Copyright 2015 Steven A. McKayAll rights reserved. This bookmay not be reproduced in any

form,in whole or in part, withoutwritten permission from the

author.

Also by Steven A. McKay:

THE FOREST LORD SERIES

Wolf's Head

The Wolf and the RavenRise of the Wolf

Knight of the Cross

For my mum.

Acknowledgements

As always, I've been helped a great dealwhen writing this novella. My earlybeta-readers Billy Moore, YvonneMcKay and Bernadette McDade gaveme pointers on the very first draft. RobinCarter and Nicky Galliers then gave mesome more detailed feedback and whatyou have here is the result.

Huge thanks to Phil Rose for writingthe foreword – I've been a big fan ofRobin of Sherwood for a number ofyears so to have one of the actorsinvolved in my book...It is truly anhonour and I'm still a little star-struck!

My everlasting gratitude to CaroleElizabeth Ballard for setting it all upwith Phil – she runs his officialFacebook page which you should checkout.

First though – warm some mulledwine, sit back, and enjoy our tale...

Friar Tuck and the ChristmasDevil – Tuck, Troubles and Trials

As I sit here with a Christmas tipple ofmead in my hand reading Steven A.McKay's Friar Tuck and the ChristmasDevil I remember my days as Friar Tuckin the very successful HTV productionRobin of Sherwood, with Robin andRobert played by Michael Praed andJason Connery respectively.

In fact, Friar Tuck and the ChristmasDevil could well have been an episodein the series, as it successfully drew meback into the Tuck character and in mymind I was playing the bold friar allover again. Of course Tuck has had to

do battle with demons before, as in theRobin of Sherwood episode, ‘TheSwords of Wayland’, where the famousRula Lenska played Morgwyn ofRavenscar who tried to accumulate the‘Seven Swords of Wayland' in order toconjure the devil. The seventh swordwas of course ‘Albion', which was inRobin's possession.

Strange things happened during thefilming of RoS. In one of the last shots of“The Swords of Wayland” Rula Lenskawas hurrying across the causeway at StMichael’s Mount in Cornwall. One ofthe production team looked up andrealised there was going to be aneclipse! So the crew quickly changedfrom filming Rula, hurried to put a filter

on the camera, and filmed the eclipseinstead. In the episode, as she wasrunning, it cuts to the eclipse, shescreams, the moon turns blood redand...that was the end of her.

In the same episode the Merry Men,and Robin, were bewitched andblinded. To do this, we were fitted withlarge opaque contact lenses that blockedour vision and made everything whiter.So none of us could see. At the end whenwe're pulling Robin – who was hurt – ona cart high up on a cliff the contactlenses made us so visually impaired thatwe kept heading too close to the edge.The director kept shouting at us, to moveleft, move left – get away from the cliff! The lenses were awful and could only

be worn for five or six minutes at a time,so filming took forever that day. Whatwe do for our art…

Friar Tuck and the Christmas Devilis a cosy, heart-warming little story witha twist, and a pie of course, which isgoing to entertain adults and childrenalike. Perhaps best served by reading itall together, aloud, bringing back the oldtradition of sitting around the fire atChristmas and telling the seaonsal talesas we did indeed do in times past andshould do more often nowadays!

The tradition of story-telling cannotbe more appropriate than at Christmas,when it's cold outside and we arehuddled as families together.

So, curl up amidst your presents, good

food, holly and ivy and all the traditionalfestivities and take time out from thehustle and bustle of Christmas mania togather the family around, share time andenjoy this tale.

Invoke the myth and legend of FriarTuck, and chomp into that pie as youlisten to the story.

May I wish you a wonderful yuletideseason, and all good cheer my ‘littleflowers’.

Phil Rose,AKA Friar Tuck from Robin ofSherwood

https://www.facebook.com/groups/PR.FT.OFC/?fref=ts

BRANDESBURTON, ENGLAND,DECEMBER AD 1323

Holy Mary, Mother of God. It's him!The devil!

The man shrank back, too anxious toapproach his own front door for fear ofwhat terrors he might find inside thethatch-roofed hovel he called 'home'.

The snow had fallen sporadically forthe past week or so and had beenparticularly heavy that day, leaving aclean white covering on the land. Theroads around the village were, ofcourse, muddy and sodden from

travellers' feet and the wheels ofdelivery wagons and the animals thatpulled them but here, outside the oldpeasant's home, the snow was thick andfresh and untouched.

Or at least it should have beenuntouched, since no one ever came tovisit the man and, as his family had alldied or grown-up and left to liveelsewhere, there was really no reasonfor anyone to have been near his frontdoor.

So the sight of footprints leadingtowards the threshold had made thepeasant pause and then stare, wide-eyedand terror-stricken at the low dwelling,which had begun to seem horriblysinister in the early-evening gloom. For

upon closer inspection the prints in thesnow weren't normal human, or evenanimal prints – they appeared to havebeen made by some bipedal beast withhoofs for feet. Cloven hoofs.

“The devil!” the peasant shouted inalarm, his strangled cry somewhatmuffled by the falling snow yet still loudenough to bring his neighbours to theirown doors. Their faces peered out,framed in the orange glow from theircosy hearths.

“What's going on out there?” a voicedemanded. “I'm trying to get my childrenabed, Ivor. What's all the shoutingabout?”

“The devil's been in my house!” thepeasant cried in reply, shuffling

backwards away from the haunted place,waving his arms towards the hoof printsin the snow. “Call out the tithing!Someone send to the city for the sheriff'smen – the fiend might still be inside.Look at the marks it's left; the thing mustbe huge!”

People began to spill into the street atthe noise. Men carried wooden clubs,pitchforks, longbows or whatever otherweapons they owned; mothers tried tohold back their children who, frightenedbut excited, called to their friends, wide-eyed and smiling.

“James!” The old peasant spotted awork-mate of his, a big man, who waswatching events from the safety of hisown front door. “James! Fetch your dog

– it'll chase out the devil for us. Youpeople, be ready to defend yourselveswhen the foul beast is chased into theopen.”

The villagers seemed unwilling tocome anywhere near his hovel, fearkeeping even the biggest, hardest of themen at bay, although James hadapparently gone to find his dog for hisbulk had disappeared from his doorway.The big man came back a moment laterwith the hound on the end of a length ofrope.

It was a big dog, its head almost astall as its owner's waist, although it waslean and rangy, being used for huntingrather than fighting and the frightenedIvor wished one of his neighbours

owned something more vicious like amastiff. Even the devil wouldn't want toface one of that giant breed!

The common folk of Brandesburtonhad good reason to be jumpy and fearful;in the past few weeks there had beenmany strange happenings around thevillage. A number of people – stolid,trustworthy citizens – had reported theftsfrom their homes and workplaces. Eventhe presence of locked doors didn't seemto be able to stop the thieves yet thedoors were never broken down – it wasas if the locks had simply been bypassedsomehow...

On a few occasions the burgledbuildings had shown signs of similar,cloven hoofprints in the mud or snow

outside and so, of course, the rumoursstarted.

The gossips had come close tohysteria when the blacksmith, a dumpyman who made up for his lack of heightwith the biggest arms Ivor had ever seen,had been reduced to a quivering wreckwhen, he claimed, a horned, glowingdemon had brushed by him as he openedthe smithy one morning. Some of his bestpieces were missing and, as usual,hoofprints were found tracked along theentrance to the building.

Since then more people had comeforward telling tales of sighting thedevil, be-horned and with eyes thatburned red like hellfire, leaping fromrooftop to rooftop and howling with

insane laughter.Ivor knew some of those witnesses

and he knew they wouldn't lie. If theysaid they'd seen Satan in Brandesburtonit had to be true – who would lie aboutsomething like that at this time of year,when folk were preparing to celebratethe birth of Christ?

And now the devil was in his ownhouse! The peasant clasped his handsand shakily mumbled the Ave Maria andPater Noster as James led the big harriertowards the hoofprints in the snow.

The front door to the dwelling wasslightly ajar although, as usual with theserecent break-ins, it hadn't been brokenoff its hinges or had the lock smashed,and the dog approached, apparently

interested more in pissing all over thefresh white snow than in chasing anydenizen of hell that might be hidinginside Ivor's miserable house.

“Get in there, boy,” James ordered,pointing towards Ivor's hovel. The doglooked at its master, then at the doorway,waited a few moments to finish markingits territory then with what seemed to bean incongruous smile on its long face,walked over to the opening. Anothergrunted command from James who stoodnervously at the end of the leash, as faraway as he could get given the length ofthe rope, and the dog shoved its muzzleagainst the rotten old door and shovedits way inside.

James let go of the leash and hefted a

big stick while the rest of the mencrowded in close, moving nervouslyforward, grasping their own assortedweapons, ready to either defendthemselves from whatever hideousdemon was inside the hovel or, perhaps,to run as fast as they could in theopposite direction.

Sheer weight of numbers gave thevillage men some confidence and theygathered in a silent semi-circle aroundthe slippery entrance to the house, morejoining them all the time as word spreadthroughout the village of what washappening. Some carried candles whichcast a very dim light on the strange,snowy scene and Ivor's fear began toturn to pride.

The devil had come to his home thisYule. The people of Brandesburtonwould remember Ivor every Christmasafter this, assuming they all survived thehell's fire that was sure to burst uponthem any moment.

The idea made him pause but thecontinuing silence from inside his homelent him courage and he shoved his wayto the front of the gathering, glancing atJames who returned his look with anervous shrug.

“It's your house.”Ivor nodded bravely, squaring his

shoulders and hauling himself up to fullheight. It was his house right enough – heshould be first inside.

One of the men offered him a short

club and he took it with a grim nod ofthanks then stepped forward to grasp thedoor handle. He could hear nothing frominside and his imagination conjured themost hideous demons, picturing themtearing James's poor dog apart withterrific yet silent violence.

He drew a deep breath, hefted thelength of wood he'd been given andreached a hand forward to push the dooropen wide enough for him to follow thehound inside.

Before he could touch the iron latchthough, a great black shape appeared,pushing its hellish body hard against himand, with a scream of terror Ivor fellbackwards, arms flailing, onto the snow-covered grass, trying to drag himself

away from the satanic presence that hadhauled its carcass from his home.

The near-hysterical laughter of hisfellow villagers brought him back to hissenses though. It was no devil that hadburst forth and attacked him; it was thedog, and it was currently doing a shit inthe snow right beside him much to theamusement of the gathered locals.

James came forward, peering insidethe doorway, and waved a handdismissively.

“There's nothing there. Whatevermade those hoofprints is gone; the placeis empty.”

He held a hand out to Ivor and hauledthe old peasant back to his feet.

“Come on, I'll come in with you and

make sure everything's safe. The bailiffcan check the place over tomorrow,assuming he bothers his arse to visit.”

The pair moved inside, the dogbounding after them happily, jumpingaround, tongue lolling stupidly,apparently incredibly excited to haveemptied its bowels.

The hovel appeared untouched butIvor knew better. He only owned onething of any value – a silver spoon thathad belonged to his deceased wife. He'dbeen thinking of selling it since he coulddo with the money and had no family topass it onto anyway, but now...it wasgone. Whatever demon had visited hishome that December night had taken theone thing he had that was worth a coin or

two.He looked around fearfully, as if

seeing the meagre furniture in his ownhome for the first time and James tookpity on him.

“Come on, Ivor. You can stay at minetonight. The dog will keep watch for us.He's a good lad.”

The old peasant looked up gratefullyand nodded his head without saying aword. It was a kind gesture and he wasglad of it for he knew he didn't want tosleep in his own home where the devilhad been. But he looked at the slimhunting dog and shuddered.

Even a mastiff wouldn't be any use ifthe devil came back for them that night.

* * *

The bailiff didn't come to Brandesburtonthe next day. He was based nine milesaway in Beverley so, although the recentstories of the so-called devil hadreached him he was too busy to make thejourney on the basis of someinsubstantial rumours. No-one had diedand the only things taken were of littlevalue for the most part. Peasants' houseswere easier to break into than nobles';not that there were many of those inBrandesburton. If someone importanthad been robbed the bailiff might havecome but petty thefts didn't interest him.

Instead, a succession of interestedpassers-by stopped off at Ivor's now

notorious house while they went abouttheir daily business. The old peasantwas, of course, out working with hisfellows, mending a fence that had blowndown in a storm three nights before, buthe hadn't even bothered locking the doorbefore he left that morning. He hadnothing worth stealing now, so thecurious villagers were free to peerinside the open doorway although, totheir credit, they were respectful and leftthe place as they found it.

The watchful presence of one of Ivor'sneighbour's – Jeannie, a widow whowas out repairing the thatch on her roofwhich the cursed storm had taken chunksout of – helped make sure none of thenosey visitors lingered too long around

the place.Her eyes lit up when she spotted the

approach of a tall, portly friar whocarried himself like a soldier rather thana clergyman.

“Brother Michael,” she called,waving a hand from the top of the ricketyladder she was standing on. “You cometo see the devil-house?”

The friar smiled in return. “I have. Isthis it here?”

The peasant woman climbed nimblydown from her perch and walked acrossto join 'Brother Michael'. That was thename Father de Nottingham, priest intheir local church of St Mary's, hadgiven when he'd introduced the friar tohis congregation a few months earlier

but it hadn't taken long for people torecognise the big man.

