The Friar's Tale, стр. 56
Jews, Tuck thought, were mighty strange creatures. They were damned, of course, for denying the divinity of Christ...who had been a Jew. Some would damn them further, for being responsible for His death.
Tuck did not agree. God had chosen freely to send his Son into a situation in which he was likely to be killed, in fact intending for him to die. One did not damn a sword for the intentions of the wielder. Yet, they would cling to their alien faith through all persecution. For which he admired them.
"I will."
He knew where to find the Jews of Nottingham, such as they were. He wondered how long it would be before they were thrown out of the country again.
No, he knew exactly how long it would be. It would be when the loan John was about to take out to ransom his brother came due. That was how powerful men treated Jews. Used them and abandoned them. They were not worthy of anything more. Just a useful tool.
He thought of the spice merchant.
He sensed no warning now. Had the Blue Lady intended only to ensure he was in the market place to see the relic seller?
No. He had been warned. He was sure of it. One of these days, he was going to demand a long talk with her.
He was going to ask her who she was and not take any kind of answer but one that felt like the truth. Except if all he had to rely on was how it felt, then... "I'll go tomorrow."
Robin nodded. "I'll send Reginald with you as far as the city."
Reginald was the boy. A good choice to sneak into the castle kitchens and get the gossip. He could probably even get in legitimately, accepting a copper or two to run some errands. Common boys were almost as invisible as servants. "Okay."
The next day, though, dawned dreary.
"This is unpleasant," Reginald complained as they headed towards the city.
Tuck nodded, glancing up at the raindrops. "It is. Although I've been out in worse."
"True. It's only raining half-heartedly."
"Let's hope it stays that way. I don't feel like arriving in Nottingham looking like the rabbit that fell in the mill race."
Reginald laughed, cheered by the image as Tuck had hoped. "Your ears aren't long enough, unless you borrow a set off that mule of yours."
Tuck joined in. "He's using the only one he has...wait, no. He's not using them, or he'd hear me calling him."
Reginald's laughter, ironically, came close to a bray. "Well, what do you expect from a mule? They're not horses."
"Smarter," Tuck noted.
"I think I'd rather have a beast that isn't smarter than I am."
Nottingham lay before them, the castle looming on the rock. "So. You know what you have to do, right?"
"Easy enough."
"Don't get caught. I don't think we'd get you out as easily as we did Clorinda." They would be more alert, now, to such invasions of the castle, small as they were. More alert... Tuck shook his head.
"I won't."
"They all say that."
Tuck's task was safer, but more annoying. Not that he had problems with Jews, but they tended to have a suspicious nature. Of course, this was likely caused by the way they were treated, and then became another cause for it. He shook his head.
Jews. Well. They were not his problem...he was certainly not of the school who thought they should all be expelled or converted.
They would not dare refuse to loan money to the crown, and the crown would not pay them back, either principle or interest.
He left Reginald at the gate, watching the boy whistle his way into the city. It was amazing how much larger he was now...not only had he recovered his weight, but Tuck swore he had grown two inches. Yet, what life and future did he have? Already an outlaw at that age...but then, he would likely change enough in appearance to return to the world as an adult.
And he was not starving any more. A fair trade, Tuck supposed.
Nottingham did not truly have a Jewish quarter, like the cities of the old eastern Empire so often did. Jews, though, clustered together. It had to do with, he had been told by one, needing a certain number of adult males to found a synagogue. Which, he supposed, made sense. There was no sense building a church to stand empty...here or in the Holy Land. Some of the Crusaders had built churches, but not congregations.
Cart before the horse, that. Thus, the Jews occupied one particular street, which Tuck headed towards, tapping his staff against the ground as if tired enough to need it for support. A good way not to appear a threat, that.
A good way not...well. He was not a threat, not to them, not to anyone. He was not here to get into a fight, drunken or otherwise.
Then he saw him. The spice merchant, on the other side of the street. That sense of warning came again.
Was the man a spy for the crown? For the sheriff? There was nothing about him...Tuck did not sense the evil he had felt from the tower lord.
No, this man was not evil. He was dangerous, but not of his own volition. That was the sense he got.
That this man would betray them without ever intending to. He kept moving, head down. For once he was glad that the first signs of rain were forming. It might drive the man indoors.
No. The man was following him. Then he called. "Brother."
Tuck turned. Their eyes met again. Be careful, that sense told him. He could, for a moment, almost smell roses.
He wished he could reassure her. "Yes, good sir?"
The man approached. "Would you please pray for my daughter?"
"Of course." If that was all it was. Perhaps it was the girl who was the danger, not her father. Perhaps the girl was in danger. "Is she in some kind of trouble?"
"She claims to be