The Friar's Tale, стр. 60

He shook his head and could not resist scratching the base of its scruffy mane, it's tonsure having been as messy as his of late. John had proven to be a fair hand at maintaining it, thankfully. Glancing over, he saw that Clorinda and Robin were still talking.

About the useless food. Well, maybe the pigs could eat it. Of course, the pigs would always survive. Pigs always did. They could eat anything, even more than humans, and seemed to store it all so easily.

Eh. They would have pork, but a man who ate only red meat became sick. It imbalanced the humors. A man needed a diet that held everything within it.

Bread was important. Bread... The temptation to raid Gisbourne's own granary in Nottingham itself next was strong. Except that they would likely be expected.

Probably, they would be killed if they tried that, and that would avail people nothing. He shook his head. "I envy you," he told the mule. "You don't have to think about anything but the next blade of grass."

Of course, there was still plenty of that. For now. Not so much grain, though. The mule searched him with its lips, hoping that he had something edible concealed in the folds of his robes.

"I don't have anything."

It gave him another of those looks. He glanced over again. He felt left out, but he also felt that he could not join in. Should not. There was no way for him to be involved.

He did not have the knowledge. He did not belong here, yet he did. Inexorably. There was no escape from the belonging, from the effect being with these people had on him.

He felt more at home here than he ever had, but he also felt he could not be truly one of them. Not now and not ever.

He wished he had taken a different path. Never become a friar. Then he remembered that he had hated all other options worse.

Hated them. He thought of Clorinda. What options had she had? Perhaps she had a point, a small one. No.

Society was as it was. He stood up and walked back to the fire.

The village was in flames. From the top of the hill, Tuck could only watch.

He had no intention of going down there. He was not a coward, no, but what could he do for them?

They protested. Now Gisbourne's men burned them out. They were making more outlaws as he watched. Practically breeding them.

"Whether you're right or wrong, Clorinda, I fear what you seek is about to happen."

"If it does, it will be their own fault." He had not realized she was next to him.

"Well. What can we do?" Nothing was the answer. Nothing at all.

"Help them as best we can." Clorinda sighed. "Get the king back."

"I think we would be better off if John was king, to be honest." And seditious. But then, he had committed enough of that to be defrocked then handed over to the civil authorities. More than enough.

"Perhaps so. And Richard is unlikely to leave an heir."

That was probably correct, even if the rumors about him preferring boys were untrue. He was not with his wife enough to sire children. Tuck shook his head. "I agree. I feel sorry for his wife."

"At least she will not be worn out bearing too many children and weaning them too quickly so she can have the next one." Clorinda snorted at him.

Tuck rolled his eyes at her. Not that she was wrong.

"Still. She probably does...well, actually, I doubt she gets too lonely."

Tuck snorted. "We need to focus on the task at hand."

"I was trying to distract you?"

By implying the queen had a paramour. It was likely true. Women had to be discreet, but some certainly did stray. "I want to kill them all." He forced his mind back. Forced his focus back.

All he found there, though, was anger. He assigned himself several Hail Marys as penance for the words.

"So do I, but it wouldn't avail anything. What would is finding shelter for those people."

They were being herded out onto the road. "Shelter." Tuck let his breath out. "What shelter? Its winter. They're going to die out here."

"Not if we find a place to take them in."

"Who would dare?" Tuck glanced at Clorinda. "You aren't usually the hopeful one."

He knew that the other outlaws were hidden. If Robin shot one arrow into the sky, they would kill the guards. Robin, too, held off, afraid that it would do more damage than it would prevent.

This would certainly be the last straw for the tense countryside when word of it spread. If they had arrived ten minutes sooner...

Robin had something planned. Tuck knew that. Yet, he was still unsure of whether the outlaw could salvage anything from this.

Then he saw the figure approaching. "Great. What's he doing?"

"I don't know, but..." Clorinda started to move forwards. Tuck did not follow her. Stealth was not and never would be his strong suit.

She vanished in the undergrowth amazingly quickly. The green dyed clothes she wore blended in, but there was more to it than that. He could not even hear her.

She was gone...and he knew she was going to back up Robin. He now stood before the gate, bow in hand.

He was going to get himself killed. That galvanized Tuck into action...he followed as best he could, wishing he was smaller. Wishing he was quieter. Wishing he had changed from his habit into Lincoln green.

He still could not bring himself to do that, as if wearing the clothes of a layman would sacrifice what remained of his integrity as a brother. Perhaps it would.

Robin spoke, but Tuck could not hear what he said. Three bows were lowered on him.

More bows than that were aimed at the men, unseen, but nobody yet fired.

They trusted their leader, and even Clorinda... Tuck stopped. Breathing. Trust Robin. Trust him even when he did crazy things. Like shoot the arrow