Chapter 18
Hunting Mishaps
When the weather dawned clear and fair on an early April morning in 1143 a long anticipated hunt was decreed. Young Andronikos was tired of winter quarters in Cilicia as were all the other members of the court who had accompanied the Emperor on the campaign.
Aah the hunt. What better way to shake off winter’s mantle and enjoy a day out before the upcoming march? All were in high spirits. The twin peaks of the Crow’s Nest mountains framed a wide forest covered ravine. Here the Emperor and most of his entourage would hunt for deer, antelope, and hopefully boar. Andronikos, however, wanted to take his bird out and let her stretch her wings. Manuel wanted to go after the bigger game, so the cousins were not fated to be together when the day ended. Andronikos did not go out alone for he found a fellow hawking enthusiast in young Theodore Dasiotes.
The main hunting party pushed east and found their quarry. Emperor John came upon a solitary boar. An experienced hunter - John planted his spear and was ready for the sudden charge. His spearhead caught the beast in the torso and pushed through to the entrails. Unfortunately, the force of the thrust knocked the Emperor’s hand back and overturned a quiver of arrows which hung at his side - poisoned arrows - used to bring down antelope. The head of one arrow cut him neatly between the third and fourth finger. Merely a scratch. Nothing to it. He pulled a piece of leather off the lacing of his shoe to act as a bandage.
A few miles to the north Andronikos and Theodore Dasiotes were having an hunting misadventure of their own. A mounted party of Seljuks came upon them as they were having a picnic. The raiders encircled the Byzantine nobles and their attendants as they sat on a grassy hill and for a moment things appeared as if they would become violent. Andronikos, however calmly licked the juice of a pomegranate from his fingers, rose to his feet and opened his hands. He addressed the riders in their own language and congratulated them on their good luck. He assured them he and his company were nobles of great station and their lord would be overjoyed to have them as prisoners. With a smile he assured the hetman of the raiders his share of the ransom would make even his children rich.
The absence of the two young men was not remarked upon at dinner that evening. The next day, with a heavy rain falling, their servants returned, but had trouble finding anyone of note to explain their masters’ plight. The entire camp was astir. The Emperor’s hand, indeed his whole arm, was swelling and festering. Manuel was tending to his father in his suite. Andronikos was forgotten.
Physicians, disciples of the Asklepaidai, and army surgeons were consulted. Poultices were applied. When the swelling grew too great and the pain too much to endure, the wound was lanced. The infection spread as did the agony. Refusing amputation John set the excruciating pain aside and turned his mind to the succession.
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He had two sons remaining to him, Issacos, now thirty years old and in Constantinople (he had also escorted the body of his brother Alexios on its return to the capital, but unlike his brother Andronikos, had not fallen to the fever), and Manuel who would be twenty-six on his next birthday. Issacos was more cunning than clever and more cruel by nature than kind. Manuel was valiant. Ionnes could clearly recall one day, at the siege of Neocaesarea, Manuel had led a sortie which rallied the men and almost won them the field - John’s heart had almost burst with pride to watch. Later in his private command tent, after praising his son before the troops for his courage, he personally took a willow switch to his bare thighs for his recklessness. Manuel was clever. He was even now helping the medics. Manuel was pious.
The rain caused flooding in the camp. Shortly after his tent and deathbed had been moved to higher ground, John altered the succession and had John Auxouch and all the lords, officers, and nobles in attendance swear to honor his wishes. The iota became a mu. With his father’s body still warm, Manuel dispatched John the Persian to Constantinople with orders to seize his brother and hold him. John also carried two letters both written in red ink and sealed in gold - tied with a silken thread dyed Tyrian purple. One letter promising the Patriarch and clergy of the Hagia Sophia two hundred pounds of silver per year for their support. The second promised two hundred pounds of gold per annum, but was only to be produced should the first fail to sway them.
His father’s man - now his, John the Persian, was flawless. Issacos was taken into custody and placed in confinement in a monastery. The church recognized Manuel. The second letter was not needed.
Manuel had to return to the capital to be formally anointed, but the question of Antioch still remained. By tradition a monastery would have to be founded at the site of his father’s death. Donatives had to be paid to the soldiers to ensure their loyalty. So much to do. When news finally reached Manuel that Andronikos was captured, rather than being relieved his cousin was unharmed, Manuel was irritated by his carelessness. Nor did he want his first contact with the Turk, as Emperor, to be a ransom payment. What a weak tone that would set for the beginning of his reign? No. Andronikos would have to wait. Manuel made his way back to Constantinople and was duly crowned by a newly appointed Patriarch.
Andronikos, back in his old position of a hostage - treated as a guest - knew nothing of Manuel’s succession. He could see, however, he was being held for an unduly long time and no ransom was forthcoming. Paranoia plagued his thoughts. Was he suspected of having turned traitor like his brother? No. The fact Theodore Dasiotes was taken along with him should ease anyone’s mind. Theodore was the husband of one of Emperor John’s granddaughters, so there would be no question of his loyalty. Yet weeks passed. Then months.
When Andronikos and Theodore finally were released from Iconium, it was without ransom. Sultan Mesud, hoping for a fresh start with the new Emperor, broke off the siege of Prakana, which had been going on for some time, and freed the two noble captives as a show of good faith. From Manuel’s perspective doing nothing had been the correct course - Andronikos’ capture had resolved itself without costing the treasury a single obol. Seething with resentment, Andronikos saw things differently.