Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart - By Jesse Bullington Page 0,137
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.