The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (32 page)

“Don’t try actin the abbot with me! Ever think there might be a higher purpose to keepin our swarthy servant about?”

“If you got an example I’ll hear it stead a you playin the bishop,” Hegel said.

“So we speak our way, others don’t, and we also speak the other that men do up north in the Germania or empire or what they
call it any given day. But we don’t speak what they do down here.”

“Agreed.”

“But that priest speaks up-there tongue and down-here tongue, just like Ponce and Ellis, and just like that Arab.”

“Enni—Oh!” Hegel finally caught on. “But wait, if you’s suggestin we use that Arab to tell us what foreigners’ sayin, why
not use the priest? He ain’t the Infidel.”

“Fine and good for dealin with the rabble round here, but where’s we headed?”

“Gyptland.”

“And who lives in Gyptland?”

“The dead?”

“What!?”

“Er… gold. And sand.”

“Lives, muttonhead, lives!”

Hegel’s brow furrowed as he labored to remember their uncle’s teachings and other hearsay. “Deadly beasts and monsters?”

“Arabs, you simple slit, Arabs!” Manfried launched another boot, then ducked when it was caught returned.

“Once again,
proper
fuckin knowledge,” Hegel complained. “I thought you meant other than them.”

“Now how do you suppose Arabs speak?”

“With their—No, put it down, no call for that.” Hegel stared hard at the knife his brother brandished. “You mean how’s them
what live there sound when they speak, like we’s doin now, or when we’s with others don’t understand the way the two a us
do?”

“Yeah,” Manfried said.

“I dunno, how do they speak?”

“I dunno either.”

“Oh.”

“But I bet that Arab does.”

“Oh! That’s brilliant!”

“Yeah, I know it.” Manfried imitated his brother: “
With their mouths
. Ignorance ain’t a sin but it oughta be.”

To Rodrigo, Martyn, and anyone else unfortunate enough to hear them speak the Brothers’ voices sounded identical, but to each
other subtle differences were noted but ignored except when they mocked each other. They wrestled for the better part of an
hour, such commonplace scrapes the source of their prowess in combat with others less Grossbart than themselves. A knocking
on the door disturbed their fracas.

“Enter!” shouted Manfried, which set off another row as they occupied Hegel’s room.

“Excuse me,” Father Martyn said, then louder to break up the melee, “Grossbarts!”

“What?” Blood oozed from Hegel’s cavernous nostrils.

“Who?” Manfried’s cropped ear had reopened, matting his chin and neck.

“I go to church,” Martyn said, unable to keep his head from rocking from side to side at the sight of them. “Perhaps you would
care to join me?”

Hegel gave Manfried a concerned look but he need not have worried.

“Nah.” Manfried stained Hegel’s pillow with his face. “Nuthin for us there.”

“But how else will you confess?”

“Confess what?” Hegel asked.

“We ain’t sinned,” said Manfried, opening a bottle.

“Every man sins, Manfried,” replied Martyn.

“Nah, he’s right,” Hegel agreed.

“Thank you, Hegel.” Martyn smiled.

“I mean my brother’s right.” Hegel sniffled blood into his beard. “We ain’t done nuthin might displease Her.”

“Nevertheless—” Martyn began but Manfried swelled before him.

“Neverthemore, Priest, will you accuse us a sinnin! Think killin demons’ a sin? What bout witches? Hackin up heretics require
us to lick your ears, that it?”

“Hegel.” Martyn looked to the apparently less volatile Grossbart. “I meant no disrespect, to you or your brother, only that
we all sin in our weakness.”

“Tell him that.” Hegel reclined on the broken bed. “Stead a disrespectin us both by talkin to me.”

“What was it you said, Priest?” demanded Manfried.

“I,” Martyn swallowed pride and spit, “I apologize, Master Grossbart, for implying you had a stained soul.”

“I acknowledge your apology.” Manfried nodded. “And remind you that any sinnin and weakness on your part don’t reflect on
us. We ain’t no beggars nor beg-hairs nor any other breed a blasphemer. We’s Grossbarts, and you’d do well to recollect that.”

Disgusted with them and himself, Martyn turned to the door. “I will pray for you, Grossbarts, I hope this is not an imposition?”

“Nah, it ain’t nuthin to us.” Hegel held a cool glass to his cheek.

“When I give an account of your deeds to my superiors I will do so justly, and I am pleased our paths crossed for even a brief
time. Farewell.”

“You think bout gettin what’s due your way from the captain fore you leave?” Manfried asked. “Cause we ain’t savin you a share
if you ain’t there to claim it.”

