The Friar's Tale, стр. 40
Perhaps the fae wanted this part of the woods protected, somehow. Perhaps one of their great gates was here, and the Wild Hunt sometimes rode through it.
Their existence, he could not doubt. Either the fae were real or he was insane. No man wants to admit to being insane.
He sat down on a log, staring into the trees. The pixie was gone. "Is that the only answer I am going to get?"
There was silence. "Are you trying to test me?" Was this entire thing a test of his faith? Or a test, perhaps, of his priorities.
The air seemed to shimmer blue for a moment. She was there...he could feel her. Who did his instincts, his heart say she was?
No answer. Perhaps he was simply out of tune. Perhaps he truly had lost his connection to God somewhere in that sandy desert, somewhere in that so-called Holy Land. He let out his breath. "I get it. I need to work things out for myself."
A hint of dark hair, and then she was gone. He did not move. He felt that moving was somehow unwise.
He stayed put. Then he heard the horsemen. He reached for the staff he had spent two hours cutting that morning but did not move.
The camp should be well enough hidden. They rode on by...if they saw the friar by the stream, they ignored him. Gisbourne's men, wearing his colors and well mounted. He wished the man would go back to the Holy Land. Back to the struggle for land and power that now embroiled it.
But he suspected that all or most of those who had gone there would come back, their tails between their legs, as whipped curs. The Saracens knew the land, knew its people, had the crusaders seriously over-horsed.
He made his way back to camp slowly. Robin was counting heads. Nobody had been taken, at least. They had that much.
"We'll get those guys," Robin murmured.
"Or perhaps," Tuck suggested, "it would be better to be ghosts. To vanish from their sight."
He knew this time he was right. Robin was ordering the men to strike camp. They would move from this place. A wise course of action, Tuck knew. Those riders might have found nothing this time, but they would be back.
As he moved to strike a tent, he realized that the Blue Lady had saved him yet again.
14
What did she want?
If she was Mary...and he recalled that the name of the good abbess was 'Mary Michael'...then perhaps she really was just testing his faith. It had, after all, been weakened lately.
Then again, was it God Tuck had a problem with, or his followers? He moved along the trail with John at his side.
"We are glad to have you back, Brother."
That surprised Tuck. He had not thought John noticed him enough to care. He had seldom pulled the friar into the banter. "I probably should not have run off."
"Friars are like birds."
Tuck laughed, not because he was insulted, but because John was absolutely right. They were heading for a small village Robin knew. One likely to be sympathetic. One where they could buy certain supplies.
Arrowheads, for the most part. It was simply not possible to move a forge with them, so they had to rely on blacksmiths who either knew and did not care or pretended not to know. John could, of course, carry almost as many as a horse could.
Tuck wanted to ask the man where he was from, how he had ended up in this situation, but he knew he would be lucky to get more than a grunt from him. That was about all anyone ever got out of him, when personal questions were asked.
Perhaps he was hiding something. Perhaps, likely even, he had truly committed some crime that deserved being made an outlaw. He was not a gentle man, but rather a controlled one.
Tuck thought it quite likely he had killed somebody, although also quite likely that he had not intended to do so. He did not seem the type, for sure, to commit actual murder, but a killing in the heat of blood was possible. He had never given confession. Perhaps he did not quite trust Tuck. Tuck thought that there was one man John trusted... For all Tuck knew he was another heretic or follower of the old gods. They certainly seemed common around here. Regardless, Tuck suspected John would take at least some of his secrets to the grave...and the rest would not pass beyond Robin.
Well. Tuck did not feel unsafe with him. Quite the opposite, in fact. Not entirely comfortable, no, but safe. He knew that no matter what, this man would, if he needed to, defend him with his life. And vice versa. At the thought, he tightened his grip on his staff for a moment.
At least he had one again. He had felt surprisingly naked while unarmed. He wondered if a knight became as fond of his sword. Some seemed to be fonder. Of course, poor people did not wield swords, and thus, the blade was the man's status as well as his weapon. Yeomen used staff and bow, sometimes knife.
"Is that it?" he inquired, as they hit a dirt road.
John nodded. "Yes."
Tuck shook his head. "No more than that?" he teased.
"Is more needed?"
Tuck wished he was going on this errand with Will. Much better company. Well, nothing he could do about it. John knew the people here, and thus, John had to go. Robin did not normally send men out alone. Alan being in Nottingham on his own had been a surprise...and, it seemed, against orders.
Of course, Tuck had always wandered off on his own, but sometimes, that was for the best. A friar alone drew far less suspicion than one accompanied by, say, a man with legs like tree trunks. John was right. Friars were much like birds.
A goodwife rushed towards them as they came