The Wolf and the Snake (English version)

Chapter 7

Despite the excitement in Nile camp, the hospital has been possible under a vast tent. The imminent army's departure worries soldiers, and many complain about various illnesses, hoping to avoid the next battles. Oliver of Termes tells me to designate those who are unable to fight and must remain at rest.

Comforted by Badiya's presence at my side, Bedouins came to ask for care timidly. Men, women, and children parade through my hospital under the stern gaze of crossbowmen's master. Mistress Hersende is with the queen, who's pregnant again. So Azalia, the youngest beguine, helps me because there's no lack of work.

Antonius is an old Coptic physician who came to visit our hospital. His perfect knowledge of plants growing in Egypt is useful. He taught me how shrubs with long stems and yellowish flowers could drive away mosquitoes because of their refreshing lemon smell.

Moreover, Antonius knows a mysterious remedy against swamp fever affecting Charles of Anjou. I want to observe its action on other patients before proposing it to the king's brother.

That morning, with Badiya and Azalia, we arrived at Nile camp early. Men on guard are numerous, and trenches have been dug. It's because we fear enemy cavalry raids that could happen at night or even in daylight.

I insisted on soldiers not contaminating Nile waters with their excrement. A pit is provided for that, and I'm supposed to empty a full bucket. The smell is unbearable, but it will worsen during the day with intense heat, transforming the camp into a furnace.

They suddenly appear among tents, fast riders on small horses, Turkish archers no doubt.

Around the pit, it's unguarded because of the stench, so there's a significant breach in our defenses. One of the Mohammedans seems to gallop towards me. Panic-stricken, I drop my bucket and run away.

Alas, he catches up with me at once. I find myself trapped between him and a big pile of stones left there. The horse prevents me from advancing, and I can't move back. The unknown pronounces words in Turkish that I understand. This rascal plans neither more nor less to carry me away on his mount like a vulgar sack of grain.

"You bastard! It will cost you," I say in his language, which amazes him.

But I suddenly hear a sharp noise, and the man collapses to the ground with a groan of pain, the bolt of a crossbow in his shoulder.

"Damn it, Ada!" the lord of Termes exclaims, elated with his shot. "Aiming this miscreant so close to you wasn't easy!"

Delighted, he looks at his prey, still alive.

"He's a Turkish mercenary, a Mameluke! What luck! We will interrogate him. No doubt he has interesting information."

The man remained conscious. He lies motionless in a pool of his blood. Sergeants violently grab him and tie his hands behind his back, in front of Badiya's and little Azalia's horrified faces.

Crossbowmen's master wants me as his translator for a heavy-handed questioning.

"Speak, scoundrel! How many archers have the sultan?" he shouts, sending his foot directly into the prisoner's stomach.

The stranger collapses, then raises his head and shamelessly stares at me.

"You, the Frank!" he answers with ease in our language. "How many such beautiful women do you have in your camp? I offer you hundred magnificent horses for this one since I didn't manage to steal her."

"Take him to the block!" Oliver of Termes roars, red with anger. "This rascal will boast less when I have cut off his hands!"

Immediately, soldiers drag the prisoner, as pale as a dead man, to the place of execution.