The Friar's Tale, стр. 26
Not bad, and his next blow hit a man in the chin, snapping his head back with the sickening crack that accompanied shattering vertebrae. Another death, but Tuck had no time to regret it. Clorinda relieved the first man, now groaning on the ground, of his sword. He was surprised that she seemed able to use it well...he had never seen her with anything other than a bow. He had assumed she was only trained as an archer.
Surprised, and then somebody had grabbed his staff. He shifted his grip, twisted it free from the attempted disarm. Robin hit the man in the shoulder from the other side, and he stepped back, reaching up to clutch it.
"Let's go." Tuck needed no second bidding. He made sure nobody had arrows trained on him, and then ran. Towards the town.
If they could get into the crowd, then...no, these people had already killed their own man to get to him. They would not hesitate to shoot into a mass of peasants to get the outlaws.
Tuck assigned himself a few more Hail Marys, preemptively, then cursed them at satisfying length.
"No, this way. They won't follow us." Robin was ducking towards the caves again, then vanished into one, powering down the passage. Tuck pushed Clorinda in front of him before following. His arm stung. He managed to take a second to glance at it. A long, thin rip through his habit and a gouge in the skin beneath that bled sluggishly. He was lucky.
No. Lucky would have been not to be hit at all.
Robin took one turn, then two, then three...and Tuck realized why they would not be followed as the odor from further into the caves struck his senses.
Stale urine. There were people down here tanning leather. It was all he could do to keep running. Tanners, it was rumored, often permanently lost their sense of smell.
He wished he could lose his! The scent of the mixture of urine and oak bark was the worst he had ever encountered, worse than a charnel pit. Worse, even, than a camp latrine. The tanners looked up, then back to their work. Several of them had scars, for the mixture could cause burns if it splashed on a person.
They ran across a kind of catwalk above the tanning pits. Clorinda was coughing. But the sheriff's men had not followed them. That was what mattered the most. Their lungs and noses would recover later.
It did, though, seem as if they moved through the tanning pits forever. When they came out, they were practically the other side of town, at the edge of the water meadows.
"Phewf. I think that was worse than the jail."
"More temporary, though," Robin pointed out. "Or do you want to go back?"
Clorinda tried to laugh, ended up coughing again. "No...absolutely not. But I feel as if I got my share of brimstone!"
Tuck shook his head. "How about we make ourselves scarce, before somebody comes up with the bright idea of going around the tannery instead of through it?"
Robin laughed again, but quickly followed Tuck's suggestion, heading across the water meadows towards the river itself. Tuck divined his plan instantly. They could not, of course, cross the Trent here unless they wanted to swim, but their tracks would be hard to follow in the marsh along the very edge of it. A couple of cows protested at their presence, although they did not approach. A shaggy pony turned out with them did, for a few strides, perhaps hoping the fruit of the garden was in somebody's pocket. Then the wind shifted and it fled.
They probably smelled of tannery, even if they could not detect it with tired noses. Certainly, the pony had acted as if its senses were distinctly offended.
Besides, there was no need or reason to steal it, although Clorinda looked tired and limped very slightly. Hopefully just a sprain. She still had the guardsman's sword.
A trophy Tuck felt her well entitled to. And then they were plodding through the marsh, the far side of the levees that controlled the flow onto the meadows themselves. It was unpleasant, but far less so than the tannery.
For a moment, he thought he saw a glimpse of blue.
9
The feeling of the Blue Lady's presence did not leave them until they got to camp. The next day, Tuck sat at the edge, carving a new staff.
The simple activity kept his hands occupied. His mind, however... His mind recoiled in fear from the possibility that she was one of Clorinda's gods. That she was real and he had done her bidding.
No. He had done it for Clorinda, not her. The Church, though, considered Clorinda a witch.
The Church and God were not the same. The Church was made up of humans, fallible mortals who made errors. On the other hand, if the old gods were real? No. He had always known they were real, in some way, at some level.
Real, but not significant. They had faded under His power into mere shades. Not to be worshipped or respected, but occasionally, perhaps feared.
Certainly not to be loved.
Robin's intent was to love the Virgin. If the Blue Lady was not she, then Robin had...come to logical conclusions. To be fooled by such was certainly no shame. To be Marian was to be wrong...which was ultimately what heresy was.
Tuck finally realized why Robin's heresy did not bother him. It was quiet. Most of the heretics Tuck had encountered had the strong desire to teach the rest of the Church the error of their ways. They preached, cajoled, and occasionally threw riots. They did not simply live their lives and mention their beliefs only to those who asked.
Which proved only that loud heretics were the only ones you noticed. Sensible, quiet heretics kept their mouths shut, ensuring they would not face the fires.
Robin could believe