Jesse Bullington - The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

When the Brothers stirred late the following afternoon they saw one of the young sailors from before and the lummox Merli sleeping on the bunks opposite them. Extrication proved especially difficult for Manfried, who had gone to sleep with his shoulders still plated in iron. Even their toes and fingernails were sore from the previous day’s exertions but they awoke laughing at the memory of their triumph. They staggered to the open room and guzzled water, paying no mind to the half-naked Sir Jean or his shadow, Raphael.

“Where’s the rest?” Hegel asked after dunking his face in the water barrel and leaving a sheen on the surface.

“Aboveward.” Raphael nodded to the ladder. “Taking sunny, salty air. Captain with them, want to council at you.”

“Speakin ain’t your strong suit, is it?” Manfried leered.

“Truly honest, mine ownself prefer the tongue all men speak.” Raphael rattled his loaded crossbow at Sir Jean, making him flinch.

“True words,” Hegel agreed, and they went above.

Crawling into the blinding square of light, they crouched like beasts freed after too long in a cage. When their eyes adjusted the Grossbarts reeled from more than the rocking of the ship. On all sides lay water, vast hills and valleys of the stuff, glowing in the sun without a hint of land to be found. Both felt extremely queasy and took small pulls from their skins, and when Manfried spilled his drink refitting the stopper, Hegel noted with interest that his brother’s apparently held water for a change.

Two masts towered over them and the country-born Brothers knew only that the ship exceeded any barge they had seen, and was therefore enormous. Men seemed to be everywhere but there were actually only three sailors at work besides the sour Giuseppe and good-tempered Angelino, the relatively small size of the vessel forcing the men to circumvent the Brothers numerous times during their slow advance to the stern. Climbing the stairs to the raised section in the rear, they found Barousse talking with Angelino, and both men hailed them.

“Well met and mornin to the both a yous, too,” Hegel greeted them.

“Yeah,” said Manfried, his eyes casting about for the Arab.

“Feel that?” Barousse inhaled, his stained bandages fluttering like pennants. “The breath of the sea is the breath of God. Small wonder our ancestors worshipped her.”

At this Manfried caught sight of the woman through the sails, her back to him astride the figurehead at the front of the ship. “Gotta get below,” he muttered.

“Hold, Manfried,” Barousse said. “With my men deserted or dead we’ve only enough hands to keep us on course for half of every day, and the wind blows better at night. I’d hoped to reach our conquest sooner, and with your help, along with the rest, we can double our speed.”

“Later, then,” Manfried said dismissively. “Fetch me when the moon’s up, this glare’s no good for my eyes.”

“We’ll send up the others prompt, though.” Hegel hurried after his brother and addressed him in their private tongue. “The captain seems much improved for bein on the water and speaks wise in the whole, but I wonder at his choice a words.”

“How’s that?” Manfried ducked under a sail.

“Shit, I dunno, it just puts me off. Like sayin we’s gonna reach our conquest. All the words he could a used he said our conquest .”

“So?”

“Well, that could mean what or who we’s gonna conquer.”

“Course it does, thicky.”

“But couldn’t it also mean us bein conquered? Our conquest . Not the way I would a phrased it, not at all.”

“And you would a used some choice bit a French, or maybe Latinish? Keep in mind he might be Roman but he ain’t out the Holy like us, so likely he don’t know no better words for the point he successfully made. To me, at least, not bein keen on pissin bout every little detail!”

They reached the ladder, the woman just ahead over the prow, her arms entwined in the railing. Manfried clambered onto the raised platform of the bow, telling himself he went up instead of down solely to avoid his brother. Hegel knew exactly what his brother was about and followed him up.

“You gotta put that feedbag out your mind,” Hegel said softly, sensing the true reason for his brother’s sudden ire. “It won’t bring you no good at all. You gotta look at somethin, look to Mary.”

“Now I reckon you’d best mind your own choice a words,” Manfried growled, facing Hegel. “ It ’ s a she , same’s the Virgin.”

“ It ’ s a damn witch,” Hegel snarled back. “Your eyes always been sharper than mine, when they get all smeared with cherry paste?”

Manfried thought about punching Hegel’s fat nose until it smeared some cherry paste of its own, but before he raised his hand a stronger impulse reared up in his mind like an angered eel. Manfried suddenly wanted to shove Hegel over the railing and into the sea, but the desire passed as soon as it came. Manfried felt light-headed and slowly turned to look.

She sat where she had before, waves jetting up spray across her front, only now she watched him. Her delicate lips were pursed but her eyes shimmered and she smiled softly, her hair lathered around her chest and neck.

“I’ll do you fore I touch him!” Manfried shouted at her, scrambling down the stairs and then the ladder, his chest burning.

Hegel remained above, puzzling over his brother’s outburst at the woman and glaring at her. She returned his stink-eye, her ruddy mouth twisted into a sneer. He made as if to strike her but she did not give him the satisfaction of even twitching her nose.

“I’s onto you,” Hegel hissed, “you damn witch.”

Quitting the platform and gaining the ladder, Hegel reeled as he suddenly pictured his brother pitching over the side of the boat with the woman in his arms. He imagined them spiraling down through the depths and could see himself distorted through the water, looking on helplessly from the ship. Then they sank past the light, and in the dark the woman began to change into something else, her skin distorting in his brother’s arms.

“You alright?” Rodrigo asked from below, and limply clinging to the ladder, Hegel vomited all over him.

Al-Gassur, Sir Jean, and Raphael laughed heartily at Rodrigo’s expense, the young man shuddering with revulsion as he waited for Hegel to descend so he could climb above deck. Rodrigo knew better than to waste fresh water, even in such unpleasant circumstances. Hegel dropped the last few feet and staggered to an unoccupied chair while Rodrigo went up.

Manfried returned from his bunk with a loaf of bread, half a cheese wheel, and three sausages. He wordlessly ripped the bread and cheese in two, handing the smaller pieces and one of the sausages to Hegel before sitting in another chair. Here the Grossbarts experienced their first taste of the monotony unique to long sea voyages. They sent the smaller sleeping sailor, the Arab, Sir Jean, and Raphael above to help sail, and two sailors soon replaced them in the room. After these two guzzled some beer and conversed in Italian, they went to the bunks. The sun set and finally the Grossbarts deigned to speak to one another.

“Where’s Martyn?” asked Hegel.

“Cardinal’s lyin in a bunk, jabberin at the wall as he’s wont.” Manfried rose and took some beer. “Think he might a gone from unorthodox to unhinged.”

After another long pause, Hegel cleared his throat. “What I said earlier-”

“Already forgotten.” The twin forces of alcohol and denial had finally convinced Manfried the impulse to murder his brother had been some variety of seasickness. The last thing he wanted was Hegel prattling his old line.