The Friar's Tale, стр. 32

Or... Tuck managed to restrain himself before swearing, glancing around the clearing. The people...he loved the people here, but it was perhaps time to move on. In another place, he could forget the Blue Lady, could restore himself to sanity. If he stayed, he would drift into heresy at best.

He should leave, and he should leave now, without a word to anyone. It was a betrayal of sorts, but if he talked to anyone, he would stay. If he even went back for his mule, he would end up staying.

Thus, instead of walking towards the camp, he turned his footsteps away. Away from the outlaws. Away from Nottingham. He was resolved not to return.

The sound of hooves disturbed Tuck from a reverie. He was alone, he was on foot, and he was going to need alms. For the moment, however, he was getting out of the road. It sounded like multiple riders and it sounded as if they were coming at speed. He did not want to get accidentally ridden down.

They were knights, he realized. Three of them on palfreys, three squires behind on mules, leading the war horses. Their armor was secured to the war mounts, they were dressed in civilian clothes, but armed.

They were heading towards Nottingham. Tuck wondered if there was going to be a tourney. He felt, for a moment, very alone. The laughter between them, the banter, was enough to make him turn around. Go back. Beg Robin to let him back, tell him he'd needed some time alone.

"Brother!" one of the knights called.

"You seem in good spirits, sir," Tuck commented, stepping out as the horses were reined in. They might be, their mounts were not. The palfreys seemed tired and he saw spur tracks on the war horses.

Typical. Infidels often, he had noticed in the Holy Land, took better care of their mounts. "And why should we not be?"

"Because you have been long on the road."

"Ah, but that only means we are almost home."

Home, then, was Nottingham. As Gisbourne had returned from Crusade, so now those who had followed him trickled back. "So, what of the Holy Land?"

"Dusty, unpleasant, and I'm almost inclined to say the Saracens can keep it. Almost."

"I had that impression myself." He was not going to deny or hide that he had been on pilgrimage. "If the legend that Christ came here as a child is true, then why did He go back?"

The knight laughed. "It is, indeed, a far more pleasant country we have here. On the other hand, I dislike that Jerusalem yet remains in the hands of the infidel. We will have to return."

Tuck, secretly, did not dislike that at all. "Ah, then my guess would be you came back because you had forgotten the faces of your wives."

The knight laughed again. "A brother who knows how to banter with soldiers. I would say you had forgotten the face of your mistress, but..."

"I am a wandering friar. Even if I were inclined to break the vows which bind me, I would not inflict this life on a woman."

"Then you are a better man than most Churchmen."

Tuck shrugged eloquently, but it took all of his willpower not to pointedly look at those spur tracks. One could judge a man by how he treated his beasts. The evidence was that they were not better men than most knights. "Besides, I am happy enough on my own."

Which was the first lie he had told them. He kept looking around for a friend to tell them something, he kept looking for signs of the camp. He kept wishing...he was even missing Richard, even missing the ones he did not know well. Missing Alan and Will and Reginald.

Missing, most especially, Robin and Clorinda and John.

"I suppose one would have to be, to lead your life and stand it. Well. We must be home by dark."

The knight spurred the palfrey onwards. Tuck managed not to flinch until the group was past. He missed the mule he had left with the outlaws. It had been a good beast, but he trusted Robin to either look after it or sell it to somebody who would. Some farmer could make good use of it.

The greenwood seemed to close around him, though, after they were gone.