The Friar's Tale, стр. 47

permitted to own land, not trusted to farm it. Sometimes not trusted to be there, although they were needed...for usury was not a sin to them. Who would lend money without getting interest? The answer was no one. Thus, the Jew. He wondered if usury were a sin to Saracens. That he had never asked.

He did know they ate like the Jews did. No pork. His mouth watered at the thought of pork, and he was glad he had not been born a Jew. Even if they were better people than many would acknowledge. A Jew had saved him in the Holy Land, had offered him water when he needed it.

"I did not know that."

"They do not believe Jesus was the Messiah and they eat as Jews do, but they do believe in the Devil and they claim to believe in the same God. They are more like Jews, I think, than Christians. They follow a man whom they claim was a prophet akin to Moses."

Robin nods. "And, I hear, have the finest horses foaled."

"Of their kind. They are not much like our warhorses, more the size of a palfrey, but swift. They wear only light armor and fight much with the bow." Tuck let out a breath. "By some superstition, they ride only mares. They also ride camels..." He made a face.

"Camels?"

Tuck sketched the rough shape of one in the ground, glad to have a topic other than people starving to death. "Camels. Ugly, ill-tempered beasts, but they can do a full days work without water and on the barest provender for sometimes weeks on end."

Robin rocked back on his heels. "But I have allowed you to distract me from the problem."

"I don't see a solution. Until these people have either won the Holy Land or given up, they will keep bleeding the peasants dry." Tuck closed his eyes. "What do they care?"

"Then we have to teach them to care."

"I don't know how."

Robin stood up. "Neither do I, but I'll think about it."

Tuck drank more of his ale, watching the slender man go. He did not know, now, what effect Robin had had on him, any more than he knew the man's real name. It was sometimes as if he had always been here.

No, he knew. He had seen the atrocities in Palestine. Robin had opened his eyes to the ones that happened here.

What they needed was to bring everyone home. Let the Saracen have the desert. They did not need to reclaim the Holy Land...the Saracen would not harm true pilgrims who came with only the arms they needed for self-defense.

But no, they had to make a war of it. "What is it, that humans have to do the craziest things?"

For a moment, he almost thought the air answered, with a feeling of strength and sorrow. She was back, and she was with him for a moment. "What do you want from me?"

No answer. No answer in words, no sign of any fae thing. It was as if he was a madman, talking to that which existed only in his own head. Perhaps he was. Had others not seen her, he would have known himself to be insane.

As others had, he knew there was more to it than that. A small voice whispered in his mind. How many had seen God?

A very few, and most of those nuns in deep contemplation. For all that women were supposed to be the source of sin, they also often seemed the closest to God. Perhaps it was not as simple as all that.

Perhaps women were simply better able to concentrate, for women's tasks often required fine attention to detail.

He finished the ale, standing up to return the bottle to the stack of empties that could be washed out and refilled. Bottles were expensive. He felt far more in command of himself than he had been.

Yet, his mind and heart filled with the deepest of regrets.

The arrow flew straight and true. Precisely, it snapped the reins the outrider was holding, leaving both him and the horse intact.

The animal spooked, leapt forward, and dropped him into the dust. Tuck shifted his grip on his staff.

The carriage held one of Gisbourne's tax inspectors. They were determined to delay him reaching the village until the villagers were able to hide all of their food. It would appear to him that they had nothing.

Robbing him was almost an afterthought. With a roar, John launched himself from the side of the road, landing on the carriage board. The driver elected not to be on the carriage board anymore.

Tuck laughed a bit, heading down the slope with more caution himself. Cowardice, in this context, was a good thing. Clorinda had stopped the fleeing horse, holding it by what remained of the reins and stroking its neck. The carriage horses were rearing up, but not running...and after a moment, John had their reins too. "Easy," Tuck heard him say.

The other outriders whirled their mounts. One went down, a shot in the shoulder that might or might not prove fatal. The third spurred his mount towards Tuck. He stepped to one side and tripped the beast with his staff. It went down, but he heard no crack...after a moment, it picked itself up, shivering, without its rider. The man took a little longer to get up, then charged the friar again, on foot.

Tuck transformed his staff into a spinning wall of wood. Even a sword struggled against an oaken staff wielded well...the blade flew from the man's hands, barely nicking the staff. He brought it into the side of the man's head, and he went down.

The inspector was now on his feet next to the carriage, with his hands in the air. "Take whatever you want. Just don't kill me."

"I think we'll oblige on that," Robin said. "Tuck, watch him."

Tuck stepped forward to do just that, as the men moved to search the wagon. Not a brave man, the inspector was blubbering a little.

"So. Going to take what