demented servant of God. The bottle shone red in Hegel’s hand as he repeated the offer.
“I am not worthy of these stolen robes, let alone your mercy,” Martyn murmured, fumbling at his sash.
“Hold a tic.” Hegel put his hand on Martyn’s shoulder and squatted down. Taking a cue from Manfried, he coached the priest. “We’s agents a Mary, and from where we stand, you came by them robes and whatever station they imply through your own fuckin piety. We ain’t heretics, we’s bout the only ones sides yourself knows how corrupt and wicked what they call
“But-” Martyn’s eyes shone.
“Sides,” Manfried called, sensing Rodrigo’s defeat and his brother’s imminent victory, “how else is a one-armed priest gonna hang a heretic cept through the power a faith and the Will a Mary? Throttle, maybe, but really…” Manfried chuckled, impressed by Martyn’s follow-through.
“From Judas onward,” Martyn shouted, springing to his feet, “let the betrayers of our Lord hang as did the first! To Roma, Grossbarts, and then to Avignon!”
“Shut it,” Manfried sighed. “Hegel, cut down the dead one and take’em out to the stables. Cover’ em in Martyn ’s clothes, and take his sorry ass too, but mind he keeps his head down lest spies spy our ruse.”
Hegel climbed a barrel and cut down Bunuel, spattering shit everywhere. “Why I gotta drag this meck about?”
“Cause I gotta bring wine to the captain and inform him a recent events,” an exasperated Manfried explained. “Now get to it so’s we can reconvene with some wine a our own.”
To dry Hegel’s pissiness, Manfried helped haul the corpse to the kitchen and then intercepted Rodrigo coming up the stairs from the basement. Leading the shaken man back down, he pulled a bottle from the rack and opened it. After a guzzle, he gave it to Rodrigo and hoisted several fresh ones. Leaving the basement laden with booze and entering the empty foyer, Manfried caught wind of the Arab hobbling along the second-story railing toward the captain’s chambers. “Get down here!” Manfried barked.
“Illustrious Master Manfried!” Al-Gassur turned, his unseen grimace of dismay instantly replaced with a winning smile. “Here you are! I have scoured and scoured, only to see that we have exchanged placements, with I above and you below!”
“You dirty sneak.” Manfried waited at the foot of the stairs. “What’re you doin in the house?”
“Seeking you, of course! From my stable bed I witnessed this morning’s display, and when no word was sent I thought I might advise you of the imminent peril.”
“What imminent peril?” said Manfried.
“Why, that facing us all, for with the doge so angered and his men imprisoned, I thought-”
“You thought that your lowly fuckin observations would be superior to mine?”
“No, certainly not, I only wished to-”
“Sneak in unobserved and pilfer what you could before desertin us?”
Al-Gassur faked a laugh rather convincingly, and pretended to slip in order to pat his vest and ensure the purloined silver candelabra did not bulge too much.
“You’s underfoot from now til I say otherwise, understood?”
“Yes, Master Grossbart.”
“Good. Take this wine.” Manfried shoved the two bottles under Al-Gassur’s crutch arm and led him to the dining chamber.
Through the open door they saw Barousse and Sir Jean laughing as though they were lifelong friends. The French knight found the captain to be the worst example of nouveau riche mercantilism tempered with deplorable manners and a liberal dose of insanity, while Barousse judged the nephew of the Vicomte de Meaux to be a spoiled fop oblivious to his situation. This did not prevent them from carrying an animated conversation about Sir Jean’s period of imprisonment in England after the Battle of Poitiers. The mercenary guards nervously nodded at Manfried and the Arab.
“Manfried!” Barousse called, “you’ve brought more wine, excellent! Rodrigo seemed peaked so I sent him to have a rest.”
“Rigo tell you what’s happened?” asked Manfried, and when the captain shook his head Manfried snatched the bottles from Al-Gassur. Setting one before the captain and opening the other himself, Manfried took a pull before saying, “Got new developments, could set us back.”
“What sort?” Barousse’s voice hardened.
“Cardinal’s dead,” said Manfried.
“That’s too bad.” Barousse shrugged. “Can’t be helped, I suppose.”
“I sent Hegel to put’em in the barn, and had Martyn follow wearin the cardinal’s robes, so’s the men at the gate’ll think he’s still breathin.”
“Sound,” Barousse agreed, then suddenly stood. “I’ll attend to the remains better than they, serve a belated lunch to the lady of the house, then fetch you and Hegel to assist me with finalizing certain matters. That is, if you would entertain Sir Jean while I perform my errands?”
“Think I can manage,” Manfried sighed, sitting in Barousse’s chair. No sooner had the captain excused himself than Manfried snatched the glass away from the petulant knight and handed it to his hovering servant.
“Care for some wine, Arab?” Manfried asked, eyes locked with Sir Jean.
Al-Gassur bowed and poured from Barousse’s bottle, sharp enough to see the game and stay respectfully silent. The Arab slurped and smacked, Manfried’s lips curling up in direct proportion to Sir Jean’s frown.
