The Friar's Tale, стр. 36
One he owed to his friends, whom he had deserted in what he now recognized as fear and panic. Well, he was still afraid. The adventure with the lord would stay with him...the evil he and some of his men had shown.
He had not seen evil like that in some time. Perhaps something needed to be done about him anyway. Not worth robbing, no, but perhaps worth removing. He was less dangerous than Gisbourne, perhaps, but...
Gisbourne was not evil. Just selfish, arrogant and not particularly, in Tuck's mind, smart. But as he approached Nottingham, he wondered if there was something in 'Better the devil you know'.
Of course, he would have to be careful if people all over were looking for a large-built friar. He did not have a knife. He did not have money, either, but that problem could be solved. He hated to ask for alms, but he had no choice. Not right now. He was not about to go to Abbot Moresford for help. Perhaps one of the smaller...and then he recalled.
There was a house of Poor Clares just outside Nottingham. The Sisters would help a friar who had 'lost everything to robbers.' It was even the truth. He had been robbed, and the fact that the thief sat in a castle made it less ethical than it would otherwise have been. They might even have a spare belt knife for him.
The decision made, he changed course, walking deliberately a little bent, trying to look more exhausted even than he felt. A tired friar was a threat to no one, especially one that carried no weapon. He was no threat, to be honest. He doubted he could fight. He was even rather hoping the Clares might have a spare cell in the guest house for him. Even he would not be allowed within the cloister itself. The women protected their virtue thus, by excluding all males. Most said it was because men could not be trusted.
Ha. It was as much to keep the women, especially the novices, from temptation as that. Not that he was much of a temptation, especially as it started to rain again. Quite hard. By the time he got to their door he would resemble the proverbial drowned rat.
Nobody offered him alms as he crossed through the edge of the city and then across the meadows. Nobody approached him at all. He probably stank, thinking about it, more than even most people did. Most people did not notice.
He remembered the escape from the castle through the tannery and wrinkled his nose. Now there was a stench he was sure he could never get used to.
The convent was a relatively small building with an attached chapel. There was a service he could perform for the Sisters. While he would not dare say Mass for them as he had for the outlaws, he could take their confession...a service they could not perform for each other. Women, being further from God, could not represent him in any way. They were, after all, the fallen ones, bound by the curse of Eve. Folly, Tuck had come to think. Clares devoted their lives, instead, to prayer and contemplation. He knocked on the door.
The small hole in it opened. Then closed. Then the door itself swung open. "Come in, Brother. You look half drowned."
He stepped into the antechamber, dripping on the stone floor. "Do you have lodging?"
"Yes. And I think we might even be able to find you a clean habit." The Clare was of middle years, and her face bore the marks of somebody for whom a smile was the standard expression.
He instantly relaxed.
"I am Sister Mary Michael."
He used, for once, his actual friar name. "Brother Joseph." Not his birth name, of course. That he had all but forgotten, intentionally so. But also not his nickname, the one that referred to his girth. It was not appropriate here.
"Come to the guest common room. We will make a fire."
They would, of course, have a priest attached to them, but he like as not came only to say Mass on Sunday and High Holydays. Tuck had always suspected that some of the convents bent the rules on what women were permitted to do. At least with regards to confession amongst themselves. Still, he could offer his assistance...either in that or with some task that required a man's strength. Not that women could not do most things that were thought the province of men, but they were still smaller. Nothing would ever change that.
Mary Michael was as good as her word. She led him into a reasonably comfortable room with a fireplace...an actual fireplace...and called on a passing novice. The girl kept glancing at him with a mixture of nerves and something else.
Yes, female novices were as prone to temptation as male ones. Desperately so, if she found him at all attractive. He did not smile at her, which might be encouragement, but rather moved closer to the fire.
He doubted she had any choice about being here. Palmed off by a family with far too many daughters and far too little money for dowry. Marrying a daughter to God was a good way to dispose of her.
The heat began to flow into him. He already felt better. Mary Michael had returned. "So..."
"I was robbed on the road. I have no coins, and worse, no knife." That was always a disaster. A man...or a woman...without a belt knife was all but helpless.
"Somebody was desperate enough to rob a friar?"
It was a reasonable question. He lifted his hands. "You would think they would have waited for richer pickings, unless they thought I hid gold under my habit."
"Too many do. And it endangers those who do not." She settled back into her chair. "We can give you lodging, and we at least have cloth. One of my novices is deft with a