Giorgio was kneeling in the midst of an enormous patch of the largest, most luscious-looking mushrooms he had ever beheld. Giancarlo himself was not particularly fond of mushrooms. But his brother? For Giorgio they were the most wonderful thing in all the world to eat. No brigands’ treasure could ever have delighted him more than this serendipitous discovery.

“Look at them, Giancarlo!” he exclaimed with unbridled joy. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

Indeed Giancarlo had not, and he immediately set about helping his brother collect as many of them as they could carry. When their backpacks could hold no more, the two stood, brushed themselves off, and made ready to descend the mountain while there was still plenty of daylight left.

“Giancarlo,” intoned Giorgio solemnly just as they were about to get on their way, “you must make me a promise before we go home. It’s the least you owe me after what you did before.”

“What kind of promise?” replied Giancarlo.

“You must promise to never tell anyone about this place,” he said. “If people were to find out, they would come back here and steal all my beautiful mushrooms. So promise!”

Giancarlo took one look down the steep trail before them and tried to imagine, without any success, why anyone in his right mind would go through the trouble of climbing all the way up here just for a bunch of mushrooms.Then again, he was not a connoisseur of fungi, like his brother.

“Fine, I promise,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Now can we please go home?”

“No, not yet,” said his brother. “First we must give the place a name.”

After a few minutes of debate, Giancarlo suggested il Rifugio dei Briganti (the Brigands’ Lair). Giorgio loved it. The matter was settled, and Giancarlo and Giorgio began their descent.

The two were in high spirits the entire journey back down the mountain, laughing and joking all the way. In no time they found themselves drawing near to the base of the trail, where the terrain began to flatten out. They were bounding along and just about to emerge from the woods where the trail opened up onto a wide meadow a little ways above the village when suddenly Giorgio stopped dead in his tracks. He abruptly reached out, took Giancarlo by the arm, and pulled him back into the trees. Before he could protest, Giorgio put a finger to his lips to silence him. Then he nodded for Giancarlo to follow him.

Giorgio crept over to the edge of the woods and peered out across the meadow. Turning back to Giancarlo, he put a finger to his lips again and motioned for him to come closer.

“There she is,” whispered Giorgio.