The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

by Jesse Bullington

  “Meanin we’s meetin with you and the Goose then,” Hegel clarified for Rodrigo.

  “Captain Barousse’s business is his own,” Rodrigo replied. “I will discuss the matter with him. But now a good bath for the lot of you, excluding the wretched Arab. He will wash in the garden pool under his guard’s supervision.”

  “I require neither guard nor bath,” Al-Gassur protested.

  “A guard is necessary to protect your odorous person from my feet, and a bath to protect my nose from yours. Now wait with Marco here.” He motioned to a horse-faced fellow of considerable size.

  A nod between the Brothers signaled the end of their journey, and they strode proudly through the gate. Martyn nervously followed, having understood along with Al-Gassur the words Rodrigo had said to his men that the Grossbarts had not. While Rodrigo had claimed he would converse with the captain before enacting his plan, both priest and Arab doubted a sea captain of criminal renown would be averse to torturing his guests to discover the truth as his man suggested. Unlike Al-Gassur, Martyn had faith that when Barousse’s men came for the Brothers they would find more blood than merely that of the Grossbarts.

  The guard who showed them to the door left them with the brawny but aged cook, and she led them through the kitchen and deposited them with a serving maid. The sharp-nosed girl took them through a rug-dappled hallway riddled with doors into a great open foyer, across which they saw an identical hall. To the right the massive front doors towered, and to the left an open stairway rose to midway up the wall, where it split into twin balconies. She led them to the second story, the trio doing what simple arithmetic they could. Manfried counted six guards in total, Hegel three tapestries and the dust squares where half a dozen more had hung, and Martyn two shapely calves on the stair above him.

  They followed the balcony to where it ended in a hallway above the one they had passed through below. Three partially filled candelabras lit the way to the first doors on the right and left, which she opened and the Grossbarts claimed. She showed them in and they ran her off.

  “Bring food!” Hegel called.

  “And drink!” seconded Manfried.

  “And fill the bath!” finished Martyn, shrugging at the dual Grossbart glares.

  She brought drink first, and when she brought the food she had to go back for more of each. After the second dinner she had time to catch her breath while they bathed, but had instructions to have a third round of both ready on their return. Braised eel, poached eggs, and sautéed carp went into their gullets with the same haste as turnip stew, although both agreed, late in the evening, in private, in their twinspeak, that indeed kings would not eat finer.

  At the end of the hall above the kitchen an iron tub larger than many fountains filled the room, a stovepipe from the kitchen helping to heat it and a shallow drainage aqueduct in the floor vanishing into a small hole. Their first warm bath they concurred was far better than a river, and decided that upon their establishing themselves in Gyptland such a luxury would be practiced twice daily. Drowsing in the water, Martyn considered telling the Brothers of what lay ahead, Hegel closed his eyes and imagined the bath full of cowards’ blood, and Manfried found himself humming a tune that made the water turn frigid.

  They bedded down but not before Martyn cracked and told the Brothers of Rodrigo’s intentions. Enigmatically, neither said much but they exchanged a look that bespoke volumes. At least, Martyn hoped for enigmatically rather than drunkenly, and prayed the volumes would be worth reading once he learned the language.

  XVIII. Beards of a Feather

  The Grossbarts slept without taking watches in their respective rooms, each starting awake several times from the comfort of his bed. Martyn had stayed in several monasteries that were far more luxurious but he had also spent months sleeping in ditches and barns, and he slept even better than the Brothers, for he had no doubts that whatever befell them he would probably go free. Stumbling to answer the rapping at his door that morning, the priest saw not a serving girl but the Brothers outfitted for battle. Hegel held a cocked crossbow in one arm and his pick in the other, Manfried the same with his mace.

  “Rodrigo has sent for us?” Martyn asked.

  Hegel grinned. “Nah, we’s gonna find him.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “Wiser than sittin in the pot til they set us on the fire.” Manfried yawned.

  “You wanna hold on to a weapon?” asked Hegel.

  “What?! No, of course not.”

  “Yeah, can’t you see his hands are bound up?” Manfried chided Hegel.

  Rodrigo cleared his throat behind them in the hall. “Sleep well?”

  Wondering why he had not felt the goosechills at Rodrigo’s approach, Hegel overcompensated by thrusting his crossbow in the man’s face. Manfried raised his mace and Martyn jumped back into his room and kicked the door shut. Rodrigo blinked at them and extended his open palms.

  “What’s this, then?” Rodrigo asked.

  “Come to torture us, you craven crumb?” Manfried demanded.

  “If that’s your purpose you should a brought more muscle,” said Hegel.

