The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (42 page)

“What’s that mean,
turnin into what she really is
?”

“Witches do that, brother.” Hegel’s nausea returned. “They can hide themselves, make’em look different, make’em look like
somethin a man would want, somethin a man couldn’t refuse.”

Manfried’s laughter was genuine, which made Hegel’s bile roil up even hotter as his brother laid into him. “So cause we kilt
us a witchy-man up in them mountains and seen that other you’s a damn authority on’em? Maybe stead a headin south we could
move up to Praha, get you work at that universalality they’s built so’s you could teach the world all bout witchery!”

“Listen.” Hegel choked his stomach back down his throat where it belonged. “Listen.”

“I’s listenin, you just keep sayin
listen
,
listen
.” Manfried smiled.

“No you ain’t, you’s doin what you always do and makin fun a me, when I’s tryin to save your soul and your skin besides.”
Hegel wanted to strike his brother, to tie Manfried down and make his condescending eyes see the same vision that had burned
Hegel’s brain.

“All right, brother, calm your damn self, I’s listenin,” Manfried sighed.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” Manfried laughed again but stopped at the seriousness of Hegel’s expression. “Right, right.”

“Now imagine you’s in Gyptland, in a big old graveyard, and you’s in the middle a all them princely barrows, crackin into
the biggest tomb a them all.”

“Easily done. Where you at?”

“Shut it! Pretend I’s dead.”

“What?” Manfried opened his eyes, “Don’t jest bout that sort a thing.”

“Just do it, you mecky bastard!”

“Fine! You’s dead, brother, dead as that cardinal! And I’s in the biggest cemetery in Gyptland, at the biggest crypt in the
place.” Manfried closed his eyes, the fantasy setting a familiar one that occupied his thoughts for at least an hour on any
given day.

“Now wait fore you blurt out somethin, just wait til I say when to answer this next part. The crucial aspect is you hold that
tongue a yours, if you’s able.”

Manfried remained silent to prove he could, though it irked him. Hegel continued, “So you crack open the door, and quick,
think bout it but don’t say, would you rather see a big heap a gold or that woman reclinin on the floor, smilin up at you?”

Manfried’s grin turned as south as a Grossbart’s predilection and his face drained of color but he did not open his eyes.
Hegel relaxed, seeing the severity of the situation had finally sunk in. Neither spoke for a long time, and finally Manfried
cracked one lid, then the other. Hegel thought he detected a tear shining but it might have been a stray reflection of the
glorious sunset they were missing in the dank hold.

“Let’s kill us a witch,” said Manfried, jumping to his feet.

“Easy on, Master Inquisitor.” Hegel rose and filled the cup, passing it to his livid brother. “Gotta ruminate on the proper
way to handle this.”

“Simple. Bash her face and hack off her limbs. Cut up them pieces into smaller ones and burn’em. Take care not to breathe
the smoke.”

“When I get that post up in Praha I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Burnin’s what’s done with witches, as you well know from experience and common fuckin knowledge besides.”

“Considerin this boat’s nuthin but kindlin, that oughta be simple,” said Hegel. “Course, we could save ourselves the bother
and just jump into the sea right now.”

“What you suggest we do? Sit down here and wait for the witchery to get outta hand?”

“Seein’s you’s accepted she’s a witch implies to me the situation what was outta hand’s played back into ours.” Hegel motioned
above. “But I doubt the honorable Barousse’ll come round so simple. So we wait til he’s below and she’s above, then we pitch’er
to the fishes.”

“That’s sound, seein’s how fraid a water she is.”

“That’s why I’s always on you, you cunt, cause soon’s it’s your turn to point out a minor flaw in a plan you get airy as the
goddamn moon on me. So we’ll hack off her head and cut out her heart, keep’em stowed on the boat till such time as we can
burn’em, and toss the rest a her brineways.”

“That’s better thinkin, but hold that tongue, others approach.” Manfried nodded to the legs coming down the ladder.

“Sure, brother, seein’s how they can’t even speak proper I’s sure they’ll understand what we say in a tongue that not even
thems what can speak proper understand. Sound, sound.”

Above deck, Barousse’s eyes raised to his intended, still perched on the prow like a petrel. He tried to recall the face of
his drowned wife Mathilde but could not, unaware that as he did he whispered her name. Angelino tactfully departed to harangue
one of his men for a slack tacking of the sails.

