. The 13-year old heir turned left from a junction of corridors and entered a small garden situated in the castle interior.
“Ah, there you are! I already considered sending the guards to fetch you”, his tutor Richard greeted him with a smile. William laughed and sat down at the table which was standing on the grass next to a small fountain. The man handed him a manuscript containing poems of Hue de Rotelande.
William felt more connected with his Norman educators than those of Greek origin; his father was constantly worried that he might forget their native language but William didn’t mind. He frequently spoke Norman with his mother and it was the language he was taught in alongside of French and Latin.
Having read halfway through the writings, the young heir decided it would be a good time to ask the question that was puzzling him. William called for his tutor who was on the other side of the garden, taking notes of the remarkable Byzantine and old Roman architecture used in building the castle. William explained his teacher about the relations between him and his uncle Romanos; how they had been good friends in the past and how they had become fierce rivals.
The situation seemed to boggle Richard as well and he came to same conclusion with William on jealousy and his uncle's feeling of lower value compared to the future prince. Richard put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and told him: “Young William, people are like wine; when ageing the good ones turn better and the bad ones turn bitter.”
***
1210
The celebrations were coming to an end as the sun was setting low; the guests would leave early towards Famagusta and continue from there back to Antioch. Manuel wished good night to the guests and decided to retire for the night. He was walking towards his bedchamber when he heard dubious voices from one of the rooms along the corridor. The prince opened the door slightly and peeked inside - the sight terrified him.
Romanos was lying on the bed with Anna, cuddling together. He was trying to undress his sister who seemed willing towards the act. Suddenly Manuel stormed into the room tearing the young lovers away from each other. He hit his brother who fell on the floor and yelled at this: “How dare you! She is your sister, what kind of a devil has taken over you!”
The shocked brother was quiet, holding his hand on his eye where the fist had struck him. Manuel turned on his sister instead who revealed him the frightening news: “We cannot help our feelings! It just feels as if we are meant to be more than just siblings.”
Enraged Manuel grabbed Anna from her wrist and yelled: “It seems you two leave me no other choice; Anna I would have never expected such sickening behaviour from you. I will send you to Famagusta where you shall reside until you are fit for marriage", Manuel dragger his struggling sister from the room.
Romanos sat on the bed, pondering which hurt him the most; the swollen eye, the loss of his loved one or the fact that his little secret had been exposed to his older brother. He sighed and laid down on the bed in his sorrows.
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@Qorten: Thank you Qorten, now I'll have to figure whom to nominate. Will be a difficult choice.
@NONOPUST: I just checked and it's reckless. The icons differ from the original DV ones as I have some mod in use (don't ask me which - no clue)
@General_BT: Thank you, wasn't really expecting any rewards. One thing I can guarantee you Byzantophiles is that the Eastern Rome will remain strongly tied to the story in one way or another. Other than that, I largely go by how I assume the characters would do judging by events, their traits and social contacts.
@NONOPUST: I just checked and it's reckless. The icons differ from the original DV ones as I have some mod in use (don't ask me which - no clue
)@General_BT: Thank you, wasn't really expecting any rewards.
One thing I can guarantee you Byzantophiles is that the Eastern Rome will remain strongly tied to the story in one way or another. Other than that, I largely go by how I assume the characters would do judging by events, their traits and social contacts.
I'm using someone's Graphic Mod (for traits) as well, by grallonsphere if I remember correctly. In that one the flag is for Valorous, and the sword is for Reckless. But you should know what's in your game(I had just thought maybe you made a small typo), so it's probably just a minor difference in mods@NONOPUST: I just checked and it's reckless. The icons differ from the original DV ones as I have some mod in use (don't ask me which - no clue
Btw, congratulations on the honor. You are highly deserving of it.
I'm using someone's Graphic Mod (for traits) as well, by grallonsphere if I remember correctly. In that one the flag is for Valorous, and the sword is for Reckless. But you should know what's in your game(I had just thought maybe you made a small typo), so it's probably just a minor difference in mods
Btw, congratulations on the honor. You are highly deserving of it.
Don't get me wrong, I am glad you made me open the game and check the trait. It is always nice when others point out my mistakes or errors so I can fix them fast, without causing confusion further on in the AAR.
