Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart - By Jesse Bullington Page 0,71

wanderers decide for yourself. Several centuries past, Formosus served man and God as all true popes do, but even then political machinations were at work, and shortly after his death they exhumed him.”

The Grossbarts perked up, such business being their specialty. Hegel forced himself to mind the road while Manfried pried the beer away from Martyn. The priest managed another swig before relinquishing it.

“They accused him of heresy.” Martyn’s eyes bubbled over but his voice did not quake. “Led by Stephen the Sixth, er, the Seventh, those heretics had him disinterred from his holy resting place and held a trial. With his corpse! His soul long seated in Heaven had the humiliation of watching over while they poked his bones and charged him with blasphemy, devil worship, and every other vile falsehood their wicked minds could imagine. Obviously he was unable to defend his remains, and those criminals hacked off the hand which bore the papal ring and stripped him of his vestments. Then they dragged him through the streets, hurled him into the river, fished him out, and scattered his disgraced bones with those of the Jews.”

“Shameful,” said Hegel.

“A travesty never to be forgot,” said Manfried.

“I often fancied if I were to become Pope, I would petition for the name Formosus,” Martyn mused.

“Hey now.” Manfried lightly elbowed him. “Ain’t someone forgettin their place at the table?”

“What? Never! I simply, er, as Augustine said—”

“Easy on, Martyn.” Manfried laughed. “Just meckin up your words. Cowardice is questionin your fate, courage and honor is strugglin to change it.”

“But fate is immovable,” said Martyn.

“Usually, yeah, but Her Will is for us to struggle and persevere, and part a that is to know the difference twixt what you’s tricked into thinkin fate is and what it actually be.”

Martyn squinted at Manfried. “Tricked?”

“I reckon it’s somethin like this,” Hegel piped in. “You think your fate’s to struggle gainst heresy back in Roma or Avignon or wherever, but your real fate’s to chase a demon up into these hills. So you follow your fate, even though all the rest tries to tell you fate says to stay put.”

“Is that what I meant?” Neither brother was sure if Manfried was genuinely asking or being contrary.

“Perceived fate and actual fate. Free will. Heresy. Cowardice.” Martyn slumped forward and vomited all over their feet. Manfried kept him from falling under the wheels and winked at his brother. This priest did not seem a bad sort.

“What kind a priest you reckon he is?” Hegel asked his more worldly kin in their private dialect.

“The superior kind.” Manfried shrugged. “From his tale I speculate he’s one a them Dominicans. Probable, given his prattlin on matters heretical.”

“Oh.” Hegel quieted, not wanting to sound foolish by asking more.

“Not exact on how he come to be priest in the eyes a men other than the Holy Fucker above,” Manfried ruminated. “Can’t picture no cardinal nor bishop nor whoever thinkin he’d be fit.”

“But you said yourself he seems a the finer stuff,” Hegel pointed out.

“Yeah, but definitions vary.”

Even buried beneath snow the road remained obvious by the indentation, but they could no longer make it out more than thirty feet in front of the lead horses. Martyn shifted in and out of consciousness between the Grossbarts, ranting on matters Manfried assured his brother would amount to blasphemy in lesser company. This amused them, and they goaded him on as he never disparaged the Virgin, only bishops and priests and monks and orders of monks and nobles and serfs and yeomen and even horses.

They never found his fallen steed but they did not encounter any wolves, either. That night Manfried slept through the darkness, with Martyn filling in for him to make penance for his earlier embarrassment. Knowing the oats would keep longer than the furry bread, they abstained from porridge and cut the moldy taste of the loaves with moldier cheese. The spoiled rye had the odd effect of bringing them vivid dreams, dreams that often arrived before they even drifted off.

Unaware of the source of their visions, all three continued to munch the stuff through the next day, which brought on wilder talks and images. Many times Hegel could not see the horses let alone the road but he kept that to himself, and the beasts trod on without event. The snowy peaks undulated around them, and Manfried and Martyn fiercely debated what this presaged. The snow appeared to rise from the ground instead of fall to it, and each man at times fell into