“Get to Hell,” Manfried spit. “See this bastard don’t get so much’s a knife long as he’s on this boat.”
“Why not a knife for him?” Raphael asked, gingerly touching his broken nose and wincing.
“Cause he can’t be trusted!” Manfried shook his head in frustration.
“Yes, so why not a knife for him?” Raphael gestured toward his throat.
“Cause Hegel’s restored his grace and we ain’t forsaken murderers!” Manfried rapped Raphael’s brow. “Now get a move on helpin me cross that French.”
“Thanks to the Virgin!” Al-Gassur announced his presence, having had time to swallow his disappointment. “Bless Her as She blessed you and he and even I! A miracle!”
Under the pretext of helping untangle the excess rigging to lift Sir Jean, Al-Gassur went to the side of the forgotten Captain Barousse. He had watched the entire event from where he lay trussed between the masts, several times serving as a stone for men to topple over in the battle. His placid eyes and expressionless face transformed at the sight of the Arab, however, tears brimming even as a grin split his swollen face.
After discovering Sir Jean’s jettisoning of every crust and crumb-including both of the Brother’s private food satchels from their bunks-Manfried rooted through all the bags in the common room, and ransacked the other bunks looking for hidden cheese or sausage. He found enough to last him a day, and again cursed their recent softness. They should have stashed extra provisions somewhere lest this sort of idiocy transpire. Making sure none approached the ladder he took the slightest of sips from his personal waterskin, rolling the water around in his mouth with his eyes closed. Then he filled a bucket from the beer barrel, thanking the Virgin that had not tipped like the water.
XXV. The Monotonous Sea
Hegel quickly recovered enough to direct the others about, but the sunlight playing on the sails and the gentle ocean distracted him. Raphael and Lucian used the two nooses intended for the Grossbarts on Sir Jean’s arms while Martyn attempted to administer confession to the pain-maddened knight. Unable to decipher the nauseating sounds and loath to look upon him, Martyn hurried through the last rites. Had Hegel noticed the cardinal’s actions he would have tossed him overboard but the Grossbart had adopted a contemplative mood, which he thought befitting for one recently risen from the grave.
When Raphael informed Hegel of Sir Jean’s readiness for punishment the Grossbart ordered the corpses of Giuseppe and Leone given to the sea following a thorough search of their persons for valuables. Manfried reappeared, lugging up the bucket of beer for his brother. He noticed Al-Gassur whispering to the bound Barousse and helped his brother stand so they could hold council with the captain.
“Another miracle,” Hegel pronounced.
“Glad you’s returned to your senses,” said Manfried.
The captain said something in Italian to Al-Gassur and both giggled, staring up at the Grossbarts.
“See now.” Hegel scowled. “None a that.”
“My brother informs me you both look ridiculous,” said Al-Gassur.
Manfried informed Al-Gassur of the prudence of silence by slapping his face until his hand stung. At the first blow Barousse set to baying like a hound and straining at his ropes, snapping his chipped teeth at the Grossbarts. Hegel responded by pouring wine into his biting mouth. The captain calmed at the taste, and tilted his neck to better guzzle.
Kicking the Arab toward the ladder, Manfried ordered him below. “Get Rigo to come help reinstate the captain in his quarters.”
“Barousse,” Hegel said, “you’s all right now, Captain?”
Barousse removed his lips from the bottle and spit wine in Hegel’s face.
“She’s dead,” Hegel hissed, “dead as the rest a them what’d undo us. And now we’s Gyptland-bound. Look to Mary, Captain, look to Her!”
Barousse pissed himself, his eyes rolling back and red drool coursing between his jagged teeth. Hegel sighed, the sight of the once-great man so reduced oddly reminding him of his formidable hunger. Manfried returned from running off the Arab, and hearing Hegel’s stomach complain, opened his sack. They moved downwind of the captain to eat, and Lucian and Raphael went below rather than ask the Grossbarts for a share. They soon returned, even paler than before.
“What will mine ownself eat?” said Raphael.
“Here.” Hegel tore a portion off his cheese wheel and tossed it his way. “Drink enough ale you won’t feel the pangs so.”
