Jesse Bullington - The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

The man said something in what the Brothers finally realized must be Italian and swayed slightly before shaking himself and straightening his shoulders. After a pause he again flicked his sword and the crossbows sagged, the men grumbling to one another. He turned and walked under the gate before sitting heavily on the ground. While he sat there cradling his head in his hands, the Grossbarts carried on in their private tongue.

“What you make a this?” Hegel asked.

“Bunch a shit.”

“Yeah, but what kind?”

“The worst sort. This one’s more a ponce than his brother,” said Manfried.

“But not so much’s Al Ponce.”

“Never should a come here.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d have other plans for that feedbag.”

“Sure turned out to be a feedbag, alright. Thanks for remindin me whose idea it was to come here!” Manfried elbowed Hegel.

“Keen on, the dandy returns.”

“Tonight you stay here,” the man said. “Clean yourselves and sleep, and tomorrow we determine exactly what you are due. Come inside with what is yours, I will see the lady to her place. I am Rodrigo, and I will have your names before you enter.” Rodrigo’s eyes drifting back to the woman, he spit an order at one of the least grungy guards, who in turn hurried around inside the gate.

“Manfried,” said Manfried.

“Hegel,” said Hegel.

“Grossbart,” they said together.

“Father Martyn,” said the priest, finally reentering the conversation now that it had calmed.

“Al-Gassur Abu-Yateem Thanni ibn Farees,” said the Arab, appearing from behind Hegel and the Grossbart-mounted schnapps cask, from which he had filched while the debate raged.

“What are you doing back, you miserable sandrat?” Rodrigo demanded, too put out to revert to the lingua Italia. “When we dismissed you onto the street instead of into a canal it was a boon circumstantial on your not returning.”

“I would never offend you or your master, and will leave as soon as payment is received for my efforts,” Al-Gassur hiccupped.

“Payment?” Hegel turned to the Arab. “You said you’s the Goose’s servant.”

“I serve him by bringing you here, just as you serve him by coming. If I am correct in comprehending your statements, dear Grossbart, if you request recompense for your toils then is it not only honest that I receive them for mine?”

“A matter to be taken up with the Goose, not us, as we ourselves will do stead a pesterin others in the same predicament,” observed Manfried.

“Away, Arab, before your presence brings my wine back to the open air.” Rodrigo flicked his fingers at Al-Gassur.

“Course,” Manfried said, “comin into our employ wouldn’t be too difficult, say a bottle a fortnight to be our servant?”

“Agreed, oh charitable masters.” Al-Gassur sneered at Rodrigo.

“What game are you at?” said Rodrigo, asking Hegel’s question for him.

Manfried shrugged. “Our business is our own.” When torn between infuriating a ponce and a beggar he would choose the ponce every time.

“He sleeps with the swine,” said Rodrigo. “The rest of you will meet with me on the morrow. Go with him, now.” Rodrigo gestured to a gaunt old man who had returned with the guard he had earlier sent off.

“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.

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.”