Friar Tuck – one of Robin Hood'strusted lieutenants. It was commonknowledge the famous wolf's head andhis gang had been granted pardons, sothe villagers couldn't understand whyTuck was apparently hiding inBrandesburton under an assumed name.The problem was, however, the pardonsgranted by Sir Henry de Faucumberg,High Sheriff of Nottingham andYorkshire, were only secular. He had noauthority over the clergy. And Tuck hadupset an extremely wealthy andinfluential clergyman in Prior John deMonte Martini of Lewes.

Tuck had been in possession of a

near-priceless relic that had oncebelonged to the priest here inBrandesburton. He had brought it backand asked Father de Nottingham to lethim stay there for a while, until Prior deMonte Martini forgot about him. Whichwas wishful thinking but, for now,'Brother Michael' was safe enough, andcomfortable too, since he'd brought hisown considerable share of the lootRobin's gang had amassed during theirhugely successful career as outlaws.

“Aye, that's old Ivor's house,” Jeannienodded, leading the friar to the sad littlebuilding and ushering him inside.

He looked around but, at first glanceat least, there was nothing of any greatinterest. It was a regular small dwelling

with one room, a firepit in the centre ofthe floor, a single stool for sitting on, awooden box that probably doubled asstorage and a seat for visitors, and apallet for sleeping on.

There was little in the way of utensilsor the like, and nothing ornamental ordecorative whatsoever. It was a verydepressing place, Tuck thought, thinkingof the contrast between this and theobscenely lavish chambers Prior deMonte Martini revelled in back inLewes.

“Why would a devil want to comehere?” Jeannie wondered, gazing aroundat the old man's meagre belongings. Theplace made her own, similar, dwellingseem almost like a manor house by

comparison.Tuck shrugged. “Satan invites himself

in wherever he sees an opening. Itmatters not to him whether a home isgrand and extravagant or smalland...rustic,” he muttered diplomatically.“Still, what proof do we have there wasany supernatural force at work here? Didanyone see it?”

It had been a dry, clear day but evenso the hoofprints from the previous nightwere gone – trampled into mud by thegawking visitors, so Jeannie did her bestto describe them to the big friar wholistened intently, trying to picture them inhis head. Two-toed, like the print a goatwould leave behind only bigger.

“I've heard stories like this before,”

he admitted. “Hopefully next time thedevil pays a visit I can see the thing formyself or, at the very least, the trail itleaves behind.”

Jeannie nodded. “I expect a hard manlike you would put up a good fight, evenagainst Satan himself.”

Tuck grinned, his small blue eyestwinkling at the compliment, and thewoman excused herself so she couldfinish the repairs to her roof.

When she'd gone the friar movedslowly around the room, peering into theshadows and wishing he'd brought acandle from the church. Ivor had acandle beside his chair but it was almostdone and Tuck knew the man wouldstruggle for money to replace it so he left

it unlit and stared at the dim floor, tryingto find something – anything – that mightshed light on the previous day's fearfulvisitor.

Eventually, just as he'd decided togive up and return to St Mary's, a robinlanded on the threshold, cocking its headup at him.

“Hello, little fellow,” the friar smiled,and the red-breasted bird flew back outthe door, but Tuck's eyes were drawn tothe spot where it had landed and hewalked across, squinting down into thegloom to see it properly.

A footprint.He knelt to inspect the mark more

closely and revised his assessment – itwas a hoofprint!

Whatever had made the mark musthave got its foot – hoof – wet in thesnow, so when it came inside Ivor'shouse the water had run off and turnedthe solid earth to mud, leaving thisshallow print.

Tuck looked at it with great interest,measuring the size against his hand andnoting how far into the hard-packedfloor it had sunk.

Finally, head beginning to ache fromstraining his eyes, he got to his feet andmuttered to himself in puzzlement.

It seemed the villagers were right tobe afraid – the hoofprint proved that.

He shuddered and made the sign of thecross before saying a blessing over thethreshold and, with a final, preoccupied

wave to Jeannie, made his way back toSt Mary's. The church wasn't that big butFather de Nottingham had a small, well-appointed library and Tuck wanted tosee if he could find out something aboutthat strange hoofprint.

* * *

The library at St Mary's was a mine ofinformation, Tuck found. Unfortunatelynone of it was much help in decipheringthe cloven hoofprint from the peasant'shouse.

There were half a dozen shelvesstacked with books in the fusty littlewindowless room, most of which werestandard religious or philosophical texts

with the odd historical treatise. Tuckwas most intrigued – and surprised – tofind ancient tomes on demonology andmagic; tomes with titles like LiberAleph, De Vermis Mysteriis, Cultes deGoules and one particularly loathsomevolume called simply Necronomiconwhich had the most disturbing imagesand incantations Tuck had ever comeacross.

Clearly, Father Nicholas deNottingham took an interest in the darkarts, no doubt in order to fight them moreeffectively. But in all these hellish textsTuck could find nothing of any useregarding the strange hoofprint.

There was the odd mention of suchpagan monstrosities as Dionysus or the

horned, piping god Pan, but Tuckcouldn't accept that either of those hadreally visited Brandesburton.

The hoofprint he'd found simply didn'tfit.

He looked down at his hand, thinkingback to how he'd measured the print. Ithad been big enough to belong to a largeanimal, certainly, being about the samesize as his own meaty palm. Whatpuzzled him was the depth of it in thesoft earthen floor of Ivor's hovel. SurelyPan or Dionysus would weigh enough toleave a substantially deep mark in theground? Yet the print Tuck had found hadbarely left an impression.

“How are you getting on?”Tuck looked up blearily from the text

he was examining. It was written in whathe assumed was German, which hecouldn't read, but he was turning thepages in the hope of finding anillustration of hoofprints similar to theone he'd found on Ivor's floor.

“Ah, Die Unaussprechlichen Kulten.An interesting book.” Father deNottingham sat down in the empty chairnext to Friar Tuck with a small smile onhis lips. “I didn't know you could readGerman.”

“I can't,” Tuck replied, rubbing hiseyes with his fingertips. “Not that itmatters. I'm sure there's nothing of muchuse in any of these books, be they inGerman, Latin, French or English. Youhave an astonishing – and very strange –

library, Nicholas. But I'm starting tothink whatever demon is haunting thevillage isn't in any of your books here.”

The priest nodded. He too found itdifficult to believe that a devil wasstalking Brandesburton with the soleintent of stealing the odd silver spoon ormouldy loaf. What need did Satan havefor bread after all? He feasted on thesouls of sinners didn't he? Not thecrumbs left by peasants.

“What are you thinking?”Tuck sat in silence for a moment,

marshalling his thoughts.“I'm thinking we need to find out more

about this so-called devil.”Father de Nottingham nodded slowly

in agreement and Tuck continued.

“We should talk to the other peoplethat have been robbed, or any otherwitnesses that have seen the thing. Buildup a picture of what it looks like. Atleast then we could go through yourbooks with a better idea of what we'relooking for.”

The priest smiled, intrigued andexcited at the idea of investigating themysterious thefts; nothing like this hadever happened in Brandesburton whilehe'd been there.

“What are we waiting for then? I don'thave to say mass for a few hours yet –let's go!”

* * *

Their first port of call was the villageheadman, Eustace, who'd lost an armfighting against the Scots in 1314. Hewas a clerk, and a good one at that, witha silver beard and a competent,business-like air which Tuckappreciated.

“From memory, there have been half-a-dozen of these burglaries,” Eustacetold them, bobbing his head thoughtfullyas he stood up. “Let me just get you thenotes I took. I add to them wheneversomething else is reported you know.Here.”

He quickly looked through somedocuments in a drawer and drew one outwhich he handed to Father deNottingham.

“It's all in there. You can hold onto itwhile you investigate this strangebusiness but, please, return it whenyou're done. I pride myself on keepingaccurate records of everything thathappens in the village.”

The clergymen promised to take goodcare of the Eustace's notes and, withwaves of thanks, left the man's neat littlehome to visit the people listed as victimsof the devil's break-ins.

The closest name on the list wasFrancis Baker, whose shop had beentargeted at the end of November. Whenthey reached the building Tuck examinedthe lock, noting its poor quality; coveredin rust and with a bent latch which wasalmost as thin as the parchment the

headman had given them. Such a shoddyfastening couldn't have kept one of thelocal children out, never mind Satanhimself.

“You should get that repaired,” Tucktold the baker as he and Father deNottingham walked in, smiling to offsetthe judgemental tone of his words.“Don't want any more visits from thedevil do you?”

Francis looked up from kneading aheavy lump of dough, flour coating hishands and apron, and smiled when hesaw who his visitors were.

“Aye, I know Brother Michael, I'vegot the blacksmith making me a new one.A much sturdier one.” He lifted a bigrolling pin and proceeded to flatten the

dough expertly, working it into a near-perfect circle and Tuck found his mouthwatering at the delicious smells in theroom. “I've been sleeping here everynight since that fiend broke in, just incase it comes back.” He smiledsheepishly. “Been shoving myworkbench here against the door, rightenough. Don't want something like thatsneaking up on me when I'm asleep!”

“Something like what?” Tuckwondered. “Did you actually see thedevil? Eustace's notes say you hadloaves, a ladle and,” he unrolled theparchment and squinted at it beforecontinuing, “a knife stolen.”

“Aye, that's right,” the bakerconfirmed, placing his loaf onto a baking

tray beside a number of others ready forthe oven. “The thing took all that andaye, I did see it. Or I should say, them.”

Tuck was taken aback. “There wasmore than one of them?”

Francis nodded. “Two. One wassmall, one was much bigger. A demonand its imp I thought. Both of them hadhorns and the little one...glowing eyes ithad.” The man looked up at themfearfully before lifting more dough froma great bowl next to him. “I'd gone homefor the night then realised I'd left myknife here so came back to get it. When Igot here the door was open. I thought Imust have left it like that by accident so Ijust walked right in. It was dark but themoon was up so I could see – just –

where I was going. I know this placelike the back of my own hand anyway.”

He stopped what he was doing andfixed Tuck with a steely gaze, daring thefriar to call the truthfulness of his taleinto question.

“I saw them, then. Staring at me withthose glowing, red eyes. Small, muchsmaller than me but...the bigger onemade a noise in its throat, like Satanhimself growling. The atmosphere wentcold, like the air had turned to ice.”

He shrugged and turned back to hisdough, ashamed. “I nearly soiled myhose, I was so afeared. I ran out,screaming and shouting, I don't mindadmitting it.” He glared back up at them,pounding the dough like it had done

something to offend him. “You'd havedone the same if you'd seen those hornsand heard that bestial sound it made.”

They thanked Francis for being socandid, bought a couple of savourypastries from him, then moved onto thenext name on Eustace's list.

Arthur of Exham, a middle-agedpeasant with a horrendous skin conditionhadn't seen the devil, just the hoofprintsit left in the mud and snow outside hisramshackle old house. He'd been asleep– drunk – and heard nothing during thenight. When he'd roused himself in themorning he'd found his last meat piegone and the devil's tracks leading offinto the woods nearby.

The clergymen carried on to the next

victim on the list, Tuck slipping Arthur afew pennies before they left to replacehis stolen pie and fill his empty aleskin.

Elizabeth-atte-Gate had a moreinteresting tale, having seen the devil –singular this time – with her own eyeswhen she'd been woken up by thedraught that had blown inside her smallbut neat home.

“Tiny it was – moved like a cat,though,” she told Tuck as they sat at hersurprisingly well-made little table. “I'msure it had horns, but its eyes didn't glowlike some people say. I think it had a tailthough.”

The friar raised an eyebrow andnodded, writing down his own notes toadd to the incomplete ones Eustace had

given them.“What did it steal?”Elizabeth clenched her fists and bit

her lip in consternation, brows lowered.“My husband's citole. He died just lastmonth, as you know, father.”

De Nottingham nodded sadly. He'dpresided at Elizabeth's husband'sfuneral.

“I'd been hanging onto itbecause...well, I knew I'd have to sell itto keep things going around here. I dowell enough cleaning for some of thelocal merchants but times are hard. Icouldn't bring myself to sell John's citolethough, not yet...He loved to play it inthe evening and I'd sing to his music...Itwould have fetched a good price too, I

know that. But the fiend took it!”She glared at Tuck and the big friar

was glad he wasn't the thieving devil atthat moment – the wronged peasantwoman would have ripped him apartwith her bare hands.

“I chased it, the bastard. Right out thedoor and along the street. Funny thingwas, it seemed to get even smaller whenI started after it, like it was shrinking.”She spat in disgust. “Fiend climbed overa fence and I had to give up the chase.Never was much good at climbing.”

They blessed Elizabeth and promisedto pray for the return of the stolen citole.The proud woman would probably haveslapped Tuck if he'd handed her a coinso he dropped it on the floor instead,

next to her sleeping pallet as he and thepriest made their way out the door. She'dbe glad of it without feeling like it wascharity.

The rest of the victims and witnesseson the headman's list had similar tales totell and Tuck noted everything down inhis neat script. When they'd visitedeveryone they returned Eustace'sdocument to him before heading back tothe church. Night was drawing in and theclergymen wanted some warm food anda hearth to take the chill from theirbones.

Whatever the answer was to thismystery, it would have to wait foranother day.

* * *

Anne Barber and her mother, Erzsebet,who was originally from far-offBudapest, had spent a fine afternoon intheir Brandesburton home, making theirkissing bough which now hung proudlyfrom the rafter. The ball of holly and bayleaves had two apples stuffed inside itswillow frame, and it looked beautifulwith two candles burning gaily on it anda sprig of mistletoe hanging underneath.

