The Friar's Tale, стр. 59
Of course, they had no means to carry enough bread for a village. Yet. The men began to fan out as they approached, but it was Tuck and Reginald who moved through the center of it. Reginald, of course, wore rags. Tuck wore his oldest habit, one that had several holes in it. They looked quite convincing as desperate beggars, traveling together, no doubt, for protection. Although better fed than he had been, Reginald was still skinny. It was likely he would always be skinny, that that was the way he was made.
The guards eyed the beggars.
"Can you spare alms?" Tuck asked, making his voice a wheedle. He never actually begged for alms, but he knew how to do it. You just had to put that very slight hint of desperation without actually whining.
"Go. Get out of here."
"Nothing for a poor brother and a young man who has no parents to return to?"
The guard aimed a kick at him. Tuck intentionally found it hard to move his corpulent self out of the way. "You obviously don't need any extra food and the boy should be working the land."
They did not actually need to get inside, of course. Just hold the attention of the guards as long as possible. "The boy is an orphan from Nottingham. He has no land...he has no family...he has nothing. I am taking him to one of our novice cloisters."
A good lie. It might even work. It was certainly holding their attention. "Eh. If all the lads go into the church, who will get us our food?"
If all the lads go into the levy...but Tuck did not voice that. "Got to have food to get it," he did say.
The guard grumbled. "Well, we're not allowed to give anything to beggars or friars. Move along."
Not allowed to give alms to the Church? Tuck let both his eyebrows shoot up. "I hope you tithe appropriately, then." The veiled threat in there...not that most of the people he knew tithed...would be understood. One tithed to the Church or one did not get the remission of one's sins. The only people exempt were those for whom tithing would result in unbearable hardship.
Of course, most of the people Tuck knew had no money and not enough food for themselves.
"Move along."
The guard did not notice Clorinda coming up behind him. Another of the men, one Tuck did not know well, dealt with the second guard. Tuck winced a little as they fell to the ground. Had they committed any sin other than working for a bad master?
He murmured something as they headed into the grange. Oxen were stabled on one side, a cart conveniently stood in the yard.
"Good," Robin said, coming in behind them. "Food and the means to transport it."
Tuck moved to check on the oxen. He would rather have found horses. Oxen were stupid. Horses always seemed much more willing to be in partnership with man. Mules, of course, were different again.
He wished he'd been able to bring his mule. But he harnessed the oxen quickly, getting the beasts out into the yard with only slight difficulty and putting them to the yoke. Of course, oxen were stronger than horses.
They would be able to fill the cart much more. They had to hurry. There would be a shift change sooner or later, and that was assuming there were no guards asleep somewhere. Tuck was sure they were, and his best hope was that they had drunk too much ale to be awake.
How was this place so lightly guarded? That worried him...with the traps that had happened in the past. They piled bread and sacks of fruit onto the wagon.
Worried him. He moved over to Robin. "This is too easy."
"I agree."
"We should make sure that the food is not poisoned."
"You have a nasty mind, Brother."
"Maybe I do, but I cannot help but think there is a trap here, and we have not yet found it." Gisbourne was the one with the nasty mind, the one who set the traps.
"More likely an ambush once we're out and slowed down by the wagon." Robin frowned. "But we can check."
There was no ambush, and that only made Tuck, walking next to the cart, more certain there was some other trick.
23
Clorinda was frowning, examining the loaf of bread. "Moldy. They did not leave poisoned food for us..."
"...just useless food," Robin finished.
Some people thought moldy bread might cause St. Vitus' Dance, Tuck mused. It seemed unlikely, though. Who knew what made a man sick? Only God, Tuck knew.
Anything else would be tampering in His domain. Tuck shook his head. "Of course. Not a trap, just a statement that it could have been a trap."
"It's not all unusable. But we'll have to go through it. The fruit is fine."
Robin nodded, wearily. "It is better than nothing. It is better than starvation."
Unspoken was the fact that moldy bread was better than no bread at all. Better, but hardly desirable. Tuck turned away, headed over to where the oxen had been tethered. They were too fine as work beasts to kill and eat, but they might well have no choice but to do so. Food was more important than anything right now.
He rubbed one of them on the snout, but being a mere ox, it did not respond with affection. He abandoned it, thus, for his mule.
If things got worse, somebody might try and take the mule to eat it. Nobody among them, but the villagers could no longer be trusted with animals.
Of course, perhaps they should hide the oxen. What would the farmers use to plow? The animals were as vital as the people, and keeping some of them intact...
He patted the mule again. The creature rewarded him by gnawing on the sleeve of his habit. "Quit that."
It gave him a woebegone look, the clear expression of an animal who