  “I wondered if the father spoke properly. Now I have my answer.” Rodrigo sighed. “The captain sends for you to dine with him this morning. If you value your pelts I would advise against such hostility, as beating the truth from you was entirely my idea, although the future feasibility of such an option is reliant on how you comport yourselves at his board. Now shall we bring the priest?”

  “Nah.” Hegel hung his pick and unstrung his bow. “We gotta have a word on private ground.”

  “Which means no flowery twats in high boots,” said Manfried.

  “I would like a word in private with you as well, Master Grossbart, but first the captain will have his,” Rodrigo growled, turning on his heel and leading them to the stairs.

  “Wager you would,” Manfried rejoined. “Though you’d be disappointed to find your head fallin to the floor stead a my breeches.”

  Rodrigo shuddered at the mental image but held his tongue. These bastards were merely tightening nooses around their necks, and Rodrigo knew if they rubbed him off-ways the captain might kill them himself before breakfast. They seemed too proud to deny murdering his brother Ennio, if indeed they had, but already he wanted to see them die simply to watch the sneers fade from their narrow lips.

  They went down the stairs and across the foyer to the hallway opposite the wing leading to the kitchen. Two men in chain mail haubergeons slouched against the wall, dipping their heads at Rodrigo. The hallway terminated in an ebon door that Rodrigo gave a series of knocks upon, each Grossbart committing the sequence to memory. Rodrigo then opened the door and motioned them to enter before him. Hegel went in first while Manfried backed into the room behind him to keep an eye on Rodrigo, who followed them in and closed the door.

  A massive table laden with plates, platters, and pitchers filled the room, and behind this sat the captain. A light red beard spilled down his shirt and disappeared under the table, instantly warming the Grossbarts to him. His advanced age was shown by his bald pate and ears that sagged with the weight of heavy gold hoops, his muscular frame drooping from lethargy. Blue eyes and a large nose and mouth jutted out from his slightly tanned face, his voluminous hands holding the largest crossbow the Brothers had ever seen. This the captain pointed vaguely between them, and when he spoke he enunciated each syllable so his meaning was not blurred by his thick accent.

  “You are the Grossbarts.” Not a question.

  “Yeah.” Hegel lamented unstringing his bow.

  “And you’s the Captain Bar Goose,” said Manfried, his palm on his mace pommel.

  “Alexius Barousse.” The captain smiled, showing a mouthful of broken teeth.

  Rodrigo said something to the captain in Italian that clouded Barousse’s face with anger, his nose swelling and his eyes narrowing. Moments before the Grossbarts jumped upon the table to battle the man he bellowed, “I will not have guests worry
they are plotted against! In their presence you will speak so they can understand or not at all!”

  “Right proper,” Hegel agreed, not trying to mask his pleasure.

  “Only honest.” Manfried beamed. “Chance we could speak without the sneak?”

  “Captain-” Rodrigo began.

  “You are no longer needed,” Barousse snarled, his chest heaving.

  “But-”

  “I know what you’re about.” Barousse slumped back in his throne-like chair. “So I’ll settle that in your presence. Your names.”

  “Huh? Oh, Hegel Grossbart.”

  “Manfried Grossbart.”

  “Have you come on any other business than returning my property?”

  “Nah, but now that we’s here there’s other business could be discussed,” Manfried answered.

  “Are you assassins?” The business end of Barousse’s crossbow stayed trained on whoever spoke.

  “We’s never killed none but them what done us wrong,” said Hegel.

  “Or those what would, given the chance,” clarified Manfried.

  “Have you brought poison to my table?”

  “Yeah, I got some in my bag,” said Hegel.

  “Only cause we didn’t trust our things to be left in our rooms,” Manfried added, giving Rodrigo the stink-eye.

  “Do you mean to kill me?” Barousse asked in the same manner in which he would offer them wine.

  “Not unless you give us cause,” said Hegel, and Manfried nodded.

  “And you’re in nobody’s employ but your own?”

  “And Mary’s,” said Hegel.

  “Meanin the Virgin,” explained Manfried.

  “Satisfied?” Barousse looked to Rodrigo.

  “How can you trust them?” Rodrigo spluttered.

  “How can they trust a man who speaks about them in code in their very presence? They can’t, and I can’t trust a man who distrusts me or my company. So out.” Barousse set the crossbow down on the table and poured himself a drink, dismissing the dumbstruck Rodrigo with a wave of his fingers. Rodrigo bowed and left without looking at the Grossbarts, slamming the door behind him.

  “Lock the door,” Barousse commanded, which Hegel did while Manfried approached the table. “Sit and eat. He’s lost a brother and you’re the ones who were there, so that sits sorely with him.”