At thirteen, Anne was excited by thekissing bough much more than she'd beenin years past. Would one of the localboys want to kiss her beneath it thisChristmas? She'd even taken a smallcutting of the mistletoe for herself and

wore it tucked inside the hem of hersleeve, hoping to attract a suitablehusband.

After they finished the kissing boughand Father, home now from his barbershop, had hung it up safely so thecandles wouldn't set the house alight.Her mother helped Anne bake a pie withbeef, lamb, fruit and spices, which thefamily would eat as part of theirChristmas day meal. Anne carefullymarked her initials in the pastry andplaced it on the hearthstone. It was anold tradition that, at midnight, the spiritdouble of her future husband would enterthe house and mark his initials into thesavoury.

For the magic to work, ideally it

should be Christmas Eve when the piewas baked and left out but Anne was tooexcited to wait the few extra days so,when her parents had gone into theirbedchamber for the night the girl lifted itfrom the greasy table and carefullyplaced it by the hearth, praying to Godthat William, the carpenter's son with theliquid blue eyes and unruly brown hair,would come in the night and place hisinitials next to her's…

Smiling, she climbed into bed andclosed her eyes. Her blankets werepulled up tightly this night – traditionstated the entrance must be left open sothe spirit husband would be able to enterand mark the pastry so Anne had left thedoor just slightly ajar. As a result, a

gentle but icy draught blew around her,and she was glad she'd placed anotherlog on the fire before snuggling into thecosy bedding.

Her mother had reminded her to dousethe candles in the kissing bough beforegoing to bed but... it was chilly in theroom and she was so cosy now,wrapped up in her thick blankets and…

Before she knew it the girl was fastasleep.

A noise broke the silence and Annewoke, trying to hold onto the dreamshe'd been lost in. It had been about atall young man with brown hair and deepblue eyes. Irritably she wondered what

had roused her. Then she heard it again.Footsteps, to the side of her bed.She came to full wakefulness and

remembered the pie. Had her spirit matecome? Too frightened to roll over andface whatever was in the room she lay insilence until it became too much to bear.

Turning her head ever so slightly andas quietly as possible, she lookedthrough hooded eyes at the centre of theroom.

And screamed.The figure that had come into their

house had horns on its head and, whenAnne shrieked it jumped in surprisebefore rushing towards the door with astrange gait, heedless to what was in itsway.

“Da! Come quick – the devil's here, inour house!”

She screamed again as the figureknocked the kissing bough off the rafteronto the table below and the candles setfire to the evergreen foliage whichsurrounded them.

Her parents rushed from theirbedchamber, wide-eyed, her fathercarrying a sturdy cudgel which healways kept by his side at night, but evenin that short space of time the flames hadtaken hold of the greasy wooden tableand the heat was intense in the low-ceilinged dwelling.

“Out! Get out!”Her father pushed his wife and

daughter ahead of him and the family

stumbled out into the snowy night, cryingand shouting for aid from theirneighbours.

Of the horned demon there was nosign.

Anne, shivering with the cold and theshock of her encounter, cuddled into hermother's body, tears rolling down hercheeks.

Now she'd never know if William hadsigned his initials in her Christmas pie.

* * *

The entire village was humming with thenews of the devil's latest exploit, asTuck found the next morning when hewent outside for his habitual daily walk.

He visited the remains of the dwellingthe beast had visited, finding only aburnt out shell. The neighbours told himthe family had gone to a relative's housea short way away. They also told himwhat had happened: how a seven-foottall devil with red eyes had broken induring the night and cast a fireball at theyoung girl, Anne, who lived there.

There were slight hoof-prints in thesnow roundabout, just like one at Ivor'shouse, and Tuck made the sign of thecross fearfully as he thanked the helpfulneighbours and made his way back to StMary's to tell Father de Nottingham ofthe latest events.

This devil was getting braver andmore aggressive with each passing night.

By the time he reached the churchagain many of the local people weremaking their way inside. Mass wasn'tnormally said on weekdays, but, with itbeing so near to Christmas and with allthe rumours of Satan stalking the village,Father de Nottingham had taken tocelebrating mass most days in the leadup to the twenty-fifth of the month.

Tuck enjoyed the priest's sermons, so,with a last quick look over the notes he'dtaken during the previous day'sinvestigations, he filed inside the churchwith the rest of the congregation and stood near the front, as far from thedoors as possible to try and escape thewinter chill.

The mass began with a carol, “A

Child Is Boren Amonges Man”, whichTuck had written himself many yearsearlier when he'd first become aFranciscan. It seemed perfectlyappropriate given recent events.

He'd written the words down at thestart of the festive period for Father deNottingham who helped his choir learnthe song, and now everyone joined inwith the gentle melody, their voicesfilling the stone building.

Hand by hand we shule us take,And joye and blisse shule we make;For the devel of helle man hath

forsake,And Godes Son is maked our make.A child is boren amonges man,And in that child was no sin:

That child is God, that child is man,And in that child oure lif bigan.As the mass proceeded Tuck found his

mind wandering to the problem at hand.The testimony of the victims differed –wildly in some cases – but there weresome common themes in the majority ofthe accounts: the devil was small,belying the size of the prints it left;sometimes there were two of them, withone being even smaller than the other;they had horns; they walked on clovenhoofs; the bigger of the pair could makea hellish, blasphemous growl.

Ultimately, every one of the witnesseshad been scared witless by theirencounter with the devils and Tuck siftedthrough the information they'd gathered

in his mind even as he went up to acceptthe Eucharist from Father de Nottingham.

The devil only seemed to rob easytargets – empty houses or those with thedoor left unlocked. Furthermore, therobberies always occurred at night, withthe satanic thief targeting food as well aswhatever meagre valuables it might find.Apparently it ate human food rather thanhuman flesh which was at leastsomewhat reassuring.

The mass ended and, as the celebrantsfiled out, kneeling to pay homage to thecrude but colourful nativity scene Fatherde Nottingham erected every year, Tuckconcluded that the mystery may bedeeper than anyone suspected.

He made his way back to the vestry

where he found the priest, tired buthappy at how the evening celebrationhad gone.

“Good mass. I enjoyed it.” Tuckclapped the man on the back and smiledbefore getting straight to the point. “Ourcloven-hoofed fiend burned down ahouse a short way from here last night.I'm thinking we should lay a trap for itbefore it kills someone or worse.”

Father de Nottingham baulked at thesuggestion, almost tripping himself as hehauled his cassock over his head. Hewas no man of action; the idea of comingface to face with a demon, or whatever itwas that haunted their village, frightenedhim and with good reason. He looked atTuck, and, seeing the confident gleam in

the friar's eyes, nodded agreement with aheavy sigh. The big Franciscan was,after all, a former member of RobinHood's band of outlaws. A hard manwith martial skills enough to have beentrusted as a guard for some ofChristendom's most valuable relics bythe likes of Prior John de Monte Martinidown in Lewes.

If anyone could stand against a demon,it was Friar Tuck. Still, somethingseemed odd about the whole affair to thepriest.

“Why are you so interested in this,Tuck?” he asked. “This is a job for thebailiff or the reeve, not a visiting friar.”

The Franciscan didn't answerimmediately. He wasn't quite sure

himself why this mystery had soconsumed his thoughts recently, but thatstrange glint of light that had drawn hisattention to the hoofprint in Ivor's houseplayed on his mind. “Who knows?” hefinally replied. “I just feel likesomething's guiding me to solve this.Someone, or some thing perhaps, needsour help.”

Father de Nottingham shrugged inresignation. So be it.

“What do we need to do?”“Good man!” Tuck grinned, the

excitement in his eyes at the prospect ofthe hunt contagious. “We need a personthat lives alone and I think I knowwho...”

* * *

“What? Are you insane Brother? I don'twant no creeping devil coming in here–”

Tuck placed a couple of silver coinson old Jeannie's table and the widowbroke off her rant to eye themsuspiciously. It was a fair sum of money– enough to keep her in bread and ale fora while at least. And in return for what?

“You just want to stay here for thenight? In the dark? In hopes that thedemon that's haunting the place willbreak in? That's all very well, but whatwill the people say? I can't have twomen sleeping under my roof – even

clergymen!”Father de Nottingham nodded in

understanding. “Of course not, Jeannie.You can stay the night at the manse. Takea friend. I've left out meat and cheeseand” – he glared at Tuck who pretendednot to notice – “a jug of communionwine. It's not cheap stuff either,” hegrumbled.

“Have no fear for your property,”Tuck reassured the woman, whose eyeshad lit up at the thought of a night in themanse with good food and drink. “We'llstay on guard all through the night. I havesome...experience in the arts of war. Ifthe fiend turns up I'll defend your homewith my life. But I honestly don't believeit will come to that.”

Jeannie eyed the Franciscanthoughtfully. She was a good judge ofcharacter and she knew the friar couldbe trusted; knew too that 'BrotherMichael' had probably been in morefights than anyone in Brandesburton, andwon most of them too.

“You have a deal, then. May Godprotect you. What should I do?”

Tuck beamed, the first part of his planfalling into place.

“Come to St Mary's tonight, beforesundown. With your friend, if you planon bringing one to keep you company.We'll have your meal laid out for youand you can sleep in our beds for thenight. Once you're settled Father deNottingham and I will come here and

prepare ourselves for the long nightahead of us.”

The clergymen made their way outthrough the low doorway, wavingfarewell to the widow who had one finalquestion.

“What if the devil, you know...killsyou both and burns my place down, likeit did to that family the other night?”

Father de Nottingham blanched at theprospect. He hadn't really thought of anoutcome like that – Tuck's enthusiasmhad kept his mind from such bleakthoughts.

“Have no fear, mistress,” Tuck saidconfidently. “The devil will find me ahard man to best. But, if he manages itand brings your house down about us

well, I have coin enough to pay for anyrepairs. I'll leave the money with yourheadman, Eustace, to be collected in theevent of your home's untimelydestruction.”

Jeannie grinned and waved the menoff. “God bless you then! And all hissaints protect you from that horriblebeast. I'll see you at the church atsunset.”

* * *

Once Jeannie and her friend, a middle-aged spinster with the filthiest laughTuck had ever heard, were comfortableinside St Mary's manse – cups of wine inhand and trenchers filled with cheese,

black bread and even a prized hen's eggbetween them when they were scarce atthis time of year – the two clergymenbade the women goodnight and hadJeannie bolt the sturdy door securelybehind them.

Tuck and Father de Nottingham mightbe in for a long, freezing and doubtlessfrightening night, but Jeannie and herfriend planned on making the most of thewell-stocked hearth and the communionwine.

Candles cupped in hands alreadybeginning to turn blue and numb the menof God trudged through the slipperystreets towards Jeannie's house. It wassnowing gently but there was no wind tospeak of and, despite the bitter cold, the

men found themselves in good spirits asthe sounds of families singing carols andenjoying Yule games and stories came tothem through Brandesburton's lockeddoors and shuttered windows.

Their dim, gently flickering candles litthe sprigs of holly with their red berriessymbolizing the blood of Christ, ripe asif they might burst, and the ivy thattraced its way prettily around all thedoors in the village. It truly seemed amagical December night as the snow fellall around them and Tuck prayed Godwould be with them as they sought to getto the bottom of this mystery.

Before long they reached Jeannie'shouse and Father de Nottingham used thekey the widow had given them to unlock

the door. One of the woman's neighboursopened his door to let his rangy dog outinto the snow to relieve itself. The mancaught sight of them and froze for asecond, surprised at the sight of thehooded men entering the old woman'shouse but his face softened in reliefwhen he realised who they were.

“Hail, Father,” he shouted. “What'sgoing on?”

“Nothing, James,” de Nottinghamreplied, smiling at the harrier which,having just emptied its bowels in asteaming pile, was haring around in thesnow as if it had never seen the coldwhite stuff before. “We're just visiting.God grant you good rest this night.”

Tuck shoved the priest into Jeannie's

hovel and shut the door behind them toput an end to any more of James'squestions. The last thing they wantedwas a crowd of curious onlookersturning up to see if the devil wouldappear. Not much chance of thathappening unless the street wasdeserted.

They heard James shouting at the dogto come in; his voice rose as the excitedanimal ignored him at first, then, when itdid go back inside the house it must havetrampled its own faeces into the frozenfloor as they heard the villager roaringin outrage.

Finally, after some more shouting andyelping – and a muffled scolding forJames from his wife – quiet settled once

more on the village. Tuck unlatched thedoor and left it slightly ajar to make theplace seem an easy, attractive target forthe devils, then they heated a big stone inthe fire and Father Michael placed itgingerly under the blankets to warm thebed.

At last, the clergymen settled downfor the long night ahead.

“You take the first watch,” Tucksuggested. “I'll get some sleep. Wake mewhen the candles burn down to here.”

“I shall. Rest easy,” Father deNottingham nodded as Tuck made marksin the wax with his finger nail then hidthe guttering candles inside a smallalcove so their light wouldn't be easilyseen from the street outside.

With a grunted, “Good night,” the friarlay down on Jeannie's pallet which washardly fit for a king but plump andcomfortable enough for an outlaw friar,with fresh straw and a thick old blanketwhich was lovely and cosy now thanksto the hot stone. It was certainly betterthan sleeping on the forest floor, as he'dhad to do many times in Barnsdale as amember of Robin Hood's gang, and thebig Franciscan was soon snoringcontentedly.

