The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (4 page)

Gurgling under the ax, his vision shimmering, Manfried pawed the road with his free hand and unearthed a decent stone. This
he smashed into Helmut’s ear with the hidden strength of a snared weasel. Helmut blinked, the rock connected a second time,
and then he slumped forward.

Jerking his other arm loose, Manfried rooted it under the ax handle, finally allowing air back into his body. He continued
to smash Helmut’s head from underneath until the skull cracked and bone and juices flowed out all over him. Finally Manfried
rolled Helmut over and got awkwardly to his feet, only to sit back down on the warm corpse.

Hegel had finished Gunter with a single blow to the temple, loosening the man’s brains. He rushed to his brother’s aid but
Hans still had a touch of fight left and snatched Hegel’s wounded ankle when he ran past. Hegel quickly regained his balance,
and forgetting his brother being choked just behind him, proceeded to kick the life out of the farmer, centering most of his
blows on the shaft protruding from Hans’s groin.

“Fled,” Manfried gasped behind him, bringing Hegel back to his senses.

“Eh?” Hegel grunted.

“Other. Fuck. Ran. Off.” Manfried had difficulty getting more than a word out between breaths, and motioned down the trail.
“Horses. Too. Bastard.”

Squinting, Hegel dimly made out the curve in the path where the three men had tethered their horses. Worried the Grossbarts
were demons and in fear of his soul as well as his life, Egon had still possessed enough sense to release the other horses
and send them ahead down the trail. Looking back at Manfried, Hegel saw a wide, purple stripe swelling on his brother’s neck.

“That all they gave you? A little necklace for your trouble?” Hegel thrust out his bloody leg. “Sides my face gettin carved,
I been dog-et and road-kissed whiles you was sittin pretty up the bend.”

“What’s. That?” Manfried cocked his punctured, torn ear. “Can’t. Hear. So. Good.”

Both laughed heartily, which caused Hegel’s wounded cheek to split and dribble. Kurt’s crippled horse stared dejectedly at
them until Hegel used his prybar to seal the deal and Manfried’s ax unfettered it of enough meat to feed a dozen lesser men.
In a rare show of generosity, the Brothers elected to allow the wolves and crows first pilfer of the other corpses, and the
two staggered up through the pass, night dropping over them like the shadow of an enormous vulture.

Starting a fire in the dark on a windy mountain pass might daunt most, but to the Grossbarts it proved of little difficulty.
While Manfried swore at the kindling Hegel gathered more wood, and when he made water he caught it in their dented cooking
pot. He daubed his torn cheek and lip with his urine, wincing and adding more curses to the obstinate fire. Eventually the
twigs caught, and by the growing light Hegel cut strips of cloth from the rattiest blanket and handed the pot to his brother.

Manfried remembered a barber mentioning horse piss was superior to that of a man and patiently waited over an hour until he
heard the telltale sound and hurried to catch the precious stream. They knew only a little about the concept that melancholic,
sanguine, choleric, and phlegmatic humours coursed through their bodies and determined their health, the Brothers instead
sticking to simple quackery. The horse meat cooked slowly over the fresh coals, and Manfried set the pot beside it to heat
the liquid. Hegel saw what his brother intended and cackled scornfully.

“Thinkin a Hamlin?” Hegel asked.

“Thinkin how fell that piss a yours stinks,” said Manfried, using a rag to apply the hot urine to his mangled ear.

“Shouldn’t use nuthin what comes from a beast,” said Hegel, taking a bite of meat.

“Yeah, cept the flesh you’s chewin, and that hide slung on your back.” Manfried snorted.

“It’s different. Beast gotta be dead to eat or wear it.”

“What bout feathers?” Manfried said after a pause.

“Feathers?”

“Feathers.”

“What’re you on bout?” Hegel scowled.

“Use feathers for arrows and combs and such, and the bird ain’t gotta be dead to take’em.”

“Course
that
don’t count,” Hegel guffawed. “Birds ain’t beasts.”

“Well… I suppose they’s a touch different.”

“Course they is. How many birds you see crawlin like a beast? Completely different. Same for fish. I’ll wrap some fish skin
on me if I’s cut up, no question.”

