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.
The new and terrible emotions killing a fellow human being stirred inside Rodrigo mingled with his concern for his captain, and to escape the howls of the Arab emanating from the storeroom he eventually went above deck. His puffy eyes were ill prepared for the radiance of the sun, and by the time they adjusted enough for him to squint and make out the deck he saw that the joint efforts of the remaining crew had resulted in Sir Jean’s crucifixion on the crossbeam of the foremast. Ignoring the sadistic turn events had taken, he slowly walked to where the captain lay.
The bound Barousse ignored Rodrigo, his eyes fixed on the sea. Rodrigo sat beside him on the deck, and without knowing exactly why, laid his head on the captain’s shoulder. Closing his eyes, the young man wondered if life would ever be enjoyable again. Then Barousse bit into his ear.
Yanking away, Rodrigo left his right earlobe in Barousse’s mouth. Clapping his good hand to the wound, Rodrigo stared at the captain as he chewed. Rodrigo stumbled away, weeping from more than the searing pain.
Witnessing Rodrigo’s mishap and unconsciously touching his own cropped ear, Manfried called for Lucian and Raphael, and while Rodrigo watched they unwrapped the captain’s ropes and maneuvered him to the ladder. Barousse would not or could not stand, so they dragged him and lowered him down to the common room. From there the three men went down and Rodrigo stumbled up the stern to Cardinal Martyn. The two men did not speak but stared behind them at the point where the emerald sea met the golden sky.
Late in the day the Grossbarts insisted Rodrigo and Lucian ensure their course remained true. Even if either had known much about navigation any maps stowed in the storeroom had gone with their food into the brine. With everyone except Al-Gassur and Barousse working at the sails the two sailors could not be sure they were directed anywhere save generally southeast. Both had insisted they should cut north in search of land where food and a new crew could be taken on, but the Grossbarts would hear none of it, insisting faith would suffice.
That night Rodrigo, doubting he would live long enough to find a more acceptable man of the cloth, attempted to unburden himself by speaking with Martyn. Concerned for the souls of his captain and his brother even more than for his own, the injured fellow was disappointed when the cardinal insisted on confessing to him instead, raving of demons and the death of his lover Elise. Raphael stayed awake even after Lucian, Martyn, and Rodrigo drifted off, trying futilely to pick out comprehensible words from the Grossbarts drinking above deck and the voices from the storeroom.
After much debate, Manfried’s logic regarding the purifying nature of flame won out and the Brothers set to building a fire on Sir Jean’s shield. By its light they saw his silhouette flat against the sail, a wide stain running down beneath him. Hegel suggested they test it on the Arab in the morning, a wise course by Manfried’s estimation. As a final precaution Hegel only cut from the twin tails farthest from where they joined her human skin.
They stayed up most of the night smoking the meat, hoping the delicious aroma did not mask poison or curse. After the lid to the hold and the chairs from the forecastle were ash they agreed they had enough to last until Gyptland, provided they ate sparingly. So they hacked off part of the railing and smoked another pile, now getting dangerously close to where questionable meat became cannibalism. This they hid in their sacks and pitched the coals into the ocean, disappointed that the waves gobbled up the pleasant hissing they longed for.
They slept in shifts while the stars twisted and the ship rocked, both grown accustomed enough to the motion that they no longer became sick. Manfried spent his watch patrolling the deck and squinting at the impenetrable depths. Hegel spent his at the top of the mast, whispering to Sir Jean the theories he feared to tell his brother. He felt safe in doing so for the knight had finally died in the long interval between his crucifixion and Hegel’s taking him into his confidence. Neither brother touched the sails or rudder, imagining that such actions might indicate their lack of reliance on the Will of Mary.
Raphael led the exodus from below shortly after dawn, Rodrigo glumly accompanying Lucian and Martyn. The Grossbarts greeted them in their customary fashion, which is to say they ignored them. Raphael cleared his throat, and when the Brothers did not respond, he turned to the other three.
“We’ve got fish to catch,” Raphael said in Italian.
“What I say bout talkin that code?” Manfried demanded, now paying attention.
