“No, confess to me,” Martyn insisted.

“Shut it,” said Hegel. “Yeah, that’s the witch. I, uh, done her. Physically.”

“Kilt’er? When you did that?”

“No, meckbrain, carnal-like. She, uh, sexed me.”

“What!?” Manfried burst out laughing. “Ain’t proper to fool with me, Hegel. That old thing?”

“Some a us what possess a proper palate recognize mutton’s superior to lamb.” Hegel crossed his arms.

“Women ain’t the same as meat!” said Manfried.

“Tell that to the lady-fish we et on the boat. But the point with the witch is I should a known better but I didn’t, so I lost my purity. But She gave it back to me. Mary I mean, the Virgin, which is what the witch’s spell made her seem like.” Hegel spread his hands. “See? No shame for those in Her Graces. Confess to me and you’s absolved same as I.”

Martyn wanted to interrupt but could not retrieve his lower jaw from the sand. Manfried continued to laugh until Hegel punched him. Then he tried to talk several times but kept chortling every time he opened his mouth.

“That old thing?” Manfried repeated. “Christ, brother!”

“Why you think I done it, huh?” Hegel said, furious. “Think I was aimin to knock my Grossballs gainst some witch’s stink-hole? If I hadn’t you would a died from that sick wound a yours, you selfish cunt! That was the price.”

“Should a let me die!” snorted Manfried, but observing the pain in Hegel’s face he sobered. “Thanks, brother, that’s better than I deserve. Had no inklin you had to suffer like that on my account. Damned pious behavior.”

“I’d feel a sight better bout it if you came clean yourself so I wouldn’t have to worry bout you burnin in the pit.” Hegel gave his brother the eye. “Thought’s sinful as deed, Manfried.”

“Is it? Yeah, I reckon it is.” Manfried squinted into the shadows behind them, as if the secret lay hidden in the dark beyond the firelight. “Guess I done some things I shouldn’t, thought some things worse than what I did besides.”

“Come on, then,” Hegel prodded. “Out with it, and spite the Old Boy.”

“Uh, well, that nixie…” Manfried swallowed.

“Yeah?”

Martyn wanted to interrupt but his curiosity overpowered him and he remained silent.

“Well, I, uh, kind a got a fondness for her and that song a hers.” Hegel nodded while Manfried continued. “Reckon some a them things I was thinkin was put there by her witchery, but some a them, er, probably come by my own volition. Mecky thoughts, things what’d shame the Virgin.”

“And what’d you call her?” asked Hegel knowingly.

“Eh?”

“By what name was she called in your thoughts, brother? I know cause I’s guilty’s well a callin a witch by Her Name.” Hegel bowed his head. “Terrible sin.”

“Does it count if you say it stead a me?” Manfried kicked his brother. “So yeah, I reckon lackin a better title the name Mary might a been used. I’d creep into that wagon and watch but I never touched her, well, uh, never meant to touch her. Then that time in the river I was kissin that Road Pope, thinkin it was her. If I was right a mind I never would a laid one on her, let lone no bandit.”

“There it is.” Hegel sighed.

“But that ain’t the worst, brother!” Manfried said anxiously. “I done worse yet. Wickedness to blush Scratch’s smooth cheek. See, when we was with the captain the first time we met Angelino, he was fightin with Barousse and you and Rigo was off lookin outside and I was, I was…”

“Whatever it was, you’s forgiven soon’s you tell me,” Hegel said gently.

“I was fillin my wineskin from her tub, and since then on anytime I was feelin low I’d take a sip out a that salty bathwater, even after she went monstrous.” Manfried’s shame brought his chin low. “Still got a little bit left.” Manfried kept his head bowed until he heard a strange noise and looked up. “You laughin at me, you hag-touchin degenerate?”

“Hey now.” Hegel covered his mouth with one hand. “Just cause you’s forgiven don’t mean you ain’t a mecky whoreson! Her bathwater, brother? Disgustin!”