Sir Jean lazily dangled between the masts, and Lucian began punching his naked chest and screaming in Italian. The Grossbarts had a laugh at this, although only his cheese prevented Raphael from becoming equally hysterical. Below deck he had tried to get some information from Rodrigo on how they might catch fish but the man had been unwilling or incapable of speech after hearing Raphael’s account of the previous night’s madness and the change wrought upon their captain. That Lucian and Rodrigo-the only two people on board who knew anything about sailing and the sea-were clearly pessimistic about their lot rattled Raphael’s nerves.
The new and terrible emotions killing a fellow human being stirred inside Rodrigo mingled with his concern for his captain, and to escape the howls of the Arab emanating from the storeroom he eventually went above deck. His puffy eyes were ill prepared for the radiance of the sun, and by the time they adjusted enough for him to squint and make out the deck he saw that the joint efforts of the remaining crew had resulted in Sir Jean’s crucifixion on the crossbeam of the foremast. Ignoring the sadistic turn events had taken, he slowly walked to where the captain lay.
The bound Barousse ignored Rodrigo, his eyes fixed on the sea. Rodrigo sat beside him on the deck, and without knowing exactly why, laid his head on the captain’s shoulder. Closing his eyes, the young man wondered if life would ever be enjoyable again. Then Barousse bit into his ear.
Yanking away, Rodrigo left his right earlobe in Barousse’s mouth. Clapping his good hand to the wound, Rodrigo stared at the captain as he chewed. Rodrigo stumbled away, weeping from more than the searing pain.
Witnessing Rodrigo’s mishap and unconsciously touching his own cropped ear, Manfried called for Lucian and Raphael, and while Rodrigo watched they unwrapped the captain’s ropes and maneuvered him to the ladder. Barousse would not or could not stand, so they dragged him and lowered him down to the common room. From there the three men went down and Rodrigo stumbled up the stern to Cardinal Martyn. The two men did not speak but stared behind them at the point where the emerald sea met the golden sky.
Late in the day the Grossbarts insisted Rodrigo and Lucian ensure their course remained true. Even if either had known much about navigation any maps stowed in the storeroom had gone with their food into the brine. With everyone except Al-Gassur and Barousse working at the sails the two sailors could not be sure they were directed anywhere save generally southeast. Both had insisted they should cut north in search of land where food and a new crew could be taken on, but the Grossbarts would hear none of it, insisting faith would suffice.
That night Rodrigo, doubting he would live long enough to find a more acceptable man of the cloth, attempted to unburden himself by speaking with Martyn. Concerned for the souls of his captain and his brother even more than for his own, the injured fellow was disappointed when the cardinal insisted on confessing to him instead, raving of demons and the death of his lover Elise. Raphael stayed awake even after Lucian, Martyn, and Rodrigo drifted off, trying futilely to pick out comprehensible words from the Grossbarts drinking above deck and the voices from the storeroom.
After much debate, Manfried’s logic regarding the purifying nature of flame won out and the Brothers set to building a fire on Sir Jean’s shield. By its light they saw his silhouette flat against the sail, a wide stain running down beneath him. Hegel suggested they test it on the Arab in the morning, a wise course by Manfried’s estimation. As a final precaution Hegel only cut from the twin tails farthest from where they joined her human skin.
&nb
sp; They stayed up most of the night smoking the meat, hoping the delicious aroma did not mask poison or curse. After the lid to the hold and the chairs from the forecastle were ash they agreed they had enough to last until Gyptland, provided they ate sparingly. So they hacked off part of the railing and smoked another pile, now getting dangerously close to where questionable meat became cannibalism. This they hid in their sacks and pitched the coals into the ocean, disappointed that the waves gobbled up the pleasant hissing they longed for.
They slept in shifts while the stars twisted and the ship rocked, both grown accustomed enough to the motion that they no longer became sick. Manfried spent his watch patrolling the deck and squinting at the impenetrable depths. Hegel spent his at the top of the mast, whispering to Sir Jean the theories he feared to tell his brother. He felt safe in doing so for the knight had finally died in the long interval between his crucifixion and Hegel’s taking him into his confidence. Neither brother touched the sails or rudder, imagining that such actions might indicate their lack of reliance on the Will of Mary.
