The Friar's Tale, стр. 38
He would never leave England again, he had long since vowed. No more long sea voyages, either. No more worrying about bandits on the highway and pirates on the ocean. Well, bandits, maybe.
No more wondering about the Saracen, with their curved swords and veiled women. Their highest ranking men had harems, multiple wives and concubines under one roof. Women who never set foot outdoors, or almost never. If they did, they were so deeply veiled one could see only their eyes. Far more covered than any goodwife.
He shook his head, the memories of that distant land abruptly quite strong. The desert. The cats, with larger ears and slightly larger eyes than any farm tabby. A different breed of cats as the Saracens rode a different breed of horses. What horses they had! Even Tuck, who knew little of equines, knew there was something truly special about those desert bred beasts. He had asked one of the Saracens once, alone and unarmed and not a threat. He had told the friar that God had given horses the power of flight without wings.
He had not, however, had a good explanation for their tradition that mares were the best riding horses, swifter and with more endurance than stallions or geldings.
On the subject of horses, a farmer's cart came down the road, drawn by a shaggy black pony. The beast turned its head and attempted to snatch an apple from one of the stalls.
Tuck laughed a bit as the farmer yanked the reins and forced its attention back on the road. The pony actually sighed resignedly.
"Stupid beast," the farmer said, but not without affection.
"Beasts know only what they need and want, not the laws of men," Tuck could not help but point out.
"Well, this one should know that if he wants an apple I'll get him one. Now he won't get one."
Which did seem fair justice for the attempt at theft. As if understanding his owner's words, the pony sighed again, then padded onwards. Tuck stepped close to the wall to give the cart, full of wool, space to pass.
The exchange, though, had brought him down to earth. Or rather, back to England's green land, from his mind's wandering to the East.
There were, it was rumored, lands far further east, though. From which silk came, that fabric so rare, so expensive, so desirable. As if the pony's hunger had reminded him, Tuck bought an apple, turned around...
...and came face to face with Alan. To his credit, the outlaw kept most of the surprise of recognition off his face. "Brother."
"Old friend," Tuck said, not using the man's name.
"We were worried about you."
"A friar wanders. This one might, though, be quite willing to wander back."
Hubert studied him for a moment. "Robin was not pleased that you left without a word."
"If he doesn't want me to return, I won't." He kept his voice down. It was, in any case, up to the leader who was with him and who was against him. "But..."
Alan reached for Tuck's arm, gripped it for a moment. "Come on. He won't do worse than toss you out. Although I'm sure he'll want your reasons."
"He'll have them." In private, though. It was bad enough to express his doubts, his fears, to the outlaw leader. He certainly was not voicing them to the entire band.
What if everything he believed in was wrong? Or could he simply accept, as Robin did, her as the Virgin Mary and not think past that? Robin was not a stupid man, but he was also not an educated man in the way any man of the cloth was.
Or was he? Tuck did not know for sure. Robin said but little of his family or birth, and it could well be better than he admitted to.
Friars were not really supposed to question, but Tuck knew his Latin, had read his Bible. He had found contradictions in the Word of God. Contradictions preachers glossed over, did not reveal to their flocks.
What if it was all wrong? Or what if it was just a little bit wrong. What if the Word of God had...drifted...as any other story did? If what He had said had been passed through a few hands to many and become a story in which Little John, say, was a true giant, not just an extremely large man.
In some ways, that idea comforted him. "So...where are we going?"
They hit the road quickly. Tuck did not know Alan well, and the reason was obvious to anyone who knew the man. To know somebody well required talking to them.
For Alan to string more than two words together was rare and required a good reason. The sentence inviting Tuck to return was the longest he had ever heard from him. Therefore, they did not, no, know each other well. Alan had never allowed it.
The silence, however, was broken by squabbling birds and chittering squirrels, all dancing through the branches above. There was a saying that a squirrel could run from York to London, and never set foot on the ground. With the way farmers were clearing the greenwood, Tuck wondered if that was true any longer.
There were more and more farmers. Well, it was not his problem. The world would not change that much, surely, before Christ's return.
Unless that was a lie too. He corralled his thoughts. To believe that any part of the Bible was a lie was heresy. Of course, one did have to accept that certain things should not be taken too literally. The laws of Leviticus, for example, had been negated by the New Testament.
Of course, who the heck really loved their neighbor these days? Or rather, loved them by the true