  “Never would a pegged Ennis for the smart one.” Manfried fell upon a roast gull.

  “Rodrigo’s proved himself superior to Ennio in all matters save cart driving, which is why he went and Rodrigo stayed.” Barousse drank between words.

  “Ennio weren’t so bad in the end,” said Hegel.

  “But it’s the beginning that concerns me,” Barousse said. “My enemies are legion, hence Rodrigo’s protective nature. The green-eared lad fails to recognize that a man who can’t defend his own table isn’t fit to sit at it. Besides, you have brought back to me what Ennio failed…” Barousse lowered his voice and stared at his plate.

  After several mouthfuls of silence, Hegel guzzled some wine and cleared his throat. “We was in the mountains, headin south when we seen your ride comin towards us,” he began, and whenever he needed another bite or drink Manfried would take up the reins and continue the tale. They omitted nothing but Manfried’s fascination with the woman, even including their debate with Ennio on the ethics of their business in the churchyard. The food grew cold but still they ate and talked, and before they were finished the captain had to retrieve another bottle from the mantel to fill their glasses.

  Barousse’s hearty laughter when they told of slaying the Road Popes and burning the town endeared him to the Grossbarts, here at long last an honest man. “Many might doubt your tale,” he finally said.

  “Many oughta get hit,” Hegel observed.

  “And you say the priest pursued the same demon?”

  “Claimed to,” said Manfried, “accordin to him the man what had it in’em was a devil worshipper, meanin we kilt us a demon and a witch.”

  “And so you did kill Ennio,” Barousse mused.

  “Well, yeah,” said Manfried.

  “Better than gettin a demon in’em,” said Hegel.

  “Hmm,” said the captain, then shook his head. “Demons prowl the wilds. I know this, and I believe you. I will tell Rodrigo what you have told me, and his mood shall change or I will change it for him. Now what kind of reward do you seek for your impressive service?”

  “Gyptland,” they said together.

  “What?!”

  “Passage, rather,” amended Manfried.

  “Once we’s landed we can get it ourselves,” said Hegel.

  “Passage?”

  “You’s a captain, so that means you got a ship,” Manfried said.

  “And you want me to take you to the desert?” The captain’s face wrinkled.

  “Yeah,” belched Hegel.

  “Ridiculous,” said Barousse.

  “How’s that?” Manfried dropped a duck leg on the floor and stared at the captain.

  “I don’t sail.” The captain stared past them at the door, his fists tightening on the table until they went milky, then managed through clenched teeth: “You may stay in my home until you secure your own passage, that is your reward. We will discuss specifics later.”

  “What kind a captain don’t sail?” Manfried sneered, unprepared for the short shrift this man suggested.

  “Leave me. Now.” His florid face swelled, and that too began turning white, starting at the tip of his nose and spreading inward.

  “We can talk more later,” Hegel offered, standing and backing toward the door. The captain had made him go all cold and sober-without letting on in his face, Hegel realized that at some point the captain had picked the loaded crossbow back up.

  “Yeah, let the prospect simmer twixt your ears fore givin a final response,” Manfried agreed, knocking his chair back and following his brother.

  The captain stared wrathfully at them until Hegel unlocked the door and stepped out, Manfried backing out behind him. Pulling the door closed, they exchanged nasty looks and strode back to their rooms. Rodrigo approached them on the way to the stair but thought better of it and diverted his path down the captain’s hall. Neither brother spoke until they bolted the door in Hegel’s room.

  “You like that much’s me?” Manfried asked.

  “Mecky as it gets,” said Hegel.

  “Think he can dismiss us like that?”

  “Man’ll think a lot a things less someone shows’em his error.”

  “Only sometimes. Oft Mary’s guidance’s the only thing set one straight.”

  “Seemed a decent sort til the end there,” Hegel ruminated.

  “If he holds decent he’ll see his crime and make amends,” said Manfried, removing his boots.

  “And that Arab? We really mean to waste even a bottle on that wretch?”

  “First I was thinkin no, just get on Rodrigo’s ass a touch, but recent epiphanies got me shifted a different direction.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Know how Ponce ’s cousin and others we seen don’t speak proper? And how we can speak like we’s always done in the real proper way and even that sow what birthed us couldn’t comprehend a word?”

  “Yeah, so different folk speak different. That’s what goes under the term proper fuckin knowledge. You just figure that out?” Hegel grinned and dodged a thrown boot. Over the run of their brotherhood they had both developed an almost supernatural knack for dodging expected and surprise attacks alike.

  “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 spe
aks 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!”