Chapter 2: The Blood Awaits
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The fresh, salty air of the Mediterranean sea brought Mariano at ease. Despite the word getting out of his innate "craze", the Young Count still stood for what was right. Here, on a ship with around eight hundred of his finest men. Set across to reinstall an honorable man, despite him belonging to the Muhammadan horde, to the position he rightfully claimed.
Abdul-Haleem Qasim: the name just cried 'barbarian' to Mariano's ears. However, if reinstating this man to his court would give him an ally in the tumultuous time he lived it. He would have to swallow his pride.
As the boat swayed back and forth, the gentle movements of the waves brought about the feeling of a calm before the inevitable storm. A figure approached the Count, his olive skin made him stand out amongst the Sardinian men. The gentle glow of the sun extenuated the smile on his face, he was much more friendly to the followers of Christ than most of his brethren.
"My Count, I bear good news from your home in Arborea. The Child your wife bore has been born, it is a boy! May the blessings of Allah be upon yo-"
The Count interrupted him with a stark hand movement. He cleared his throat, and said in a stark voice "Abdul, you are already in stark contrast of the rest of the army, I do not wish for them to question my judgement, AND leadership because of you."
His face grew less joyous, Abdul understood what the Count was saying, but it was still a stab at his pride.
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A Month Earlier
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The Count, accompanied by a medicus stood over the Countess. She had laid on a wooden table, her legs propped up upon a pillow. It was violet, her favorite. "My Count, Countess. It seems that your child is coming along well, let us pray it is a boy." The dark clothed man motioned for the Count to move closer to him, grasping his head and whispering gently into Mariano's ear, "My Count, it is rumoured that you have become stark-craving mad. To dispel such rumours, and to stave off insanity in the future, I suggest leeches. Lots of them."
Mariano sighed, pulling away in a defeated manner. For no man in this poor, backwater province could suggest anything less helpful, yet quite the opposite at the same time. Other than the trusted medicus.
Pulling away Mariano nodded in compliance, proceeding to leave to allow the man continue his examination of his wife in peace.
The halls of the castle were drab, nothing of interest had happened since the announcement of his impregnation of the countess. It's hallowed halls echoed the sound of his footsteps loudly, nothing to counter the sounds.
He stopped: out the window and into his courtyard, a procession of Oriental style approached. The carriages bearing faded images of Vilayets and horses. Mariano peered outside, questioning the reason of such a group to appear in this. His little Backwater province.
About an hour later the Count had received this man; his Berber accent was heavy as he spoke in his, broken Italian. "My Dear, and honourable Count. I am Abdul-Haleem Qasim, the rightful count of Menorca. The County has be stolen from me by my half-brother. I wish to reclaim it, but it is impossible without your help-"
Mariano's brow furrowed at the man, his cold, yet warm eyes peered into the face of him. Did he truly believe a Christian Count would help a Mohammedan in putting him back in power? Or was this some ploy to take advantage of the Count. But before he began to retort the man, he continued.
"-I'm sure you wonder why I would come to you. But it is not uncommon to hear of wayward Counts and Counties from now and then. After all you are the... Crazed Count of Arborea."
Mariano chuckled with glee, never had a man spoken to him with such polite impotence. Even if he controlled only a small province on a remote, Italian island; he still had control.
"Abdul-Haleem of Menorca. I shall help you reclaim your lost lands, but only if you promise to help me press my claims on other Muslim lords in the near future."
Loud gasps of confusion and surprise rose out from the Courtiers that bothered to actually attend Court. The .Count had signed a proverbial deal with the devil. Only time will tell if it was worth it for them.
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A Month, and Two Days Later
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The Count stood upon the deck, looking out onto the land several hundred furlongs away. As the golden, dawn sun rose in the distance behind the Iberian Island. Mariano knew that soon he would have blood on his hands
