The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart Read Free

wildly between the doorway and his son. “I’m sorry, lads, honest. Let him free,
     and spare the little ones.” The babes screeched all the louder. “In God’s name, have mercy!”
    “Mercy’s a proper virtue,” said Hegel, rubbing the wooden image of the Virgin he had retrieved from a cord around Gertie’s
     neck. “Show’em mercy, brother.”
    “Sound words indeed,” Manfried conceded, setting the boy gently on his heels facing his father.
    “Yes,” Heinrich gasped, tears eroding the mud on the proud farmer’s cheeks, “the girls, please, let them go!”
    “They’s already on their way,” said Manfried, watching smoke curl out of the roof as he slit the boy’s throat. If Hegel found
     this judgment harsh he did not say. Night robbed the blood of its sacramental coloring, black liquid spurting onto Heinrich’s
     face. Brennen pitched forward, confused eyes breaking his father’s heart, lips moving soundlessly in the mud.
    “Bless Mary,” Hegel intoned, kissing the pinched necklace.
    “And bless us, too,” Manfried finished, taking a bite from the warm tuber.
    The babes in the burning house had gone silent when the Grossbarts pulled out of the yard, Hegel atop the horse and Manfried
     settling into the cart. They had shoved a turnip into Heinrich’s mouth, depriving him of even his prayers. Turning onto the
     path leading south into the mountains, the rain had stopped as the Brothers casually made their escape.

II
Bastards at Large

    Dawn found the smoldering carcass of Heinrich’s house sending plumes of smoke heavenward, summoning the village’s able-bodied
     men. An hour later most had regained the nerve they had lost at seeing the carnage. Despite his protests Heinrich went into
     the village to warm his bones and belly if not his soul while the half dozen men who comprised the local jury rode south.
     They had borrowed horses of varying worth and food to last two days, and the manor lord’s assistant Gunter fetched his three
     best hounds. Gunter also convinced his lord of the necessity of borrowing several crossbows and a sword, and the others gathered
     any weapons they could lay their hands on, though all agreed the fugitives should be brought back alive so Heinrich could
     watch them hang.
    Gunter knew well the Grossbart name, and cursed himself for not suspecting trouble when they had arrived at the manor house
     the night before. He comforted himself with the knowledge that no good man could predict such evil. Still, he had a wife and
     three sons of his own, and although he did not count Heinrich amongst his closest friends no man deserved such a loss. He
     would send his boys to help Heinrich next planting but knew it was a piss-poor substitute for one’s own kin.
    They rode as fast as the nags allowed, making good time over field and foothill. The wind chilled the jury but the sun burned
     off the dismal clouds and dried the mud, where the cart tracks collaborated with the dogs to assure them of their course.
     Even if the killers fled without resting Gunter knew they could still be overtaken by sundown. He prayed they would surrender
     at seeing the superior force but he doubted it. These were Grossbarts, after all.
    Being Grossbarts, Hegel and Manfried knew better than to stop, instead driving the horse close to breaking before stopping
     near dawn. Even had they wanted to continue the trail disappeared among the dark trees and remained invisible until cockcrow.
     They had reached the thick forest that separated the mountains proper from the rolling hills of their childhood home, and
     Manfried found a stream to water the frothy horse. He wiped it down while his brother slept and generously offered it a turnip.
     Turning its long nose up, it instead munched what grass grew on the edge of the wood before also closing its eyes.
    Manfried roused them both after the sun appeared, and his brother hitched the horse while he whittled a beard comb from an
     alder branch. Soon they were