The Friar's Tale, стр. 58

22

Winter settled over the land. People were starving. Tuck was very much aware of both of these things.

Richard had, the rumor mill said, been ransomed, but he still refused to return to England. Instead he demanded more men.

There were none left to send. The harvest had been brought in mostly by women and boys...if any more men were sent to the Holy Land, it would not be brought in at all. Not that there were not plenty of adult men left.

They were simply the ones canny enough to not be present when the tax men showed. The men on levy were supposed to be returning, but few had. Many, of course, lay under alien sand.

Tuck, for his part, sat under a very English tree. The broad oak, one of the largest he had ever seen, kept the rain off almost as well as a tent would have. Despite that, his clothes were wet and he was thoroughly miserable. A huge part of his misery came from the cold he had caught somewhere or other. His head felt like a small army of smiths was hammering away in there.

Clorinda approached. There was no swing to her walk, she sat down much as a man would, and offered him a cup of tea. "Here."

He took it. It smelled bitter. "Is this your grandmother's cold remedy?"

"Yes."

"Not sure the cold isn't better." He drank it anyway, wincing at the taste. If it helped the symptoms, it would be worth it. If it did not, he would just refuse the next cup.

She laughed a little. "I wonder if humans will ever invent medicines that don't taste foul?"

"No. We won't. Healers will always make sure they do to encourage us to get better."

She laughed again. "Point taken. Although I would also note...somebody brought in some chickens. Enough to make soup for everyone."

Now there was a traditional remedy...for both the cold and the weather. "Mmm. I could use me some of that right now. Or some weather magic, if such a thing existed."

Clorinda shook her head. "We need the rain for next year's crops."

He knew she was right. "Still..." He glanced out at the sodden forest. "I would like it to stop some time. The way things are going, we may be looking up the measurements for an ark." He also know he was exaggerating.

"Maybe if you wore some decent boots," she mused.

He wriggled his toes. "No. Water settles in boots. It runs right out of sandals." He knew friars who did switch to boots in winter. He was pretty sure it did not help.

"So...you seem a lot happier."

He furrowed his brow. "I'm trying to be. I'm still having issues. Just..."

"How about just trusting that the powers who rule the world know what they're doing?"

"When I don't even know which are real and which are not..." Tuck glanced at the grey sky. "I should be defrocked."

She laughed. "You loyally serve your God, you mostly keep your vows, you help people who need it the most. I think that would be more important than a few doubts now and then."

They weren't a few doubts. "I just want spring to come." He needed something to do.

"I don't."

He looked at her askance.

"I fear what will come with the spring. With everything that's going on. Robin thinks there will be a revolt, the only question is when."

"Before the end of the winter, if its going to happen this year. When the food runs out."

Clorinda frowned. "I would think when spring brightens..."

Tuck shook his head. "I would think soon. We have food, out here in the wood...most of it stolen from the crown, but we have it. They don't."

She let her shoulders slump. "Then I am even more worried. What can we do about it?"

"Nothing." That was the bitter truth, that what was going to happen would happen regardless of any efforts against it. Would be civil war. Would be... "People are going to die. All we can do is damage control."

"We could try and get food to some of the worst off before it happened."

"We'd have to steal it." Tuck laughed. "But then, what are we if not thieves?"

"I have an idea." She stood, gracefully, and vanished through the trees.

Clorinda's idea materialized the next day, refined, no doubt, by Robin and John. Tuck followed them along the path in the chill rain.

Of course, Clorinda had volunteered him. Of course. There were plenty...then again, he thought, he would be no less miserable sitting under a tree than on the move. It was still raining, making him think of ark measurements again. The path was made of mud and leaves and the occasional log. His feet sank into it so hard he was worried he might lose his sandals and have to finish this expedition barefoot.

He wanted spring. That was one of the few good things about the Holy Land. It got wetter than this, at a certain season, but never this cold.

Or maybe that was a fair trade.

Gisbourne did not keep most of his stores