Manfried nodded, not convinced but knowing the conversation could progress no further. The twins agreed on most matters, but
even after all these years he could not fathom his brother’s distrust of four-legged creatures. Hegel certainly felt no aversion
to eating or riding upon them, on the contrary, he took a pleasure from such things that Manfried correctly chalked up as
sadistic. Dousing his ear in horse piss, Manfried splashed some on his sore neck for good measure.

Hegel felt splendid aside from his plethora of wounds. Chewing his dinner, he withdrew the murdered Gertie’s necklace from
under his tunic and held it to the light. The rough carving would only be recognizable for what it represented by a truly
devout individual, so crude and indistinct were Her angles. He rubbed the lump of the Virgin’s breasts with his thumb, and
contemplated what it meant to be merciful.

Watching his brother, Manfried felt a twinge of jealousy. He considered himself far more pious than his brother, who had only
taken to praising Her name after Manfried explained Her worth. Still, he reckoned, true mercy would be to allow his brother
to keep his trophy rather than claiming it for himself. Even if he had been the one to slay the filthy heretic who originally
wore it, his brother clearly took succor from Her. Inspiration arrived like a stinging gnat, and Manfried took one of the
unused spears from the cart, broke the shaft, and began carving his own Virgin. His would be a more faithful representation,
one with a larger chest and belly.

Eventually Hegel stretched out beside the fire and went to sleep, his brother standing watch. Manfried ate slowly, consuming
several pounds of horse as the night wore on. He reflected on the fine meal, thinking with a satisfied smile that the days
of rotting oats and badger meat were behind them. He knew the mountains could not stretch forever, and beyond them lay the
sea, and passage to where their granddad’s wealth waited. After a spell he roused his brother to stand guard, and lay down
on the patch of warm earth Hegel vacated. Manfried imagined the stars to be jewels shining in the depths of a long-sealed
crypt and, drifting off, he almost glimpsed himself prying open the lid of night and stuffing his pocket with the glittering
gems.

Heaping wood on the blaze and wrapping himself in another blanket, Hegel sat on a rock and wolfed down more meat. Splashing
some water in the pot, he burned himself getting a bit of ash into it and scrubbed out the horse piss. He then filled it halfway
with the last of their water, adding turnip pieces and hunks of meat. The stew simmered under Hegel’s watchful eye, the Grossbart
also reflecting on their situation. He knew in his heart that for the first time in their lives they were truly on the road
to riches.

While his brother dreamed of gold and sand and the Virgin, Hegel put his mind to their immediate wealth. Down the trail several
dead horses waited for an industrious soul to turn them into headcheese, steaks, and pudding, to say nothing of the ligaments
he could use to tie his shoes and the hide to be tanned for cloaks. Bones could be carved into fishhooks, a dried tail used
to whip their carthorse. His mind turned over the possibilities when he remembered that there were dead men there as well.

Rather than feeling remorse at the blood they had spilled, Hegel groaned at their laziness in not searching the corpses immediately.
In his mind each possessed pouches stuffed with coins, pouches that even now beasts dumbly bit off and swallowed or carried
home to their nests. New shoes and hose dragged into dens, rings and bracelets rolling into rat holes. He took several steps
down the trail, but without a sliver of moon he doubted even his keen eyes and sure feet could navigate the treacherous path.
Instead he sat away from the fire, ears pricked for the sound of movement from the mountainside below. After hours of this
futile exercise, he gently kicked his brother awake and lay back down.

Manfried awoke at dawn, his brother snoring beside him. The ashes were cold, indicating his slovenly brother had packed it
in hours before. Cursing, he moved behind his brother and knelt down, putting his lips beside Hegel’s ear.

“Up!” Manfried hollered, startling both brother and horse awake.

“Eh?!” Hegel rolled away and scrambled to his feet, peering about blearily.

“Sleepin on watch.” Manfried shook his head. “Shameful.”

“Who’s sleepin on watch? I woke you last, you bastard!”

“Liar, you dozed off your first turn at it.”

“I kicked you, you miserable goat!”

“When?”

“When I was done lookin out!”

“Hmmm.” Manfried chewed his beard, dimly recollecting a foot to his side in the depths of slumber. “Well, I suppose it’s no
fault a either a us, then.”

