The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (20 page)

“Brother,” called Hegel. “Got us some new attire.”

Manfried dragged his boots over to Hegel and donned the clothes, peeling his old hose, breeches, and shirt off in stinking
strips. A pair of leather trousers, while superior to hose, hung a little loose for his preference, but he had grown used
to such inconveniences. Not once had the Grossbarts worn so much as a sock knit to their specifications.

The horses dozed where they stood, blankets draped over them. The Brothers poked through the black bones of the tavern, hoping
to find an unbroken bottle or anything else of worth. They found only the charred remains of Alphonse, and neither wanted
to reach into the partially collapsed fireplace to retrieve their cooking pot.

Together they entered the buildings Manfried had opened, and between them found a few sacks of grain, a new pot and more blankets.
They went to shove these into the wagon but to Manfried’s relief and Hegel’s shock the woman reclined inside. Her hair shone,
and Manfried reached out to push it away from her face when Hegel snatched his hand and gave him a hard look. Manfried dropped
the blankets on the floor of the wagon and angrily closed the tarp.

“Gotta stay pure,” Hegel said.

“Who says I ain’t?”

“Her much as you. You recollect where that lass was head in?”

“Some fat lord down south,” said Manfried.

“Some fat sea captain down south.”

“Eh?”

“Yeah, you heard. As in, boats. As in, Gyptland.” Hegel grinned, pleased he had worked out the angles himself.

“Hey now,” said Manfried, genuinely impressed. “You recollect this captain’s name?”

“Er.” Hegel’s blistered brows creased painfully. “I do believe it was
Bar Goose
. Yeah, I’d stake my take on it.”

“What kind a ignorant name is that?”

“They all got’em dumb like
Al Ponce
or
Ennio
.”

“Suppose so,” Manfried allowed, “but where’s this Goose roost?”

“Venetia, I’s sure a that.”

“What you mean?”

“Eh?”

“
I’s sure a that
,” Manfried said. “Ain’t you sure a the rest? Like his bein named Goose and bein a seaman?”

“Nah, I’s sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Better be, brother.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They glared at each other, then broke up laughing. Manfried spent a time straightening out the horses and piling the pieces
he could not determine a use for in the back of the wagon. He led them by the bit to ensure everything stayed in place, then
hopped onto the seat beside Hegel, who had half a pot of warm porridge waiting.

“
Need Ellis
, you said.” Manfried snorted.

“Aye, coward
Ennio
may a been, but he got pure fore he died.”

“Suppose so.” Manfried nodded. “Sight better than Ponce lettin that demon in, damn straight. Ennio’s sittin with Mary as we
converse.”

“And what you think a that other one? Drowned in melted snow!”

“Who cares? They’s all’s weak as these ones, we’s gonna be princes a Italia and never need go to Arabtown!”

The day heated up, snow turning to sludge and impeding their progress until they left the gate and began winding up the road.
Here the trail resembled stream more than highway but they persevered and a short time later stopped inside the gate of the
monastery. With the demon safely destroyed, they could both retrieve their gear and finally get a peek inside that crypt.

“Be back in a bit,” Manfried called to the woman but got no response. He dallied but Hegel egged him on, and they hurried
around the side, through the door and into the cemetery. They splashed through the mud and fell upon the sacks they had left
behind. Their crossbows were wet but appeared serviceable, and the bottles they had pinched from the tavern were intact.

“Not demon, Devil, witch, or weather will keep us from our richly pleasure!” Manfried toasted.

“Bless Mary, and bless us too!” Hegel intoned solemnly, then they drank and clapped each other on the back.

Stowing the booze, they eagerly pushed open the crypt door and stepped inside. Hegel got their last rushlight aflame and swung
it around the cramped interior, revealing three stone tombs. The bronze ornamentation they ignored, setting their prybars
under the lids and putting them to their named use. Each contained an older skeleton than the last, but in the layers of dust
and decay on the floors of the sarcophagi metal still glimmered. They fished out seven rings and a gold crucifix.

“Can melt him down.” Manfried grinned, stowing it in a pouch.

“Beauty better than any woman,” Hegel sighed, trying on a silver ring inlaid with green stones.

“Speakin a such,” said Manfried, “I oughta check on’er.”

“What for?”

