The Friar's Tale, стр. 73
"The hunchback?"
Tuck shook his head. "Probably an honest man, possibly pathetically grateful to have a job and a place at all. His kind so seldom do."
There was a tendency to believe that hunchbacks were a judgment of Satan on the parents, especially the mother. Other deformities were often viewed the same way. Tuck knew that sometimes such children did not survive...and it was not always because their deformities killed them. Blindness, he thought, would be the worst. A hunchback, at least, could do useful work. What was there for a man who could not see?
"Probably. He gives me the creeps, though."
Tuck lowered his voice. "The one that bothers me is the girl."
"Think she might decide to lift a couple of our lady's jewels?"
"Yes, actually." Tuck shrugs. "But I trust the lady to be careful. You never can be too careful."
"And I notice Lord Robert is not here. Defending her virtue, no doubt." No irony in the man's tone, but a twinkle in his eyes.
Well, Clorinda's virtue was questionable only because she and her husband had never stepped inside a church. There was no hint of infidelity between the two. Tuck glanced around for Will. He had positioned himself close to the stairs and was looking more bodyguard than minstrel. He trusted Robin, but perhaps he, too, had noticed something about the girl.
Or perhaps Robin had asked him to do it. Tuck turned back to John. "Watching like a hawk, knowing him. He doesn't like to let his wife out of his sight."
John laughed. "Maybe he's afraid she'll start looking at other men."
"No," Tuck deadpanned, every bit the retainer taking amusement at the expense of his lord. "He's afraid he will start looking at other women if he doesn't remind himself constantly why he puts up with her tongue."
John laughed louder. His atypical verboseness was clearly, to Tuck, a role he was playing, but to outsiders...
Clorinda, of course, did not often use her tongue that way, but the persona she had put on for their journey was rather acidic. The laughter had attracted some attention, but after a moment, the two were dismissed.
Normal behavior for travelers journeying with their boss...even for a friar who was presumably the confessor.
"I can see why he puts up with it."
Tuck thought that good acting, given he had never caught John glancing at a woman in any sexual manner. "Even I can, although her tongue would not be worth breaking my vows for."
"Sometimes I think nothing would get you out of that habit. No pretty barmaids, no serving wenches, no handsome lads. Lady Godiva could ride past in all her glory..."
"John!" Tuck feigned being utterly scandalized. "You know..." And then he shrugged. "You know nothing and nobody is going to get out of my habit.
The big man laughed again and clapped the friar so firmly on the back he stumbled.
"Just because I'm about the only friar in the country with no mistress tucked away under his habit." Tuck added. Which wasn't true, but close.
"You could fit one in there, too." John made a great show of looking Tuck up and down.
"If she was reasonably small." The joke, of course, also referred to certain sexual practices generally engaged in only by prostitutes who did not want to risk pregnancy.
"I know, I know. God fulfills all of your needs. For me, I wouldn't mind getting my hands on that girl, if it wasn't for the fact that somebody would shoot the hat off my head." John was not about to publicly admit to his preferences. Tuck could say he was firm in his vows and not have anyone suspect a thing. John...
"Watch out. You know what tavern girls are like. She'll take you for a hefty fee then raid your pouch to boot." Tuck grinned at his friend.
"I know. I know. I'll wait until we get to London and go to the bishop's brothels."
Tuck knew he would do no such thing. Well, maybe. Some of them probably...no. John was not like that. He did not go after random boys. He was dedicated to the man he loved.
Tuck rather thought that made it alright.
30
London sat beneath a veil of fog. Nottingham often looked much the same...a wide river valley that trapped the stuff. London, however, was larger. It had walls, but the city had long ago spilled beyond them. The bad part of town, the very worst neighborhoods, was south of the river. Approaching from the north, London radiated prosperity. Church towers and steeples poked out from the mass of houses.
"Not so bad, is it?" John again, pulling back to ride next to Tuck.
"You haven't seen Southwark," Tuck complained. "Or, more to the point, smelled it. Or Fleet Street." Which had a stream down the middle that tended to be used as men always used streams in cities.
John wrinkled his nose. "Can it be worse than standing outside the tanning caves?"
Tuck had been in Nottingham's tanning caves. "Yes," he said, without hesitation.
"Well, it still doesn't look bad from here."
"It's probably no worse than York, really." The wind changed, and a faint whiff of city did, indeed, hit Tuck's nostrils. From here, though, it really was 'not that bad'. He had certainly smelled worse in his time.
They were cresting the ridge north of the city and seeing it from a distance. In truth they were a good three hours ride from the northern gates.
The greenwood here had been reduced to patches, open country being the rule. Cattle and sheep grazed in some parts. Strips of cropland glinted in others. Much of it, though, lay fallow, and Tuck noticed the cattle and sheep looked thin. An emaciated horse lifted its head weakly as they passed.
No. People were no better off here than further north. He felt almost guilty...and he would not be surprised if they were attacked. They had had to deal with the maid who had, indeed, tried to take Clorinda's jewels. She had been switched by the innkeeper, but Tuck doubted it would have any