“No fault? You sayin you didn’t get up at all? What the Hell, brother, that’s your fault clean and simple.”

“Should a made sure I was up,” Manfried grumbled, then brightened. “Fuck it all, Hegel, what’re we on about? There’s loot
waitin just down the hill!”

Snatching seared pieces of meat, the two raced down the trail to the scene of the slaughter. Any nocturnal scavengers had
left the bear’s share for the Brothers, who meticulously piled anything of worth in the middle of the trail. After a brief
council, they plodded down the switchbacks to where Bertram had come to rest after his horse rode off the side of the sheer
path. Defying the odds the hardy man still lived, although his splintered spine prevented him from moving anything more than
his lips.

“Gross,” he mumbled through the wreckage of his face. “Gross bar.”

“Yeah,” Hegel allowed, “that’s us.”

“Tough, ain’t you?” Manfried was impressed.

“Bass,” the man wheezed. “Bass. Bass.”

“What’s that?” Hegel scowled, smelling a slander on the wind.

“Turds,” came out as a gurgle, Manfried experimentally pressing on Bertram’s chest with his heel. “Bastards.”

“Now, that’s hardly fair.” Hegel squatted in the dust. “We both recollect our father’s face, even if our mother didn’t.”

“He’s past pain, brother,” said Manfried, sliding off Bertram’s boot and poking his toes with a knife. “Look, he ain’t even
flinchin.”

“Kill,” Bertram gasped. “Kill. Ill!”

“Who, you or us?” Hegel grinned and turned to his brother. “Tore up to death and still talkin vengeance! Not a bad sort, not
at all.”

“Mercy, then?” Manfried asked. “I was dealin with old Cunter, so’s I didn’t see. Say his horse took’em over?”

“Yeah, the one we seen on the slope above, all busted up.” Hegel looked Bertram in his unswollen eye. “That’s you served proper
for puttin faith in a beast. Should a dismounted, might a stood a chance.”

Bertram tried to spit but only drooled blood.

“Seen’em before?” Manfried asked, still absently cutting into Bertram’s foot.

“Can’t say that I recall’em from our small times.” Hegel scratched his beard. “On account a his cowardice in bringin a horse
to a man-fight, I’s a mind to leave’em for the birds.”

“He didn’t run, though,” Manfried countered, having taken a shine to the man’s perseverance. “Didn’t cut out on his fellows
like that other fuckscum. Didn’t try to get all dishonest with a bow, neither, and lived all night in the cold.”

“Still, brother, a horse? He meant to ride me down. Just think, Manfried, me, kilt by a goddamn horse!”

“A test, then,” said Manfried. He set down his knife and joined his brother in squatting by Bertram’s head. “You want mercy,
coward?”

“Hell,” Bertram belched. “Die. Gross.”

“See?” Manfried smiled triumphantly at his brother. “Only a coward asks for mercy, even if it’s offered.”

“Pigshit,” said Hegel. “Only a mecky coward would lie on his ass while someone tickled his toes with a blade.”

“Assholes,” Bertram managed.

“Clear as day, he’s too broke to move anythin else. Watch.” Manfried prodded Bertram’s lips with his finger, and despite his
agony the man snapped his teeth, desperate for even a drop of Grossbart blood.

“Well, alright,” Hegel relented, and smashed in Bertram’s skull with a rock.

They had little to show for their toil except for boots to replace their worn, pointed turnshoes, and actual weapons. Hegel
claimed Gunter’s sword and Hans’s pick, while Hegel took Bertram’s mace and Helmut’s ax, leaving the one used on Heinrich’s
wife in the road as a warning to any who came after. The few salvageable bolts they shoved into makeshift quivers; cudgels,
dull knives, and several choice round stones were tossed in with the rest of their gear.

The clothing had suffered worse than the men who wore it, and not a corpse present had either coinage or jewelry. Bertram
they covered in scree but the rest were unanimously judged to be cowards and thus crowfeed. Daylight showed the impracticality
of attempting to maneuver the cart down the opposite slope, the trail diminishing to the point that even getting the horse
down would prove daunting. The Grossbarts had faith, though, and loaded up the animal Manfried named “Horse” and Hegel dubbed
“Stupid.”