The Friar's Tale, стр. 27

But the presence of the Blue Lady meant something. Tuck sought out the old man. Richard.

Richard was sitting in the doorway of one of the tents. He looked far worse off than he had been. He seemed worse off every day. His health was deteriorating.

He might die this year or next, Tuck thought, with neither sorrow nor rancor. He disliked the man, but wished no ill on him. However, he would not much miss him.

He moved to sit down nearby.

"The brother, not avoiding me?"

Tuck decided to be blunt, "I don't like you. I'm fairly sure you don't like me."

"I don't like your God."

"But others here do." Tuck shrugged. "What god, then, do you serve?"

"I serve the Great Mystery and the gods."

Tuck's eyebrow arched upwards. "You are a druid?" That was supposed to be the term they used for God. There also were not supposed to be any druids.

"One of the few. Now do you understand why I don't like your God? The Romans cut down our groves and demanded we worship in temples of stone. Then the Christians knocked down the temples and demanded we worship no more."

Put that way, his enmity made far too much sense. "Who is the Blue Lady?"

"I am not sure. She has not appeared to me. Only, as far as I know, to Robin, Clorinda and Will. If she has appeared to John, he has not spoken of it. She seems not to care for the rest of us."

"She has appeared to me. Robin thinks she is the Blessed Virgin."

"She may be." Richard held up a hand. "My religion does not deny the existence of your God, only his supremacy. It is not impossible that his beloved mother would come to men in visions. After all, who does a man love the most? Especially if it is true he did not marry."

Common Church wisdom held that Christ was single. Some few tried to make a case that he had wed the former prostitute, Mary Magdalene. Occasionally, so-called miracle workers claiming to be descended from that union showed up and caused trouble. They usually ended up burning as heretics. "I keep an open mind on that one."

"A God who was born to a mortal woman, would he not elevate her to immortality? So, yes, it could be her. Clorinda, however, believes otherwise. She believes it may be either Aine, the goddess of love, or possibly the old Roman goddess, Diana of the hunt. Who is also considered to be a virgin."

Tuck considered that. "No way to tell by looking at her. I have only seen her once, but she was there during the rescue. Apparently, Clorinda matters to her."

"Well, Clorinda is rather likable, is she not?"

"So, do you still want me dead or vanished?" Tuck asked, resting his staff across his knees.

"I would rather you were not here. Yet, you could have betrayed us to the Church at any time. Why have you not?"

"Because I don't particularly want to see any of you executed for heresy. Even you."

Richard laughed sharply. "Even me, eh? With my Norman name and my Celtic ways."

Tuck was Saxon to the bone. He shook his head. "What is Clorinda to you, anyway?"

"She is my granddaughter."

Why had he not realized that? Why had he not seen the similarity? Not physically, no, clearly Clorinda favored some other branch of the family. But there was something about the way their minds seemed to work that held within it a great similarity.

"Nobody expects me to give such things up," he added.

Tuck shrugged. "In all honesty, I have never been tempted by women. I might make a good father, but I think I would be a rather bad husband."

"Ah, but you have not been given the choice."

Tuck shrugged. "How many priests keep their vows?" It was smaller, he knew, than the number who did not. A lot smaller.

"True. But be warned. It might be that the Blue Lady's interest in you has something to do with you being the only virgin in the camp. If she is Diana, you are safe. If she is Aine..." Richard laughed. "She may have decided you are a challenge."

A goddess of love might well want to see a man break his vows, Tuck thought. "And if she is Mary after all?"

"Then you are probably very safe."

It was hard winter, the band camped in a hollow where they could store food. The trees shielded them from a heath where the rain fell horizontally, streaking through everything and everyone in its path. Snow dotted the high country.

Tuck had not left camp in some time. He had little to do.

He might have written something, but he lacked parchment and ink...quills were not a problem, goose feathers being as suitable for that as for arrows.

Maybe if he asked Robin they could arrange to steal some ink from the abbott, who remained one of their favorite victims...well, except that there had been none in evidence last time they robbed him.

The abbott, Tuck thought wryly, had things to do other than write. More physical pursuits. He supposed the woman was attractive enough.

What kind of woman agreed to a secret marriage with a Churchman? Had she been after his money, or did she love him?

Tuck was glad of celibacy once more. He did not have to experience the vague guilt of being wed to a woman who had no interest in him, or the certainty that he would not be interested in her. That had happened to his oldest brother. He had been married to a tradesman's daughter. A nice girl, attractive, even, but they simply...despised each other.

The Church would not grant an annulment. They lived apart, linked together only by their two sons. There would be no more children.

Yes, Tuck much preferred the life of a friar. He did not wish to share his home with a miserable person, even if she was only a woman

Only a woman. The words echoed through the wind that blew through the