The Friar's Tale, стр. 64

He hoped... Even the animals were suffering a little from the depredations the countryside was currently experiencing. Only a little and not as much as the humans and their livestock.

But he felt a certain peace come over him. He found himself able to pray for the first time in what felt like a good part of a lifespan. Perhaps it had been years, for that matter. No, not years, not solidly.

He felt the presence of God in that place, not far from the city. He wanted to ask Him why He was letting this happen, but he knew the answer.

Humans had free will. That had to include the ability to make mistakes. To fall into temptation...otherwise there would be no virtue in living a good life. There was nothing to reward if there was not the choice to sin.

To sin. Tuck looked out across the river. He had done plenty of that, but he felt himself still to be on the right side. As stupid and dangerous as it was.

It was not man's place to judge, he told himself. A piece of scripture ignored entirely too often. People enjoyed judging. They liked to compare themselves to their neighbors, to say they had better clothes, a better house, a better garden.

It was human nature to judge. Or, Tuck supposed, that would never have had to be said in the first place. Human nature to fight, to struggle to be at the top of the hierarchy.

Human nature had all kinds of problems attached to it, but Tuck just shook his head. "I need guidance," he asked the air. "What can I do to help prevent what is happening from becoming worse, from turning into something terrible?"

He did not, of course, expect an answer in words. Answers to such questions never came in words.

They came in knowing or signs, in clues for which way a man should follow.

Tuck no longer knew what he knew. Not anymore, but at least he felt calm. He felt as if his mind and emotions were, once more, under his own control.

He felt like a man again. That was what mattered. A man, a friar... He was still a friar. Likely he would not be if his order ever found out what he was up to.

Why not? Because he had taken a vow of obedience, and if they said he was no longer a friar...he would add that sin to the rest. He still thought of himself as a servant of God. And, perhaps, of Mary.

Mary. The Blue Lady had implied all gods were one god. Why did that idea scare him so much?

Because it made Clorinda right. Because it meant that the order of man as ordained by God was meaningless. Thoughtless. Without truth. It meant that kings might not have Divine Right, because what the Saracens and Jews said was as valid as what the Pope voiced from his pulpit in Rome.

It meant the Old Gods were not just real, but valid and powerful. That, Tuck realized, was what he was so afraid of.

He was afraid that They would rise up, take over. Invalidate everything he knew, everything he had learned, everything he was. Make him not just no longer a friar, but no longer a person.

Okay. That was silly. Yet, it was what he felt. It was the root of why he had run from the Blue Lady. If all gods were real, then part of what he believed, an important part, was no more than falsehood. If all gods were real, then...

Then there was no reason to obey the Church. He had given his life to the three vows, and if this was true, he had done so for nothing.

Nothing? The otter dove through the water again, dangerously close. It was safe from Tuck, as he did not have a dog. Perhaps it was smart enough to realize that.

Nothing. He had walked most of the way to the Holy Land, as much on foot as he could. He had ridden ships. He had seen the desert. He had not entered Jerusalem, but he had glimpsed her before he turned back, knowing what would come.

He had lived in the greenwood and in the tents of kings, in the castles of the nobles and in a farmers' hay loft.

Nothing? All of that was worthwhile, all of that was worth considering and remembering. He had had a life he preferred to that of a husband and farmer.

So, no. He had not wasted it, even if it got him no closer to God. Or, perhaps more accurately, even if the husband and farmer could be as close through a different understanding.

He turned from the river and walked towards Nottingham town.

The camp was subdued when Tuck finally returned to it. Nobody seemed to have much to say, and it was cold winter that closed in on them. The air was chill, and hoarfrost was already settling on tents and branches.

Tuck put the mood down to the weather and settled down near his tent. Hopefully somebody would have some interest in conversation. When winter settled in, there was little else for a man to do but talk. Well, and other things...there was a reason most babies were born in the fall, after all.

He was relieved to hear Will's harp, the minstrel testing the strings and their key, adjusting the tuning. Then he began to sing, softly.

A love story. Tuck glanced around and saw Clorinda looking up. As usual, she had her hands busy with some work, but the smile she gave the singer said it all.

The song continued, and then segued into a cheerful harvest song. The minstrel knew exactly how to cheer everyone up, Tuck thought wryly. Exactly how. And that was a good thing. They needed him.

They needed Clorinda, who made the best arrows. Reginald, who was good at sneaking into places. John's strength. Much was the best shot, after Robin himself.

What did they need Tuck for?