The Wolf and the Snake (English version)

Chapter 1

Palestine, Acre, 1250

The two brats invited me to share a meal in their cabin. They're dressed like princes, and I admire their tunics, fitted at the waist and hips, with sleeves tightened from the elbows to the wrists.

Not so childish because they carry a sharp dagger tucked under their belts.

With the meal over and the excellent food swallowed, I doze off a bit, settled in a comfortable chair. With my eyes closed, I can hear the muffled laughter of the boys. They're undoubtedly playing fight, wrapped in the skillfully embroidered fabrics used as curtains to preserve the sleepers' tranquility. Curious, I open my eyelids, contemplating the strange ballet of the pretty tunics, red with small purple crosses for Eriprando, azure with gold stripes for Alceo. They flew gracefully above the bed, and I see the sublime bodies of the boys under the faint glow of lamps before they discreetly close the thick curtains.

I understand that these two know the happiness of loving each other. I imagine the reunion with Reyn, as their passion is like ours. It's a devouring fire where ancient souls are thirsty for each other to take hold of lovers, their wet mouths, their eager hands.

I got up quietly and left the cabin. Tonight, I will fall asleep alone, my nightgown twisted between my thighs, with the hope of quickly finding my beloved.

The next day, the two boys are gorgeous, free as a bird, far from hell as much as from heaven, or from the idea that men have of these places.

And they bicker about me.

"You have to tell her, Eriprando!" Alceo pleads.

Young Cortenova's beautiful eyes go dark, but Alceo shakes his lover's shoulder, looking determined.

Of what do they speak then?

I press Eriprando in my turn, "By all the saints! What should I be told? Am I in danger again?"

"You're safe on our vessel," he replies quickly. "However, I'm afraid to confess something to you."

Alceo makes an encouraging sign, so he continues in a hesitant voice, "We have so much to learn from each other! My father, Egidio of Cortenova, Lady Beatrice, my mother, Uberto, my grandfather, lord of the Lombard fiefs of Massimo, Albizatte and Besnate, my uncle Ottone, all are impatient to meet you."

I look at him without understanding.

"Tell her about the legend," Alceo asks.

Eriprando then relates a strange story, "A long time ago, a nurse abandoned a king's son in a forest, to guide some soldiers to a fountain. But, unfortunately, a giant snake attacked the child and tore him apart with its horrible fangs."

A child devoured by a giant snake, the one my ancestor, Aelys of Montreal, had embroidered on an infant swaddle!

I think I understand why Eriprando and I both have such similar dark eyes.

"I'm a Visconti by my mother, Beatrice Visconti," he confesses. "I learned of your existence a few months ago, but circumstances prevented me from getting to know you. Fortunately, Charles of Anjou wished to charter ships to rescue you from the Saracens, so I hired two vessels of the Pisan fleet to help you."

Eriprando has very little information about me. I advise him that a young lady named Aelys of Montreal once ran away to avoid forced marriage with a certain Raymond of Congast. Two strangers, Galeas Visconti and his brother, saved Aelys's life when wolves attacked her. Then, they all embarked for the Holy Land, and Aelys married Lord Galeas. A child was born from this union and survived the terrible massacre of his parents.

Despite the hardships suffered, I've kept Raymond of Congast's confession with me, sewn into my mantle so that it wouldn't be lost. I decided to give it to Eriprando to inform him about the murder of Galeas and Aelys. A flash of anger streaks across his eyes, and this boy of barely fifteen years coldly tells me that he charged two mercenaries to gut a man whose misdeeds had been reported to him in the Nile camp. But he didn't know that he belonged to this shameful lineage.

"Although wounded, this scoundrel managed to escape our assassins," Alceo sighs.

"His name was Bernard de Congast, and he's dead! His corpse is rotting on the banks of the Nile. It was I who killed him!"

My voice trembled at the memory of torture inflicted. Nightmares torment me unceasingly. I wake up in the night, crushed by a frightful pain. I feel the whip, the tyrant's claws, the blood in my mouth, Congast's or the creepy sultan's body on mine.

The two adorable brats, scary and gracious at the same time, hugged me. Eriprando assures me how proud he's of me. He says that the Visconti can be cruelly beaten, almost dead. But if they get up again, their enemies' blood never stops flowing.

Galeas Visconti being a direct ancestor, his people will appreciate all information about one of their own. I explain to him how the child was saved thanks to humble travelers, very frightened by the Visconti coat of arms.

Eriprando lives in the castle of Mozzanica in Bergamo, in the middle of Lombardy. He wants my husband to plan this step on our return to the Occident. He assures me that his father, Count Egidio of Cortenova, and all those under the protection of this powerful fortress, will be happy to welcome us.

We're approaching Acre when a serious event occurs. But, unfortunately, this kind of tragedy is a sad habit for the Italian cities' ships when they cross each other.

Of course, I'm not unaware that the Italian republics are engaged in a complex, fratricidal war. However, the vision of the brats as agitated as two fleas ready to throw themselves on a poor dog, in this case, a Genoese vessel, is somewhat alarming.

Our ship is well armed, with an impressive number of archers and crossbowmen on board. The lookouts shout that the winds are favorable to us. Eriprando then orders to fire when the Genoese are in range, and Alceo drags me to the bow to get away from these bastards, in his words.

With insults and deadly shots exchanged, I conclude that the two cities, Pisa and Genoa, hate themselves. The boarding was quick, and the few Genoese crossbowmen, although brave and skillful, weren't expecting the attack of an over-armed Pisan vessel so close to the coast. The opposing ship was undoubtedly returning from Acre, heavily loaded with merchandise and too slow to escape.

I'm witnessing a savage massacre of enemies without their screams stopping the clash of weapons. The complaints of the wounded, slaughtered with long, sharp daggers, are extinguished, supplanted by the thud of the lifeless bodies thrown into the sea.

Eriprando and Alceo fear my dread at the sight of the blood on their pretty tunics!

The two brats are ruthless soldiers beneath the veneer of high birth and glorious ancestors. The city of Pisa can count on them to murder as many Genoese as possible. And since they're very young, corpses will soon pile up by hundreds. The booty, carefully embarked, will be shared equally between the ship's owners, consuls of Pisa, and its valiant crew, who delivered a Frankish captive from the abominable Saracens and contributed to the business of their republic.

The rivalry and hatred between the two cities are deeply rooted in the habits of everyone, both in Genoa and in Pisa. The many truces signed to limit the growing number of widows and orphans on both sides are always broken at the rhythm of new quarrels, respective claims, or the chance of bloody encounters. At that time, it's said that the deadly struggle between Pope Innocent and Emperor Frederick had engulfed the Italian cities.

At last, Acre appears in the distance.

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