The Friar's Tale, стр. 42
Gisbourne's horses ate better than his peasants. Tuck found himself somewhat angry. He knew there were still good lords out there. He had seen prosperous country. The greenwood encroached, here, on land that was often not even worked. They lacked the men or they lacked the seed.
Either way, it had to stop, but he had no clue how to stop it. Short of the unimaginable, a revolt against the king. To what end? Would John be any better were his hands not tied by merely being Prince Regent?
Tuck thought he could hardly be any worse, but the only thing he could do was the unpleasant action of praying for a man's death. He was not comfortable with that. What man would be? He would not do it.
No. He would simply pray for what was best for England and leave the details to God.
15
The men had not been taken to Castle Rock. There, no doubt, the sheriff still enjoyed his ale. Another man Tuck would have liked to see brought low. Not killed, no. Reduced to poverty would be far more in the way of justice. He recalled a particular verse. 'It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven'. Everyone said that was impossible.
Tuck had dared to ask the opinion of a Saracen. He had explained that there was a trail in Palestine that led through a hole in a rock. Said hole was called the 'Eye of the Needle'...and it was, indeed, hard to lead a camel through it...furthermore, the heavier the camel was burdened, the harder it became, until it became impossible.
It was amusing how an infidel such as that had led Tuck to understand the true meaning of the proverb. It was possible for an unburdened camel to pass through the eye of a needle...therefore a rich man must unburden himself before entering Heaven. Or perhaps any man, if the burden one spoke of was sins, not possessions.
Perhaps the burden was guilt. They moved towards the compound where the levy were training. Some of them were little more than striplings, Tuck noted from his vantage point. They trained with rough-cut staffs. As he watched, one boy went down. He picked himself up slowly and seemed a little dizzy.
A hazard of staff training. Naturally, one tried not to hit anyone's head during a spar, but it still happened. Tuck frowned a little. Another group were working with bows. This set seemed more competent. He wondered if Gisbourne's men had grouped them by training or skill.
There was no sign of the smith. They had to get him out of there, but at the same time, his return to his village had to be a closely guarded secret.
It had to seem, thus, as if they were after something else. The obvious target was the armory. In fact, stealing an entire bunch of arrowheads from Gisbourne rather appealed to Tuck.
He was becoming a thief at heart, he thought. But then, they were only robbing people who deserved it.
Gisbourne certainly deserved it, and he would love to rob the lord who had tried to flog him blind. It was, he realized, revenge, not crime. Of course, it was not the kind of revenge most considered honorable.
He waited. It seemed like a long time, and his thoughts went round and round and round. He had done more than enough to earn centuries in purgatory. He had...
He sensed her, then, she was there. Watching over them. Or perhaps she wanted the smith? The sense that it was him she wanted grew. But he was sworn to God. Unless, of course, she was... "Mary," he whispered.
It might have been an acknowledgment, a prayer, or a hope. Or perhaps it was all three at once. He was not sure. He no longer knew what to believe, what to claim he knew. He no longer had faith.
Then there was no more time for thought. The armory was not unguarded, he noticed as Robin led them through the trees. However, it was lightly guarded. Anyone on duty was working with the levy. Two men, and one of them snoring loudly. The other was swigging from a skin that Tuck suspected did not contain water.
The incompetence of the enemy is a gift. Neither the sleeper nor the drunk noticed Clorinda and Alan flanking them, the two as quiet as forest mice. Both went down to well-placed hits on the back of the head.
The question was, where was the smith? Tuck shook his head. They were moving into the building.
Which was when he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye, something snake-like. Or dragon-like. Or perhaps even Devil-like. It could have been something of the fay, but he thought not. It was something else. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he could feel sweat starting on his shoulders.
Yet, he could not warn Robin. Any sound would alert the rest of the guards, and they would come running. He began to repeat a prayer, not even under his breath, but merely in his mind. Over and over again, seeking protection from whatever evil he had just sensed.
Either it had all been in his imagination, or it worked. He felt the clouds lift a little, and he saw no more sign of the creature.
Carefully, they were taking what they needed. Arrowheads. Clorinda, to Tuck's surprise, was wistfully eyeing the swords. She tested a couple for balance, then set them aside; too heavy, perhaps.
Then, it happened. He felt something, a nudge in the back of his mind, and he yelled, "Run!"
They did...right as the building caught fire. Possibly it was an accident. Possibly the guards had set it to smoke them out. Had they delayed a moment longer, they would all have been trapped in the flames.
As it was...
"Alan!" Clorinda yelled.
He was still inside. Tuck turned, but the fire had just claimed