“The sailor doesn’t speak any other way,” 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.
Of all the men, excluding the risen Hegel, Rodrigo had suffered the worst injuries the day before. The patch of exposed skull on his scalp, his punctured hand, and his masticated ear still bothered him less than the decline of his captain, the only family he had left. Sitting on the crossbeam beside Sir Jean’s wilting head he looked to the sea, wondering how he could go on if Barousse died.
The day meandered by, the men’s despair countered by the Grossbarts’ optimism. Surely the sandy lands of gold lay behind the next cloudbank, and even late into the afternoon they watched the horizon expectantly, positive that any moment a shore would appear. It did not, and while the winds were stronger at night the men were exhausted and again went to bed hungry in their bunks. That Al-Gassur seemed fit as ever did not sway any but the Grossbarts to sample her flesh.
The Grossbarts ate copiously, arguing whether their meal tasted good or not. Manfried found it gamier than most aquatic meat, while Hegel thought it especially fishy. His dislike of four-legged beasts in no way impinged on his enjoyment of their seared flesh and organs.
“Odd,” Hegel said after they had eaten, “we’s seen us what now, three witches and three monsters?”
“You’s calculatin improper,” Manfried belched.
“How’s that?”
“One monster, that mantiloup or what have you, the witch what served’em-”
“He served her,” Hegel interjected.
“Moot. Then we got that witch come with the pig. And he got a demon in’em, so that’s one more a each.”
“That’s where you’s off, cause the man’s a witch, the demon in’em’s a demon, and that pig makes three.”
“Three what? No, shut it. That pig was a pig was a pig. A pig what got a demon in it after we kilt the witch.” Manfried shook his head at his brother’s obtuseness.
“How you know it weren’t his servant, or the Devil?”
“I don’t, same as you, so in the absence a evidence we’s gonna assume it was simple swine got possessed by a demon.”
“If it was Old Scratch he wouldn’t well let some mecky demon in’em.” Hegel reasoned. “Would a come at us himself.”
“See, that’s bein sensible.” Manfried was impressed. “So that’s two witches and two monsters, and she what we just et makes three.”
“Three what?”
“Hmmm,” grumbled Manfried. “Witches? Witches.”
“Witches, in my voluminous experience as a tutor in Praha, do not have goddamn fish parts stead a legs.” Hegel made a big to-do of straightening his beard and sniffing his knobby nose.
“Hmm.”
“Monsters, on the other hand, have all kinds a weird animal parts. What makes’em monsters, after all.”
“Witches might have tails,” Manfried said after another bite. “Just not ones that big.”
“Granted, maybe a little cow tail or cat thing or what, might even have seven tits like a bitch, but this mess-” Hegel squeezed the greasy meat between his fingers. “No sir. But then a monster don’t cast charms and such in my knowledge, so I figure she counts for both.”
“Eatin a monster’s no sin,” Manfried philosophized, “but eatin a witch is, cause they’s more or less mannish, so long’s we stay south a the navel we’s safe.”
“The truth, unadulterated by rhetoric. Don’t taste too bad, neither, if I’s to be honest.”
“But that broaches another curiosity,” said Manfried. “We can agree a demon’s different from other monsters, requirin, as the cardinal told us on the mountains, a body, preferably a witch, to ride round in like we’s on this boat.”
“Cause like us, it might float for a little while fore sinkin below without somethin solid to rest on,” Hegel agreed.
“The good Virgin must a given you some extra brains while you was dead. Any rate, demons different from monsters. Look nuthin like anythin I ever seen.”
“Yeah?”
“Whereas the monsters we seen, namely our dinner and that mantiloup, they look like people what got beast parts,” said Manfried.
“Fish ain’t a beast, we’s been over that,” Hegel pointed out.
“By my fuckin faith, Hegel, you know what I mean! Part eel or snake or fish and part woman and part beast and part man is still closer to the same thing then that demon was to anythin, man or beast. Or fish.”
“Yeah?”
“So why’s monsters always a mix a man and critter?”
“In our experience, that’s indeed been the case,” Hegel mused. “Operatin, as we now do, on the assumption that what we’s et is monster stead a witch.”
