Jesse Bullington - The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

“A miracle,” Manfried whispered.

“A miracle,” Martyn gasped.

“Glub,” the asphyxiating Sir Jean gurgled, his eye sockets now bubbling along with his nose.

“Ugh,” groaned Hegel.

“A goddamn miracle!” Manfried shouted, “Praise Mary!”

“Praise,” Hegel managed. “Us.”

“Let’s get that off,” said Manfried. “I accept you’s shaken by Her Power, Rigo, but quit cuntin off at the eyes and help me get this noose off a him.”

Rodrigo obeyed, but with the fight won his wounds set to paining him until he could barely stand. They set Hegel against the side of the rear mast and got a bottle to his lips. On the deck lay Raphael, Lucian, and Sir Jean, all too beaten to move, and Martyn hurried down his mast to join the victors. As he approached Manfried stood and snatched his collar, hurling him to the ground between Hegel’s legs.

“You want I open’em now, or you’d rather after a rest?” Manfried asked.

“Please!” Martyn yelped.

“You accept Her,” Hegel wheezed.

“I do!”

“You accept Her Miracle?” said Hegel.

“I do!”

“I died.” Hegel blinked at his brother. “I seen Her.”

“You’s a martyr.” Manfried bowed his head.

“She brought me back,” panted Hegel.

“A true miracle!” agreed the desperate cardinal.

“Then you’s absolved.” Hegel closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had witnessed but the image had faded like a leaf in winter. “Same with the rest, brother.”

“What?” Manfried could not believe his cropped ear.

“Any who’ll accept the truth be spared,” Hegel rasped. “Save that snobby French and that schemin Seppe. They’s past mercy.”

“Even asleep you slayed Giuseppe!” In his haste to impress Martyn made a severe tactical mistake.

Manfried reminded Martyn of the divine nature of things by cuffing the cardinal.

“In death,” said Martyn, “even in death, you smote the Judas.”

“That rich one.” Hegel motioned toward Sir Jean. “Get’em out that armor and hoist’em up where he put me.”

Rodrigo had disappeared, however, leaving Manfried with little choice but to perform that particular task himself. He left his brother to drink with the cardinal and stripped Sir Jean of his battered plate. Sir Jean resisted only slightly, intent as he was on his ruined face.

Next Manfried saw to Raphael and Lucian. Both came around following a dousing from the rain barrel, but with their bloody faces he could not tell them apart until Raphael spoke in his broken German. After quickly outlining the situation to the miserable men, Manfried insisted Raphael translate for Lucian, who eagerly accepted the heavenly course of events and even tried to kiss Manfried’s feet.

“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.

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.