Raphael led the exodus from below shortly after dawn, Rodrigo glumly accompanying Lucian and Martyn. The Grossbarts greeted them in their customary fashion, which is to say they ignored them. Raphael cleared his throat, and when the Brothers did not respond, he turned to the other three.
“We’ve got fish to catch,” Raphael said in Italian.
“What I say bout talkin that code?” Manfried demanded, now paying attention.
“The sailor doesn’t speak any other way,” Rodrigo sighed, motioning to Lucian. “All he said was we should try for some fish, but I don’t know how he means to do that with the net’s moorings ripped off along with the winch.”
“Drink ale,” said Hegel, “and pray.”
“Yes!” Martyn agreed, “it’s the only means!”
“What are they saying?” Lucian whispered to Raphael in Italian.
“That we’ll eat you if you keep talking,” was the mercenary’s response, and that quieted him.
“Fish’s been caught,” Manfried announced, “but fore anyone eats we feed it to the Arab. Check it ain’t rotten or poisonous.”
The incredulous group all spoke at once, but Manfried dismissed them with a wave of his loaded crossbow. They noticed the flanks of smoked meat laid out on the deck and their mouths watered, more than one moving to snatch a piece. The crossbow brought them short, and now Hegel stood on the edge of the hold and addressed them.
“We’ll eat if the Arab’s alive by sundown,” Hegel rasped, “and neither me nor my brother nor any a yous’ll have a taste til then. Now mind Rigo, as he instructs you on how to steer this raft to Gyptland.”
Manfried took a large hunk below, leaving the men to untangle the rigging and fiddle with the sails. They had shoved the beer barrel in front of the door, Rodrigo having smashed the latch the day before. With a few groans Manfried slid it back enough for him to push through. Al-Gassur apparently valued his life enough to have not untied Barousse but the two lay side by side in the center of the room, four eyes shining at Manfried.
“Got somethin for you to eat, Arab,” said Manfried.
Al-Gassur had not grown lax as the Grossbarts nor as unfortunate as they, his satchel still bulging with fruit, cheese, sausage, and bread he had nicked prior to Sir Jean’s ejection of the provisions. This, compounded with the mutual distrust he shared with the Grossbarts, dissuaded him from accepting any such gifts. The brief period he had spent in their company cautioned against outright refusal, however.
“Many blessings to you, dearest Manfried,” Al-Gassur cooed. “Perhaps you’ve also deigned to feed our captain, and also brought something to wet our tongues?”
“All a them empty bottles beside yous implies drinks been provided from that crate,” Manfried observed. “And for the captain, everyone knows fish ain’t proper for those ill a mind, which is why I brung’em cheese.”
“Fish, for me?” Al-Gassur suspicions increased along with his supplications. “Please, honest Manfried, deliver me this too-worthy feast!”
Manfried tossed him the fish, waiting until the Arab had bitten off several pieces and swallowed before turning away. The sight of Barousse eyeing them like a simple beast annoyed him to no end, and he wished the captain would either perish or recover. Still, Mary’s Will would be served, inscrutable though it may have been to Grossbarts and lesser men alike. Shoving the barrel back into place, he did not see Al-Gassur spit out the meat he had concealed in his cheek.
“They’re eating her?” Barousse laughed and cried.
“Our wife,” Al-Gassur moaned, pressing the fishy pulp against his cheek.
“My bride.”
“How shall we avenge her?”
“With their blood,” Barousse wept, “with their bones and souls.”
“She is gone,” Al-Gassur lamented, “gone, gone, gone.”
“But you shall have another.” Barousse’s sob melted into a cackle. “You’ll bring another up, and she’ll be yours, while I swim with mine through what estates the kelp grants us. More than their Mary, more than my Mathilde.”
“What do you mean?”
“Release me, brother.” Barousse became perfectly calm. “Cut my bonds, and I’ll show you.”
