The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (35 page)

Leaving Martyn to recover, the Grossbarts went to the captain’s bedchamber for the first time in the many months they had
spent under his roof. It lay across the foyer from their quarters, the entire opposite wing a single chamber. Knocking on
the door they received no answer but then he suddenly appeared behind them on the stairs, head high and jagged teeth shining
in the light of the setting sun filtering through the windows. Unlocking the brass door, he beckoned them in.

They found themselves encaged, thick iron bars stretching from floor to ceiling in a wide box around the door. Only when Barousse
had locked the door behind him did he produce another key and open the door of the cage. His room dwarfed most buildings they
had entered, with a huge tub set into the right side of the floor stretching from one end of the room to the other. Stepping
over the shallow aqueduct that led from the bath into the opposite wall they noticed the massive bed and table, ornate clothes
strewn everywhere but inside the pool. Both recognized the shimmer of stray coins underneath the flotsam of loose clothing,
and even the briny odor of the bath added to the majesty of the place.

“Can never be cautious enough,” Barousse explained, locking the cage behind them.

“Right opulent,” said Hegel.

“Yeah,” agreed Manfried, the tub immediately capturing his attention. A shadow flitted under the water without raising a ripple
and he held his breath, but she did not appear.

“Fancy it, do you?” Barousse stepped in front of Manfried, obstructing his view.

“What’s that?” Manfried blinked.

“My property.” The good-natured Barousse of the doorway had vanished, replaced by his moody doppelganger.

“Course,” Manfried said, holding Barousse’s gaze. “Anyone but a fool’ll preciate what you got.”

“Appreciate or covet?” Barousse’s fiery eyebrows wedged against each other.

“Preciate, verily,” Hegel interjected. “We’s here by your grace, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, captain.” Manfried shook his head to clear it. “What warrants our presence at Vespers when we oughta be prayin like
decent folk?”

“Pray with me, Grossbarts.” Barousse’s voice cracked and he fell to his knees before a large shrine set in an alcove, snatching
their shoulders and pulling them down with him. His beard bunched up around his neck as he whispered in another unknown language,
water leaking from his squinting eyes. The Grossbarts grumbled in their own tongue to the life-sized statue of Mary for patience,
strength, and inspiration. And lots of gold.

Then Barousse’s tone hardened, his words entered the vernacular they understood, and they began punctuating his rapid prayers
with amens:

“And grant us the will of arm and spirit to destroy those in our way, we who are kings amongst yeomen, we who have served
the lot of Job, survived the trials of Abraham, all without respite or mercy. We will not let them slander us and the good
Lord through us, and we will not surrender to those blasphemous idolaters who control the Church and the city. We will be
His Sword and His Vengeance on the betrayers of man and God!”

Barousse’s voice rose to a roar, and he bruised their shoulders under his fierce clutch. “We will be the horsemen returned,
the Scythe of the Lord! We will hack our way to the deserts despoiled by the Infidel! We will hurl their souls to Judgment,
and those of their bastard families with them! We will take what they have stolen! We will kill as He kills until there are
none but we left in the Holy Land! Every loss we have suffered will be avenged upon His enemies ten thousandfold!”

Hegel nodded and amened, but Manfried’s attention drifted to the pool beside him, and then he saw her for the first time since
they arrived. Without making a sound she had emerged from the water and bridged her arms on the rim of the tub, her pointy
chin resting atop her hands. She blinked her almond eyes, her face and hair slick and dripping onto her tub-obscured chest.
Then she smiled and disappeared silently under the surface before Manfried could get a proper gaze at her. He realized she
must be nude, and nervously glanced at Barousse and Hegel, who were both shouting now.

“And blood and fire from Mary!” Hegel hollered.

“And the moon will plummet, raising the tides to swallow the flourishing Sodoms! Avignon and Roma, Paris and Praha! München
and London and Jerusalem and Cairo and Constantinople! The heathen East and the heretical West alike! Damn them all!”

“Damn them all!”

“Damn.” Manfried swallowed, then, seeing the statue of the Virgin jump toward them, “Damn!”

“Enlightenment is upon you, Grossbarts!” bellowed Barousse, holding them tighter lest they flee or attack the moving statue.
He need not have worried, for the draft tickling their beards told the truth. The seasoned Grossbarts snatched hold of Mary
and pulled her farther out, allowing the winded Rodrigo to emerge from the passage. He stank of fish and mold but his frigid
countenance warmed at the embrace Barousse delivered upon him.