“Right enough! I ain’t et no damn witch! Only the top part is witch, what we’s munchin is pure monster.”
“Suppose so. But I harbor doubts as to whether that thing in the mountains had a witch’s head and a monster-cat’s body. Seemed what might a been a man become a monster.”
“So it’s possible monsters is just men, be they heretics or witches, get turned into somethin.” Manfried bit his lip, staring at the pile of uneaten meat.
“Or monsters might be beasts that change partly into men. Or women.”
“That’s pushin reason a little hard,” Manfried argued. “I don’t believe it’s possible she was a fish what turned into a woman.”
“But she didn’t speak. Fish don’t speak.”
“And they don’t sing, neither. Sides, plenty a monsters I heard bout ain’t nuthin like men or women, just pure monster.”
“Like what?” Hegel demanded.
“Like dragons and unicorns and such.”
“But we ain’t never seen’em, so they might be nuthin more than tales.”
“Not necessarily,” said Manfried.
“No, but hearin bout somethin don’t make it real. I know Mary’s real cause I seen Her, and I know demons’ real cause I seen one a them, and I know weird fuckin fish witches is-”
“I follow, I follow,” Manfried groused. “But we knew witches was real fore we ever saw one, and sure enough, we was right on their account.”
“Yeah,” Hegel allowed.
“So monsters, in our experience, is part man and part beast, although the possibility exists they might be parts a other things all mixed together, like a basilisk. Part chicken and part dragon.”
“That ain’t no basalisk, that’s a damn cockatrice.”
“A what?!” Manfried laughed at his brother’s ignorance.
“A cockatrice. Basilisk’s just a lizard, cept it poisons wells and such,” said Hegel.
“That’s a scorpion! Although you’s half right-basilisk’ll kill you quick, but by turnin its eyes on you.”
“What!?” Hegel shook his head. “Now I know you’s makin up lies cause any man a learnin’ll tell you straight a scorpion ain’t no reptile, it’s a worm.”
“What worms you seen what have eyes and arms, huh?”
“Sides from you?”
The debate raged for some time, eventually deteriorating into a physical exchange. Hegel was happy to be alive and kicking his brother, and Manfried felt the same. When they took their shifts each thought of irrefutable points to make in the argument that qualified as such only in the loosest sense, considering they shared roughly the same opinion on this, as in most matters.
When all below fell silent below deck Al-Gassur lit a tallow in the storeroom. By its scant light he cut Barousse’s bonds, and in a moment the captain had wrested the knife away and pinned Al-Gassur to the floor. The Arab’s misery that his suspicions regarding Barousse’s intentions had been proven true became compounded by stark fear as Barousse began acting even stranger.
His face hovering above Al-Gassur’s, Barousse used the knife to slice open his own cheeks and brow, carving deep gashes that leaked blood into the Arab’s open mouth. Then the captain held the knife to the Arab’s throat and began licking Al-Gassur’s face, sucking on the ends of his mustache and prying open locked eyelids with a meaty tongue. Al-Gassur gasped when the salty appendage wriggled under and pressed against his eyeball, the jelly coming off on the rough tongue. Only the blade nicking his neck prevented the Arab from screaming; he was well aware that if he so much as coughed he would slit his own throat.
Suddenly as the bizarre and lascivious assault had begun it ended, and Barousse reared to his feet. Al-Gassur cowered, begging his brother to forgive whatever trespasses he had inadvertently committed. Instead Barousse wildly cut through his own clothing with such vigor that in moments he stood nude before Al-Gassur, his old wounds and fresh cuts gleaming black in the candlelight. One hand gripping the knife, he seized Al-Gassur’s hand with the other and yanked him upright. He hugged the Arab, who shivered at the wet embrace, his filthy clothes now glistening with fresh blood.
“In my travels I met a traveler,” Barousse whispered, releasing Al-Gassur and rushing to the scattered boxes. “I was a traveler, and he was a traveler, and for a short time we traveled together. Traveling. Travel, travel, the only life worth living. I had a wife, and two young boys but still I traveled, if you understand.”
