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.