The night drew in and an eerie silencesettled over the village which Father deNottingham found unnerving. He broughtout his old coral rosary beads whichwere practically worn to nothing aftermany long years of use, and passed the

time mouthing silent prayers, his eyesfixed nervously on the slightly ajar frontdoor. Every so often it would twitchgently in some unnoticed breeze and thedrowsing priest would come fully awakewith a fearful start, expecting Beelzebubhimself to blast him into ashes.

Even the sounds of drunks staggeringhome faded at last as clouds closed inover the moon and Brandesburtonchanged from a friendly, welcomingvillage to an eerie, silently befoggednetherworld that chilled Father deNottingham's bones much worse than thecool air ever had before.

The gentle snoring from Friar Tuckand the occasional soft snuffle from thehouse next to them – which the priest

assumed was James's dog sniffingcuriously under the door – went someway to banish the loneliness Father deNottingham felt in the near-suffocatingdarkness but he sighed heavily andoffered a special prayer of thanks whenthe hidden candles spilled their wax andburnt down, at last, to Tuck's markings.

“Wake up, it's time for your watch.”Tuck groaned loudly, angrily, as the

priest shook him gently awake andFather de Nottingham grimaced in fear,glancing at the open front door as thefriar's muttering filled the black silencejarringly.

“Shut up, man, you'll scare anyoneaway with your noise!”

Groggily, the Franciscan opened his

eyes and stared at the priest. ClearlyTuck had no idea where he was and,shockingly, a massive fart broke the chillair, reverberating around the hovel as theclergymen looked at one another, wide-eyed.

“In the name of Christ,” deNottingham whispered furiously, “thiswas all your idea! I think I'd rather facethe devil himself than withstand anotherof those filthy blasts. Wake up will you!”

Eventually Tuck came to and pouredhimself a mug of wine from the skinthey'd brought with them. “Get somesleep,” he told Father de Nottingham. “Ifyou hear screaming, rouse yourself. Restassured, though, it won't be mine.”

He smiled and brought out the

wicked-looking club that he'd carried onhis person for years. That club hadprotected him and even saved his lifemany times. It was the same club thathe'd used to knock the wind out of thenotorious outlaw Adam Bell beforelaying the man out cold and, ultimately,joining the group that eventually becameRobin Hood's fabled band of friends.

The priest nodded – pleased to havesuch a competent companion with him onthat freezing, nerve-racking night – andsettled into Jeannie's pallet which wasstill invitingly warm from Tuck's recentslumber, even if the stone they'd heatedearlier had cooled by now.

“Wake me if you need me,” he saidearnestly, drawing the covers up around

himself, and then was asleep almost assoon as his head rested on the linen-covered log.

“I will,” Tuck smiled appreciatively,knowing Father de Nottingham had agood heart and even better intentions,even if he wouldn't be much use in afight to the death with the devil. “I will,my friend.”

* * *

Friar Tuck had spent many long nightssleeping outside in the forests ofBarnsdale and elsewhere; in the darkand cold when the mists between theworlds of the living and the dead partedand the two merged into one...

For all his strength – both physicaland spiritual – the clergyman was afraid.He knew demons and devils existed. Heknew evil was a real force in the worldand he understood that, sometimes, forHis own unfathomable purpose, Goddidn't heed the prayers from His faithful.

So he sat in the near-pitch black,silently offering Pater Noster and HailMary, but clutching his cudgel grimly,knowing his strong right arm might countfor more than even the most sinceresupplication this night, when the freezingmoon hung portentously over the land.

He'd wrapped himself in three thickblankets but cursed the door which hadto be kept open to entice any nocturnalvisitors, as he could almost see the frost

slipping into the little dwelling andcovering him with its sparkling coatwhich looked so lovely but promiseddanger or even death for those with noflame to warm their homes.

Tuck contemplated getting up andbanking the fire, even just rousing theembers in the hearth a little to take theworst of the chill from the air inside thehovel, but he knew it could mean the ruinof their plans. The place had to appearunoccupied. So he sat, hunched in thecorner behind the slightly open doorway,with his woollen blankets and his cudgeland his prayers, hoping the devil showedits horned head soon.

The temperature inside the room waseven and had been for a while, yet, even

so, there was still the occasional thumpor crack as a floorboard settled and thefriar jumped involuntarily with eachsmall noise.

He had a large cup of strong winewhich he'd sat on the firepit to warm andhe sipped that, trying to banish the chillas best he could, but it had cooledquickly within the wooden container sohe set it aside irritably, wiggling his toesto try and keep them from becomingnumb and frost-bitten.

There was a scream from somewherenot far off and he gazed, wide-eyed, atthe doorway. It was an eerie sound andhe gripped his weapon even tighter,mouthing a silent prayer, but he knew itwas just a fox.

Eventually, after finishing his wine, hebegan to feel warmer if not exactly cosy,and his head began to nod. Each time hischin touched his chest, though, he'd wakewith a start and stare at the door,wondering how long he'd been asleepalthough it was never more thanmoments. Still, he knew he'd have to bevigilant or he'd be snoring alongsideFather de Nottingham and all the devilsof hell could rob the house withoutanyone stopping them.

His thoughts turned to his friends.Where was Robin Hood right now? Tuckknew his young friend had taken aposition with the Sheriff of Nottinghamand Yorkshire's staff but the friar had noidea what that position was. Had

freedom brought Robin the happiness hecraved and, indeed, deserved? Whatabout Little John and Will Scarlet andall the other lads? Had Stephen, the bluffHospitaller sergeant-at-arms managed torejoin his Order?

And what about the cursed Prior Johnde Monte Martini away down south inLewes? Had the man offered a rewardfor Tuck's capture – or death? Had hepaid to repair the damage Tuck'scompanion had caused when they'd leftthe priory, burning much of theoutbuildings to the ground in order tocreate a diversion? Did de MonteMartini's nose ache in the cold after thebig friar had punched him on the night ofthat escape? Tuck hoped so, knowing it

was most un-Christian of him but notcaring.

He rubbed his hands under theblankets and listened intently then,hearing only silence – even the dog nextdoor had ceased its curious snuffling along while ago – Tuck decided to get upand pour himself more wine. He knew itwasn't the best idea but he had to dosomething to get his wits about him and,since it would, he guessed, soon besunrise, it seemed like there would be nodevils coming to rob them that night.What harm could another drink do?

Mug refilled, he settled back down,leaned his head back as far as he couldand rolled it from side to side, stretchingout the stiff neck muscles, then...he froze.

Had that small crack been his neck orhad it, as he thought, come from thestreet outside?

There it was again!There could be no mistake. Someone

was in the street outside, and coming thisway, slowly but surely.

Tuck silently shrugged the blankets offand got to his feet, glancing over at thesleeping form of Father de Nottingham.If he tried to wake the priest no doubt theman would make some noise and alertthe visitor to their presence so the friarlet his companion slumber.

Whoever was outside was cautiousand moved near-soundlessly. There wasthe occasional tiny snap as their feetcrushed a twig but their approach was

almost completely muffled by the thicksnow that covered the ground.

Suddenly, the door moved back just afraction and Tuck pressed himselfagainst the wall, senses straining. Theblood pounded in his ears and hewondered if he'd be able to hear evenSatan himself mounting an attack on theirbenighted hovel.

The moonlight, sparse as it was, casta shadow on the floor and Tuck stifled agasp as the elongated, black figure castthere proved the witnesses testimony:the visitor had horns!

Not only that, another shadowappeared, cast by a second, smallerhorned devil, as the door was pushedaside, wide enough for the twin demons

to make their way inside Jeannie'shouse.

The first, and larger of the pair, madestraight for the table, soundlessly liftingthe shiny silver brooch that Tuck had leftlying there as bait while the secondfigure remained by the door, closeenough for the friar to touch if he'd beenso inclined.

But Friar Tuck stood rooted to thespot, shocked and, yes, frightened by theappearance of the two devils. He wantedto beg the Lord's aid and grasp thecrucifix he wore around his neck butwas too scared to lift his hand in casethe horned ones heard him and draggedhim straight down to hell.

“What? Who's that?”

The silence was broken by Father deNottingham's sleepy mumble as he sat upon Jeannie's pallet and squinted into thedarkness groggily, clearly with no idea –yet – of where he was or what he wasseeing.

“Run!”Tuck shrank back, trying to press his

considerable bulk into the very fabric ofthe wooden wall but the hoarse littlevoice made him pause.

It didn't sound like Satan, whosevoice, Tuck imagined, would ring loudthroughout the entire village. It didn'teven sound like a minor demon.

“Hold! Stay where you are!”The burly friar raised his own

powerful voice in a cry that would have

stopped most men in their tracks but thebigger of the two horned fiends burstpast him, wriggling like an eel out of hisway and into the street.

The dog next door had begun to barkexcitedly and voices were raised fromall quarters as Father de Nottinghamfinally got to his feet and stared aroundthe room before his eyes finally settledon Tuck who was trying to keep hold ofa little figure despite its screams andsharp teeth which sought for the friar'smeaty, enclosing, hands.

“Run!” Again the bigger devil shoutedfrom the shadows outside but the smallerimp still struggled with Tuck, pullinghim out into the street despite itsdiminutive stature.

The taller one attacked the friar toonow, raining blows down upon his arms,trying to break his grip on its fiendishcompanion, but Tuck was too strong andhe held on grimly, shouting the PaterNoster as the three of them flailedaround in the pitch black, freezing street.

The door in the house next to themwas suddenly torn open, candlelight andbarking sounds flooding the area as thedevil squirmed and mewled in theclergyman's powerful grip.

“Let me go! Let me go!”The bigger of the devils suddenly took

flight, sprinting away into the night,seeming to shrink before it did so, just asone of the earlier witnesses hadtestified.

The dog hurtled out of its hometowards Tuck, dragging its master,James, on a short length of rope behindit, barking excitedly as the man shoutedquestions at it as if the hound mightanswer back.

“What is it, boy? What d'ye see?Where is it?” Then, as their candlelight-accustomed eyes grew used to the cold,dark, gloom outside James spotted thefriar struggling with the small horneddevil. “Get it, lad! Get the bastard!”

The hound raced forward towards theimp, breaking free of the rope whichattached it to its master, teeth bared in afurious growl, the hackles raised on itsback.

Tuck brought up his foot and kicked

the harrier in the ribs, sending it flyingacross the snow-covered road with asurprised squeal. It didn't try to return tothe attack, lying panting in the snowwatching the confrontation warily, but itsmaster was outraged by the friar'sassault.

“What in God's name are you doing,Brother Michael?” James roared, racingforward, fist clenched. “Why are youprotecting the demon? Kill the bastard!Kill it!”

The man swung his fist towards theimp murderously, screaming for his dogto also “get it”, but again, Tuck defendedthe still-struggling demon which he hadnow by the scruff of the neck.

“Leave it, man!” the friar shouted,

pulling the devil aside and hammeringhis fist into James's jaw, dropping thevillager into the snow as if he'd been hitby battering ram. “Leave it,” Tuckrepeated, his voice little more than abreathless grunt.

“Did you catch it? Holy Mary, motherof God, are you all right?” Father deNottingham finally came out into thestreet, his eyes mostly on his companionbut flickering nervously around too,wondering what had happened to thebigger demon and if it might return witha vengeance. “What is it? Why's it sosmall? Is it just a familiar?”

Tuck grabbed hold of the little hornedfigure at last, pulling it into his strong,protective embrace and fixing the furious

but dazed James with a warning glare.“No, it's not a familiar. Or Satan. Or

even a demon.” He breathed, shaking hishead as the street filled with curious,frightened neighbours. “It's just a littlegirl!”

* * *

“Here. Have some.” The big man in thegrey robe handed her a steaming bowl ofbroth, which she took warily. Nowdivested of her devilish attire she feltsmall and frightened and almost naked inthe presence of the two strangers but sheknew better than to let them see it.

The horns were simply thin blocks ofwood carved into shape and held onto

her head by twine which, in thedarkness, was invisible under her hair.The hoofs were, again, made fromwooden blocks. They strapped to herfeet with leather thongs and, although thefriar said he wasn't going to try and walkin them, she herself had grown used towearing them and she wished the manwith the funny hair would give themback to her.

“I've seen mummers wearing stiltseven bigger than these,” he nodded,looking at the blocks closely. “But youmove well in them. Here.” He placedthem on the floor next to her as shespooned some of the hot soup into hermouth noisily. “My name is Friar Tuck,”he added, “but don't tell anyone. I'm

hiding.” He winked, but she just lookedat him.

She broke a piece of the hard,crumbly bread that was on the table anddipped it into the broth, cramming it intoher mouth, much of it dribbling down herchin, but she didn't care. It tastedwonderful and she meant to make themost of it.

“That'll warm you,” Friar Tucknodded, sitting down on the wooden boxnext to her with a bowl of his own. “Thewoman that lives here left enough in hergreat pot to make a hearty, warming mealfor all of us. We could all be doing withit on a chilly night like this, eh?”

She'd overheard the two clergymentalking and gathered that they'd decided

to spend the rest of the night here, in thishouse, rather than going back to thenearby priest's house and disturbingwhoever was there right now.

“It's good to close the door against thefrost and snow, bank the fire until itcrackles brightly, and warm some foodand ale now,” the friar smiled at her.“Father de Nottingham and I have beensitting in the dark and cold for hourshoping to find out who you were.”

Still she held her peace, nervouslywondering what was going to happen toher.