“I under-”
“Traveling is best done with other travelers. The sea forces you among men, but not all are travelers at heart. The man, like me, was more than a man who travels because he can, but a traveler who travels because he must.”
“I too have traveled. I must confess-”
“He told me.” Barousse opened a box of jewelry and threw it against the wall, scattering a fortune along the floor. “I did not ask, just as you did not ask, but he told me, as I tell you.”
Al-Gassur remained silent, watching the captain ransack the other boxes until he found the one containing his clothes, the last chest Sir Jean had made to discharge before he slipped, banged his head, and realized the ship had also calmed. Barousse began chortling with laughter, tears and rivulets of blood pooling around his bare knees. Al-Gassur brought the tallow closer while Barousse began tossing fur-trimmed tunics and boots around the room.
“He knew I could not be fully happy, for I traveled despite my hard-fought wealth, my beloved family, my comfortable station. I think that is why, it must be why. Yet I wonder, often, often, especially after they died and I banished her, I wondered. You will fear the sea and her but more than that you will fear returning her, you will regret everything, as I regretted everything. Yet in the end, you will be as happy as I!” Barousse shook with laughter, his naked body matted with dried blood and waste.
“East is their home. You travel to where ships are known to have sunk, spits of stone far out to sea, desolate island cliffs, hidden reefs that rape ships bellies, you go alone. I left my ship and all my men, and rowed close to a desolate island farther east than I had ever gone, past Cyprus, to the very brink of the Holy Land. There must be no moon, not even a shaving, when the sea is lit only by stars and your fear, and there you wait with a sturdy net.”
The captain must have located his quarry, for he stopped rooting and leaned back, a thick black coat held in his shaking hand. He delicately ran the knife up and down it, prodding until the Arab heard a faint metallic jingle. Then the knife sank in and Barousse sank down, sliding his hand into the hole with the gentle air of a midwife assisting a small woman’s first child into the world. Al-Gassur’s candle reflected off something, and he peered over Barousse’s shoulder.
“If you search it out you can find cable thin as rope but far stronger. You noose it over the end, and drop it into the sea. Ensure it is a ship’s length long, to reach her depths. Then you wait, but not long. When you feel the tugging haul it up, slowly and gently as the first time you made love to your wife. You will hear the splashing beside your boat and then you must cast the net, and carefully, for one chance is all a man is allowed. Haul it on board quick, but do not look or all is lost! Above all, do not look until you have found a beach or rock where you can drag the net, and only then! And that, dear brother, is worth all sacrifices you have made and all tragedies you will suffer, the first sight of her! Only then will you return to your ship and the world of men, bringing what you have earned.”
Al-Gassur held out his trembling hands and took the artifact. The sides of the small bottle were twisted and warped, and rather than having a stopper the neck ended in a smooth glass circle. A strange object sat in the bottom, a lump wrapped in sealskin, and the awed Arab saw that it exceeded the neck of the bottle in size. Either the bottle had been blown around it, or it had somehow grown after being sealed inside. Most curious of all, the glass felt warm to the touch, and pressing it to his cheek, Al-Gassur thought it pulsed like the chest of a small animal.
“Always conceal it, from moon and sun and man alike. Here, with roof above and floor below and walls on all sides, here it is dangerous enough.” Barousse ripped a piece from the coat and covered the bottle in Al-Gassur’s palm. “Never let it see the open sky, even when you put it to use, keep it wrapped in cloth and let the sea strip it of its mantle. Now that you have seen it, never risk it again, never!”
“Brother, I will never have faith in any but you.” Al-Gassur bowed.
“I love to see the trembling of the tiny birds,” Barousse whispered in a strange accent, and before Al-Gassur could question his meaning warm liquid splashed the Arab’s face.
“I’ll see you rest with her, brother,” Al-Gassur vowed, the room tinted burgundy from the blood in his eyes. Barousse flopped forward, the knife buried to the hilt in his bare chest. A fevered smile contrasted with the horror in his foggy eyes, and his lips continued to move long into the night. And so Captain Alexius Barousse left the world of men and Grossbarts, leaving his legacy in the hands of those who still praised his name.