When the sun departed Angelino went below, followed by his old mate Giuseppe, two sailors named Karl and Lucian, Sir Jean,
and finally his keeper, Raphael. Of the newcomers Raphael had proved the most useful, being young and strong, whereas Sir
Jean and Martyn had only two fit arms between them.

Al-Gassur had stayed up late the previous night whittling a peg to replace the one he had dropped when fleeing Barousse’s
burning manor, and to his relief none had seemed to notice his shifts from cripple to biped to cripple again. He remained
atop the foremast, watching the moon rise from his crossbeam. The woman below did not escape his notice, and as the city of
his birth was home to Christians, Turks, and travelers of all sorts, he alone of those who had ever laid eyes upon her recognized
her features as distinctly Eastern. He did not stare long, however, for every time he stole a glance she would cock her head
and return it, her smile reflecting the moonlight.

Not wishing to leave Barousse alone with only the woman and an Arab, before retiring Angelino called for more hands. Merli
and the other sleeping sailors, Leone and Cosimo, were roused and went above, cheese and bread in hand. The Grossbarts followed,
not wishing to spend another moment around the whining knight.

Cardinal Martyn regaled Sir Jean, Raphael, and the sailors with the ballad of the Brothers Grossbart as well as he knew it,
embellishing nothing. Angelino joined them, eating and drinking in silence. Giuseppe reminded Angelino that never before had
he permitted such things spoken of on his vessel, but coming from a member of the church Angelino allowed it. Until, that
is, Martyn came to his fifth cup of beer and the slaying of the heretical Buñuel, at which point Karl and Lucian blanched
and Angelino stood with a forced laugh.

“Enough tales for one night,” Angelino said. “Now let’s get some rest so by dawn Leone, Cosimo, and Merli may get theirs,
as well as those heroic champions who now toil at our meager sails.”

“It’s all true.” Martyn clambered to his feet. “Do not doubt them or my telling of them, lest you risk His Wrath.”

“You risk some wrath of your own, talking such things as demons and witches on this boat.” Giuseppe stood as well.

“Come, sir.” Raphael pressed another cup into Martyn’s shaking hands. “Get us some sleeps, yes? And in the morn you could
lead ourselves in prayers, and after hear mine own confession?”

“Certainly, certainly.” Martyn bobbed his head, looking even older than his many years.

“Sleeps good.” Raphael excused himself, assisting Martyn to a bunk and crawling into one closer to the main room, where he
overheard Sir Jean whispering his situation to Angelino. To the guard’s relief, Angelino laughed Sir Jean off and trudged
past him to a bunk of his own, followed by Karl and Lucian. Even the tart-faced Giuseppe would hear none of it, leaving the
knight to nurse his arm and the beer barrel.

Above deck, the Grossbarts devoted themselves to learning the nuances of sailing. They shouted back and forth to the captain
at the stern but mostly listened to Cosimo and Leone, their assistance being constantly required on the two masts. Merli mumbled
to himself the whole night but not once did he address his colleagues. The Brothers’ work would have proved easier had they
stowed their weapons below deck, but even leaving their layers of plate and chain below had taxed their nerves.

The waning moon and clear sky allowed the twins to take in the details of the sails and rigging, but their refusal to ask
for instructions or admit any errors forced the experienced sailors to work twice as hard. Manfried lost his balance drawing
his mace upon discovering the Arab atop his mast, and while the Grossbart recovered Al-Gassur scampered down. Such pleasant
distractions were rare, however, and by dawn the Grossbarts agreed that of all the modes of travel, none stank worse than
sailing. For their triumphant return from Gyptland they resolved to fill a canoe with loot and simply row their way home.

At dawn they retreated to their bunks after another huge repast. Undoubtedly, of all the ships sailing all the seas that year,
theirs was the finest-provisioned. Barousse slept alone in the storeroom when his intended would not come down from the figurehead,
and all were asleep before the sun had fully risen.

Day and night rotated several more times, although to the Grossbarts’ consternation Sir Jean’s wound improved despite his
complaining. Martyn and Al-Gassur drank more and more, the cardinal blessing the cups and bottles before each sip to purge
the taint of heresy. Al-Gassur’s insistence of his Christianity did little to assuage Martyn’s doubts. He had never heard
of a Christian Arab, and in the absence of a Christian pope, he himself remained the absolute authority on earth.