“See if, uh, she wants some food. Ain’t et in our presence, gotta be famished.”

“That’s right civil a you, brother,” Hegel said. “Just be sure you don’t go pissin in our feedbag.”

“How’s that?” Manfried turned in the doorway.

“She noble or close enough. I’d reckon they’s smart enough to figure out we done somethin if somethin we do. So do all you
can with your eyes, cause them hands a yours best stick to your own mecky self.”

“You got a wicked, unchristian mind.” Manfried stormed off, Hegel chuckling and polishing his rings on the step of the crypt.

Leaving the graveyard, Manfried noticed that the drapery covering the back of the wagon hung open. The only things inside
were blankets and several boxes. Looking around, he saw a door on the rear of the monastery likewise ajar. Remembering that
the demon had hinted at something regarding the abbey, he grabbed his crossbow before advancing. Poking his head in, he found
it far too dark to attempt without both light and Hegel. He shouted for his brother, and when Hegel arrived they spent the
heftier part of a little while getting the rushlight relit.

“Gonna claim this ax,” Hegel informed his brother. “Sword got buried back at the tavern and I might need a sharp edge stead
a my pick.”

“Yours til somethin better turns up, then it’s mine again.”

“Proper. My bow looks a mite warped, so lets hope we ain’t gotta use’em.”

“Whatever you do, don’t shoot less you’s sure you gotta. No sense puttin a hole in our feedbag.” Manfried held up the sputtering
reed.

“How’s that? Oh.”

Manfried led the way, Hegel instantly put off by both the darkness and the eye-watering stench they now equated with the pestilence.
At the end of the hall stood a large door, and, exchanging a nervous glance, they shoved it open.

Unmistakably the kitchen, this room housed piles of wooden plates and cooking implements, as well as rotting food of all varieties.
The high windows were boarded up for winter, but Hegel noticed a sconce in the wall and removed the torch, lighting it from
his brother’s rushlight. Manfried went directly across to the opposite hallway but Hegel tarried, inspecting several oaken
casks.

“What you got there?” Manfried asked from the hallway.

“Beer.” Hegel jammed the bung back in place. “Quality, too.”

“Later. We need our feedbag fore we can drink.”

“You liked that, did you?”

Halfway down the hall they could go no farther, the stink gagging them. Following Hegel’s prudent suggestion, they dipped
their sleeves in the beer barrel and held them to their nostrils. They could then advance, although both were becoming heady
from the odors.

Passing into the huge chapel, they discovered the cause of the smell. Over fifty bodies were heaped atop the pews, the outlines
indistinct from the copious mold growing on them. Children and mothers had rotted together into hideous shapes, the faces
of the dead weeping gray slime from every orifice. Monks were piled on women in suggestive positions, the entire putrefying
mass an obvious labor of devotion. Even with their ale-soaked sleeves vomit assaulted the Grossbarts’ esophagi, and they staggered
back down the hall, passing under a large cross smeared with excrement and pus. Shutting the doors on either end of the hallway
helped but they could not get the smell out of their noses.

Again Manfried felt delighted and Hegel disturbed by the woman’s sudden reappearance. She sat on a table in the kitchen nibbling
dried fish from a small crate beside her. Manfried went to her side and reached for a fish but she knocked the lid shut. Manfried
felt a mix of anger and reproach, his watchful brother scowling in contempt. Hegel wanted fish, too, but if Manfried would
not snatch it away neither would he. Hegel filled his porridge-crusted pot with beer and munched on the least moldy piece
of bread he could find.

Manfried stared up at the angelic woman, at a loss as to what he could do or say. She did not seem to mind his attention,
which any respectable person would have found disturbing at the least. Hegel kept poking around, and in addition to the beer
barrel he found a smaller cask of schnapps. He rolled this out the hall to the wagon, and was dismayed to see the sun already
sinking.

“Light’ll be gone soon,” Hegel informed his brother.

“So we’s campin out here.”

“Inside? Fuck that. Catch us the pest. Better camp out in that barrow.”

“What?” Manfried broke his vigil.

“Sleep with the nobility. Might be a touch dead for your predilection, but one must adapt.”

