The Wolf and the Snake (English version)

Chapter 12

A terrifying weapon is thrown from Al Mansoura to our troops. Strange and sinister fire dragons attack us for a whole night. Sailors call this abomination "Medea's fire" after a cruel magician who burned her rival.

The towers and the causeway were destroyed again. King Louis wanted to requisition all wood reserves stored on ships to repair damage in an attack. But captains are vehemently opposed to this.

The wood is non-negotiable.

Anxiety and fear are palpable in the Christian camp. Everyone thought the good Lord abandoned them. The king and his advisors finally take the grave decision not to rebuild the causeway, the task being beyond our army's endurance.

It was the moment when a desert Arab chose to betray the sultan for a handsome sum. He told Christians it was possible to reach Al Mansoura by a ford less than three leagues from our camp.

Our knights, therefore, move on while infantry remains in the camp as a rear guard.

For long hours, when no bell rings, we all stay in expectation.

Maybe it's a trap.

We ignore if our knights, among the best in the world, have succeeded in capturing the powerful Mohammedan fortress, which is unfortunately reputed to be invincible.

Alas, I don't know if Reyn and Aurel are alive, perhaps wounded, or worse.

Then the moribund come by tens on our ship and with them a cascade of terrible news. In the vanguard, Count of Artois was unwary, bulling into Al Mansoura. So Guillaume of Sonnac and his Templars had to follow the prince. And he didn't want to wait wisely for the rest of our forces commanded by King Louis and Count of Anjou.

Many thousand five hundred knights were then violently charged by Mohammedan soldiers folded inside the fortress. Alas, Robert of Artois's death under sabers and axes will be confirmed by some lucky ones who miraculously escaped this hell. Sadly most of them are seriously wounded.

In wartime, medicine and surgery are closer to death than to life.

I have to amputate limbs, and therefore tie off the main arteries. Thus, when my saw cuts through muscles and bones, the unfortunate undergoing this horrible treatment don't bleed out quickly. We're almost out of poppies and almost out of everything else too. We lack everything except courage.

With each wounded person able to pronounce a few words, I look for news about Reyn and Aurel, good or bad.

And finally, I get some.

Guillaume of Sonnac is transported to our ship, bloodied, his chain mail pierced with blows. His eye is seriously hit, out of its socket and hanging his cheek, horribly torn.

I come close to him, hoping he can speak.

"For pity's sake, my lord! Do you know what happened to my husband and his cousin? Were they part of the vanguard who entered Al Mansoura with you?"

"They were with us," he nodded weakly. "They managed to leave Al Mansoura to warn King Louis and Count of Anjou, but it was already too late. I saw three hundred of my knights perish and the king's brother. No one could do anything for those poor men, not even your husband and his cousin, not even our sovereign."

A little ashamed of my joy when we have so many hardships to mourn, I murmur with relief, "They're alive."

The Templar gives a faint smile before slipping into unconsciousness. His eye is lost, but with Johannes, we hope to preserve his life. Unfortunately, the king's physician isn't much help, just praying for the dead.

Ships loaded with fresh supplies would have left from Damietta.

Will they reach us?

Terrified, some sailors thought they recognized at night enemy boats approaching very close to ours as if they wanted to board them.

But perhaps it was only an illusion.

Despite the war, the ninth day of February, in 1250, is when all Christians, on water and land, are in prayer to celebrate the beginning of Lent.

One vainly searched in the Nile for Count of Artois's body. Some witnesses affirmed that Mohammedans were pursuing him. He would have spurred his mount to find salvation in the river where he would have drowned. I, too, prefer to imagine this prince disappearing into the Nile rather than being badly beaten by the enemy and finished off half-naked.

Mahaut, his wife, stayed in Damietta, doesn't know these terrible events yet. He leaves her a little girl and a beautiful boy. One day, perhaps, the son will avenge his father, and Saracens will tremble before him. Then, from the sky, Robert of Artois will contemplate his offspring with pride.

But what would be left for me if some awful misfortune happened to Reyn? 

Since I have no child to hold tenderly against my chest!

My horrible fears sound like sad ghosts, poor knights who died in battle, vomiting their blood, crying they will never see their beautiful castle again. In the evening, complaints from the wounded break silence on our "great ship of death." It's how we call our vessel because it looks like a dreadful cemetery with so many bodies piled up on deck. Endlessly, rowboats bring them ashore to be buried in huge pits.

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