“Success, my son?” Barousse squeezed Rodrigo.

“Success,” Rodrigo squeaked, the tears on his cheeks more from the captain’s choice of words than his ferocious hug. “Here
he is.”

Barousse released the young man and turned to the fellow the Grossbarts stared at. The sinewy man blinked and pushed back
the wisps of hair in his pale eyes, the Grossbarts recognizing him for a beast of pure muscle and vigor despite his years.
The captain and the man sized each other up, a faint smile playing at Barousse’s beard.

“Captain,” the man clipped, bowing his head, and then Barousse hoisted him up and spun him around, laughing.

“Angelino!” Barousse said when he managed to quell his joy and set his friend down. “Too long, too long!”

“No fault of mine, Captain.” Angelino winked.

“Alexi, always Alexi to you!”

“And that’ll be
Captain
Angelino to you, from what the boy says.” The new arrival grinned.

“Well, well, well.” Barousse feigned amazement. “Captain, eh? Fair enough, though I would have had you my mate again on the
old haunt if time would permit.”

“The trappings may seem lesser, and the title as well, but if we indeed have a day’s notice a few of the old bones can be
unearthed and dried out enough to join us. According to his nephew here Sergio won’t be putting in for another few weeks,
which is doubly ill for he kept a bit better watch than I on where the crew’s drifted over the lonely—”Angelino peered over
Barousse’s shoulder and blanched, then slapped his friend in the face.

Only with the barrage of Italian Angelino emitted did the Brothers notice they had spoken in German before. Barousse’s entire
face turned the color of his reddening cheek and he swelled up to smite the smaller man, who shouted and shook an accusatory
finger in Barousse’s face. Rodrigo recognized the dire turn and, seizing Angelino, dragged him back. Hegel knew better than
to touch the trembling captain, instead stepping in his line of sight and offering him a bottle.

“Nuthin a drink won’t fix,” Hegel announced. “Why’s it you two was talkin proper and switched to Papal, eh?”

Barousse let out the breath he had bottled since being hit and focused on Hegel, snatching the wine from him. Angelino had
thrown off Rodrigo and now dressed down the younger fellow, punctuating his rant with gestures at Hegel and the captain. Barousse
guzzled the entire bottle, red spilling down his beard onto his boots. Then he dropped the wine, pushed aside Hegel, then
Rodrigo, and threw his arms around Angelino, crying like a fresh orphan. Rodrigo hurried over to Hegel and walked him to the
narrow window overlooking the garden, which they both found intensely interesting while Barousse blubbered and snotted all
over Angelino’s shoulder, the older man’s fury gone as quickly as the captain’s.

Hegel peered down at the lamp-lit garden and the reflecting pool where he and his brother had clandestinely practiced swimming
when all in the house slept. Looking back around the room, he saw Manfried lurking at the edge of the bath. Containing his
own rage, he succeeded in crossing the room without arousing Barousse’s or Angelino’s attention, the two now exchanging whispered
oaths.

“What’re you doin?” Hegel snarled, noting the silhouette ghosting about under the water.

“Just lookin.” Manfried would not meet his brother’s eye, clumsily stowing something in his bag.

“Keep away from there,” Angelino called to them, and all three hurried back to the altar.

“My word, my word,” Barousse mumbled, having sat on a chest.

“Course, sir.” Angelino nodded. “These lads’ll come with me now, then?”

The Grossbarts looked to the captain, who nodded but did not return their gaze. “I’ll need them back fore dawn.”

“That the chest, then?” Angelino smiled.

“Yes.” Barousse wearily stood and clapped Angelino on the arm, his good spirits returning. “It is, it is. And remember, sparse
at best. Less mouths to feed.”

“On that end I’ll fit us with water and supplies and what few can be trusted for such a jaunt.”

“Angelino,” Barousse swallowed, “I intend to avenge myself on the doge, meaning we’ll be hunted if ever we return with less
than an army behind us. Still in league?”

“No question,” Angelino said. “Now let’s see what you got here.”

The chest contained gold bars. Hegel and Manfried saw Mary’s Mercy shining up at them and silently gave thanks. Then they
began stuffing them into the leather satchels provided by Barousse until not a speck of gold dust glittered in the empty box.
Rodrigo and Angelino could not carry as much, which suited the Grossbarts perfectly. Leaving the captain to prepare, they
followed Rodrigo into the chute behind the Virgin, clambering down iron bars set into the wall.

