The country estate of Hugo di Catania was a rambling, turreted, 14th century affair, spared by the war because a well-placed cannon shot would have brought the entire edifice down around the owner's ears. Consequently it went ungarrisoned and ignored. Several tales had already spread about how the Brazen Duke, as he was now called, had exfiltrated his estate with his most valuable personal possessions in tow, passing through the Italian pickets dressed as either a priest, a nun, or most spectacularly, himself. Depending on which version one hears.
Even Aimeric had heard the stories. It was no end of amusement and frustration to the monarch that the court revolved around his two uncles, especially when they were never there. The second uncle was presently slouched dilettante-like in his solar, hand on his chin, insufferable smirk perched on his lips, effecting an expression of extreme and unconvincing surprise.
"My dear and entirely royal," he coughed, "excuse me, princely nephew! I typically receive one among your choir of cherubim to sing your praises and deliver your orders, but this! A visit from the archangel himself!" He knelt, with excessive posturing. "Annunciate, oh nephew! I wait, blushing, upon my knees, only to hear and obey."
Aimeric's frown deepened, and he resisted the ever-growing urge to exchange pleasantries and return to Palermo.
"Irritating as you are, my uncle, you are not a sycophant. We have beaten back every possible enemy, and yet Sicily stands alone and weakened, regardless of what is said at court." He paused, searching for words. "We worry...that our reign, as it stands, shall not leave our domains stronger than when it began."
Hugo, wearing a surprisingly sober expression, placed his hand on Aimeric's shoulder.
"You are a fine prince, Aimeric. And besides, my dear nephew, Sicilians shall never be loved. We are simply too wealthy and ravishingly handsome to be anything but envied and feared." He paused. "But what we might do, however...is win allies who can make use of our talents. And through means far more promising than your lovely little tea parties in Provence."
"We are listening."
The duke sprung up, standing ramrod straight, and gavotted across the room, unfurling a massive banner, which appeared to depict Icarus flying directly at the sun. "The Sicanian Band! Those dastardly Campanians have so foiled your cunning plans in Libya, despite being ill-groomed, illiterate Italians! A mercenary company patronized by the Crown of Sicily could confound our enemies, win favor and influence abroad, and be immensely profitable...in the hands of the right commander, of course."
"And who might that be?"
"Why, myself."
"You!"
"Ah yes, for I am smitten with the soldier's life! The rugged, sun-bleached hills of Valencia! Charging into the breach at Messina! Surveying the field at Siracusa, ordering Colavita to enfilade here and retrench there, and all that!"
"You are the Duke of Catania! The very idea of selling your services like a common..."
"Merchant! Yes, a merchant of glory and victory for my employers. And oh, how the kings and sultans shall fancy my wares." He giggled.
"Where would you even go!"
Hugo shrugged. "Cui scerri cerca, scerri trova. To Cathay if I must. Frankly my liege, I am bored here, and your court is no better, especially given the current unpromising crop of debutantes..."
Aimeric hissed through his teeth, "Your wife. Is outside."
"Lovely woman. Entirely unsuited to campaign, sadly...I'll have to leave her with her relations."
The Prince of Sicily breathed deeply, and asked any saint who was not Italian to give him patience. Hugo fiddled with the rapier he had worn as a martial affectation for a decade now and hummed a jaunty tune.
After about a minute of this, Aimeric sighed. "Very well. You have our leave to organize this...Sicanian Band. On the condition that you alienate your estates to the crown. And the further condition that any earnings beyond your upkeep return to the princely treasury."
Hugo clapped his hands like a child. "Done! Oh, my dear nephew, you shall not regret this for an instant!"
The prince put his head in his hands. "Unlikely," he mumbled.
