The Friar's Tale, стр. 46

"What priest? He has two livings and ignores this one."

Tuck frowned even more. Not that he could blame the priest, for not wanting to move amongst such poor people. Yet, excommunication of the de facto kind was as bad as that which was declared by the Pope. "If anyone wishes me to hear confession, I will. But I would rather offer food."

He had none...but he did get half the village forming a line to confess. To confess sins born of hunger. Theft. Coveting, not of material goods, but of food. He resolved that he would at least get them some. One girl confessed that she had sold her body for two loaves of bread.

He shuddered. At least she was probably too thin to have ended up with child of it. Then again, the child would no doubt be dumped on the church porch and be better off for it. One woman confessed considering selling her infant daughter.

The child might be better off for that, too. Far better to be a rich man's ward than a starving peasant. On the other hand, girls who were given up were equally likely to end up either nuns or prostitutes. For a boy, it would definitely be preferable.

He listened, he gave them the penances that would make them feel better about sins real and imagined. That was how things were.

That was how people were. Humans. They needed this. Perhaps some might be comfortable confessing only to God, but most needed a priest's ear. Absolution was about shedding guilt. In some cases, about realizing what one had done was not a sin after all.

Not a sin after all. He wished he dared confess his, but when it came to heresy or even the edge of heresy the seal of the confessional had been known not to hold. He would not betray another, but who could he trust not to betray him?

Who could he trust to listen as he told them of the Blue Lady? Nobody, was the answer. He did not wish to meet a heretic's purifying end.

When the last was done, one of them offered him stale bread and water. He would have waved it off, but he realized it would hurt what remained of their pride. For some of them, pride was all they had. He could not let them suffer.

He had to do something. But what? Gold from Robin's stores...but again, who had food to sell?

There would be revolt here, too. He doubted they would bow to the tax men when the time came, but would they have the strength to fight them off? Or would this place simply sprout gallows?

The boy was at his elbow. "Take me with you."

Tuck turned to him. "With you in what sense?"

"I'm a burden here. I have two brothers."

A familiar litany. "You would not survive in the greenwood. Seek the Church. Novices at least get fed."

The boy frowned. "I don't..."

Tuck looked at him. Softly and gently, he spoke again. "There are bad choices and worse choices. You won't live if you stay and you won't live if you follow me."

"Maybe there's things other than staying alive."

"You say that because you're too young to understand death." He knew he was right on that front. The boy had no doubt seen death, in this place. Yet, he likely did not understand it.

"Either take me with you or I'll follow on my own."

He was fierce, he was determined, and Tuck did not know what else to do. "Come, then."

The boy followed...he kept his pace slow out of respect for him. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he could give him some of his own copious mass. Even half starving himself barely seemed to dent his bulk.

As they went, he stopped, pointing out different things that could be eaten. Even stinging nettle, which could bring out painful welts, was perfectly edible when cooked. Squirrels could be eaten, if you could bring one down with a stone from a sling, so could most of the birds.

There was a wealth of larder here, barred from them by the forest laws.