“What's your name, lass?” Tuckasked, spooning some of his meal intohis mouth. “This broth is really rathertasty,” he continued, when she ignored

him. “I'll wager you haven't tasted foodlike this for a while?”

Again, she ignored him, shovelling thelast of the food into her mouth as if she'dnot eaten a proper meal in many longweeks, which, she thought sadly, wasclose to the truth.

“Would you like some of my warmedale? I'll drop some fresh snow in it soit's not too hot, or too strong for you?”

She suddenly had a feeling that thishad happened before – in a dreamperhaps? The sensation wasoverwhelming and she looked at the friarin wonder, understanding, somehow, thathe'd been sent to help her.

Tuck took her silence foracquiescence and went out into the night

with the mug he himself had beendrinking from, taking a candle with him,he said, to make sure the snow hecollected was pure white and not yellowfrom the neighbour's dog's piss. Hescooped a handful into the mug then,shivering, made his way back inside,handing her the drink and pulling thedoor tight behind himself.

It was now at the coldest, darkest partof the night. She sipped the warm brewand watched as he rubbed his wet handsbeside the flickering fire.

“How old are you?” he wondered,before answering his own question. “Nomore than five or six winters I'd say.Much too young to be going around inthe dark, but, no matter – you're safe

now.”He obviously expected her to grow

drowsy after draining the ale mug andmopping up the last of the broth but shefelt as wide-eyed and alert as if she'djust woken up. For the past few weeks –months? – she and her brother had grownaccustomed to sleeping during the daysand going abroad in the night, hunting forthings to steal.

“Who was your companion?” Thepriest behind the kindly friar demandedand she shrank back from the harshvoice, while Tuck shook his head at theman.

“Don't mind him, girl. He still thinksyou're a devil and he's frightened youmight eat him.” He winked at her and she

giggled then mumbled “Aye,” as Tuckoffered her another bowl of broth.

“So you can speak. It's a start.” Hegrinned again and she felt herselfrelaxing somewhat in the jovialclergyman's presence.

He motioned to the priest to lie downand go back to sleep and, when thescowling man did so, Tuck whispered toher. “He's a good man but he comes froma privileged background. He doesn'tunderstand the hunger, or the fear anddesperation, that makes someone steal. I,on the other hand, know all about livingoutside the law and doing whatever ittakes to survive.”

She wasn't at all sure what he meant.He was a clergyman wasn't he? He

called himself a friar and wore theirgrey robe so how could he know aboutstealing?

“Are you sleepy?” he asked her.She shook her head and, without

thinking, her eyes moved to the latch onthe door.

“Don't worry, I won't hold youprisoner,” Tuck smiled. “You can resthere in the warmth until morning andthen we'll see what's to be done withyou, all right?” He stood up and liftedsomething from the shelf above the palletFather de Nottingham was resting on.

A ragdoll.“Here. This little one's mother,

Jeannie, is spending the night at themanse. Maybe you could look after her

for a while?”She took the toy eagerly, her eyes

lighting up. “I've never had a dolly likethis of my own before,” she murmured.Still, she knew instinctively how to carefor the “baby”, and she happilypretended to feed it from her empty brothbowl, wiped its face clean and evenscolded it for being naughty and askingfor more of the food.

For a long time the friar simplywatched her, a mug of warm ale in onehand and a smile on his round face.

“Who was the boy with you?”She felt more at ease now, thanks to

the friar's kindness and the ale she'ddrank, so replied instantly, withoutthinking.

“My big brother.” She giggled againas Father de Nottingham snored loudlythen went back to feeding her doll.

“Won't he be cold and frightened outthere on his own?” Tuck asked gently butshe shook her head emphatically. “Weshould find him.”

“Arnald knows how to take care ofhimself. Besides we have –”

She broke off abruptly and glared atthe friar as if he'd stolen something fromher.

“It's all right, little one,” he soothed,smiling. “I promise not to hurt you orArnald. I'm your friend.” She still eyedhim suspiciously but he leaned in close.“I'm one of Robin Hood's men,” hewhispered conspiratorially, glancing

back at the dozing Father de Nottinghamas if the man might turn them in to thelaw there and then. “I'm an outlaw justlike you. We have to look out for oneanother, right? I can help you and yourbrother if you let me.”

“Can't.”“Why not, lass?” he asked quietly. “Is

your brother bad to you?”She shook her head vehemently. “No!

Never. But –”Again, she broke off and turned away,

cuddling the tatty old ragdoll tightlyagainst her, rocking it and cooing softlyas she stared into the flickering hearth.She felt frightened again and wantednothing more than to get away from thekindly man who wanted to know so

much. She'd heard the stories aboutRobin Hood – who hadn't? It was saidhis men were bloodthirsty killers!

Her eyes flickered fearfully towardsthe door again and she watched as thefriar moved back away from her.

“We can talk more on the morrow,” hesaid, smiling reassuringly. “When we'rerested and the daylight has chased awaythe darkness.” He lay on the floor next tothe pallet the priest was sleeping on andgazed at her steadily. “Have no fears,lass – we'll make sure you and yourbrother are safe. In God's name, youhave nothing to worry about any more.”

She nodded at him but didn't reply. Hecouldn't make promises like that to her –he didn't know anything about her or

Arnald's life.Still, it was warm and cosy in here

and her belly felt wonderfully full for achange. The snow continued to fallgently outside, the large flakes justvisible through a gap in the poorly fittedshutters, and she pretended to brush thedoll's hair with an invisible comb,cooing to it and rocking it gently as if itwere a real babe, until the friar's snoresechoed softly around the dimly lit hovel.

* * *

“Where is she?”

Tuck wiped his wet mouth drowsily,irritated to be woken from a nice dreamalthough it fled as he tried to return to it

and the freezing air in the room hit him.“What? Where's who?” The mug in

his hand clattered onto the floor and hetried to pull his grey robe in about himsnugly, rolling onto his side as if he wasin a nice comfy bed. It was an extremelyuncomfortable position with his body onthe floor and his head on Jeannie's lowsleeping pallet but he stubbornly refusedto come fully awake.

“The girl! She's gone.”Father de Nottingham's words slowly

penetrated his consciousness and heopened one eye, squinting against thebright, cold sunshine that seemed toflood the little hovel.

“Damn it, why would she leave?” Hegroaned and, with a heavy sigh pushed

himself to his feet, right hand on the wallto steady himself. “I promised we'd takecare of her.”

“I heard,” the priest replied. “I alsoheard her stop talking when you werequestioning her. As if she's afraid ofsomething. Maybe we should just leavethem alone – they seem to be doing allright on their own.”

Tuck poked at the still slightly-glowing embers in the fire, blowing onthem and adding a couple of dry twigsfrom the small pile stacked next to it.His first thought was to fill his bellywith something warm and then…

What? What was he going to do? Thegirl and her brother were long gone,there was no chance he'd be able to track

her even with the snowy ground outside.“We can't just forget about them,” he

growled, finally getting a flame toflicker beneath the porridge pot whichheld just enough to furnish the twochurchmen with a meagre but nutritiousand warming meal. “They need ourhelp.”

“You're forgetting they're criminals,”de Nottingham grunted. “They've causeda lot of trouble in the village, and stolenfrom people too. If we capture them thepeople might just string them up by theirnecks.”

“No-one is killing children while I'maround,” Tuck retorted angrily. “That'sall they are: frightened children trying tosurvive the only way they know how.

Not demons – children, and I promisedin God's name to help them.”

There wasn't much porridge left in thebig cauldron and it was soon bubblingso the friar spooned it into bowls beforeit burned, handing one to the priest andbeginning to eat the warmed oatshimself, almost burning his tongue soeager was he to fill his belly.

“What time is it anyway?” he mutteredbetween mouthfuls. “Looks like the sun'sbeen up awhile.”

There was a tap at the door and thechurchmen glanced at each other beforethe voice of Eustace, the headman, camethrough the door to them.

“Father de Nottingham? BrotherMichael? Are you still in there? We've

come to see this devil you've captured.”Tuck groaned as a chorus of growled

agreement from the people gathered inthe street followed Eustace's words. Heupended the bowl of porridge andallowed the last of it to slide into hismouth before dropping the bowl onto thelittle table and, wiping his mouth withthe sleeve of his robe, opened the doorand stepped outside.

“Where is it?” someone demandedand Tuck looked around at the peoplestanding there. Dozens of them! Clearlyhe and Father de Nottingham had sleptfor much longer than they'd realised –long enough for someone to spread thenews of the previous night's events andbring the villagers here to see the hellish

captive.He clasped the brass pectoral cross

he wore around his neck and a flash ofinspiration hit him, seemingly fromnowhere like a voice had spoken in hisear, and he instantly knew how theycould find the girl.

“Where's James?” he demanded, notseeing Jeannie's neighbour amongstthem. “The man that lives in that housethere.”

All eyes turned to see where hepointed and someone shouted back:“Laid up in his bed, Brother Michael.Says you hurt his leg during the nightwhen you saved the devil from justice.”

“Pah, what nonsense,” Tuck shouted,waving a hand dismissively. “It was a

little girl, not a devil. And she's gone.”He pushed his way through the crowd,who muttered to one another about thethief's easy escape but no one was braveenough to meet the burly friar's eye andhe pushed open the door to James'shouse, squinting inside imperiously.

His eyes soon adjusted to the gloomand he spotted the man lying on hissleeping pallet, watching him.

“Come in then, brother.”Tuck nodded gratefully and moved

inside the little house, shoving the doorclosed behind him to keep the warmthfrom the fire in.

“I owe you an apology,” the friarbegan but the bed-ridden peasant shookhis head and waved the words away.

“No, you were right. It was just achild and I would have had the houndattack her, if I hadn't done it myself first.You were right to stop me.” He smiledsheepishly. “Might have been better ifyou hadn't hit me so hard though –twisted my ankle when I fell. Can't walktoday.”

Tuck's mouth twisted in exasperation.“Sorry, my old military training tookover – we were all caught up in the fearand excitement of the night, includingme.”

“What can I do for you then, brother?”Tuck nodded down at the dog lying on

the floor still eyeing him warily. “I cameto ask you to bring your dog to see if wecan track the girl.”

James grimaced. “I can't get out thisbed but you're welcome to take him withyou,” he said, reaching down to rufflehis pet's ears. “He's a good lad; shouldbe able to track your girl unless she'sexperienced enough to know how to hideher trail. Just keep him on the rope.” Hegestured to the leash hanging from arusty nail on the wall by the door. “Hegets excitable and he'll run away fromyou if you don't keep him in close.Stupid bastard.”

Tuck nodded in gratitude then liftedthe rope and showed it to the hound. Thebeast jumped up immediately, eyesshining and tail wagging hard enough tocause a draught in the already chillyroom.

“Let him get her scent from somethingshe touched last night and he'll lead youright to her,” James promised as the friarmoved to lead the excited dog out intothe street where the villagers still stoodwaiting to hear what was happening.“Bring him back safely though, eh?”

“Don't fret, we'll be back safe andsound before too long.” With a finalwave of gratitude he closed the doorbehind him and once again pushed hisway through the gathered villagers, backto Jeannie's house to find the ragdoll thegirl had played with. Hopefully it wouldgive the hound a scent to follow.

“Do you want me to raise the hue andcry?” Eustace asked, an irritated look onhis face. “Are we going after the

thieves?”Tuck held the dog at peace for a

moment. “No, you don't need to gatherthe law; I'll go after the girl and herbrother by myself. They're no threat, butif they hear a load of men blunderingabout the place hunting for them we'llnever see them again. Trust me,” hegrowled, seeing Eustace was about toobject. “I know what I'm doing.”

The headman closed his mouth andmet the friar's steely gaze but thoughtbetter of arguing.

“That's settled then,” Tuck nodded,clasping Eustace by the arm. “I'll beback before nightfall.”

Some of the locals, overhearing theconversation, shouted angrily.

“One fat clergyman to capture twonotorious criminals? That's bollocks,Eustace, and you know it. The tithingshould be after them and string thebastards up. What's an old friar going todo if they attack him?”

Tuck stopped in his tracks and glaredat the speaker, a tall man in his earlytwenties. The tanner.

“I'm sure I can fight off a couple ofchildren, Raymund,” Tuck growled.“And you should be ashamed of yourselfcalling on your headman to sanction theexecution of a little girl and her brother.Especially at this time of year, when weshould be giving aid to those lessfortunate than ourselves. They need ourhelp, not your rope.”

The tanner sneered and Tuck moved tostand directly in front of him. “This oldfriar knows exactly how to handlehimself if anyone comes looking for afight, boy. You'd do well to rememberthat.”

The crowd became silent, theatmosphere tense, and, to Tuck'samusement, James's dog actuallygrowled at the young tanner as if readyto defend the friar, despite the fact he'dkicked the beast in the ribs just a fewhours earlier.

Eustace intervened, placing himselfbetween the two red-faced men.“Enough of this. Brother Michael isright. He should be given a chance tofind the fugitives and, when he does

we'll see what's to be done with them.”The tanner glared murderously at Tuck

but the big friar had no interest in gettinginto a brawl with the man so he tuggedon the dog's leash and entered Jeannie'shut again.

Father de Nottingham sat at the table,watching the flames in the hearth crackleand dance, a mug of ale in front of himand a contented look on his face.

Tuck found the ragdoll and held it tothe harrier's nose. “Here boy. Fetch.” Heturned his attention to the priest. “Youshould get back to the church. Jeannieand her mate will be emptying your winecellar.”

