The Friar's Tale, стр. 48
"You're the friar." Not a question.
"Famous, now, am I?" Tuck kept the staff in a blocking position. The man was watching it, warily.
"Somebody needs to take that habit off you."
All talk. All bluster.
"Oh, yes, perhaps they do, but at least I'm not hiding a woman under it."
The man shrugged. "Less harm than robbing innocent travelers."
"You're no more innocent than I am. A babe in arms, both of us." Robin, from the wagon, gave him a look.
Tuck subsided, leaving the sarcastic banter there in the road. Still, there were points being made, pricks through metaphorical chain mail. Which, he noted, the inspector did not wear. He should. He was likely to get shot by somebody.
An English woman was a better shot, common wisdom had it, than a French man. Perhaps, Tuck thought with amusement, that was the real reason the king did not want to come home. He did not want to admit he was a lousy shot.
He was, too. Good with a sword, passable with a lance, lousy with a bow. Proving the truth of it, perhaps.
He should abdicate, Tuck thought. But he was too proud to do so, too proud to admit he did not desire England's throne, whilst making it obvious to all and sundry.
Robin and the others finally finished their search. "We're letting you go...although we'll be taking these fine beasties."
They left him his carriage and the carriage horses, and the two wounded outriders. They took the outriders' horses. They could ride in the back of the carriage, after all.
Tuck led one of the mounts...the one that he had tripped. It already seemed to have forgiven him.
When the inspector arrived in such disarray, he would find nothing to record, nothing for the men to later come and take.
Well, perhaps they would leave out a little, a token, so it would not be as obvious that they were hiding something.
Tuck felt good about things. Perhaps he should not, for he was, after all, committing both sins and crimes. But he did, and he was unable to prevent himself from doing so.
They had to go along the road a little while, and when they reached the crossroads, they saw a rider coming from the south. The horse was lathered, and the pace hard enough to founder the poor animal. Its ears were pinned back, as if it knew it was likely to be ridden to death. The rider himself looked no better.
He did not even stop when he saw them, but rather kept running north towards York.
"What was that in aid of?" Robin asked.
"I don't know. Perhaps the king died in Palestine." From Tuck's tone, it was clear he thought that was good news.
"Like the prince is any better."
"The prince, at least, is here." Tuck left it at that, but he did wonder what errand caused a man to ride so hard, and not to even notice what might have been obviously a bunch of bandits leaving the road. Which they now did.
Of course, it was possible he had not even really noticed them. Tuck would not forget that wild eyed horse for a while.
He would have never treated his faithful old mule like that...and oddly enough, the outlaws had kept the animal for him. Then again, mules did not eat as much as horses.
"So, what shall we do with these beauties. Sell them back to Gisbourne for twice what they're worth?" somebody nearby asked.
Tuck could not help but laugh. Clorinda cut in, "I would not wish Gisbourne on a horse. No, I'll take them up to the horse market north of here. They'll fetch a decent price."
Giving them to the villagers was not mentioned. They would end up horse steaks if that happened. The money they fetched could be spent on a higher quantity of food at the market.
He should volunteer to go with her. Take the mule cart, buy as much food as they could carry, some for the outlaws. Some for those who needed it even more. They could not make bread in the greenwood, of course, unless it was acorn bread.
On the other hand, they were nowhere close to starving. They had not even had to tighten their belts much. Tuck almost wished he had had to do just that, his being already rather too long.
18
The great market north of Nottingham was called Goose Fair, given the primary goods on offer were herds of geese, driven into town by goose girls. They would finish their fattening in yards in the city and then be eaten on Christmas day. There were great flocks of them, and they reminded Tuck that winter approached again.
It was rather daring to sell the horses here, for they might well be recognized. Clorinda had done nothing to disguise them, both being plain bays with stars. Hiding the stars would make them look like shady horse dealers, and they were nondescript enough...he hoped. The mule was less nondescript, but he would be tethered at the edge of the fair.
Carnies sought to relieve men of their money with games of so-called chance. A group of children were competing in an archery competition, with small bows and less distance to the target. About a third of them were girls. He wondered how they would feel when told to set aside such things in favor of making cloth and babies. Of course, many women, even those who appeared goodwives, never did.
As he walked away from the cart, having paid another of the youngsters to watch it, he almost tripped over a stray goose. The bird was flapping its pinioned wings, desperately seeking an escape from its fate in the cookpot. He did not see the goose girl...nor was he about to attempt to grab it. It would peck him hard if he did, and nobody wanted to