And thank you.
Chapter XI: New Generation
April 1213
Orthodox prayers echoed inside the cathedral walls as people came to pay their respect for the deceased man lying in his coffin. No one was crying and few pretended to miss him. Marshal Manuel had withered away in his lonely prison cell.
There was heated discussion amongst the guests regarding his son, Alexios, who had recently risen to the Georgian throne. Some thought it was a disgrace he had refused to take part in his father’s funeral, while others understood his feelings. The conversation was soon derail to his newborn daughter; there were speculations for how many months this child might live until facing the fate of her brothers.
The daughter Anastasia and murdered sons of Alexios I of Georgia.
Georgia wasn’t the only kingdom that had seen a change of generation in the ruling family; the old King of Jerusalem had joined his predecessors in the Kingdom of Heaven, leaving behind his impudent son Oton I who was good at making enemies left and right. Rumours said he had even managed to anger the Pope himself by claiming this to be a pretender, arguing that the real head of the church should hail from the Holy Land. He even swore to promote the patriarch of Jerusalem as the highest authority in all Christendom.
But even more dangerous than his rivals abroad were the enemies he had managed to make inside his father’s realm. He knew his life was considered cheap in the Holy Land and the court was successful in preventing his youthful blustering from being realized.
There was also a constant flood of news coming in from Anatolia considering the Turks and their internal disputes. The old Sultan had lost all of his sons and thus his grandson via a maternal line was raised as an heir. The Turks couldn’t reach an agreement over who would act as a regent until the infant son of a Khwarezmian marshal would be old enough to take the full position of a Sultan.
After several powerful leaders had claimed the title for themselves, a civil war broke out. The loyalists had an upper hand, but the threat coming from the pretenders, led by the deceased Sultan's bitter brother, were not to be taken lightly.
Loyalist controlled areas shown in green while red represents the pretenders.
***
Manuel wasn’t taking part in the funeral; instead he had travelled to Famagusta with Anna to meet his first grandson.
“Yasir my friend!” Manuel greeted him with his arms open, “is everything under control here on the coast?”
Yasir admitted having some problems with highwaymen recently, but the actual city was peaceful as ever. He signed Manuel to come in with his hands.
“Where is he?” Manuel pried.
“Through here”, Yasir lifted the curtains shrouding the doorway and pointed him inside. The infant was sleeping in his cradle, which the joyful mother was rocking. Manuel quietly greeted his daughter who smiled back an answer. Manuel took a quick peek at the baby and the two men left the nursery room.
“How’s business, my friend?” the Prince inquired and grabbed an apple from a fruit bowl.
“Good as always, good as always”, the magistrate answered in a humble manner. “I must say”, he continued, “that the peace in the Levant is proving to be very profitable.”
“Don’t count on it”, Manuel advised and took a bite out of the apple, “peace never lasts long around here.”
***
A young man stood on the wharf and looked around him: “So this is the island of opportunities my uncle was telling me about...” The disappointed Norman was dressed in a well-crafted coat of plates, boasting a wealthy looking tabard on. His sword was crafted using the notorious Damascus steel and it was clear the man hailed from an important family. He picked up a small bag containing his few belongings and headed towards the market square.
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You have met the Norman before, so he isn't that new.
And there's time and place for everything, but I think Manuel is too lazy to bother shipping his 4000 men across the strait to fight off 11 000 Turks.
Chapter XII: The Island of Opportunities
PART 1
April 1213
The marketplace was swarming with people from all over the Eastern Mediterranean; a group of lazy pilgrims proceeded slowly towards the popular tavern at the northern corner. The Norman looked around; perhaps the city did posses plenty of opportunities as his uncle had told him. He wondered if he should hop on the next ship to the Holy Land and provide protection for travellers against a fee.
The man followed the pilgrims into the tavern and sat down on an empty table. “Roasted duck and plenty of wine”, he told the tavern keeper and slammed a bag of gold on the table. The pleased owner collected an appropriate sum and assured the Norman of their duck’s quality.