The rungs were mossy and the satchels heavy, and twice Rodrigo almost slipped but caught himself. The bath’s aqueduct emptied
into the shaft, the stink of mold a familiar tonic to the Grossbarts. Angelino’s boots rained filth down on Manfried, prompting
him to hurry and thus increasing the muck he dislodged upon his brother.

The sound of running water rose up around them, and then Hegel went weak in the knees when his feet found slick stones instead
of a rung. Rodrigo flicked his flint, burning their eyes. Not until Manfried and Angelino reached the bottom did the wick
catch, illuminating the pit.

Stone and earth bled together along the walls with only the narrow shelf they stood on evidencing the channel’s man-made nature.
In the dim light the waters were black as the walls and ceiling, the path obvious as the shelf broke off a few feet downstream.
Rodrigo led them along the mildew-rank outcropping, their pace sluggish to avoid slipping over the edge. Across from them
smaller channels intermittently joined the main flow, fell breezes wafting along the streams.

A narrow canal emerged from the wall in front of them, dirty water pouring over their shelf. Rodrigo knelt and shone the candle
up the passage, and with a sigh stepped into the stream. The rushing water came up to his knees, and he plodded up this new
channel with the others following. The ceiling sank lower until all four were hunched over like flagellants, the frigid canal
deepening to their waists. Those reproachable Grossbarts naturally felt at ease, and wished they had learned of this part
of the city earlier.

“I do not know if our captain had these built or if they were already here,” Rodrigo explained as they moved away from the
roaring main flow. “Have to mind sudden storms; a shower above will fill these in an instant.”

“Figured all a them canals might lead to a place like this.” Hegel nodded. “But what’s it for?”

“It is for nothing,” said Rodrigo, “save for us.”

“Why’s it you and the captain speak proper to one another?” Manfried asked Angelino.

“Custom,” Angelino said, ducking under some dangling rot. “Many here and more abroad don’t speak it so we got in the habit
of that. Less worry of your words being stolen if they’re not understood.”

“Sound,” Manfried agreed.

“Easy on,” Hegel growled, his brother having walked into him.

“Quiet,” Rodrigo whispered, blowing out his candle.

All eyes picked up on a faint oval of yellow ahead of them in the black. Rodrigo did not advance to the canal’s mouth, however,
but crept forward only a few feet, brushing the clammy ceiling with his free hand. Tripping after him in the current, Hegel
saw him stop and then stand erect, his head and shoulders vanishing into the ceiling. Rodrigo began climbing, and stepping
after him Hegel saw a hole open above and, groping for rungs, followed him up.

This shaft widened as they climbed the short distance to the surface, the odor of rotting fish overpowering their senses.
Rodrigo stopped so they all stopped, and he awkwardly reached up and fiddled with something. With a metallic squeak he freed
his quarry, and several pounds of putrid fish and crustaceans cascaded down on them. Rodrigo crawled up and out of sight,
then Hegel went through, and he turned to help his brother and Angelino.

Thick iron bars covered the mouth of the pit, but Rodrigo had freed one and rolled it aside. Their eyes watered from the heap
of decomposing sea fruits choking most of the grate, generations of interlocking bones and scales preventing the mass from
slipping down to its intended grave. With the others shaking the filth off, Rodrigo gave the dark alley another glance before
kneeling and refitting the dislodged bar.

The pack of stray dogs they had frightened off with their unexpected appearance slunk back, growling at the interlopers. Before
Hegel could brain the closest beast Rodrigo reminded them of the necessity of secrecy, and that making the pack howl with
pain and bark with fury would not be in their interest. They circumvented the animals, who returned to gorging themselves
on the freshest and rolling in the oldest of the refuse. The candles remained unlit but after the sunken avenues the waning
moon served well enough, Angelino replacing Rodrigo as guide.

As the older man led them through the labyrinthine passages Hegel sometimes felt eyes watching from side avenues and black
windows, but they met no one on the streets. Small bridges were delicately trod, the report of boot on wood breaking the stillness
that earthen streets afforded them. The sound of the sea grew, feeding the Grossbarts’ unease. Having avoided the city’s pageantries
as strictly as they abstained from fasting during Lent, the Grossbarts’ only indications of the Venetian people’s character
came from the dour men skulking in the streets and rowing through the canals when the Brothers had vainly quested for a landlocked
cemetery. The tomb-burglars assumed they might be sold out for half a ducat by any and all witnesses to their nocturnal sojourn.