Chapter 4
The Wedding of the Century
Pons made his way to the hall slowly. He already guessed the news which Marius brought to the Margrave and he did not want to intrude on the tears and grief. Pons had no kin of his own, but Margrave Guilhem and his wife Judith had a large family - three daughters and five sons - all grown and married.
The girls had been married off to suitable lordly husbands. Gisela married the Marquis of Malaspina. Adelasia married the Marquis of Saluzzo. Grandchildren were coming along regularly. The oldest girl, Agnes, had been married to the Conte di Modigliana, but she had proven barren. The marriage was annulled - and with a generous endowment from her father - she had wedded the Lord Jesus and entered a convent. Of the sons, William Longsword had died of mal-aria, so only two, Conrad and Boniface, were at home in Montferrat. They would be with their father listening to Marius.
Frederick, the fourth born son was also missing on that July evening. Young Frederick had always been a quiet, studious, and pious boy compared to his vigorous older brothers. He was as tall and as fair as his siblings, yet he always lagged behind them when they ran through the fields and around the town as children. When he was older he couldn’t compete with his brothers in the practice yards. He was not inept, the lad was taught to fight well. As weapons master, Pons had seen to his martial education as he had to all the others, but Fredrik would never tilt in a tournament or lead men in battle. It simply was not in him. He preferred reading and music. He was thoughtful and devout. It had been obvious from an early age he would be given over to the church for a life of service to God. Having a large family was both a blessing and a curse for noble families. Only one son could inherit, the others had to find their own fortune in the world. The clergy was the logical place for younger sons of important families. As the son of a margrave, Frederick would rise quickly and steadily. Currently he was a priest, serving as secretary to the Bishop in Alba. It was expected he would eventually become a bishop himself one day, either in Alba or some other clerical see.
The last son who was missing was Renier, the baby of the family. “All the trouble he could get into.” Marius had been unable to look Pons in the eyes.
Two years earlier, at the age of nineteen, Renier had been married to Maria Porphyrogenita - Maria Born to the Purple - the only daughter of the Byzantine Emperor Manuel Komnenos. Granted, at the age of twenty-eight Maria Born to the Purple was getting a bit long in the tooth for marriage, but as to status - Renier could not possibly hope to do better. At the time of her birth, Maria’s mother - like all empresses - had been brought to a special room in the Palace of the Bull and Lion with walls, floor, columns, and pyramidal ceiling made of purple porphyry marble dusted with sand-like feldspar. Only those of the purest bloodline and highest dignity were born in the purple chamber.
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Lord Guilhem and his wife Dame Judith had been bursting with pride. After the marriage, as a wedding present, Renier was given the title of Caesar and the city of Thessaloniki, the second greatest city in the empire, as his fief. Emperor Manuel, however, had a son as well as a daughter, so Renier did not stand to inherit a throne through marriage as his older brother William Longsword had once done. Still, he would be son-in-law to one emperor and brother-in-law to the next. Also to Renier’s advantage was his bloodline - as a cousin of the Holy Roman Emperor in Germany, he could act as a diplomatic link between East and West if needed.
The entire family had been in Constantinople for the wedding - a double ceremony - for on the same day the Emperor of Byzantium saw both his daughter wed and his son betrothed. The boy was named Alexios - hells, they were all named Alexios, even the Emperor’s bastards were called Alexios - and he was all of twelve years old at the time. His fiancee was Agnes, adorable as a kitten, the nine year old daughter of the King of France.
Renier and Maria’s wedding ceremony had been held in the most sacred church of St. Mary of Blachernae. The very church where, two hundred fifty years earlier, St. Andrew the Holy Fool had seen the Mother of God descend through the dome to spread her protective veil over the congregation. Pons could recall how the icon of the Virgin smiled down on the guests. The image was the same one which had been carried in procession on the city ramparts to protect the city from besiegers. Avars, Persians, Arabs, Rus, Bulgars - over the centuries she had defended the city from all. On some Fridays a miracle would occur. The veil draped over the icon’s face would slowly rise - inch by inch - over the course of the day - lifted by the hand of God, only to descend on its own when night fell. Pons had not had the chance to witness it himself, but he had been told by several it did indeed happen.
The great basilica, splendid in marble and green jasper, was hard pressed to contain all the dignitaries. Every noble in the empire attended, as well as bishops, ambassadors, palace functionaries, and many Frankish courtiers. From nave to narthex the building was crowded with bureaucrats, aristocrats, merchant princes, court eunuchs, generals, and admirals. Foreign delegates from Venice, Pisa, Genoa, Hungary, Antioch, Cyprus, and cities around the Euxine Sea crowded in. Everyone wore their finest silks and velvets dyed every color of the rainbow. Jewels glittered on rings and necklaces.
The reception filled the Hippodrome - it had to be held in the Hippodrome - there was simply no other space in the city large enough. Here were even more people - commoners from the city. Fresh rushes had been laid over the ground and tables by the score laden with food filled the entire race track. The hysplex, the starting gates which were adorned with a giant bronze statue of a charioteer, had been filled with hundreds of ovens where bread had been baked and sheep, pigs, oxen, and fowl by the thousands had been roasted. Barrels of wine had been rolled in and were broached at various points convenient to the diners. Fresh fish and oysters had been arriving by cart since the small hours of the morning from up and down the coast. Musicians played, acrobats tumbled, bright banners flapped in the breeze. Extravagance on a scale no living person had seen before.
The Emperor took ill a few weeks after the wedding and died six months later. Young Alexios inherited the position with his mother, Emperor Manuel’s second wife, Maria of Antioch as regent.