The young man started to rethink his idea of continuing to east. The coast had been quite peaceful for the past years and the route to Jerusalem was already patrolled often enough to provide adequate security for the pilgrims. The kingdom was also strong enough to keep the ambitions of their enemies in bay, yet lacked the needs and causes to wage war themselves.
The Norman cursed the tranquil state of peace this part of the world was stuck in. He was a warrior by heart who lusted for honour and glory; he was certain he had been born to lead men into battle.
The duck was brought in but he had already lost his appetite. ‘The sorry state of this world’, he complained, ‘I am meant to be part of something bigger.’ He finished his wine in a single gulp, grabbed some of the duck with him and left the inn. The midday sun was burning hot and he was soon thirsty again.
An Armenian fruit vendor was arguing loudly with his customer. They seemed to have a disagreement over the value of certain goods. The Norman used this situation for his advantage and grabbed an orange from the stand. He could have easily afforded to buy a stock of fruits, but enjoyed the thrill of crime and held no personal morals against wrongdoing. He sat down on stairs leading up to one of the many merchant houses around the district. The location provided adequate shadow to keep much of the heat away and was remote enough for him to get some peace and quiet to think.
He used his sword to cut his catch into two and took delight in its sweet refreshing juice. The man threw the peels on the alleyway and leaned backwards – he decided to rest in the shade for a while and then continue pondering his alternatives.
The Damascus steel leaves a grain-like pattern on the object. The original technique was lost in the 18th century.
He reached for his Damascus steel sword to put it back to its scabbard and a sense of panic took over him – it wasn’t where he had put it. The man looked around and saw a figure running away from him towards a set of stairs leading to a roof.
“Come back here you coward!” the furious Norman yelled and sprang after the thief. He chased the ruffian up on the roof. The thief jumped to the opposite roof and dropped down onto an awning. From there he continued to an alley next to it.
The criminal noticed his pursuer was catching up on him and brought down a pile of barrels stored on the alleyway causing the Norman to stumble and fall over. When he finally got up again the man had disappeared. He cursed and ran to the end of the alleyway, ending up on a narrow, unpaved street winding uphill between the many houses. He cursed and was already giving up his hopes until he noticed a shadow disappearing into one of the opposing alleys
The Norman peeked behind its corner and noticed a man holding his precious sword. The thief gave a satisfied smile while inspecting his catch; he thought he had shaken off his pursuer. The ruffian looked around him without noticing the watchful eye at the end of the alley and entered one of the buildings.
The Norman leaped behind the corner and sneaked to the door; he peeked through the door’s keyhole and saw a group of men surrounding the bandit. He didn’t understand a word they were saying and assumed they were Armenians. The thief was apparently boasting with his successful operation and demonstrated the sword to whom the Norman believed to be his colleagues.
The young man was pondering his next move; he was unarmed and they outnumbered him anyway. He ran back through the alleys to the marketplace and spotted the nearest guard post at the edge of the square. He ran to the soldiers and presented his case. The two guardsmen standing outside their post weren’t too eager to risk their lives for a sword of a stranger.
The Norman threw a bag of gold at their feet: “Perhaps this will convince you.”
Detail from a relief depicting a Cypriot guard.
The guards gathered an able force of twelve men and followed the rich stranger. They came to the relatively large, run-down stone building and the Norman gave the soldiers their orders: “You four should go around the building, there’s a fenced backyard for livestock. You two come with me through this back door and the others will charge inside from the front.”
The soldiers left for their positions and the Norman added to the two men standing on the alley with him: “Throw me a sword, I can’t fight unarmed.” The guard wielding a spear handed over his seax-like shortsword.
The men waited in their spot until they heard the main force break the front door.
“Move in!” the Norman ordered and they charged through the back door, catching one of the bandits trying to escape. *They faced three others who drew their swords when noticing that the escape route had been cut off. One of the sergeants kept them skilfully at a distance with his spear, while his companion pointed at them with a crossbow. The three bandits realised their situation was hopeless and dropped their weapons.
The main force was struggling at the front door; few of the ruffians had heard suspicious voices prior to the initial attack and had positioned themselves well against the wall, managing to surround the soldiers putting them on the defensive. The situation soon changed as the guards coming in from the backyard and alley joined the battle.
