The Friar's Tale, стр. 16

They had tested their trust of him. He could leave at his leisure, for they assumed that he would stay. He was not sure Robin had not, in fact, accepted that the friar might not. That he might leave at any time, head off into the forest.

He thought Robin understood the kind of man who became a friar better than some of the others. That little choice he had had.

He might have lived in a cell in Moresford's cloister.

The arrows that hailed across the road did not hit either the driver or the outriders. Not this time. Them, Robin had not promised to leave alive, but he was apparently in no hurry to kill them.

Tuck felt himself relax. He had his staff, just in case, both hands closed around it. A quarterstaff was the weapon of the lower classes. Of those who did not have the leisure to devote to learning the sword.

The outriders had swords. The driver, though, seemed to be unarmed. He made the best decision, however, shaking the reins to try and send the horses into a gallop. That was what one learned to do if ambushed.

To run for it. Sense, not cowardice.

Then both horses stopped and threw up their heads. They danced to the side, not at all willing to plunge into the barrier of brush and bramble that had been placed across the road.

Good. Tuck would have hated to see such fine beasts lamed...and they might have been, had they gone onwards.

Two men stepped from either side of the barrier.

The driver looked frightened, but the outriders were urging their trained mounts forward, their swords unsheathed.

Both men had staffs. One of them was John, who seemed almost tall enough to go eye to eye with the rider on the smallest horse.

An illusion of perspective, surely. He was not quite that huge. Quite. The other was Alan, a man not much smaller and as blonde as the sun.

"We'll be taking your gold and your jewels," came a voice. "And I think that good riding horse, too. Might take your woman."

Robin's voice. Tuck thought he had been next to him, but the voice came from further up, closer to the barrier. Try as he might, he could not see the outlaw.

A shriek came from inside the carriage, definitely the woman. Tuck knew if Robin did take her, it would be to demand more gold from Moresford not to harm her. The only woman Robin would harm would be one stupid enough to fight...and then he would be almost as likely to recruit her.

Tuck held his breath.

"On second thought, she doesn't sound worth the taking."

The two outriders surged forward. Tuck did not see much of the fight, for it happened far too quickly. At the end of it two swords and one rider were on the ground, one horse running back the way they had come. Alan had a shallow wound along one arm. It dripped blood, but he did not seem overly bothered by it. The second rider was too busy trying to control his mount to fight on.

Horses, even trained ones, still tended to try and escape battle. Except for bred warhorses, who would engage in it even when asked not to.

Tuck held his position. He was still just watching. They did not need his inexpert help, that much was clear. Robin was moving to untie the riding horse from the wagon. It was not being very cooperative, shaking its head and snorting.

Two more were 'helping' Moresford out of the carriage. He stood there, shaking a little. Not quite an autumn leaf, but certainly not a solid man, either. For all of his bulk.

Tuck had seen him before, but in his own turf. In his own church, going through the motions of the mass. It felt like that now.

Going through the motions. Of course, Tuck went through the motions for a lot of his life. But then, he did not have a flock to worry about. Rarely did he have the charge of any soul other than his own.

His own, he cared about, but he did not think he had ever committed a mortal sin. Maybe the occasional edge of gluttony.

Not like this man, now being stripped of his jewels. Clorinda had pulled the mistress out of the carriage too. She was taking her rings. One of them she slipped onto her own finger. It hardly seemed worth it.

It hardly seemed likely it would fit and she did not intend to keep it, surely. Perhaps a token, a demonstration of exactly how she felt about the matter. A demonstration of power, Tuck decided.

When they let them go, they had the horse and the jewelry, but no gold. Apparently, the Abbot had learned better about moving his treasury. They moved off through the trees quietly, the horse's hooves muffled.

"We'll get a good price for this beast, and probably be doing him a favor too," Robin murmured once they were clear of the road.

The horse did not seem particularly concerned about any change in his fortunes. He merely walked behind the man leading him, his head down a little. He honestly looked more bored than anything else.

Tuck sometimes envied horses. It seemed to him as if they were most fortunate creatures, not in any way, shape or form required to think. They did not know of tomorrow or yesterday. Of course, that made it all the more cruel to ill-treat them, for they could neither remember better nor hope.

Such was the common wisdom. He personally thought they remembered very well. A horse might bite an abuser months later or prick his ears towards somebody known to bring apples, even if he had not seen them for a year. They remembered.

Still, they were horses. They did not worry about the state of their souls, for they had no souls. Some vital, animating force, certainly, but it was not a soul. Perhaps that force returned