The Friar's Tale, стр. 69

He lay on his back on the bunk...which was harder than that one, without even a small reed mattress.

He thought of the Blue Lady. He thought of her before God, which showed how far he had fallen. Or risen. He was not entirely sure which, not at that point. He was not sure, anymore, who he was. What he was.

A friar. He told himself that no matter what happened, he was still a friar. Even if they defrocked him, he was one in his heart.

They undoubtedly would. Probably they were finding somebody willing to do it now. He stared at the ceiling. "I messed up," he murmured.

No. Her presence seemed to say that no, it was not his fault.

"It is this time." He could not hear anything except his own voice. It was too late in the year for any birdsong to filter in through the small hole they were providing him for a window. Too late in the year for squirrels to be up and about, but they would not be here anyway.

He was not in the castle. The cell he was in was in a levy station, and he suspected it was normally used as a punishment cell for recalcitrant recruits. Probably fairly often. It smelled a little...a faint smell of stale urine. They had provided him with a chamber pot, but that smell indicated not every prisoner had used it. Or been given one.

It was a possible weapon. He examined it for a moment. It was heavy enough to hit a guard over the head with...but almost too heavy to lift.

No doubt they thought he would not be able to do so. He could do it, but he was not sure it was the best way. Apparently, the outlaw friar was not a serious threat, in their minds. Perhaps they saw only his girth, not his strength. It would not be the first time. He laughed inwardly and sat back down on the bunk.

Okay. How did he get out? He could not assume they would find where he was and spring him. It was likely they would, but he could not rely on it. If he could rescue himself first and save them the trouble, it would be infinitely preferable.

How did he get out? There were no true windows in the cell, just light and air holes set high on the wall. The walls were stone. The sick prisoner gambit? That one was so old it never worked.

He could try singing like a canary and spinning them an entire bunch of lies. That at least might buy him some time. If he could...

A hole in the door opened. "Friar?"

It was one of the guards. He got up and went over. The man handed him a plate of bread and a tankard of smallbeer through the hole.

At least they wanted to keep him in a reasonably healthy state. For questioning, but they might have let him starve or poisoned him.

It might still be poison. He did not consume it straight away, but set it down.

They did not have to open the door until they intended to move him. However, he could get some human contact. Maybe...just maybe he could subvert a guard or two. The man who had come with the food, though, had already gone.

It was several more hours before he was disturbed again. When he was, the door opened. He tensed but did not attack. It was a priest.

"So. We are in a lot of trouble." The door closed behind him...and locked.

"You're taking a risk being alone with a man who's supposed to be desperate."

The priest laughed. "You're unarmed. Unless you plan on hitting me over the head with the chamberpot."

He walked over and sat down next to Tuck on the bunk. "The Church wants you turned over to them for trial. The sheriff wants you in the castle."

"And you?"

"Supposedly, I'm here to get the truth out of you. They figured you would talk to a fellow man of the cloth faster than to one of them."

There was something familiar about him, but Tuck could not place the man. "Supposedly."

"Either you are not the outlaw friar and know nothing, or you are and won't talk to anyone. Short of torture, and if they do that, the Church will be angry."

Unless, of course, the Church did it. If they found out he had been flirting with heresy and blasphemy, they would. Without hesitation. "And if I say they have the wrong man?"

"Do they?"

He turned toward the other. Then, softly, "Brother Hereward?"

"Indeed. You didn't recognize me?"

"It's been a while." And he avoided, thus, answering the other's question.

"A while, and the country in turmoil. If I can get you out, will you come to London with me?"

"What could we do there?" Tuck kept his voice very quiet. He did not know what the guards might be able to hear.

"I was hoping you would be able to answer that question."