The Friar's Tale, стр. 77

Clorinda grinned. "I bet the women have a lot more power than their men realize."

She might well be right, Tuck thought. Or she might be thinking wistfully. But then, a palace full of fifty women... "They keep them locked up like treasure. The only men allowed near them other than their husbands have been cut."

Robin flinched, as any man would, at any reference to eunuchs. Some men even flinched at gelding horses and oxen.

Tuck shrugged. "Some eunuchs are born that way, some are cut, some make themselves that way with vows."

Some women would have been embarrassed by that. Chlorina merely smiled, "And we know which kind you are," she teased. Then, she got back to business. "We get as close to the prince as we can. We make sure that somebody close to him knows just how bad things are."

"I still don't know what he can do." Tuck sat down, heavily.

"He can't do as much as if he was the king. But he can do something." Robin reached up and ran a hand through his blond hair. "He can, at the very least, censure Gisbourne and his ilk."

"Who will ignore it. Look. I'm only here because I made a promise to a dead man." Which was binding, for Hereward could not release him from it. "The rest of you didn't have to come and I honestly..."

There was a loud thud. It sounded like it came from outside in the street. Tuck moved to the small window.

A wagon had overturned. Fortunately, it was empty, but it rather neatly blocked the street outside. The oxen struggled to free themselves, breaking the traces and, being oxen, walking away from it. They seemed to be looking for grass between the cobblestones. Horses would have run.

"Just an accident," Tuck commented, turning back to the others.

Robin, though, was on his feet, tense. He looked out of place in his current garb, it being far higher quality than the normal green clothing he wore. And his hands twitched for a bow.

"Somebody overturned an ox cart outside."

Tuck turned back to the window. "Oh. Hell." He assigned himself a good dozen Hail Marys for the swear word, but it was warranted.

The wagon now blocked one end of the street. Riders the other. "Gisbourne."

"Here?"

"Here."

Robin went over to Clorinda's luggage, pulled a bowstring out from it and began the process of converting his 'staff.' "We do not attack. We make no move until they do. They may not know for sure it is us. Let Will try and talk us out of it."

Will and the others were still downstairs. "Failing that," Tuck noted, "there's a back door."

Unspoken was the likelihood that Reginald was indirectly responsible for this. The boy might well have been recognized.

Clorinda started to pull on day clothes.

"You going to be able to fight like that?" Tuck asked.

"You fight in a skirt all the time."

"It's a habit!"

"And you should consider getting out of it occasionally."

Tuck found his grin expanding to almost touch his ears. "No thanks. But where did I put my staff?"

"Behind you," Clorinda pointed out, reaching to pick up a bow and then moving towards the window.

Tuck rolled his eyes and picked it up. He still thought avoiding the fight altogether to be the best. "What's happening out there?"

"Will's talking to them. So's the innkeeper."

"Good." The innkeeper was far more likely to be on their side than against them for various simple reasons. Not least among which was how much they were paying him. Plus, no innkeeper alive wanted this kind of trouble in his inn.

"They're not leaving, though."

Tuck could hear a raised voice. "No. We will search the inn."

"We have a lady staying with us." That was the innkeeper. "I won't have her privacy violated."

"These people are Marian heretics," the voice said. "We are sure of it."

"That's none of my business. That's between them and the Church."

Then there was the sound of a slap.

Clorinda used several words, quietly, that proved she was not a lady. "Gisbourne's man just hit the innkeeper."

Tuck wrapped both hands lightly around his staff. "Well, sounds like we might have to defend the poor man's honor." He headed for the stairs. Clorinda could be just as effective from here. He needed to be far closer to his opponent to do any good.

The servants were heading for the back door. Tuck felt the unworthy temptation to follow them. Any man would have, under the circumstances. Any sane woman, too. Clorinda, he had decided, was not sane by any stretch.

He stepped out into the courtyard, just as Gisbourne's men swept in. He could not see Will. No. There he was, still on his feet, but he had ended up behind them.

"We're searching the inn. For heresy and contraband."

"Heresy?" Tuck's voice was dangerously low. "What kind?"

"We received a tip that the lady staying here is a Marian."

Tuck arched an eyebrow. "News to me, if so."

"Who are you?"

"Her confessor." And thus, somebody who would know...although be obligated not to tell...if she truly was a heretic.

"Well, you're on the list too."

Tuck knew it was all invented...although perhaps Reginald had squealed. Perhaps the poor kid had been tortured, and mentioned the fact that several of the band were Marians. Had mentioned something that could, like this, be used against them.

"I'd rather not break any heads in the inn courtyard." Tuck actually smiled at the man. "There is nothing here for you. Go away before anyone else gets hurt."

Clorinda hadn't fired yet. So far, it seemed, the only casualty was the innkeeper, now standing behind Will sporting a black eye.

Tuck was not about to start a fight.

"We know who you are," the man said, dangerously quiet. His voice was not one Tuck wanted to hear again. It was heavy and gravelly. It sounded as if his vocal cords had been injured at some point. He had a scar across one cheek. Most definitely, this was a man who had fought and fought often.

Tuck did not back down. He could not afford to either back