Sir Jean spoke little, working the sails lest Raphael be permitted to physically coerce him. The knight ineffectually tried
to convince himself things were not as bad as they could be—he had escaped his enormous debts, after all. Raphael ingratiated
himself to the Grossbarts by constantly ridiculing Sir Jean and telling them of the epic battles of the White Company, in
which he had served as a lieutenant for a short while before realizing how miserable an occupation it was. This Hawkwood fellow
in charge of the mercenary army seemed like a good sort considering he besieged the Pope until he got what he wanted, although
his Britannic lineage seemed highly doubtful in light of his supposed prowess.

The sailors grew warier still of the cardinal, especially when their confessions were met with giggles and an unseemly pressing
for details when carnal sins were admitted. While relieved the ship had not sunk and none of his men had drowned, Angelino
hated the woman’s presence on the prow, and once he saw Barousse slip her a fresh fish that should have gone to him as captain.
The suspicious and displeased mate Giuseppe held his tongue regarding the woman but slyly gathered information from the besotted
cardinal regarding the Brothers’ presence in the house of Barousse.

The Grossbarts did as Grossbarts have always done, drinking and scrapping and eating far more than their fair share. With
a half moon in the sky they clambered up the ladder for another night at the rigging. Hegel let his brother lead so he could
watch the back of his head and ensure it did not tilt toward the woman. When Manfried turned to have a word with Barousse
at the stern, Hegel did exactly what he had instructed his brother not to do.

The waves broke just below her, the spray causing her wet black hair to swirl around her head, shining green and blue by moonlight.
Pressed closer by his instinct, Hegel climbed the stairs onto the bow, where he made out her milky arms resting on the dark
wood of the figurehead she straddled. The linen sheet clung to her and trailed down into the black water, but through it he
saw that her glossy white skin darkened whenever the sea doused her with another wave.

The water sent ripples of blackness up her legs and arms, her flesh erupting in a dark rash that faded as soon as the spray
fell and the water dripped from her. He craned his head farther as another wave broke, trying to catch a glimpse of what effect
it had on her face. Then his boot slipped on the deck, and he tumbled forward, only to have Manfried seize his beard and yank
him back. Instead of pitching over the front of the ship he fell back, bruising his scarred buttock on the platform.

She twisted around to watch them, smiling the smile that has damned men and women and ships and empires. The Grossbarts stared
back, even Hegel moved by her unwholesome but absolute beauty. Barousse appeared between them, casting his finger at her.

“I’ve told you!” the captain raged, “leave them be! I’ve been true as my word, what more do you want?!”

Her lips parted, and all three leaned in to hear the first words to ever leave her mouth. Her small teeth stretched further
and, completing the yawn, she turned back to the sea. Barousse took a step forward and Hegel stood, Manfried’s hand going
to his mace. After a long silence Barousse wheeled and stomped back to the stern.

Leone and Cosimo watched, but seeing no more would come of it they hailed the Grossbarts to lend a hand. Hurrying away from
her, Hegel understood his brother’s fascination better, and he cursed himself for almost making a similar error. Manfried
restrained his urge to smite her where she sat and went to work, gnawing his lip until it stained his beard.

Everyone slept in his bunk save Martyn and Al-Gassur, the cardinal praying while the Arab pretended to do the same, getting
ever more intoxicated. When Martyn’s quiet prayer rose to a wailing canticle Al-Gassur could stand no more and went above
deck. Turning away from the masts to avoid being impressed, he went up to the bow and sat behind the returned captain.

The brine splashing from below mingled with that flowing from her eyes as the ship at long last entered suitable waters, and
she stood on the figurehead. She held no hope of Alexius returning her to her distant home, yet he had brought her this far,
and for that she could almost forget the years of bondage, years that were dull but flitted by so quickly she scarce noticed.
He knew what came next, for she had shown him, and he was eager to pay the final cost to settle the matter.

Ever since reaching the lagoon outside Venezia she had fought the urge to return, but the sea is deep and dark and not all
regions are half as accommodating as the balmy waters where her kind had always flourished. Although she was once hailed as
a goddess, over the long centuries men had come to regard her and her sisters as mere devils or monsters. She was entirely
indifferent about the shift, for she craved the veneration of humans no more now than she had in ages past. She simply wanted
the freedom she had always enjoyed, aside from her various tenures as land-wife to those eager fools who sought her company.