The Norman noticed a man running up to the loft above them with his sword. He knew the guards would manage and sprang after the thief. The man's intention was apparently to hide in the shadows of the attic as he was now standing at a dead end. The cornered bandit raised the stolen sword, but it was clear from his positioning that he had no experience in the art of arms. With a few clever movements the Norman fooled his opponent into trying to stab him and sank his blade into the thief's arm. He screamed in pain and collapsed dropping the sword.
The young man picked up his precious weapon and returned it to its rightful place in the scabbard. He dragged the moaning man down the makeshift stairs and placed him amongst his companions who had surrendered.
“You have impressed me”, a sergeant at arms praised the young man, “we have been chasing these bandits for a while now for terrorising the highway leading to the island’s interior. We didn’t know they had moved into the city to continue their activities here.”
The guards gathered the ruffians and escorted them outside. The sergeant suggested the Norman to come with him.
“I am sure the magistrate would be pleased to meet with you. We could always use an able young man in the guard.” The Norman decided to do as the sergeant wished, he was here to seek for opportunities after all; there was nothing to lose. The soldier pried for his name.
“Osmond”, he replied and handed over the loan sword back to its original owner, “Osmond de Hauteville.”
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* This section is coloured as it was edited in the next day.
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A good marshal perhaps?
Or possible inheritor?
I really suggest going against the Turk.
Easy expansion.
Or possible inheritor?
I really suggest going against the Turk.
Easy expansion.
Oh crap...
oNo, I don't remember! :rofl:
Uh, it is anyway too late for my brains for function properly.
I have edited yesterday's update as I thought the arrest scene missed something. The added sections are coloured as 'pale green'.
Worry not, my memory fails me more than often as well.
Yes, I found the old name rather dull and boring, besides the Komnenos dynasty might have fooled people into thinking this is another Byzantine AAR.
Oh crap...
No, I don't remember! :rofl:
Uh, it is anyway too late for my brains for function properly.
Worry not, my memory fails me more than often as well.
Yes, I found the old name rather dull and boring, besides the Komnenos dynasty might have fooled people into thinking this is another Byzantine AAR.
Chapter XII: The Island of Opportunities
PART 2
April 1213
Osmond de Hauteville
“Please, have some”, the Saracen pushed the bowl on the table towards him. Osmond picked it up and examined the sticky, brown substance in it. “Sweet salt”, he said and tasted some. The Saracen smiled: “Sukkar”, he confirmed and took the bowl back.
“Ah there he is!”
Manuel entered the room and greeted Yasir. “You must be the young Hauteville?” he inquired and sat down at the table with the two men.
“I must say, I don’t usually meet with strangers wishing to join the Guards”, Manuel started but was interrupted by the Norman: “I have spoken nothing of such thing.”
Manuel opened his mouth and raised his finger as a sign that he hadn’t finished yet: “but, as you come from a family of kings – and one to which the mother of my children belongs to, I have decided to treat you as a guest.”
Osmond looked surprised now: “Your wife is a Hauteville? I didn’t know of having relatives on this island.”
“But she is niece of King William!” Manuel was baffled, but even more confused was the Norman: “I was under the impression that his brother had only two daughters; neither of whom has left Sicily.”
Yasir ordered his servant to bring the men some wine, while Manuel seemed to ponder the odd situation for a moment and then changed subject: “Anyway, we heard you managed to round up and capture the Armenian band that has been terrorising the highways for a while now.”
The Norman admit this and Manuel continued: “Judging by the fact that a young man like you travels on his own and with scarce supplies to an island like this, you must be yearning for something, possibly an adventure.”
“I don’t wish to spend my whole living off from the wealth accumulated by relatives”, Osmond answered. The wine was brought in. “I need something meaningful to do.”
“You’d think there are plenty of opportunities in a Kingdom such as Sicily?” Manuel wondered.
“The thing is...”, Osmond began, “they forced me to study theology.” He rose up and shook his hand rigorously: “I am a warrior at heart, like every Norman; not a dull bishop preaching of sin and looking after the Pope’s interests.”
Manuel smiled at him: “As it is, I happen to have an open position for a marshal. I can’t guarantee the excitement you are after, but it should be better than nothing.”
