Stefano Vignaroli - In The Lion's Sign

Immersed in these mental disquisitions, Andrea had not even noticed that, having passed the watchtower at the top of Mount Returri, the group of soldiers he was following, having crossed the short village of Santa Maria delle Ripe, was heading, in a fast descent, towards the valley of the Musone River. He silenced all his thoughts and concentrated on the route. If they had to head towards Mantua, the road to follow was certainly not the one, which bent towards the south. Logic would have wanted that one covered the road Fiammenga up to Montemarciano and then went up again along the Adriatic coast, up to Ravenna, to then bend towards Ferrara. And from there reach Mantua in an easy way, without any difficulty. The road they were driving along led straight to the Swabian Castle of the Seaport, south of the mountain of Ancona, between the mouth of the Musone river and the one of the Potenza river. A castle built by Frederick II to defend and bulwark of an important port in which could station the Ghibelline fleet. To the only thought of the sea, Andrea had a gagging.

And soon, in fact, the valley of the Musone widened towards the Adriatic Sea. The imposing basilica of Loreto, dedicated to the cult of the Virgin Mary and protected by mighty ramparts were on their right, high on the hill, while Andrea and his companions followed a wide road for a few leagues, arriving in view of their destination. The outline of the Swabian castle, with its imposing donjon towering towards the sky, approached quickly. The sun was now setting towards the horizon and, putting the horses in step, you could hear the sound of the backwash and smell the salty smell brought by the wind. The sunset set the sky on fire in a bright red, fading into shades of orange where the sun was hiding behind the horizon line, marked by the mountains of the Apennines. Scenes and colours that would have infused the feeling of nostalgia in the heart of any person, let alone in that of Andrea, already in turmoil for the whole story he was living. He would have wanted to turn the horse around and run back to Jesi, to his beloved, to his home, to his affections. But once again, the nitrites of the horses and the cries of the armigers brought him back to reality. They were in front of the main entrance of the castle, in a large quadrangular clearing that, on the opposite side, opened towards the sea. While his escorts were shouting to the guards in the stands, to be recognized and to lower the drawbridge, Andrea looked at the port. The sea was calm, flat, almost a table. Some stars were already shining in the sky, a sky that was taking on the tones of turquoise and that would soon become much darker, wrapping things and people in the black cloak of the night. The silhouette of a huge boat, a three-masted sheep, caught Andrea’s attention. In his life he had never seen such a large vessel. And the fear that the next day he would have to climb on it gripped his heart. On the highest tree, the central one, waved the banner of the Serenissima Republic, a laying lion, the lion of St. Mark, with an open book, the Holy Gospel, between the front legs. When the drawbridge was descended and the huge doors of the portal opened, the captain of the castle guard went out and approached Andrea, handing him a folded banner. He bent to his address in an obsequious bow and handed him the banner.

Andrea got down from his horse, nodded to the Captain to lift himself from the reverent position and took the object from his hands. He unfolded the drape, in which, on a red cloth background, had been made, at the end of the embroidery, the golden design of a rampant lion adorned with the royal crown on his head.

«My Lord, Marquis Franciolino Franciolini, you’ll fight under the sign of the lion!», the lieutenant began to profess. «Tomorrow morning you will deliver this banner to the ship’s crew, who will hoist it on the flagpole, beside the flag of the Serenissima Republic. The Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere gave precise dispositions. The rampant lion, the symbol of your city, but also of Frederick II of Swabia, who granted in his time to adorn it with the imperial crown, will be the symbol of your strength and your authority.»

The Scroll was interrupted and he had a parchment delivered by another soldier, who had remained behind him, a short distance away.

«Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere appoints you, as written in this parchment, Grand Lion of the Bailiff, a title that gives you great powers and the possibility, indeed the duty, to accompany the Venetian commander on the bridge of the combat galleon.»

So saying, he rolled the parchment and delivered it in Andrea’s hands.

«Tomorrow morning at dawn you will board with your men and deliver the credentials to the “Capitano da Mar” 3Tommaso de’ Foscari. Two lions and two captains of arms will be united against common enemies, on one side the Turks of Sultan Sèlim, on the other side the Lansquenets. The Duke Della Rovere trusts you will hold high the honour due to your flag and to the one of the Serenissima Republic, our ally. And now, my Lord, allow me to lead you to your rooms to call for a deserved rest. Tomorrow morning you will be awakened early, even before sunrise.»

Andrea was confused, he didn’t know what to say, and so he remained silent. Certainly his friend Duke knew how to flatter him with the honours, but in doing so he always found a way to send him to the wreck. The fact of embarking on a ship didn’t please him at all, but by then he had arrived there and he couldn’t back down.

At night he turned and turned around between the sheets, getting little or no sleep. When he sank into sleep, he was assailed by nightmares that reminded him of the only battle fought at sea. Sea and blood, fire and death. And the figure of the Mancino who tormented him, approaching him until he became a giant, who accused him of letting him die among the waves. And he woke up in a bath of sweat, realizing he had slept only for a few moments. When the servant in charge of the alarm clock arrived, he felt almost relieved to be able to get up. It was still dark outside, but from the window he could catch a glimpse of the ship illuminated by the whitish light of an almost full moon. The servant helped him to wear a light armour, consisting of a wire mesh bodice with more compact reinforcements at the shoulders, forearms and neck. Above the armour, a half red and half yellow satin cloak. In the yellow part the design of the lion of San Marco, in the red one the crowned rampant lion.

«These clothes won’t be able to protect me from anything!», Andrea began to complain, with the servant who was helping him in the dressing. «An arrow in chest and goodbye Marquis Franciolini! And what about the stockings? Simple leather pants, without even metal studs for protection. Pass me the helmet, come on!»

«No helmet, my Captain. You’re all good. On board you have to be light, you have to be able to move easily, to run from one side of the galleon to the other and, if necessary, climb trees. An armour like the ones you are used to wearing in land fighting would only be a hindrance. Trust me, my Lord!»

«I trust you, and I also believe that I will not reach Mantua alive. If seasickness won’t kill me, the enemy will do it. I will be an easy target for the Turkish pirates. They will shoot me with arrows and feed on my corpse. Ah, what a fine destiny I’m going to meet, just to please my friend the Duke!»

«You have nothing to fear, my Lord. The galleon is really safe and suitable for resisting any attack by other vessels. And Commander Foscari knows his business. He knows how to govern the vessel and fight at sea like no other in the world. You will see. And now, refresh yourselves. You will need to be strong to face the journey», and so he clapped his hands, letting other servants with trays coming into the room.