The Friar's Tale, стр. 12

Her. He crossed himself by reflex. Either he had seen, for a moment, some noble of the fae or... The alternative was even more frightening. The mule began to walk forward again, as if nothing had happened. She was clearly gone.

Tuck realized his hands had turned white and relaxed off on the reins so no tension would communicate to the beast and make him start again. A woman clad in the sea. It could have been, but if so, of what was it a sign?

To turn back, or to go on? He could have taken the supplies and left, but he was bent on returning to the outlaws. Had she shown up to warn him not to?

Somehow, he did not think so. And there remained the possibility that, mule or not, it was his imagination. Novices had visions all the time, or claimed to. Some monks and nuns made a business out of it, spinning their tales. He could have simply imagined or dreamed her.

In truth, he had never encountered any miracles. And he was not sure whether or not he believed in fairies. He had been told over and over again that they were a kind of demon, or something only the superstitious peasantry believed in.

He wanted to believe that had not been what she was. He wanted to believe she had an existence outside of his own mind, but he saw nothing more until he turned the wagon between two trees and came upon the camp. His arrival triggered no changes other than Robin coming out of a tent...with Little John behind him. Both men appeared in mild disarray.

"Anything?"

"They're too scared of Gisbourne. They seemed to think me one of his agents."

Robin frowned. "I was afraid of that."

Tuck hopped down from the cart as one of the young men...little more than a boy...went to the mule's head. He started to open his mouth to mention the vision, then closed it again. He would not have believed himself; how could he possibly expect anyone to believe him? Besides he had yet to puzzle out what it meant. He waved off another of the outlaws and stalked to the edge of camp, pulling his cloak around himself. It was cold enough to need one, that was for sure, and poverty did not have to mean freezing to death.

When had it got so cold? When the sun had dipped below the horizon. The forest was darkening into night. He heard a toowhit and then a little later a toowhoo, a pair of owls keeping touch in the dusky sky. Beasts living their simple lives. He doubted the owls knew or cared about the affairs of men.

He thought about the fact that there were two common kinds of owl. The ones that gave those calls and the white and gold ones that haunted churchyards and convinced the weak minded they were ghosts.

They were only owls. He forced himself to focus on the woman. Three possibilities. One, his own pure imagination. Novices commonly had visions of women, even when given monkswort to tame their adolescent libido. Tuck had never experienced that, nor visions of men.

On the other hand, most men, even the sworn celibates, had such dreams on occasion. He had no doubt that women did as well, if no woman would ever admit to it. Some thought those dreams came from demons...incubi and succubi...to tempt people into indiscretion. He thought they were just...dreams. Not to be sought out or appreciated or enjoyed, no. But just dreams, not from the devil.

What if the woman, though, had been from the Devil? Or even from the old gods, if they had ever existed? The common church wisdom was that they did not exist.

The common wisdom of the people was that they existed but had been essentially defeated by the true God. That they were now but shadows, in the corners.

It was possible, he thought, that they were both wrong. He had studied the Latin. The Saracens did indeed claim there was only one God. The same God he served, although they called Him something a little different. They were not the heathens most claimed, not if one actually listened to them. They simply did not accept Christ was the Messiah. Like the Jews, albeit different. They followed the teachings of a prophet, a man of God who claimed to be speaking his word.

The Bible did not explicitly state there was only one God, only that one should only worship one God. He had never voiced his thoughts on that matter.

There was the other possibility for who the woman clad in the blue of the sea had been.

Mary.

The next day, several of the band left to hunt. Robin was among them, as was the lovely Clorinda. Avoiding the bitter old man, Richard, Tuck sat at the edge of camp. He would be useless on a hunt and he at least knew it. Even if he were a better woodsman, he would still be a lousy shot. That skill he had attempted to improve on enough occasions to know he was on the edge of being a hopeless case.

Well, it was not his fault. Some people were simply better at things than others. He was good at talking and listening and good with beasts. Those were far more important to a friar than being a good shot. He could always trade the talking for food and ale. It had worked many times...more now that he had tales of the Holy Land.

Somebody came up behind him. "So, Brother, you remain."

The old man.

"You don't trust me."

"I trust you more than I did." He lowered his creaking form to sit next to the friar. "Still. You are a churchman."

"What did the Church ever do to you?"

"What have they not done, at some point, to somebody? Annulled a loving marriage and ruled the offspring bastards. Or perhaps taken a man's land and livelihood to add it to the holdings of a