“But you better know”, Yasir warned him jokingly, “that the fate of the two previous marshals hasn’t been too admirable.”
The two men laughed and Osmond pried what had happened to said men.
“My father had the first one executed for treason.”
“And exiled”, Yasir added.
“I let the second one rot in the castle dungeon for slaying his younger son.”
Osmond gave a grin to the men: “Don’t worry, I like challenges.”
“What’s the story behind the sword?” Yasir inquired and pointed at Osmond’s precious weapon, “I can understand the monetary value of such great craftsmanship, but I can’t imagine a wealthy man risking his life for such thing. It is obvious you have emotional ties to it.”
“It’s a gift from someone”, Osmond told him, “more specifically from my parents. I’ve never met them; they apparently passed away soon after my birth.”
"I assumed of something like that", Yasir said and looked at the prince as if asking the guests to leave; he would still have some business to attend to.
“Well”, Manuel said and rose up, “I think we better head back to the castle. I need to introduce you to the military system of the island and formalise your appointment.” The two men rose and thanked Yasir for his hospitality.
***
The Armenian guard preferred fighting from horseback.
The commander of the Armenian guard kneeled before their new marshal to express loyalty; a custom adopted by Manuel’s father Isaakios. The modest ceremony was soon over and Manuel dragged the young Norman back inside from the courtyard.
“That was the Royal Guard”, Manuel explained, “They originate to the men who helped my father take over this island. My uncle keeps sending in reinforcements whenever needed to keep me safe.”
“But you are not even a Rubenid; shouldn’t he do his best to keep the Armenian principality in the hands of his own dynasty?” Osmond was aware of the relations between Cyprus and Armenian Cilicia.
Manuel laughed: “I guess I’m not the worst of heirs. Many would like to see themselves on my uncle’s place, he’s and old man and has probably given up hope of male descendants.”
“I guess that makes some sense”, the Norman said, “Now about my duties...?”
“Oh yes, the Royal Guard is on your responsibility, as well as the various garrisons around the island. The town and city militias are under command of their respective councils and magistrates, but the numerous sergeants, footmen and knights are responsible only to you and me. And when it comes to your duties..."
“You wanted to see me, brother?” a young woman interrupted the men.
“Ah yes, Anna, this is Osmond de Hauteville, my new marshal – Osmond, this is my sister Anna”, Manuel introduced them to each other, “I will go straight to the point why I wanted you to meet, which you can probably guess; I am offering my sister for you, Osmond. You are both young and unmarried and it does no good for a man to go through life on his own.”
Anna was just as surprised as the young marshal; she was still angry about being forcefully separated from her beloved brother, but knew there wasn’t saying no to the prince.
The Norman was unsure, he hadn’t thought about marriage and was used to being on his own. The girl was pretty, he had to admit that.
“Well, what do you think?” Manuel tried to hurry his decision.
After short consideration Osmond decided to answer positively; if he was to stay on this island he might as well get closer to the ruling family.
“Wonderful!” Manuel said, “I will arrange the marriage for next week, after that we shall return to Isaakiosia.” He didn’t see it necessary to mention the woman’s affection towards her brother; he feared it might scare off the potential husband.
***
May 1213
The carriage splashed mud left behind by recent rains as it curved through the wooden gates of the castle. The sky was still grey as the heavy clouds kept sailing northwards.
“I can’t wait for you to meet my wife”, Manuel said as he jumped down from the wagon.
Osmond was curious about this mysterious Norman lady. He helped his newly married wife down and they headed inside. His wishes were soon realized as they got to the main corridor.
“Ah, Marie my darling!” Manuel greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek, “there’s someone who’s eager to meet you, a fellow Hauteville who arrived recently from Sicily.”
Marie looked pleasantly surprised; she hadn’t met her family since she had married with the prince and letters were scarce and took months to travel between the two islands.
She greeted with the young marshal in Norman dialect of Old French and was responded accordingly: “So this charming man has stolen our Anna’s heart?” Marie teased the young wife. Suddenly she noticed the scabbard hanging from the man’s belt and instantly recognised it; she had sent similar artefact to her and Isaakios’s unfortunate son after the foster mother had written about his great interest in warfare.
