Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart - By Jesse Bullington Page 0,94
Manfried’s cropped ear had reopened, matting his chin and neck.
“I go to church,” Martyn said, unable to keep his head from rocking from side to side at the sight of them. “Perhaps you would care to join me?”
Hegel gave Manfried a concerned look but he need not have worried.
“Nah.” Manfried stained Hegel’s pillow with his face. “Nuthin for us there.”
“But how else will you confess?”
“Confess what?” Hegel asked.
“We ain’t sinned,” said Manfried, opening a bottle.
“Every man sins, Manfried,” replied Martyn.
“Nah, he’s right,” Hegel agreed.
“Thank you, Hegel.” Martyn smiled.
“I mean my brother’s right.” Hegel sniffled blood into his beard. “We ain’t done nuthin might displease Her.”
“Nevertheless—” Martyn began but Manfried swelled before him.
“Neverthemore, Priest, will you accuse us a sinnin! Think killin demons’ a sin? What bout witches? Hackin up heretics require us to lick your ears, that it?”
“Hegel.” Martyn looked to the apparently less volatile Grossbart. “I meant no disrespect, to you or your brother, only that we all sin in our weakness.”
“Tell him that.” Hegel reclined on the broken bed. “Stead a disrespectin us both by talkin to me.”
“What was it you said, Priest?” demanded Manfried.
“I,” Martyn swallowed pride and spit, “I apologize, Master Grossbart, for implying you had a stained soul.”
“I acknowledge your apology.” Manfried nodded. “And remind you that any sinnin and weakness on your part don’t reflect on us. We ain’t no beggars nor beg-hairs nor any other breed a blasphemer. We’s Grossbarts, and you’d do well to recollect that.”
Disgusted with them and himself, Martyn turned to the door. “I will pray for you, Grossbarts, I hope this is not an imposition?”
“Nah, it ain’t nuthin to us.” Hegel held a cool glass to his cheek.
“When I give an account of your deeds to my superiors I will do so justly, and I am pleased our paths crossed for even a brief time. Farewell.”
“You think bout gettin what’s due your way from the captain fore you leave?” Manfried asked. “Cause we ain’t savin you a share if you ain’t there to claim it.”
“Take my share for yourselves.” Martyn shut the door on the Grossbarts and strode away, head held high.
Rodrigo intercepted him on the stair and escorted him off the grounds. Certain questions were posed to and honestly answered by the priest, who looked a sight better for his bath. They parted at the gate when Rodrigo caught wind of Al-Gassur skulking in the overgrown garden surrounding the main building. Martyn stepped out into the street and made his way back through the wondrous city toward a reunion with his fold.
Al-Gassur had set traps in the bushes and one yielded a plump pigeon, which he roasted in a dry, ivy-throttled fountain. Hearing Rodrigo approach, he grabbed his bottle and bird but before he could hop away Rodrigo snatched his cloak and spun him around.
“A poacher too, eh?” Rodrigo raised his fist.
“Please speak properly, sir,” Al-Gassur pleaded in German.
“What’s this shift in tone?” Rodrigo asked, obliging the beggar.
“To please my revered employers, I will only speak so that they too will always comprehend.” Al-Gassur batted his gooey eyes at Rodrigo.
“What you doin with our Arab?” Hegel stepped around the shrubbery.
“Merely inquiring as to his presence outside his prescribed chambers.” Rodrigo relinquished the ear with a pinch.
“Honorable Hegel. Magnificent Manfried.” Al-Gassur awkwardly bowed, concealing the pigeon in his tunic. “I spied you through the boughs approaching, and wondered what purpose such masters as yourselves would find in such a low state as that which I presently inhabit?”
“Eh? Shut it.” Manfried looked back to Rodrigo. “Got any more jabber or can we speak to our property in peace?”
“Pardons, pardons.” Rodrigo raised his palms and backed away, his immaculate clothes catching in the brambles and spoiling his aristocratic posturing. “I leave you to yourselves. Tonight you will dine in your chambers and I shall trouble you no more until the morrow.”
“See that you can keep a promise that simple,” Hegel said dismissively. “Now then, Arab.”
“Yes?”
“Speak,” Manfried commanded.
“Speak what?”
“The words a your people.” Manfried gave the sniggering Hegel the hardest eye yet given.
“You mean such words as caliph, ambrosia, and camel?” Al-Gassur could not understand their reasoning.
“Yeah, like them.” Manfried’s fingers beckoned. “More, and without the proper speech.”
“Ah, you wish to hear me speak as I would to a countryman?” Enlightenment brightened Al-Gassur’s face.
“Yeah, tell my brother to get stuffed like he was yours stead a mine,” quipped Hegel.
“Do it and see what happens,” said Manfried. “Say somethin simple, like