“I’s seen your sort before,” Manfried said after swirling some wine in his puckered mouth. “Ridin about, puttin on airs. I seen you.”
Sir Jean would not have learned German even if given the chance, believing the Holy Roman Empire and its guttural tongue to be beyond contemptible. Instead he smiled slightly at this peasant’s coarseness, which earned him wine splashed in his face. Sir Jean’s hand went to his empty scabbard and his cinder-hued cheeks turned ashen, his blue eyes bulging. He told Manfried precisely what he thought of him, starting in French but shifting to Italian for the benefit of the watching guards and the Arab.
Al-Gassur began translating, at which point Sir Jean went paler still and his diatribe dried up. Manfried nodded appreciatively and stood. Sir Jean did not shrink away but leaned forward to accept the blow that never fell.
“Tell’em to take off that armor,” Manfried ordered Al-Gassur, who went to task.
“Tell him I will do nothing he commands, but will wait for the captain to return,” Sir Jean interrupted.
“Begging your apologies, dear Frenchman,” Al-Gassur said, taking liberty with his duty, “but I believe Master Grossbart is seeking a provocation to murder you. I would do what he says, unless you are ready to end as the cardinal did.”
“Cardinal Bunuel’s been killed?” Sir Jean swallowed. “Are they mad?”
“Quite. Now haste might be a better ally than even myself…”
Manfried checked his urge to strike the Arab,
Hegel scowled at the sun, at the guards curiously watching them, at Bunuel’s twisted rictus, and at Martyn. Dropping the real cardinal in the hay, Hegel seized the bottle the new cardinal had stowed in his armpit and set to prowling around the stable. Martyn wiped his excrement-covered hands on the side of a horse, which Hegel glared at, daring the animal to make the first move. It blinked and he resisted the impulse to slay it.
“What is that?” Martyn motioned out the door.
“Eh?” Hegel looked at the apparatus constructed in the back garden. The main supports rose nearly as high as the house, a huge beam balanced between them with one end tethered to something behind the shrubbery. Utterly baffled as to the purpose of such a device, he lied to Martyn.
“That’s the instrument a our victory,” said Hegel.
“You know of its purpose? Wonderful!” Barousse came from the house.
“Er.” Hegel scratched his beard.
“Grab hold of the body and bring it with us, and you shall help me ready our final blow.” Barousse veered off toward the contraption, and with much cursing Hegel and Martyn followed, towing Bunuel’s corpse.
Closer inspection only perplexed the two more, but Barousse took hold of a wheel and with Hegel’s assistance winched down one side of the teetering shaft. Attached to the end sat a spacious wooden basket, which they unceremoniously dumped Bunuel’s corpse into. Several guards watched from the terrace, in theory minding the rear wall lest the doge’s men storm it.
“I told the builders it was to be filled with an anchor’s weight worth of flowers to honor Strafalaria,” Barousse grunted, leading Martyn and Hegel onto the terrace and through the back door, “so it should be calibrated proper. I’ve got an actual anchor to drag out, lest a boulder undo the counterweight and foil the accuracy. That, along with the cardinal and a few hundred ducats ought to ensure the streets are thronged and our flight unnoticed.”
“A sound scheme,” Hegel acknowledged, possessing all the mechanical intuition of a mule.
“What is its purpose?” Martyn asked, earning him Hegel’s silent thanks.
“You’ll learn soon enough.” Barousse rubbed his palms together. Entering the rear door behind the central staircase, he motioned toward the dining room. “See that your brother hasn’t murdered our other hostage, and make sure the twit doesn’t learn of our scheme. I’ll be back as soon as I attend to my business.”
Barousse’s face darkened as he hurried toward the kitchen, while Hegel and Martyn went to see what Manfried was about. Retrieving the bucket of live sardines from beside the kitchen table, Barousse saw Rodrigo coming up from another wine-run to the cellar. Sloshing back across the kitchen, Barousse turned to the flushed young man.
“I know I’ve been difficult, at times. Hell, most of the time.” Barousse stared into the bucket. “I’d have lost myself years ago without you and Ennio, and I’m sorry about how it’s all played out up until here. I’m sorry about your brother, son. And your father.”
“I, uh, thank you, thank you so very-” Rodrigo did not know quite how to respond to the words he had always longed to hear.
“Now get on with it, and focus sharp or I’ll put you off the boat.” Barousse winked, momentarily forgetting his purpose. A fish splashed his boots, and the calm passed. “Don’t stand there gawking, leave the blasted bottles! Get to the Grossbarts and send them to me. Kill the snob if he gets crafty.”
Barousse ran back to the foyer and up the stairs, unsure why his vision had gone misty in the kitchen. Unable to dispel his grin, Rodrigo raced across the house, seeing the captain disappear on the second story. The guards almost shot Rodrigo when he burst into the room, and all his pent-up happiness burst forth in hysterical laughter at what he saw.
Sir Jean sat stripped of all but a loincloth and the Grossbarts stood on either side of him, Manfried wearing the upper half of the knight’s plate armor and Hegel
