The Friar's Tale, стр. 11
Nobody could survive in England, after all, without wool. This farmer, though, was now talking about his pigs and the fact that one of them had slipped the swineherd and vanished into the woods.
Tuck doubted he would be getting it back, but it was information to pass on anyway. Perhaps the farmer would be grateful for its return by some means. Or perhaps not. He might have nothing to pay a reward with.
"Pigs are so stubborn."
"More stubborn than men," Tuck agreed.
The farmer started, as if he had not really registered the friar's presence. "Depends on the men. And not more stubborn than women."
The barmaid made as if to slap him, although it was clearly not aimed to hit. "I'd say it is men who are the stubborn ones, Robert!"
The thus-named Robert laughed. "I'd ask your opinion, Friar, but you have no wife to be stubborn around you."
"I think I'm going to stay out of this." He was often glad he had no wife...he had never been tempted to break chastity, and he had no desire to spend his life bound to another individual for what was in so many cases little more than convenience.
"Smart move. Maybe opting out of the entire thing is not such a bad move."
"Well, if I see your pig, I'll let you know."
"Or his wife," the barmaid said, slyly. "Or do you know where she is?"
Rather than being insulted by the implication, Robert simply laughed again. "At home. A six month old is more than a good enough leash."
At that, Tuck did feel slight envy. Women, he might not care for, but there were times when he regretted the fact that he had to remain childless. Even had he been tempted to break his vows, the life of a wandering friar was not one for wife or child.
Hence, no doubt, why Francis had insisted on celibacy in the first place. He wondered if Clorinda was using some form of birthbane. None of the herbs used for such were fully reliable, but she would obviously not wish or seek offspring.
No, that would be a bad thing for both her and her husband. And most of all for the child.
The barmaid laughed again. "Six moons, is it? I thought it had been longer."
Robert shook his head. "Six. And a healthy boy he is, too."
"You're lucky." Tuck leaned against the bar. "That he is healthy, that is." And lucky to have a boy as the first one, and based off of the farmer's age it likely was. He'd want a second, of course...six months healthy proved nothing. It was rumored the Greeks did not name their children until their first birthday, so they would not get too attached.
Of course, if everything said about the Greeks was true they were an odd people indeed. It was rumored that, while Christian, they still celebrated Passover.
"Oh, I know, and that my Ruth is well too, for all that I sometimes wish to make her not well."
The tone of voice indicated he loved his wife, in any case. "I have yet to meet a husband who did not feel that way. Or a wife. Helpmeets women might be, but I sometimes think God sent them to test us."
Of course, staying apart from them was supposed to be the greater test. Tuck was not entirely sure of that.
"No, God sent men to test us," the barmaid supplied.
Tuck could not help it. He laughed.
4
He learned nothing, however. No rumors of wealthy travelers that might be worth robbing. Tuck would not support stealing from these people.
Gisbourne would do that cheerfully come tax time, for Gisbourne was indeed the liege of this place. Now him, Tuck would cheerfully rob blind. Were he not still on crusade.
Their opinion of the man was no better, although their complaints were muted and at least once he heard the conversation change as he approached.
Even getting "drunk" and loudly declaring what an idiot Gisbourne was would probably not help.
A good lord could tolerate his people speaking ill of him and, indeed, invite it to his face. Gisbourne had not so much as shown his face in his holdings for years. Supplies, however, he was able to purchase readily. Bread was the most important. It was hard to live without bread, and impossible to make it in the greenwood. He also bought several casks of the stout...almost as much as the villagers could spare.
No questions were asked. He had a story ready but ended up not needing it. Of information, though, he left empty handed. Or would that be empty eared? That thought carried him out of the village.
The road was quiet, but he did not worry, this time, about robbers. Maybe about somebody jumping him for the fun of it, but outlaw bands tended not to overlap one another.
They tended not to get on. He could not believe, at some levels, he was in this situation. With these men, who lived outside the fabric, tugging at the edges of society.
Most of it was Robin. There was a reason he was a leader so young...a strength of charisma such as Tuck imagined a saint would possess. Not that he was not a long way from being a saint. Charisma alone was not enough. What had he sacrificed? Possibly quite a lot. A woman, he knew that. An inheritance, possibly. Or he might have been an impoverished younger son.
The mule abruptly stopped and planted all four hooves in the road. Horses will balk at their own hooves, shadows and imaginations. Mules did not balk without a reason.
"What's up, Brownie?"
The only answer was a snort. Then, Tuck saw the woman. For a moment. Standing in the middle of the road, clad in a fine gown of blue, her dark hair entwined with jewels. Then she was gone. He would have thought it