De Nottingham looked up in alarmand Tuck grinned.

“Probably eaten everything in thelarder too.”

“Yes. Yes, you're right, I was justwaiting on you coming back.” He stoodand gestured at the dog. “You're goinglooking for the girl then.”

“Aye.”“I won't offer to come with you,” the

priest said. “I think this is probablysomething you're much better at than Iam, and I'd only get in your way. I wouldoffer one piece of advice though: takeyour quarterstaff with you. They mightbe children but they're lawbreakers andour Lord himself knows what else ishiding out there in the woods...”

Tuck hadn't thought to take his staff butthe priest's words made sense. He'd left

the weapon back at St Mary's the nightbefore, knowing it would be useless in afight in the cramped confines ofJeannie's house, but it might prove usefulnow, even if only to lean on, so heaccompanied de Nottingham back to thechurch.

Leaving the priest to tell the twocurious women all about recent events,Tuck collected the quarterstaff, a skin ofale, a lump of cheese, a few strips ofsalted meat, and some bread. The houndsniffed eagerly at the little doll, whichTuck had asked Jeannie's permission totake on their hunt, before straining at theleash to head off into the trees thatfringed the western edge ofBrandesburton.

“I'll be back later today, or earlytomorrow,” he assured the priest. “Thechildren can't have gone far. It might bean idea to buy some extra food for ourevening meal. Hopefully I'll have acouple of extra mouths to feed, not tomention the dog.”

Father de Nottingham waved farewelland watched, a prayer on his lips, untilthe grey robe became lost amongst thesparse winter foliage.

* * *

“Come on, boy, hurry up in the name ofGod,” Tuck muttered, jerking on thedog's leash as it stopped, again, to markits territory.

The beast did seem to have found themissing girl's scent; well, it was leadingthe friar after something he could onlyhope wasn't a local bitch in heat oranother tree for it to piss against.

“Come on!” He tugged on the ropeagain and the dog, eyes shining andbreath steaming from its apparentlygrinning mouth, ran forward, almostpulling Tuck off his feet as he stumbledthrough the thick, powdery snow at thebeast's back.

They'd been travelling for quite awhile already – it would be middaysoon the Franciscan guessed, although itwas hard to tell since heavy grey cloudsobscured the sun, but his rumblingstomach suggested he needed a meal. He

didn't want to take any of the bread orsalted meat from his pack, as it wouldstop the hungry dog dead in its tracksagain and Tuck really wanted to finishthis hunt before it grew dark and the coldbecame deadly. But the animal seemedto have lost interest in the chase, as itstood, looking about it, apparently withno real idea where to go next.

Tuck pressed the ragdoll to theharrier's nostrils again but it sat on itshaunches and gazed at him, tonguelolling to one side, breath steaming andthe friar muttered an oath. Without thedog's keen senses to guide him, he'dnever find the children.

A slight movement caught his eye then,a short way to the east and he peered at

it. Just a robin, its red breast starkagainst the white snow. It flew closer,eyeing him, and he wondered if heshould throw it a few crumbs; poor thingwould be starving in this weather.

Before he could reach into his pack,though, it flew away and James's dog,which had also been watching it, stoodup and dragged Tuck along in the samedirection.

A short while later he looked around,wondering if they'd somehow circledback on themselves and returned toBrandesburton as the distinct, andwelcoming, smell of wood-smoke filledhis nostrils. Someone had a fire goingnearby.

The hound glanced up at him, tongue

lolling excitedly, and he held a finger tohis lips as if the animal wouldunderstand the need for silence.

Shaking his head ruefully the friar lethis own nose guide him towards thesweet fragrance and soon enough an oldforester's hut became visible through theleafless trees. It had been built a longtime ago from the looks of it; the roofhad caved in and an old beech haddropped a massive branch onto one ofthe walls.

Yet the ramshackle hut seemed to bethe source of the smell and, as they drewnearer, sure enough, smoke spiralled upfrom the rear of the building, into thetrees which had grown up around it.

“Good boy.” Tuck smiled, crouching

down to stroke the dog's smooth head. Itlicked his stubbled face affectionatelyand he shoved it away, keeping his eyeson the ruined building the whole time.

“What now?” he muttered, and the dogtried again to lick his face excitedly buthe held it back by the scruff of the neck.

If the girl and her brother were inthere he might need both hands free tocatch them should they try to escapewhen he revealed himself. They mighteven attempt to fight him off; they maywell be children but, cornered like this,there was a possibility they'd attempt tokill their would-be captor.

Still, the idea of leaving the dog tiedto a branch here in the thick snow didn'tappeal to him at all. It wouldn't take long

for the cold to kill the tethered beastshould anything happen to the friar and,although it was a bloody idiot of ananimal, it had led him here and…

The dog, grinning, tried to kiss himagain and, laughing quietly, Tuck shovedit away.

“Come on then, lad; you can comewith me. If they run, you can just lead meto them again.”

They moved slowly through the snowtowards the hovel and Tuck watched thedog fretfully as the smell of roastingmeat reached them. The animal seemedto know things were getting serious, as itwalked calmly at the friar's side, eyesfixed on the low building, and Tuckrelaxed a little. It was a hunting dog after

all; it sensed their prey was close.He moved slowly, not wanting to

startle the children but, as he neared thefront door, he suddenly spun round,staring into the sparse foliage behindhim. There was nothing there but...he'dfelt for just an instant as if someone, orsome thing was watching from theshadows.

He ruffled the dog's ears and toldhimself to stop thinking about devils anddemons. He'd found the fake carvedwooden horns and hooves hadn't he?There was nothing to fear in this forest,other than the cold and the empty feelingin his stomach.

Still, the hairs on the back of his neckseemed to be standing up and he forced

himself to ignore the feeling of beingwatched as he transferred his staff to hisleft hand, along with the dog's leash.Then he grasped the door handle, met thehound's eyes, and, with a deep breath,pushed hard.

There was a loud thump but the doorremained shut.

It was locked from the inside.Feeling rather silly, and knowing

whoever was inside now knew he wascoming, he trudged around to the back ofthe hut, where the wall was almostcompletely gone. The remnants held upthe fallen branch, hardy moss coveringboth wall and tree and, warily, staff heldtightly back in his right hand, Tuckglanced inside.

The heat from the small fire thatcrackled noisily under what remained ofthe roof hit him and he, momentarily,revelled in it, before the sight of theshocked little girl and boy brought himback to life with a jolt.

“It's all right, lass, it's only me: FriarTuck. Don't worry, I'm alone.” Hegrinned reassuringly at the girl. “Well,apart from the hound here, but he's adaft, friendly old fellow.”

The children made no move to escape,just stared at him wide-eyed, and the dogwhimpered, gazing at the little brownhare that was cooking slowly on the spitover the fire inside the ruined hovel.

“May we come in?”Tuck didn't wait for an answer, he

simply stepped over the remainder of therear wall then lifted the dog over besidehim.

“No! You have to go!”“Come, now,” the burly friar smiled.

“Trust me – I'm a man of God, you havenothing to fear. I'm not here to arrest you,or make you do anything you don't wantto do. In fact, I'm a fugitive myself. I wasone of Robin Hood's men and a wickedprior is still chasing me, so you can besure I'm no lawman. Come.” He openedhis pack and drew out the bread, meatand cheese packed inside. “We can sharea meal together while we decide what'sto be done here. I even have an egg.”

The children glanced at one another,still fearful, but the boy moved forward

and snatched the egg from theFranciscan's hand.

“I like these,” he mumbled, “Iremember having them before.”

The lad lifted an old metal pot fromthe floor, nimbly jumped over thewrecked wall and scooped up a pile ofsnow. He climbed back over, placed theegg into the pot and sat the whole thingbeside their fire so it began to heat.

“Isabella and I thank you for the food,but you can go now.”

Tuck waved a hand and sat on thefloor, the dog sitting down beside him,as close to the fire as it could managewithout going up in flames. He knew thegirl's name now; it was a start.

“Have some,” the friar said, offering

his bread to the children. “You look likeyou're hungry and one egg won't be nearenough to fill your bellies.”

“You have to go.” The little boy shookhis head forcefully, startling the friar andthe dog. “Now. We don't want to go backwith you. Get out and go away, we'rehappy here!”

“No we're not.”Tuck's eyes moved to Isabella who sat

down and pulled her knees into herchest, sobs wracking her small frame.

“Aye, we are,” the boy affirmed,glaring at Tuck. “We can take care ofourselves so...just go. Leave us alone.We're safe and warm here and we haveenough to eat, even if we don't usuallyhave any fancy hen's eggs, like yours.”

“Please, Arnald,” the girl whimpered,looking up, her eyes red. “I want to gowith Friar Tuck. I don't like it here, andneither do you.”

The boy glared from Tuck to hissister, while the friar simply stroked thedog and chewed on a piece of blackbread. “She's right, Arnald, you knowthat. You can't stay out here in this oldruin forever.”

For a while the young lad stared at thefriar, as if appraising him, but at last hesighed then drew himself up decisively.

“Fine. But we have to go right now.”Isabella got to her feet and ran to

Tuck, grabbing hold of his sleeve andsniffling, while her big brother hurriedinto the back room which still had a roof

over it and came back with a dry blanketand a little sack which must, the friarguessed, contain all their worldlypossessions.

Whatever they'd managed to stealfrom the people of Brandesburton, inother words.

“Don't forget that,” Tuck said,pointing at the old citole that lay in thefar corner. “The woman you took it fromwould dearly like it back.”

They still had a few hours of daylightleft or Tuck would have insisted theyspend the night in the broken downforesters hut, but he knew they'd make itto Brandesburton all right. They'd becutting it fine and he would no doubthave to carry at least one of the children,

if not both, some of the way back to thevillage, but, unless something unforeseenhappened they'd be back at St Mary'sbefore nightfall.

“Arnald is right,” he said, lifting hisstaff and pulling the dog to its feet. “Weshould get moving. Here.” He fumbledinside his grey cassock and handedsomething to the little girl with a grin. “Ikept her warm on the way here, but sheneeds someone to look after herproperly.”

It was the ragdoll.Isabella's eyes lit up and she hugged

the toy in close, the happiness reflectedin her eyes almost bringing tears toTuck's before the boy broke in with aharsh whisper.

“Come on then, we have to go now!”

* * *

The children's obvious apprehensionmade Tuck wary as they left the ruinedcabin and headed back out into the chillafternoon air. The dark grey cloudsgathering overhead promised theirjourney back to Brandesburton would bea gloomy one.

The hound pulled Tuck out into thewhite blanket and he tugged hard on therope leash, shaking his head with a smileas he struggled to keep his footing. Aglance back at Isabella and her brothertook the cheer from him. They lookedfearfully into the trees all around them as

if Satan himself lurked there and the friarfelt a great sense of pity for them.

“Don't be afraid of the forest,” hesaid. “These old trees won't hurt you andno devil or demon will come near us.I'm a man of God, after all.” He grinnedand pointed his great quarterstaff at thetrail ahead. “God will protect us fromany evil that might lurk nearby.”

He turned to wink at Isabella and itwas just as well he did for theexpression on her face saved his life.

The girl's eyes widened in terror atthe sight of something behind him andTuck instinctively whipped his staffaround, feeling it hit home, hard. Hiseyes followed its path and he wasshocked to see a brawny youngster, at

least as tall as himself, fallingbackwards against a tree trunk, facelivid at the blow the friar had struck intohis midriff.

Spinning the great weapon backgracefully, Tuck pointed the tip at thenewcomer and growled.

“You stay where you are, boy. Rightthere, or I'll shove this whole thing upyour arse and out your mouth.” Heshifted his glare to Arnald and Isabella.“Well – who's this?”

Neither of the children replied, theysimply stood, watching the newcomerfretfully, shivering as the snow grewheavier and the big flakes settled ontheir pitifully threadbare clothing.

“They're my servants,” the big boy

growled. “They do as I say, and youbetter let them go, friar, or I'll send youto your God in Heaven.”

He pointed a finger threateningly andcurled his lip at Tuck. “Go on, get out ofhere, back to whatever damn church youslithered out of. The children and I canlook after ourselves. Isn't that right?”

The siblings shuffled closer togetherand shared nervous glances with oneanother but neither replied to thequestion.

“I said: isn't that right?” The boybared his teeth and moved towards them,violence emanating from him like awave of heat.

“Hold!” Tuck spread his legs in adefensive stance and held the

quarterstaff at the ready, barring theboy's advance. “Clearly these two areterrified of you, so make no furthermoves or you'll see how fast I canslither. I was a soldier before I becamea man of God.”

The words stopped the lad's steps andthe friar nodded in satisfaction.

“Good. Now, Arnald and Isabella arecoming with me to Brandesburton. Abroken-down old hovel in the middle ofthe forest is no place for children to bein the middle of winter. Look aroundyou, boy, it's snowing. You three don'thave the skills to survive for muchlonger out here, especially when you goaround thieving from the folk in thevillages hereabouts. Either the cold, or

hunger, or an angry mob will kill youbefore spring's green shoots sproutthrough the melting snow.”

The burly friar slightly lowered hisstaff so as not to appear as menacing andmet the young man's eyes.

“You're just a lad yourself.” He heldup a hand to stop the angry response thencontinued. “I can see you know how tohandle yourself and you've done welltaking care of the smaller ones here butyou should be somewhere safe, notgrubbing around in the greenwood. I'velived rough amongst the trees in wintermyself.” He shook his head sorrowfully.“I know how hard it is.”