“Take my share for yourselves.” Martyn shut the door on the Grossbarts and strode away, head held high.

Rodrigo intercepted him on the stair and escorted him off the grounds. Certain questions were posed to and honestly answered
by the priest, who looked a sight better for his bath. They parted at the gate when Rodrigo caught wind of Al-Gassur skulking
in the overgrown garden surrounding the main building. Martyn stepped out into the street and made his way back through the
wondrous city toward a reunion with his fold.

Al-Gassur had set traps in the bushes and one yielded a plump pigeon, which he roasted in a dry, ivy-throttled fountain. Hearing
Rodrigo approach, he grabbed his bottle and bird but before he could hop away Rodrigo snatched his cloak and spun him around.

“A poacher too, eh?” Rodrigo raised his fist.

“Please speak properly, sir,” Al-Gassur pleaded in German.

“What’s this shift in tone?” Rodrigo asked, obliging the beggar.

“To please my revered employers, I will only speak so that they too will always comprehend.” Al-Gassur batted his gooey eyes
at Rodrigo.

“Those ignoble Grossbarts?” Rodrigo scowled, seizing Al-Gassur’s earlobe.

“Present,” said Hegel.

“And accountable,” added Manfried.

“What you doin with our Arab?” Hegel stepped around the shrubbery.

“Merely inquiring as to his presence outside his prescribed chambers.” Rodrigo relinquished the ear with a pinch.

“Honorable Hegel. Magnificent Manfried.” Al-Gassur awkwardly bowed, concealing the pigeon in his tunic. “I spied you through
the boughs approaching, and wondered what purpose such masters as yourselves would find in such a low state as that which
I presently inhabit?”

“Eh? Shut it.” Manfried looked back to Rodrigo. “Got any more jabber or can we speak to our property in peace?”

“Pardons, pardons.” Rodrigo raised his palms and backed away, his immaculate clothes catching in the brambles and spoiling
his aristocratic posturing. “I leave you to yourselves. Tonight you will dine in your chambers and I shall trouble you no
more until the morrow.”

“See that you can keep a promise that simple,” Hegel said dismissively. “Now then, Arab.”

“Yes?”

“Speak,” Manfried commanded.

“Speak what?”

“The words a your people.” Manfried gave the sniggering Hegel the hardest eye yet given.

“You mean such words as caliph, ambrosia, and camel?” Al-Gassur could not understand their reasoning.

“Yeah, like them.” Manfried’s fingers beckoned. “More, and without the proper speech.”

“Ah, you wish to hear me speak as I would to a countryman?” Enlightenment brightened Al-Gassur’s face.

“Yeah, tell my brother to get stuffed like he was yours stead a mine,” quipped Hegel.

“Do it and see what happens,” said Manfried. “Say somethin simple, like
the grave’s full a gold for those what brave the mold
.”

“Immediately, illustrious owner.” Al-Gassur bowed, and let out a long string of gibberish—and gibberish proper, as opposed
to the language of those who dwell in the sandy lands of the south. Al-Gassur had neither heard nor spoken a word of Arabic
since his youth, the bulk of the intervening years spent learning the tongues of those he sought to fleece. The random sounds
his mouth produced pleased the Grossbarts, however, who grinned and nodded at his nonsense.

“Told you!” Manfried hooted. “What’s that mean, then?”

“The grave holds no gold save for yellow mold.” Al-Gassur bowed again, hoping he had remembered the poem properly. He had
not, but this did not displease his audience.

“Too oft the truth.” Hegel nodded. “He’ll do as well as any other.”

“Cept there ain’t any other,” said Manfried.

“Begging more pardons than I am deserving.” Al-Gassur’s leaden eyes glimmered. “What will I do for?”

“For whatever pleases us,” said Manfried.

“Which ain’t much presently, so stay unseen and unheard lest you face our judgment,” elaborated Hegel.

“The matter of an instant.” Al-Gassur bowed even lower, almost losing his pigeon. “I shall be at your disposal day and night,
either here or in the porcine quarters.”

“How’s that?” Manfried looked around.

“The barn.” Al-Gassur’s retrieved his crutch and slunk away, mulling over his recent employment.

The Grossbarts ambled down the overgrown paths of the garden, clever horticulture making the grounds seem far more spacious
than they actually were. Neither would admit how awed he was by their current situation, Barousse’s stinginess notwithstanding.
When dusk came they invaded the kitchen and made obnoxious demands of the cook and her scrawny husband. They ate two meals
there before retiring to bathe, with instructions for the next meal to be delivered directly to the tub.