“I swear, brother, you shame the Virgin with your insinuations.” Manfried glanced up at the smiling woman, and thanked Mary
his beard concealed his coloring cheeks. He did not want Hegel getting the right impression. Not only was she the prettiest
thing he had ever seen—save gold—but she tolerated his presence instead of recoiling with revulsion.

“Gotta burn them corpses.” Hegel had brought his satchel and deposited his oil bottle on a counter.

“Not gonna waste it on them dead ones?” This brought Manfried away from his infatuation.

“Ain’t gonna drag’em to a hole, and damn sure ain’t diggin one under’em. Leaves us with the torch.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Fail to reckon how it’s our responsibility.”

“Cause it’ll ire the Devil.”

“Right enough for me.” Manfried retrieved his oil as well, then they went to the church.

Each restrained his vomit, oiling the mound of rancid bodies. They heaped pews on the revolting mass and set it ablaze, tripping
over each other to avoid the flames. The corpses popped and hissed and smoke engulfed the monastery, the Brothers hoofing
it to the rear courtyard. The woman had returned to the wagon, and after cursing each other’s foolishness, they risked the
burning building to roll out the beer barrel.

That night they stowed the horses in the small stable beside the gate and the Brothers camped in the crypt, thinking it bad
luck to sleep in one of the outbuildings after they had burned a church. The woman refused to leave the wagon, and since they
had secured the front gate Hegel reasoned she would be safe. Manfried grumbled a bit but soon forgot everything but the joy
of drinking with his brother in a ransacked graveyard.

Enough snow remained to offer the churchyard some semblance of solemnity when the sun disappeared and the moon rose. They
boasted to each other of their prowess in slaying demons and monsters, to say nothing of cracking open tombs. Then came a
period of serious theological discussion regarding the nature of cowardice, evil, and the Virgin. When Hegel shifted the conversation
toward women and their natural inclination toward witchery and deception Manfried yawned, replaced the bung in the beer cask,
and went to sleep.

Hegel stayed awake long enough to chisel their mark into the front of the crypt’s door. His uncle had taught him it was good
form to let any Grossbarts who came after know which tombs were already cleaned. Illiterate though every Grossbart was, the
symbol was known by all who carried that accursed name.

Late in the night when the fire in the doorway had died, Manfried awoke to music drifting in. Hegel snored beside him, arms
wrapped around the keg. Manfried went to the door and looked out, and to his surprise the snow had melted and in the moonlight
the cemetery had become a placid lagoon with only the tips of the highest tombstones jutting above the surface. A ripple cut
through the water before him and by the glistening pale skin he knew it was her. She clambered onto an exposed barrow, the
music even louder now that she had surfaced.

She smiled at him, only the intervening crosses shielding her exposed body. The song touched Manfried in a place he had never
acknowledged, and he walked down the crypt’s stairs into the water. When it reached his waist he paused, realizing how frigid
the pond was. The strength in his legs disappeared, and with a smile on his lips he pitched forward, sinking instantly in
the icy liquid.

Hegel sat up in the dark, his heart pounding from a dream he could not remember. He blinked and lay back down, but then he
detected a faint splashing in the stillness, and the unease of his unremembered dream haunted him. As he stumbled to the door,
the moonbeams reflecting off the snow blinded him for a moment. Then he saw Manfried at the foot of the crypt, face-down in
a puddle. Hegel jumped down, rolled him over, and punched him in the gut. Through dark lips Manfried began vomiting water
and coughing, and the astonished Hegel hurried back inside and brought him a bowl of the monks’ beer.

“What in the name a fuck, brother!” Hegel yelled. “You gotten moontouched or somethin?”

“Dreamin.” Manfried shuddered, sipping the alcohol.

“Bout what?”

“Can’t really say.”

“Get on in,” Hegel sighed, helping Manfried up.

Hegel started a new fire inside the crypt and shut the door most of the way. Manfried curled around the blaze, his beard and
chest soaking. He nodded off immediately but Hegel stayed awake for several hours, watching his brother. Something worried
him, and he went outside to make sure. Right enough, the pool in which he had discovered Manfried drowning was covered in
a thick layer of ice except where his brother’s face had entered it. A chunk of broken masonry lay beside the hole, and Hegel
had a sick feeling in his bowels. The wind picked up, stirring the snow around him as he stared at the still-smoking monastery.
He spit twice, praised the Virgin, and went to bed.