Deranged as he had become, Al-Gassur still balked at the request. Stalling, he said, “The Grossbarts will return, I am sure of it. Better we wait until the sun is gone and they shun this room.”
“Avenge us when I go, brother, and you’ll be rewarded.” Barousse closed his eyes and hummed a tune they both knew well, though his simple human instrument failed to capture its essence.
Above, the men had discovered where the meat had come from when Lucian peered into the hold. After he recovered from fainting he crawled away from Hegel, gibbering every prayer he knew. Raphael was likewise disgusted and swore he would die before putting such vileness in his mouth, Martyn encouraging his denial of witch flesh as a source of sustenance. Rodrigo smiled at their indignation, not at all surprised by this newest sin but unwilling to partake. He climbed a mast while they murmured their disapproval out of range of Grossbart ears.
Of all the men, excluding the risen Hegel, Rodrigo had suffered the worst injuries the day before. The patch of exposed skull on his scalp, his punctured hand, and his masticated ear still bothered him less than the decline of his captain, the only family he had left. Sitting on the crossbeam beside Sir Jean’s wilting head he looked to the sea, wondering how he could go on if Barousse died.
The day meandered by, the men’s despair countered by the Grossbarts’ optimism. Surely the sandy lands of gold lay behind the next cloudbank, and even late into the afternoon they watched the horizon expectantly, positive that any moment a shore would appear. It did not, and while the winds were stronger at night the men were exhausted and again went to bed hungry in their bunks. That Al-Gassur seemed fit as ever did not sway any but the Grossbarts to sample her flesh.
The Grossbarts ate copiously, arguing whether their meal tasted good or not. Manfried found it gamier than most aquatic meat, while Hegel thought it especially fishy. His dislike of four-legged beasts in no way impinged on his enjoyment of their seared flesh and organs.
“Odd,” Hegel said after they had eaten, “we’s seen us what now, three witches and three monsters?”
“You’s calculatin improper,” Manfried belched.
“How’s that?”
“One monster, that mantiloup or what have you, the witch what served’em-”
“He served her,” Hegel interjected.
“Moot. Then we got that witch come with the pig. And he got a demon in’em, so that’s one more a each.”
“That’s where you’s off, cause the man’s a witch, the demon in’em’s a demon, and that pig makes three.”
“Three what? No, shut it. That pig was a pig was a pig. A pig what got a demon in it after we kilt the witch.” Manfried shook his head at his brother’s obtuseness.
“How you know it were
n’t his servant, or the Devil?”
“I don’t, same as you, so in the absence a evidence we’s gonna assume it was simple swine got possessed by a demon.”
“If it was Old Scratch he wouldn’t well let some mecky demon in’em.” Hegel reasoned. “Would a come at us himself.”
“See, that’s bein sensible.” Manfried was impressed. “So that’s two witches and two monsters, and she what we just et makes three.”
“Three what?”
“Hmmm,” grumbled Manfried. “Witches? Witches.”
“Witches, in my voluminous experience as a tutor in Praha, do not have goddamn fish parts stead a legs.” Hegel made a big to-do of straightening his beard and sniffing his knobby nose.
“Hmm.”
“Monsters, on the other hand, have all kinds a weird animal parts. What makes’em monsters, after all.”
“Witches might have tails,” Manfried said after another bite. “Just not ones that big.”
“Granted, maybe a little cow tail or cat thing or what, might even have seven tits like a bitch, but this mess-” Hegel squeezed the greasy meat between his fingers. “No sir. But then a monster don’t cast charms and such in my knowledge, so I figure she counts for both.”
“Eatin a monster’s no sin,” Manfried philosophized, “but eatin a witch is, cause they’s more or less mannish, so long’s we stay south a the navel we’s safe.”
“The truth, unadulterated by rhetoric. Don’t taste too bad, neither, if I’s to be honest.”
“But that broaches another curiosity,” said Manfried. “We can agree a demon’s different from other monsters, requirin, as the cardinal told us on the mountains, a body, preferably a witch, to ride round in like we’s on this boat.”
“Cause like us, it might float for a little while fore sinkin below without somethin solid to rest on,” Hegel agreed.
The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart Page 34
