That night they took the sacrament of human flesh Heinrich offered, never suspecting the two abominations understood every word they whispered even if their master did not. Vittorio’s fear that they would have to kiss certain parts of the demons’ anatomies proved unfounded, although that was little succor. Escorting the novices back to their fire to retrieve their packs and weapons, Heinrich asked the lads if they knew which direction would take them to the sandy wastes of the Arab.

Being a barber of deserved reputation, Paolo’s father had known and passed on everything he understood of the profession and, unlike many of his trade, he had acknowledged that many advances had returned from the Crusades along with relics and other, more physical rewards. Whereas the average bumpkin might have pointed vaguely southward and picked his nose, Paolo motioned east, nodding his head vigorously when Heinrich narrowed his eyes. The fellow again pointed east, then curved his arm south, which seemed to please Heinrich.

They set off at once, the minds of the young popes irrevocably contaminated by the night’s horrid events. Without map or road they braved the wilds, Heinrich demanding the twins carry him over even the smallest stream rather than dampening his toes. Inexplicable impulses such as these beleaguered him and in the humid afternoons when sleep escaped him he would hear a soft, slithering voice that did not belong to him or any of those present, a whisper goading him to perform stranger rites still. Compromise was eventually brokered.

Now when they passed villages one of the novices would be forced to attempt a clandestine entry to deposit hunks of Heinrich’s rotting flesh in the wells. Where this proved impossible Heinrich would grow irrational, and order his boys to kidnap individuals from outlying farms so he could embrace and kiss them wantonly until they retched. Then they would be released, under a warning that if they spoke of what they had witnessed the demons would appear before them but to remember all was the fault of the Grossbarts. Few ever spoke again, the plague taking their lives before they sufficiently recovered from their horrors to think properly, let alone communicate beyond moans. In this fashion the Great Mortality enjoyed a brief renaissance in those regions, Heinrich’s retinue leaving plague and ruin in their footsteps as they marched to war against the Grossbarts.

Hegel awoke with a start, the fever finally broken upon his fire-bald pate. Looking around the dark room, he felt for his pick on the bed beside him and grew anxious at its absence. His armor lay draped over a nearby chair but when he attempted to stand his legs shuddered and he fell to the floor. Lying still for several moments, he listened to the drone of voices outside the door. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened before his illness but all he remembered was the vicious drubbing they had administered to the Arab at finding Barousse dead under his watch.

The door flew open and Hegel’s eyes glazed at the brightness flowing in, the unmistakable silhouette of Manfried framed in sunlight. Then the door closed and Manfried helped him onto the bed, placing a bottle in his hands. Hegel drank and coughed, his brother grinning at him until he returned the wine.

“What happened?” asked Hegel.

“Her Will fuckin served.” Manfried had a sip. “Not up on the specifics, as I’s just risen myself. Seems maybe we shouldn’t a et that witch after all, tried to poison us even in death.”

“Told you’s much. Probably why my recollections ain’t comin.”

“Told me’s much? You certainly ain’t recollectin proper.”

“What you got? I got that Arab beggin when we put Her Will into him and little more.”

“A day or two after that him and that mutinous Lucian was on the beams and I fired a bolt at’em.”

“Sport or necessity?”

“Suppose it must a been one a the two. Pinned Lucy to the mast with it, clean through the brainpan. Even Rigo laughed at that one, bastard’s body flappin and danglin til the bolt snapped and he fell.”

“Anythin else?”

“The Arab wouldn’t come down so I was gonna fell his roost. Didn’t get round to it, apparently.”

“Got airs on, thinkin we’s gonna stand for him wearin the captain’s flag like a cassock.” Later things were coming to Hegel now, things involving the Arab. “Didn’t he make at you with a knife?”

“Don’t think so.” Manfried knit his brows. “If he did, must a put’em proper, as I got no such wound.”

“But after you kilt that Lucian?”

“Hazy at best. We’s sailin, and they’s fishin but ain’t catch a tadpole. Ended up cuttin the Judas knight off the mast cause his rot was workin on the sail. Then we pitched’em overboard, along with the rest a them dogwhores.”

“Captain Bar Goose included?” asked Hegel.

“You takin me for a heathen? Barousse we left below.”

“And the witch?”

“Someone put her over when we was asleep. Martyn won’t own up, but we’ll beat it out a him when you’s feelin revived.”

“So we in the sandlands yet?” Hegel asked after a period of silent reflection.

“Nah, but gettin closer.”

Hegel blinked and rubbed the down mattress with his surprisingly clean palm. Looking back to Manfried, he scowled and said, “So when was you thinkin bout stoppin with the tooth display and tellin me just what in Her Name is happinin? What it is, cause I know you didn’t stitch me this softness out a old turnip sacks.”

“Come and look, brother.” Manfried finished the wine and helped Hegel rise. “Come and take a gander at Her Benevolence.”

Arm in arm they went to the door and Manfried led him outside. Light blinded Hegel but his brother moved him forward, the sounds of the ocean nearly suffocated by the clamor of men and the nickering of horses. Even the presence of equines could not diminish Hegel’s awe when his eyes finally took in their surroundings.

They stood on the deck of a massive ship, fully three times as large as their original vessel. The dozens of men did not rob him of breath, nor did the cheer that went up from them at his appearance. What shocked even a living saint was the fleet of ships cutting the sea around them, a prodigious, floating forest of masts, many of them flying huge white sails emblazoned with blood-red crosses.

“We was delivered to an island.” Manfried’s swept his arm in front of them. “An island full a honest men just itchin to head south and get a piece a what the Infidel’s holdin.”

“Mary bless us!”

“Yes She has! Martyn!” Manfried shouted, and the cardinal appeared across the deck. “Come and hear it from his mouth, brother! That fool’s made amends in full to Her Eminence.”

“Brother Hegel!” Martyn panted, scurrying up the stairs to the raised deck. “The Virgin’s caress has balmed you once more from the grave, delivered into such hands as are scarce fit to stroke you!”

“You didn’t leave him alone with me whiles I was under, did you?” Hegel muttered to his brother.

The first thing that set Hegel on edge was Martyn’s reluctance to drink with them. Under threat of harm he relented and sipped at his wine, his thirsty eyes drinking more of it than his lips. As he talked he forgot himself and drank more of the wine, but before they could open a second bottle his story had concluded.

Martyn’s rendition shared a number of similarities with the actual event, but this could be attributed to coincidence. Their ship had indeed floated unmanned for several days while they all raved and weakened from dehydration, and they had floated into the current surrounding Rhodes. Here their ship was sighted and brought in, and within two days of arriving they had set out again, this time in the company of hundreds of men intent as they on reaching the domain of the Infidel. Martyn’s implication that they had left entirely under his command as Mary’s chosen representative on Earth is where the tale began to stray from the truth.