Jesse Bullington - The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

“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.