The Grossbarts basked in the opulent house and slept deeply, awaking the following morning to Rodrigo banging on their doors.
He waited with them until food and wine arrived, and when they did not offer him any of theirs he sent for his own. Well fed
and tipsy, the Grossbarts finally acknowledged his presence.

“What’s the order a the day, then?” asked Manfried.

“You will accompany me to be outfitted for your journey.” Rodrigo handed his plate to the hovering servant girl, flashing
her an awkward smile. “Thank you, Marguerite. Shall we be off?”

“Wanna talk with the captain,” Hegel belched.

“You may request an audience later this evening, but until then, there is the matter of equipping you.”

“With a boat?” Manfried elbowed his brother, nodding enthusiastically.

“What? No. With new clothes, and armor and weapons if you require them, as well as any other items you may find essential
to your voyage.”

“He told you where we’s headed, then?” Hegel scowled, displeased the captain would reveal their destination.

“Yes, not that it is any matter to me.” Rodrigo stiffened. “There are much more pressing matters facing the captain, and your
presence only serves as a distraction to the upcoming trials awaiting our attention.”

“
Ours
as in you and us?” Manfried pinned on his cloak.

“As in myself and the captain.” Rodrigo led them out.

The Grossbarts insisted they retrieve cheese and bread from the kitchen before embarking into the city. The thronged roads
passed around and often through buildings far grander than Barousse’s, even the narrowest of the bridges they crossed gilded
with ornate carvings. Rodrigo suggested they hire one of the small boats bobbing beside them in the canals to carry them on
their rounds but the Grossbarts refused, and their displeasure became compounded when their guide informed them the chief
cemetery lay on an island inaccessible by foot.

Winding through the narrow streets they spent the better part of the day purchasing chain mail shirts, shields, new boots,
clothes, satchels, and anything else they could think of when it became apparent Rodrigo paid for everything they wanted.
Their guide drew the line at a supposed Arab device wraught of iron and glass that not even the peddler could guess the purpose
of yet still demanded a small fortune to part with. Several stops at alehouses were made, and by mid-afternoon all three were
drunk. Rodrigo stumbled onto a quay, and here the Brothers were afforded their first glimpse of the sea.

“Thought it’d be bigger,” Hegel lied, having envisioned a body of water no larger than the lake outside Bad Endorf.

“Course you can’t see it all from here,” Manfried explained, mistaking cloudbanks on the horizon for the opposite shore. “Said
that pond off the Danube weren’t big as you’d thought and it still took us forever and a day to get round.”

“My brother hated the ocean,” Rodrigo murmured, “said it could not be trusted. Seems the road cannot be trusted, either.”

“Fall off a wagon, get up and walk.” Hegel swayed, staring down the quay. “Off a boat, you can’t do nuthin but die.”

“Know how to swim?” asked Rodrigo.

“You callin us witches?” Manfried shoved his beard in Rodrigo’s face.

“Any man who gets on a boat had best know what to do if he goes over its side.” Rodrigo recoiled from Manfried’s foul breath.

“Swimmin’s for fish same as flyin’s for birds,” said Hegel.

“Yes, but—”

“But nuthin. Tryin to trick us into drownin?” Manfried squinted in the twilight to see the lie in Rodrigo’s eyes.

“I meant to advise you, as any good Christian advises another, and nothing more.” Rodrigo haughtily drew away. “By Marco’s
mighty morals, I meant no trickery!”

“Marco’s that ox what minded our Arab when we showed up, yeah?” asked Hegel.

“What?” said Rodrigo. “No! Ah, yes, he is named such as well, I forget, but I meant a different Marco. The saint who guards
our city.”

“You heard a him?” Hegel asked his brother.

“Course I have,” Manfried lied.

“He rests in the basilica I pointed out earlier.” Rodrigo clumsily motioned back they way they had come.

“What’s he buried with?” Manfried followed Rodrigo’s gaze.

“Nothing,” Rodrigo said quickly, appalled at what he correctly assumed was the line of thought Manfried had embarked upon.
“Back to the manse, then.”

They arrived after dark, the tolling of church bells reminding the Grossbarts of Father Martyn. He had appeared an exceptionally
unheretical priest to the Brothers, and his donating any share of the loot they might extort from Barousse raised him in their
esteem even further. They stumbled through the kitchen, scalding their fingers when they snatched food from the pans. The
cook shooed them out, which almost provoked Manfried to strike the woman.