The Friar's Tale, стр. 35
Still, the only thing he had seen worth stealing was the horses. Of course, that was a good priority for limited funds, in most people's minds. "I have. But being a friar, I brought back nothing but my memories."
The man leaned forward. "Then, what is it like?"
"Hot and dry. Much of it is desert. I was glad to get back to England. I was forgetting what the color green looked like." No, dumb was not the way to play with this man. To play as if he could expect a confidence...
"Except for those who wear it."
"You know that no cloth can match the deep green of a forest."
"No." The lord looked thoughtful. "Unfortunately, I see no reason to believe you are not the friar concerned." He glanced to his guards. "Flog him, then escort him to the edge of the property. If you see him again...kill him."
How did he get out of being flogged? He saw no way right now...and if they took the lord at his word, then Tuck knew he would likely not survive. He would be in no state to be on the road. Nor could he run.
He placed himself in the hands of God, but it was her presence he felt. The Blue Lady. Asking him to trust her.
Asking him to let her in, to let her damn him if she was not the Virgin after all. "Mary," he murmured.
Perhaps what reaction he sensed would help him.
"Ah, now the friar prays."
Tuck looked at the man. Softly. "You will not prosper." Which he was not, already. It was a reasonable prediction. A reasonable guess.
"Take him out of my sight."
The guards grabbed Tuck, starting to pull him out of the hall. Well, trusting her had got him nowhere so far.
Until they got to the entrance to the keep. Outside, rain streaked down and lightning occasionally flared in the sky.
"Screw this," one of the guards said. "I'm not going out in this even for Himself."
Break and run into the storm? But they still had him pretty firmly. Perhaps if he tried to drag them out there.
The sky was an ugly color. He had not seen a storm this bad in, easily, a couple of years. It almost seemed unnatural. It was unnatural, but how could he use it? Then the guard let go of him.
He had decided no sane man would step outside in this. The sally port was...not that far. Of course, once outside, he would have to survive in the storm.
Trust me.
The rain poured down on him, soaking him to the skin in seconds, the sodden robes slowing him. The inside of the sally port. It was barred. He lifted the bar easily, and was out into the field beside the castle. He was fortunate there was no moat.
He picked up his skirts and ran.
13
The rain poured around Tuck as he ran for the eaves of the greenwood. One did not go under a single tree in a storm. A forest was a different story.
Inside, it was a little dryer. He gasped for breath, but the guards...had not followed. Perhaps they had decided that it was not worth it, that he would have the sense not to return to this place. What sane man would?
He laughed. He had just proved he was not sane. He was sodden, clad in soaked wool, but it was still better than being flogged. Except that if he did not get dry soon, he would surely catch something.
He plodded deeper into the forest. Under its eaves, it was definitely somewhat dryer, but he was already so wet it did not matter.
Eventually, he decided the best thing to do was to strip naked. It was unlikely any woman would be out here to see him, and any swineherds would be heading for shelter themselves with their charges. Or at least huddled somewhere. With his wet robes over one arm, he continued to plod into the woods. The ground squelched beneath his feet.
How did he get dry? Then he found it. There had been a charcoal burner here. Recently. No doubt he had fled for better shelter too. The fire still smoldered, and the rain was easing off.
He tossed a couple more branches on the fire and settled down close to it. If the burner came back, he could apologize. Whoever it was would probably understand. This storm had come, after all, out of all but nowhere.
He was doomed now. And he wanted to go home. Would Robin take him back? Would he accept that he had needed time alone to think? Or would the outlaw, quite reasonably, decide the friar could no longer be trusted? He had, after all, run out on them.
That was when the plan formulated. He had to have something to offer when he went back. The habits of this solitary lord would not be enough. The man was not worth robbing.
Tuck needed intelligence he could return with. Intelligence the band could use to their own ends.
He had to go to Nottingham. But not yet.
It took the rest of the day to get his robes somewhat dry. The charcoal burner did not return. In the end, he spent the night there, curled up close to the embers of the fire. In the morning, he began to head back to the north and east, making a careful circuit of the castle and avoiding the road.
He was not sure where the property ended, but if he was caught again, they would kill him. He was surprised they had not tried to shoot him in the storm. Maybe they had, and it had gone so wide he had not even noticed. Anything was possible.
His robes were still not entirely dry, either, but once he saw a crossroads, he traipsed back onto the