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I studied Tuck closely. “You’re not worried about bandits?”
He laughed. “I would love some action to spice up my day. But sadly, the local gangs disagree.” When I cocked my head, he explained. “They tried robbing me once. I went easy on them, but unfortunately, they’ve refused to come out and play ever since.”
That was all too easy to picture — Tuck as a warrior, fighting a half-dozen robbers.
“Besides, the new sheriff — acting sheriff, I mean — has chased away most of the bandits,” he continued. “The man’s too damn efficient for his own good.”
I motioned toward the forest. “What about Robin Hood and the Merry Men?”
He smirked. “Now, that’s an entirely different breed of bandit. They don’t bother honest folk. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
I crooked an eyebrow, waiting.
He laughed. “All right, all right. They don’t mess with poor folks. Rich folks, on the other hand, are fair game.”
“Because…?”
He narrowed his eyes at me, then whispered, “Because they serve the poor in the name of our true king, Richard. You’ll see.”
I certainly hoped so.
The only sounds for the next twenty minutes were the creak of the wagon and the quiet thud of the mules’ hooves. Then we stopped at a tiny hamlet, not more than four or five households.
“Friar Tuck! Friar Tuck!” People who had peered out warily smiled upon recognizing him. “Welcome!”
“Hello, George. Hello, Maud. Hello, Jamie.”
Greeting each by name, Tuck got to work immediately, distributing food, clothing, and other goods.
“I’ve got bread, potatoes, and everyone’s favorite — turnips,” he joked.
All were eagerly accepted, along with profuse thanks.
“Here’s that new axe blade you needed,” he told one man. “And a bolt of cloth for you and the children,” he said, presenting it to a woman with a flourish. “Plus tea and salt for you, Miss Maggie.” That was a woman so old and stooped, she could barely walk with a cane, yet she came alive at Tuck’s doting attention.
“You must stay for tea,” she insisted.
He winked. “I’d love to, but won’t the neighbors talk?”
Her cheeks went all rosy as she took his elbow. “Let them.”
He laughed heartily, and the sound livened up the whole dreary community.
Like so many other places in the land, the hamlet showed signs of long-gone prosperity — peeling paint, crooked rooflines. Proud, simple folks in patched, worn clothing. Mothers whose eyes shone with love for their children but filled with despair when talk turned to the future.
Over the years of the king’s absence, Prince John had raised taxes higher and higher. But there was only so much blood to be squeezed from a turnip, as the saying went. I doubted these people had ever been rich, but now, they teetered on the edge of survival.
Tuck introduced me as Brother Michael. “One of our newest novices. He’s taken a vow of silence, so please don’t tempt him.”
Clever man, that Tuck.
I watched, fascinated, as he made his rounds. He drank tea and made conversation. He helped haul slate shingles to a rooftop in desperate need of repair. He admired babies and played knight with the children. That meant jousting with sticks, playing good guy and bad guy, and allowing himself to be tackled by a dozen laughing youngsters.
I couldn’t help picturing a father lion covered in playful cubs, making sure to be gentle while pretending to be fierce.
“Help! Help me, fair maiden!” he called to Maggie.
The older woman giggled. “No one’s called me that in decades.”
