“But you think she was fit? Ever? Imagine it young and it’d still be all tainted with heresy. No such thing as a pretty witch.”
During the intervening days Hegel had often tried to separate one portion of a certain memory from the other aspects. He silently ruminated. He almost had it, but every time his brother would say something like-
“No sir. That witch done fucked that animal-man-thing, fucked’em often, too. And et the babes what come out. Imagine that crusty crone spread-”
Hegel leaned over and vomited so hard his sphincter twitched. Manfried jumped back from the spray, laughing heartily. Hegel shot him an evil glare through spew- teared eyes.
“That horse not agreein with you?”
“It’s that vile tongue a yours. Who’d wanna think a thing like that?” Hegel spit but could not dispel the taste-memory of her.
“Just sayin.”
“Well, don’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Eh?” Hegel wiped his mouth and looked where his brother did. The road stretched off around the bend, appearing intermittently down the long ridge, but behind them on the last mountain they had traversed the highway came back into view, and here a large black shape moved. It went quickly, and Hegel could make out both the wagon and the team of horses making good time.
Manfried squinted. “I can’t-”
“It’s a damn ride, is what it is!” Hegel slapped his brother with his wide-brimmed hat.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“What they doin comin through the mountains in dead winter?”
“What we doin here? Same as them. Now get to task.” Hegel rushed ahead to where a boulder jutted out of the roadside.
“Good lookin out,” Manfried said, jumping into action.
They each worked a side of the slab, Manfried with his ax, Hegel with his pick. Every few minutes they would pause and set to, but it still would not budge. Desperation took over, but the more they dug the deeper into the mountainside the boulder went.
“Look,” Hegel panted. “We oughta haul that dead tree back a ways over here and wedge it in, try to pry this out.”
“What’s that?”
“That dead tree was on the upper slope, a little ways back. We hurry, we can get it back here fore-” Hegel paused, seeing the look in Manfried’s eyes, and altered his intent: “Or we could just lay that log across the trail stead a this boulder.” Manfried nodded slowly, scowling at his brother.
No sooner had they backtracked to the log, scrambled up the roadside, and rolled it back down than they heard the horses approach. They stretched it across the road and waited, and when Hegel caught sight of the wagon rounding the bend they leaned down, acting as though dried, crumbling wood possessed enormous weight. The wagon slowed to a stop and two men jumped from the rear, exchanging words with the driver before advancing on the Grossbarts with crossbows in hand. Seeing this, the Brothers retrieved their own notched crossbows from behind the log.
“Hold, now!” Hegel called when the men came into range.
“Why this?” the bigger of the two demanded.
“Seen yous comin, decided to lend a hand, get this out the road for you,” Manfried yelled.
“Why the bows?” the man said.
“Why’ve you got yours?” Hegel returned.
“What?” The man cocked his ear.
“Come on over,” Manfried said, “can’t hear you neither.”
The men advanced warily on the grinning Grossbarts. When they were close enough to make out their bearded countenances the men stopped. The driver called something from behind but none of the four paid him heed.
“What you doing out here?” the first man asked. He possessed a stringy black mustache that matched both the hair on his head and that of his fellow’s.
“Same’s you,” Hegel shot back.
“Seeing this,” Mustache said, “so you move that wood and stand clear and we be on ours, and you be on yours.”
“Well, now,” Manfried said, “that don’t seem fair.”
“Why this?” Mustache asked.
“We go through the trouble a movin it and you don’t even offer two weary travelers a ride?” said Hegel.
The second man said something to Mustache in a language the Brothers could not understand. Mustache responded in the same, and the second man raised his bow at Hegel. The Grossbarts cradled their crossbows lazily, but each had his weapon trained on one of the men.
“Move back,” Mustache said, “and we move it ourselves, and you have no reasons to gripe.”
“Fair’s fair,” Hegel said, immediately regretting the use of Nicolette’s phrase.
The Brothers stepped back and the two men advanced. They paused, glancing down at the log. Rotten though it was, they could not move it without setting down their weapons. The Grossbarts beamed at them. The men exchanged more indecipherable words, glaring at the Brothers.
“You win,” Mustache said, smiling himself now, “you move, and we give passage.”
“What’s stoppin you from shootin us when we set down our bows?” Manfried inquired.
“Same as stopping you from shooting we if we do the same,” Mustache snapped.
“Righteous Christian morals?” Hegel asked, but made no move to lower his weapon.
“Yes,” said Mustache.
“Ain’t cut it,” Manfried said. “We’s pious pilgrims, as shown by our Virgins.” He shook his head, the necklace bouncing on his tunic. “Where’s your proof?”
“Seeing this,” Mustache said, “it is not my wagon or we gladly grant you a ride. So sad, it is not. We are paid exactly so no one gets on wagon. We are paid to move logs. Seeing this, the log must go and you with it.”
“Move it, then,” Hegel said.
Mustache’s smile faded, and he exchanged more words with his compatriot. They began walking backward, away from the Brothers.
“We discuss with the driver,” Mustache called.
“You do that!” Hegel yelled, sitting down on the log.
“Should a shot those infidels where they lied,” Manfried said.
“How you know they’re infidels?”
“You see that one’s mustache? And the other’s definitely foreign. Finally, when asked for proof a faith they failed to produce.”
“None a that means nuthin. You’s thinkin too hard, as usual,” Hegel sighed.
“Why else they don’t give us a ride?”
“Probably cause we didn’t offer’em anythin.”
“Holy men don’t need to pay. Least not to any fellow Christian.”
“So you’s a holy man now?” Hegel snorted.
“Both a us is. Killed us a devil.”
“Wasn’t a devil, was a damn man what turned into one.”
“Same thing,” said Manfried.
“Hell it is.”
“Watch that blasphemy.”
Hegel perked up. “They’s comin back.”
Better still, the wagon followed. The second man sat on the bench beside the driver. Mustache walked ahead, smiling broadly but still training his bow on Hegel.
“You win,” Mustache said. “Move the log and give some coin and we all be on ours, but you off at the next town. Seeing this?”
Hegel began to answer but Manfried elbowed him, taking charge. “Right equitable. We’ll give you all the money we got soon’s we arrive.”
“Coin now.” Mustache sounded immovable.
“No security you’s honest, we pay upon delivery,” said Hegel.
“No proof you either. Coin now,” Mustache said.
“Hey you,” Manfried called to the driver. “We’ll give you all when we get to a town and not fore, deal?”
“See-” Mustache began, but the driver interrupted with a harsh string of those foreign words, then he looked to the Grossbarts. He appeared their age, with oily black hair and a thinner mustache, and finer clothes than anyone else present.
“No highwaying on this highway, yes?” the driver asked in a clipped accent.
“That’s right.” Hegel smiled.
“So you have my Christian word on a safe passage. If you will swear the same, we may progress.” The driver forced a smile.
“Given,” the Brothers said in unison.
“Then move that, and any other obstructions we chance upon, and no further payment will be necessary.” The driver smoothed the scalloped edge of his chaperon hat.
The two guards walked to the rear of the wagon, casting foul glances at the Brothers. Manfried kept his arbalest in hand while Hegel lifted one end of the dead log and rolled it to the side, then he picked up his weapon and they both set their feet on it, pushing it over the edge. Watching it pick up speed and finally blast apart on a boulder down the mountainside, they both ruminated on how they might approach a traveling wagon in the future in light of the difficulty in securing passage on this one.
They moved to enter the wagon but all three yipped at them to get on the bench and stay clear of the interior. Jamming their odorous bags under the hanging tarp