“Well fuck you and your witch-kissin ways!” Manfried shouted.

“Calm yourself!” Hegel swelled up, then relaxed at seeing Manfried’s eyes threatening to pop. “Calm, calm. Mockin a man’s confession’s a worse sin than any either a us done, so you got my confession on that too, fair? Hell, you wanna keep drinkin it, it’s alright now cause I bless you and I’ll bless it too, make it holy water. It’s alright, brother.”

“It most definitely is not!” Martyn roared, and Manfried socked him in the gut.

“You got any interest in delayin your reunion with the fuckin infinite, you shut your mouth in the presence a the saint!” Manfried roared back, and Martyn keeled over clutching his stomach. “Go on, brother.”

“I was bout done,” Hegel said, then looked around at the shining eyes watching him from across the fire. “Anyone else wanna be washed clean?”

Raphael stood and walked to them, plopping down and addressing Hegel directly for the first time since losing his hand and most of his teeth. He told them of all the atrocities he had committed during his service in the White Company. The mercenary army had taken part in all sorts of debauchery involving wine, women, and extreme violence, and Raphael confessed until the tears came and he shook with remorse.

“You’s forgiven, boy.” Hegel exchanged a shrug with Manfried, neither having understood most of what was said. “We’s all sinners in this mecky world.”

“I too have something to confess.” Al-Gassur giggled, crawling toward them around the fire. “But first, is my miserable, lowly Arab-self allowed the same benefits as you?”

“Long as you don’t keep prattlin on and own up already,” Manfried said.

“And no revenge will be inflicted upon my flesh for whatever evils I have done?” Al-Gassur pressed, the hoax that had kept him laughing all these months almost told.

“Yeah, yeah, spit it,” said Hegel.

“I, I’m, I’m not-” Al-Gassur tried to say it but his whole body trembled with mirth. “I am no Arab!”

“No Arab what?” Hegel’s eyes were slits.

“No Arab at all! Not even a Turk!” The laughter overpowered Al-Gassur and he rolled in the sand.

“Heth mwad,” Raphael guessed.

“No!” Al-Gassur hooted, “Neither mad nor Arab! I am from Constantinople, probably the same stock as the rest of you! Born a beggar, yes, but an Arab? Not on your souls!”

“What are you, then?” Hegel asked. “Not honest, whatever the breed.”

“My father was a Wallachian peddler.” The memories of his youth calmed Al-Gassur’s delight. “He took my mother to Constantinople to practice his trade. But he was robbed and beaten, and without any coin to even travel home he moved to the only place which would take him, the Jews’ quarter. I was born there, and so to the ignorant city folk I was a Jew. My father and mother both died when the rival Christian merchants launched one of their attacks on the ghetto, killing anyone they could catch. But not I!”

“That don’t tell us why you act the Arab.” Manfried had risen to a crouch.

“Even the exotic Arab with his thirst for Christian blood is less despised than the Jew,” Al-Gassur hissed. “And a converted infidel, one who fought for the Pope in a crusade, can coax coin from even the least charitable Christian. As a young man in the ghetto what chance had I as a beggar or anything else, when all who see you know you for a Jew? I adopted a new name and what name I had is long forgotten.”

“So you ain’t a Jew or an Arab, is that right, Arab?” Manfried insisted.

“No! Yes! The golden horses and other riches my father believed to stand in Constantinople as proof of the city’s wealth were long before stolen by Venetians in a crusade as noble as that on which we are now engaged, and that is why I journeyed there. I intended to abandon my Arabian ruse along the way but it stuck fast and earned me as much pity and drink as it did beatings. My true ancestry won my father naught but a broken heart and an empty pouch, and had I adopted a Jewish name be assured the beatings would have surpassed the mercy, especially in those plague-ridden days when every scapegoat was whispered to have horns beneath his pointed hat.”