The boy just glared at him in silence.“Come with us, you're more than

welcome. In fact, I insist. What kind offriar would I be if I left you to freeze outhere all alone? Come on.” He loweredhis staff completely and turned to glanceback again at his young charges. “Let'sget moving, all of us. There's a roaringfire, warm bread and fresh ale for usback at St Mary's.”

“No!”Tuck's eyes flicked to Isabella in

annoyance, wondering why she'dsuddenly changed her mind when she'dbeen happy to go with him not so longago, but that wasn't why the girl hadshouted.

He felt a fist hit him in the side and agasp exploded from his mouth, morefrom outrage than pain and he spun,

quarterstaff whipping round to batterinto his assailant but the lad had alreadyjumped back out of range.

The dog's leash had slipped free fromthe friar's hand and now the startledbeast tore off into the trees without abackward glance.

“What's the matter with you boy?”Tuck demanded in exasperation, glaringat the young boy and rubbing his fleshywaist. “I'm here to help you, not arrestyou.” As he raised his hand to gesture,though, his words failed him.

His palm was slick with blood.“You stabbed me.”His assailant nodded grimly, the blade

now visible beneath his tatty old sleeve.“Those two are going to make me rich,

Friar. They steal all the food and moneywe need and one day they'll stealsomething valuable and I can leave thisplace. Their devil disguise is perfect;the superstitious fools around here areterrified. And you think I'm going to letyou just walk in here and take them fromme?”

Tuck's mind whirled. The boy'sdagger didn't have a very long blade andhe hoped his generous layer of fat hadabsorbed the worst of it; still, even ifnothing important had been damagedinside him, he was losing blood and theywere in the middle of the forest, far fromaid.

“You shouldn't have done that, Peter.He's a man of God. If he dies your soul

will suffer eternal torment.” Arnaldshook his head at the older boy, wholaughed shortly.

“God? To Hell with God. Where wasGod when my parents died? Where wasGod when I was left to beg in the street,a child no older than you are? Wherewas God when you and I and your sisterwere huddled close together in the oldforester's hut with nothing to our namesbut some pitiful old silver spoon?” Peterturned his glare back to Tuck. “Wherewas your God when I plunged my steelinto your side, friar, eh?”

Isabella was sobbing heavily, tearsstreaking her filthy little face and Tuckknew he had to do something, now,before he lost all control of the situation.

Faster than anyone could ever haveexpected from a kindly clergyman with astab wound, he exploded forward,ramming the quarterstaff at Peter's face.The boy barely saw the blow coming,but his youthful reflexes kicked in and hejerked his head backwards just as theweapon connected.

“Come on.” Tuck gestured hurriedly atArnald and Isabella, bidding themfollow as he set off into the treestowards Brandesburton. “Come on!” herepeated, more forcefully, when theshocked pair didn't immediately movethrough the snow after him.

The commanding tone snapped themout of their reverie and Tuck nodded inrelief as they came after him.

“What about Peter?” Arnald asked,wiping away snot with his sleeve.

“He'll be fine,” the friar replied,glancing back over his shoulder,knuckles white on the quarterstaff. “Ididn't hit him as hard as I might havedone.”

A groan came to them from the proneyoung man at their back and Tuck smiledin relief. He'd not wanted to leave Peterunconscious in the snow – it would havemeant certain death for the boy – butthere had been no other choice if hewanted to get the other two safely backto the village. Away from their cold-hearted and murderous leader.

“We'll need to move faster than this,”Arnald muttered, skipping through the

trees to take the lead. “Or Peter willcatch us. He can run fast.”

The sun's yellow glow was just barelyvisible through the heavy clouds so Tuckwas able to guide them in what he feltmust be the right direction back to thesafety of Brandesburton but he could feelthe blood from the stab wound oozingdown and cooling on his hip.

If he stopped to bind it Peter mightwell catch up with them. And what couldhe use as a bandage anyway? He wasalready feeling the effects of the cold; hecould scarcely afford to take somethingoff to tear into a dressing.

Wordlessly, they trudged along the icytrail, treading as carefully as possible incase the slick leaves gave way or the

snow had filled some hidden depressionin the ground that could sprain an ankleor worse if one stumbled unwarily intoit.

Suddenly, from some distance behind,a furious roar shattered what had beenan eerie, almost deathly silence andIsabella began to cry again.

“It's Peter. He's coming for us.”

* * *

After that initial roar of outrage Tuckand his young companions hadn't heardany signs of Peter pursuing them. Theymade no unnecessary sounds themselveseither, not wanting to give away theirposition, and after they'd been walking

for what seemed like an eternity the friarbegan to think they might reachBrandesburton safely after all.

His injury had grown increasinglypainful and he winced with every step,knowing he wasn't doing the wound anygood by continuing to walk so fast butwhat else could he do? Their best,indeed only option, was to make it to thevillage as soon as possible, before nightfell and the cold took them.

Or their pursuer.Was he after them? Or had he been too

dazed by Tuck's strike to follow beforethe gentle snowfall had inexorablyhidden their tracks through the baretrees?

The cold no longer bothered him and

he thought that was a bad sign. Helooked at the two children as theyscurried ahead, Isabella's eyes dry nowbut wide and watchful, while it seemedthe freezing air had at last dried the snotunder Arnald's red nose.

Please, Lord, let me see these two tosafety, even if it means the death of me.

“How did you two end up hereanyway?” he asked, more to take alltheir minds off the situation than anythingelse. “Out here in the greenwood, at themercy of an older lad.”

“Our father left when Isabella was ababy,” Arnald replied. “Don't knowwhere he went but he never came homeone night and Ma never seemedsurprised. She died not long ago, and we

ended up out on the street.”“Where was that?” Tuck demanded,

outraged.“Hull,” the boy replied, shrugging as

if there were lots of orphans and straysin the big port. He walked on in silencefor a while, lost in thought, beforecarrying on. “We sheltered where wecould – it was summer then, or we mightnot have made it. Even so, we werestarving when Peter found us. He madesure we had a place to sleep in an oldabandoned warehouse, and food to eat.”

“He's not all bad then,” the friarnodded.

“No,” Isabella piped up, her voicestretched and thin in the cold. “But hemade us steal things for him. Then one

day he come back with blood on hishands and clothes and told us we had torun away. I don't know whose blood itwas,” she ended with a whisper, “butthere was lots of it...”

“We've been hiding in the forestaround Yorkshire ever since,” Arnaldcontinued. “When the cold weather camewe were frightened but Peter told us wehad to stay with him or...”

Tuck walked on in silence for a whilethen, trudging through the deep snow, notwanting to push the children any further.They were frightened enough as it waswithout thinking about the wild-eyed boyin the woods behind them.

Arnald suddenly turned, concern inhis eyes, as Tuck slipped on a frost-

covered log, gasping in pain as hedropped to one knee.

“Are you all right?”“Aye, lad, I'm fine.” The Franciscan

nodded, blowing hard as he got back tohis feet and threw the boy what he hopedwas a reassuring smile but expected wasmore of an exhausted grimace. “Keepthat pace up, we'll be in the warm churchsoon. Father de Nottingham will have apot of hot porridge bubbling over thefire for us, and pokers in the flames toheat an ale for each of us!”

The children obviously believed himas they walked even faster, leaving himfurther and further behind. He knew theycouldn't be far from Brandesburtonthough, so he ignored the dull ache in his

side and the terrible weight in his legsand concentrated solely on placing onefoot in front of the other.

He'd spent many months in woods justlike this one. He'd become accustomedto their ways; to the rhythms of the floraand fauna that formed almost a singleliving organism all around them.

Perched on a branch in front of themsat a robin, and Tuck knew it was thesame one that he'd seen earlier when thehound had lost the children's trail. Itflew off and the friar stopped dead,setting his feet defensively and gazingaround, sure the little bird'sreappearance was no mere coincidence.

Suddenly, a shrill cry split the airdirectly beside them and a dark figure

threw itself upon the friar. He broughthis staff up just in time and managed toknock the attacker to the side before theknife that had been heading for his gutswas able to skewer him.

Peter fell onto the slippery forestfloor but was up in an instant and comingfor him again.

This time Tuck wasn't fast enough andthe younger man's bulk hammered intohim, throwing him back, hard, into thesolid trunk of a venerable old yew treewhich rocked with the force, sending asmall shower of frost and snowflakesdown on the combatants.

Tuck had dropped his staff and wasnow grasping Peter's hands. The youngman was like a rabid animal, throwing

his body this way and that, trying to kneethe friar anywhere he could and snarlingthrough chapped lips.

The knife wound and the forced marchhad weakened Tuck badly and hewondered how much longer he couldhold the crazed youngster at bay. Hecouldn't even attempt to headbutt the foolsince he wouldn't stop moving longenough to present a target.

“Leave him alone, Peter, please!”Isabella stood to the side, hands clasped,tears gleaming as she stared at hererstwhile leader. “You're going to hurthim.”

“I know that, you stupid little bitch,that's the plan!” the boy grunted. “The fatfriar won't be the first person I've

killed.”Arnald was hiding behind a fallen log,

watching the struggle but making nomove to help either combatant.

Whoever this young man was, Tuckthought, he had frightened the girl andher brother so badly they wouldn't raisea hand to stop him murdering theirwould-be saviour.

But Friar Tuck had once been awrestler – one of the best in all England.He wasn't done just yet.

Hooking his right foot behind Peter'sleg he jerked, hard, and the younger manfell backwards with a shout of alarm.Tuck leaned down to throw a punch intothe lad's face but he hesitated...Peterlooked so young lying there on the wet

grass, his eyes wide in fear.The fear soon reverted to fury though,

and the downed youngster struck outagain with his dagger, slicing into Tuck'sleg.

The friar screamed in agony as thesteel scraped right across his bone,opening a terrible gaping wound whichwas clearly visible through the hole inhis breeches which the blade had tornopen.

Isabella whimpered in horror andPeter pushed himself to one knee, asmile on his face.

They were lost in the depths of theforest with snow falling all arounddampening any sounds that might carry topossible rescuers nearby...

He's going to kill me.With a strength born of sheer

desperation Tuck threw himself forward,landing on top of Peter. Ignoring theburning pain in his side and his leg heheld the boy down by the neck, pushedhimself up so his legs were in the air,and brought both his knees down intoPeter's midriff as hard as he could.

He was a heavy man and the boygasped in agony, the breath blasted fromhim. The knife fell from his hand ontothe ground but Tuck knew he had tofinish it now. He squeezed, the musclesin his thick arms cording like ropes.Peter's eyes bulged and he triedfuriously to break free from theFranciscan's vice-like grip but no matter

how he shoved and twisted his body hesimply didn't have the strength to movethe burly friar.

“God forgive me,” Tuck sobbed, tearsblurring his vision as he felt the life fadefrom the young man beneath him.

The two children remained wherethey were, Isabella still crying andshaking her head in shock while Arnaldsimply looked on in shock.

“You killed him.”Tuck relaxed but remained kneeling

over Peter's body. “Aye.”He moved his hand to make the sign of

the cross but stopped even before thebloody palm reached his forehead andhe slumped down, staring sightlesslyinto the muddy snow.

For a time none of them moved andthe friar was content to stay that way.The loss of blood from his wounds,combined with the exhaustion and coldmade him want to rest here, to just curlup into a ball and sleep.

Warmth seemed to flow through himand he closed his eyes, giving in to thenumbness that promised to ease his painand guilt.

* * *

“What are we going to do?” Isabellawhispered, staring at the unmoving friarlying in the mud and blood-stained snow.

Arnald shrugged. “We need to getwarm before night falls or we'll die too.

I wish we could go back to the forester'shut, but I don't think we'd make it beforeit becomes too dark to see and we loseour way...” He nodded decisively andsqueezed his sister's hand reassuringly.“Come on, we need a fire – let's gathersome dry wood.”

“What about him?” The girl gesturedat Tuck. “Will he be all right lying there?Shouldn't we cover him up?”

“With what? We have nothing...”Arnald followed the direction of his

sister's gaze and blanched. Peter didn'tneed his clothes any more.

“All right,” he muttered, shivering andpulling away from Isabella. “You findsome dry twigs and sticks for the firethen.”

She nodded agreement and moved offto look under the nearest evergreens forthe much-needed kindling while herbrother stooped over Peter's corpse.

The bigger boy was clearly dead –eyes staring into the sky unblinking, skinalready beginning to take on a strangepallor – yet, even so, Arnald wasterrified his 'friend' would grab hold ofhim if he tried to touch him.

“Hurry up,” Isabella hissed. “Thefriar will be getting cold.”

Sighing heavily, Arnald steeledhimself and began to remove Peter'sclothing, starting with the heavy cloak. Itwas hard work and, once he'd finishedthe young boy was glad of the exercisefor he no longer felt the cold. In fact he

was sweating! He'd found a flint andsteel in one of the dead boy's pockets toowhich should make lighting a fire mucheasier.

Every piece of clothing Peter hadbeen wearing was now draped overTuck's prone figure, apart from the cloakwhich Arnald placed around his sister'sshoulders once they'd built a fire.Isabella sat next to the friar, sharing theirbody heat, while her big brotherattempted to make a spark with the flint.

The yew tree offered some protectionfrom the snow which had picked upagain, its green needles and ripe redberries keeping the worst of the whiteflakes from their makeshift campsite. ButArnald's attempts at lighting the fire

proved fruitless. He'd managed to get aspark a few times but it had flared anddied before setting the kindling toburning and, eventually, close to tears,the boy had given up and hunkered downbeside his sister and Tuck.