“Osmond is the name”, the Norman represented himself and last bits of doubt escaped Marie’s thoughts; the name, the age and the sword all matched – it was her son. Tears appeared in her eyes and in seconds she turned into an emotional wreckage.
The three others were puzzled and shocked; they didn’t know what was wrong with her, especially since this was supposed to be a happy moment for Manuel after a nearly month’s separation from his wife.
Sense of fear took over Marie when she realised what had happened; Anna had been exiled to Famagusta to prevent anything from happening between her and her brother Romanos and now she stood here, married to her half-brother she didn’t know of.
“You... you cannot marry each other...” she muttered quietly.
The young couple looked confused: “We already married in Famagusta”, Osmond replied to her, “and our union shouldn’t bother you that much.” He always got annoyed when other people tried to tell him how to live his life.
Marie burst into crying. “But you are siblings!” she yelled and turned to her husband, “Manuel, this is ‘our’ firstborn who ‘died in labour’.”
Manuel, like the young couple, didn’t say a word. He was bewildered and shocked and had no idea what was going on.
His wife was shaking as she spew out the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life: “Your father...” she started and swallowed, although her mouth was dry, “The child never died, it was a healthy boy but you weren’t his father; it was your father.” She pointed at Osmond: “And there he stands; your half-brother.” Marie felt as if her legs wouldn’t carry her much further and burst from the scene crying. She was sad, happy and terrified all at once.
Anna felt like vomiting; although she had fooled around with her brother they did their best not to cause anything irreversible. Now she was married to another brother and worse – she was pregnant. It was as if the ground had given away when she fainted and fell on the floor.
The two men paid no attention. Osmond was standing his mouth open; he didn’t know what to think of all this. Manuel collapsed on his knees. It felt as if his whole world was shattering. He knew what his father had been like; a violent sadist who took pleasure in others’ suffering, yet he had always cared and loved for his family. The memories from the night when he had thought they had lost their firstborn came back haunting for him. The stress was too much and something snapped in his head; he grabbed the dagger he kept hidden inside his cape for self-defense and attacked the unprepared Norman.
Osmond was lying on his back, trying to keep the deadly blade at a distance as the furious prince atop him tried to burrow it into his face. He managed to kick the man into his stomach with his knee and all air ran out of Manuel’s lungs, who fell on his side.
The Norman rose up and drew his sword. He took a defensive position as he didn’t know what to do; kill the prince on the spot or try to talk it over with him. He didn’t have to think for long as Manuel grabbed his dagger again and charged Osmond. The prince dodged his marshal’s swing and kicked him in the chest. Osmond gave a yelp and his sword gave a loud “clang!” as it hit the floor few meters away from the men.
The castle corridors as seen today.
Manuel picked up his fallen brother and slammed him against a pillar located at the edge of the balcony-like corridor. Osmond could see the rage in his eyes when he said what he thought would be his last words: “Are you going to kill me? It isn’t my fault that our father screwed up with your wife, brother.”
The words pierced through Manuel’s brains like sharp blades and saliva flew out of his mouth as he yelled at Osmond’s face. He was squeezing the dagger in his right-hand, trying to gather the strength to stab his brother. He soon loosened his grip and realised what he was doing; he didn’t want to become like his father. His breathing was heavy and his face red when he let the Norman go. Manuel shook his head in despair and walked off down the corridor.
Osmond fell on his knees; it was late spring but he was shaking as if it was a Christmas in Siberia. For a moment he was sure his brother would stab him to death. Manuel wasn’t the only one whose world had collapsed; emotions were running through the young Norman’s body, emotions he had never known to exist.
He crawled to his sword and noticed the fainted Anna, but out of anger or despair gave no thought to her.
‘I am strongest’, he thought as the feelings of vengeance took over him, ‘I am stronger than my siblings’ he tried to convince himself.
He picked up his sword and was about to yell his thoughts aloud but stopped and revised them; a grin appeared on his face: “I will be the strongest", he said and ran his finger through the sharp edge of the sword.
This is starting to sound like a medieval version of the Ptolemies of Egypt. Any chance of a Cleopatra like character??
Absolutely marvellous, a medieval set-up for a classic Greek tragedy. You are a evil mastermind.