The Friar's Tale, стр. 61

He would not forget this one either. Robin was...scolding them. That, Tuck could tell for sure, although not one word in ten reached his ears.

Scolding them as if he were their mother. Or their Mother Superior, Tuck thought wryly. Yes, definitely an abbess scolding a novice.

The thought actually caused him to smile. Then the three bows lifted higher...

...and all three men fell dead in an instant. One of the arrows did seem to come from somewhere nearby. Clorinda.

Robin lifted his hand. "I warned you."

That part Tuck did hear.

The captain turned. "He has men hidden in the woods. Find them."

The survivors seemed somewhat reluctant to bend themselves to that task.

"Find them, I said!"

Nobody else fired. Tuck considered what best he could do. Staying put seemed smart. Yet, he found himself drawn inexorably towards the scene, felt the feminine presence.

Robin was about to need him. For what, he was not sure. But he was about to need him.

That was when the guards charged the slender outlaw. Robin flicked his bow over, using it as a staff. It would undoubtedly ruin the string, but string could be replaced.

Tuck covered the last bit of space in moments, and then let out a war cry, swinging his staff towards the nearest of the guards.

They were not expecting him. Not at all, he realized after a moment. The guard went down like a fallen tree, another turned towards him.

That one lost his sword, the weapon flying to land point down in the ground, the hilt moving from side to side, humming for a moment before it settled. He backed away, rummaging for a knife in his belt.

Tuck hit him in the solar plexus, and he went flying, landing on his butt. He did not get back up.

"I didn't need your help."

"Says who?" Tuck called to Robin cheerfully. "We have them outnumbered now."

He was ashamed of himself for enjoying the fight, but it was really...easier and more enjoyable than most battles. These people were supposed to be professionals.

Robin's legend would spread...but so would that of the Friar. Tuck brought the third guard down by thrusting his staff between the man's legs and jerking it sideways. He went literally head over heels.

"So we do!" Robin laughed. "I vote we take what we can and go."

It wasn't much...but Tuck relieved one of the guards of a very nice ring, slipping it onto his own finger. It even fit. Not that he would keep it, of course, but it was the easiest way to carry it.

So he kept telling himself. The villagers were getting their small, poor possessions and their beasts. When the guards woke up, it would be to an empty village and their own dead. Nothing else was left behind.

They could not stay. They had to abandon what remained of their homes and furniture, for Gisbourne would only send more men next time. What the fire had spared would be, thus abandoned. Why would he care? They were used up, their land was close on used up.

Some farmers were starting to make inroads, clearing the royal forest. Illegal or not, it was a possible way to survive. They hunted every way to survive they could find.

The law did not matter anymore. Tuck had the sad feeling that one day the greenwood would be gone.

No, not gone, but reduced to pockets and fragments. People had too many children, having so many to ensure one survived. Peasants had fewer, but they still had too many, and there were always more people.

Was that so bad? Man had dominion, Tuck reminded himself. But dominion had to come with its flip side, respect.

Francis respected the world with all that was in him. Brown friars were supposed to do that. Tuck had never been quite sure how. How did he respect a sparrow? He elected for mostly leaving them alone.

Of course, he did treat his mule well...even when the animal did not reciprocate. Mules respected nobody except themselves.

They were back in the woods, now, faded out. The villagers had scattered, with a place arranged to come back together. Tuck knew the place. An old village, abandoned after some plague. It would become a home again, until Gisbourne found it.

They might, though, get in one harvest without being taxed. Clorinda had a point. Maybe taxation was bad, but if the lords did not take tax, how would they protect the peasants? The problem was not that the lords took tax, it was that they were not using it in the right way. Taking too much. Funneling everything into the thrice-damned Crusades.

It was all about that.