Night was drawing in fast.“Soon be Christmas Day,” Isabella

whispered, trying to sound cheerful,before her eyes closed and she dozedoff, the snow whirling around them in thefailing light.

Arnald fought sleep for as long as hecould, terrified at the thought of lying inthe dark next to the naked corpse of hismurdered companion but, eventually, hetoo shut his eyes and the forest took themall into its embrace.

* * *

It was the burning sensation in his legthat did it.

It penetrated his consciousness and,with a groan, he opened his eyes

“Ow, in God's name, that hurts!”“Peace, Brother Tuck,” Father de

Nottingham, a concerned look on hisface, appeared at the bedside holding acup. “You have nasty wounds in yourside and your leg. I've cleaned anddressed them, but you must rest. Here,drink this, it'll help take the chill fromyour bones.”

Tuck allowed the priest to tip theliquid into his mouth, slowly and,

realising it was slightly warmed, strongale, sipped at it greedily before lying hishead back down and sighing contentedly.

“Where are the children?” he asked.“In the next room, under a thick

blanket, sleeping, safe. They told uswhat happened with the older boy – theysaved your life by lying down besideyou under their cloaks. Fear not, thevillagers lost any idea of making thempay for their thefts when they saw thethree of you lying near death under thattree. Any longer out there and you'd allbe dead. In truth, I have no idea how yousurvived – given what you went through,you should be in God's arms already.”

“Like...”“As I said,” Father de Nottingham

broke in. “Arnald and Isabella told useverything that happened. You did whatyou could. You've saved two vulnerablechildren from certain death out there inthe forest.”

“I killed the lad, though. He was littlemore than a child himself! I've donesome things in my time, Nicholas, but...”Tuck shook his head sorrowfully. “I'venever throttled a young man like thatbefore.”

The priest looked away, gathering histhoughts, then replied. “I've never beenin a fight in my whole life. If it had beenI who had gone looking for Arnald andhis sister I would be dead by now. Thebig lad, Peter was it? He'd have killedme and then what? The two children

would have been left out there with him.Eventually the cold or the law wouldhave got them. From what they said yousimply defended yourself against ayoung man who was intent on murderingyou. In the morning I'll hear yourconfession, but… for me, you acted inthe only way you could, and our Lordwill know it.”

He patted the friar's blanket and stoodup. “Rest now, my friend. God broughtyou back to us – it's truly a Christmasmiracle!”

Tuck smiled as he dozed off. Aye, amiracle. They were all safe and warm inBrandesburton.

All except Peter.

* * *

The bell in St Mary's tolled twomornings later – Christmas Day.

Friar Tuck was able to get up andattend mass with the aid of a crutch thatJames brought for him. He discoveredthat James's dog had made its way backto Brandesburton when Peter hadinitially attacked Tuck and the beast hadslipped its leash. The villager realisedsomething was wrong when Tuck hadn'tappeared a short while later, so he'd sentword to Eustace who organised a searchparty.

The hound had been able to pick upTuck and the children's trail at first,although it lost it after a while and the

searchers feared they would never findthe missing friar. Then, apparently, thedog had chased after a robin red-breastand the villagers found Tuck and thechildren huddled all together, snowbeginning to settle on the cloaks thatcovered them.

Thankfully they'd only been a shortdistance from the village so it didn't takelong for the men to carry them all back tothe warmth and safety of St Mary's.

“And to think, the first time I saw thatdog of yours, I kicked it halfway acrossthe street.” Tuck shook his head ruefullyat James. “It saved my life. Remind meto visit the butcher and buy it the biggestbone in his shop.”

He smiled thoughtfully then,

wondering what tasty morsels robinsliked best at this time of year...

When Father Nicholas had finishedmass some of the villagers filed out toreturn to their homes for their Christmasmeal. Many of the poorer familiesremained in the church, where the priestalways provided them with food anddrink on this day.

The men rearranged the pews andcarried in tables and casks of ale andwassail while the women set aboutcooking the meat from the animalsslaughtered at Martinmas.

The children – and some of the adults– played raucous games like Snap-dragon or tug of war. Arnald andIsabella watched shyly at first, until

some of the local youngsters grabbedthem by the hands and hauled them intothe fun, demanding to hear all about theiradventures as the Christmas Devils.

Snow fell heavily outside and thewind howled and whistled through gapsin the shutters but Father de Nottinghamordered the fire to be banked and thechill didn't penetrate the sturdy old stonewalls which held so many happyrevellers, pleased to spend a dayindoors. A day when they didn't have towork but, instead, enjoyed one another'scompany and gave thanks to God fortheir good fortune.

“Wes hail!”Tuck raised his mug of spiced cider

and smiled warmly at the priest. “Drink

hail!” he responded, emptying half thecontents of the mug into his mouth.

“What will happen to them now?” thefriar asked, as they watched Arnald andIsabella happily playing with the rest ofthe children as if they hadn't a care in allthe world. “Where will they go?”

Father de Nottingham smiledreassuringly. “Jeannie has offered to takethem in. Eustace promised to make sureshe gets money to feed and clothe themuntil they're old enough to contributethemselves. The fact they returned someof the things they'd stolen – likeElizabeth's citole and Ivor's silver spoon– made it easier for people to forgivethem. I'm not sure if the family whosehouse went up in flames felt so

charitable but...the villagers will muckin and help them rebuild once theweather's better.”

The friar nodded in relief. “Thepeople of Brandesburton have proventhemselves to be true Christians. I'mglad I came here to stay for a while.”

De Nottingham shrugged. “What didyou think would happen? It's Christmas!”

Isabella ran over to them, her eyesshining and her teeth bright in her grubbyface. “Tuck, come and join in with us.We're going to play Hoodman's Blind.”

The friar laughed and ruffled the littlegirl's hair. “Look at the wound in my leglass. I can barely stand up, never mindchase about the room with my hood overmy face. Go on with you.”

She hurried off again, a whirlwind ofjoyous, youthful energy and Father deNottingham clasped his Franciscanfriend by the arm.

“See? Those two wouldn't be heretoday if it wasn't for you. Peter had beentaken over by Satan – he was the trueChristmas Devil. Who knows what othercrimes he would have dragged Arnaldand Isabella into as time went on?You've given them a chance in life. AndJeannie will be glad of their companyaround her house. She's been lonelysince her man died last summer.”

Tuck said nothing for a time. It feltstrange to be given advice by someoneelse – normally he was the wise onedoling out words of guidance to Robin

Hood or one of the other outlaws likethis. But he greatly appreciated thepriest's opinion and he knew it was true,even if Peter's dying face would haunthis dreams for a long time to come.

“Come on.” Father de Nottinghamgrinned and pulled the friar overtowards one of the heavily laden tables,almost forgetting Tuck's reliance on thecrutch. “Let's get some of that pie thewomen have just brought out. Todayshould be a happy day.”

“You're right.” The big Franciscannodded, raising his wassail mug andsmiling thankfully at his friend as theymoved amongst the happy villagerstowards the food.

The Christmas pie was huge. Oval-

shaped, like a crib and with a littlepastry baby Jesus set on top. The womenhad filled it with meat and spices andeveryone cheered at the sight of it beingcarried out and set onto one of thetables.

Tuck beamed – truly this was Christ'sday.

With no warning the great front doorswere thrown open, a chill wind blowingthrough the nave into the hall and therevellers became silent, turning as one tosee what was happening.

“Where are they? Where are thedevils that set alight to my house? Is thatthem? Little bastards!”

“Aye, that's them, Erzsebet. The dirtythieves.”

“What do you think you're doing?”Father de Nottingham demanded, placinghimself in front of the four newcomers.“You watch your language ErzsebetBarber – this is a house of God.”

Isabella looked across to Tuck, eyeswide in fear. This was the family whosehouse burned down when she andArnald had robbed it, and they were outfor bloody justice now. The presence ofthe vindictive tanner, Raymund onlymade the situation even more volatile.

Tuck smiled reassuringly at the girl,and her brother who had moved to standprotectively by his little sister, but hefelt a sinking sensation in the pit of hisstomach as he hobbled across to join thepriest.

“Do you not know what day it is?” hedemanded, glaring at the barber'sHungarian wife. She was a largewoman, liked well enough by her fellowvillagers but, in the name of Christ, shehad a temper if anyone tried to cross her.

“I care not what the day is. Those twodestroyed my house,” Erzsebet said inher strangely accented voice. “They arecriminals, and yet here they are, feastingand enjoying the day, while my familyhas no home to go to because of them!”

Raymund, the tanner, pushed his facein front of Tuck's, the whites of his eyesshowing red, suggesting the man wasalready drunk.

“We're here to arrest them,” he spat.“And you better not try and stop us, friar,

or else. You're nothing in this village.Your Robin isn't here to help you now.”

Tuck blinked in surprise – how…?Then he realised what the tanner

meant and he lowered his browsirritably. Despite the awful wound in hisleg and the fact he was recovering fromnear-death, he was sure he could take thetanner down without the help of hisinfamous friend. But it was ChristmasDay; he'd already killed one young manthis festive season and the idea ofbeating up another was quite distasteful.

Raymund took the friar's downcastexpression as a sign of fear and pulledhimself up as tall as he could, pressinghis forehead into Tuck's.

“Get out the way, old man. We're

taking those two with us. The bailiff willdeal with them next time he visits and nodoubt they'll hang for their crimes.”

“No!” Isabella cried, tears filling hereyes as she dragged her brother by thehand to hide behind Friar Tuck. “It wasan accident, we didn't mean to set yourhouse on fire. Peter made us steal; wedidn't want to do it. We're sorry!”

Raymund turned his malevolent gazeon the terrified girl and curled his lip.“You're a pair of filthy thieves,” hegrunted. “Criminals. Like this one here.”He looked again at Tuck. “Aye, d'yethink we're all fools in Brandesburton,'Brother Michael'? I know fine who youare, so you'd be best not getting in ourway or you'll be swinging from a rope

too, beside your little friends here...”The tanner's head suddenly rocked

back and he went down in a heap as thefist connected with his nose in a bloodyspray.

Everyone in the room shouted and theplace exploded in a welter of fury and,unsurprisingly, laughter, as the peoplecrowded round, hoping to see someentertainment as the tanner struggled toget back to his feet.

“Enough!” Father de Nottinghamroared, raising his arms like Moseshimself and staring at everyone untilquiet was restored. “There will be nomore violence in God's house. Not thisday, or any other.”

James, whose dog had helped Tuck so

well over the past couple of days, glareddown at Raymund. It was James whohad pushed past Friar Tuck aside andpunched the tanner, and now the widow,Jeannie, came to stand by his side,facing down Erzsebet and her husbandwhile their daughter Anne hung back,looking as if she wished the groundwould swallow her.

“They're just children,” Jeannieground out. “They were forced to stealand live a miserable life out in theforest. How would you like it ifsomething happened to you and yourman, Erzsebet, and Anne had to fend forherself? Would you want people to helpher? Or string her up by the neck fortaking a crust to fill her empty belly?”

Her barb had clearly hit home andnow the peasant Ivor, whose silverspoon had been restored to him that day,piped up.

“Come on, it's Christmas! Today is aday for celebrating and making merry.Join us.”

The tanner looked murderously atJames but the Barbers seemed somewhatmollified by the reaction of the revellersand Tuck knew it wouldn't take much toend the hostility.

“Join us,” he repeated. “Your house isalready being rebuilt and I'll personallypay to replace whatever you lost in thefire.” He grinned at the family, his eyestwinkling. “Think of it as a Christmasgift.”

James had disappeared into the crowdbut now he returned with a brimmingmug of warmed ale and handed itsheepishly to Raymund who scowled,but took it nonetheless and went off todown the contents on his own near thetable stacked with food.

“Are we all right, then?” Father deNottingham demanded, daring anyone todisagree with a frosty look at theBarbers. “Good. Let's eat!”

He smiled in relief and all attentionturned back to the big Christmas piewhich sat so invitingly on the long tableby the back wall.

“Brother Michael? Would you like thehonour?”

One of the ladies handed Tuck a

spoon as everyone gathered around and,smiling, he used it to cut into the pie.Carefully, he dropped the portion onto awooden trencher which he gave toIsabella, who watched, wide-eyed, hermouth watering.

“You get first taste, lass,” he said,kindly. “And you get to make a wish too.Here, go on, try it.”

Isabella, flushing at being the centreof attention, hesitantly took the piece ofpie from the friar and used her fingers toscoop some into her mouth. A huge smilespread across her small face and shecrammed more in, mumbling, “It'sdelicious,” between bites, as everyonecheered. “Here, Arnald, try some.”

“Don't forget to make a wish, but don't

tell anyone what it is, or it won't cometrue.” Tuck winked at her as everyonegathered around noisily, bowls andtrenchers held out for their own slice ofthe great savoury.

“I won't.” She grinned, and ran offwith her brother, crumbs and sweetmeatsspilling from their mouths, to join theother children who were starting yetanother noisy game.

“What d'you think she wished for?”Father de Nottingham wondered, takinga long pull from his wassail cup andwatching Isabella skip away.

Tuck shrugged. “The same thing weall wish for today, I expect. Peace andhappiness. I pray she and her brotherfind it.” He raised his own mug and held

it out to the priest with a smile.“Merry Christmas, Nicholas. Merry

Christmas one and all!”

THE END And a very Merry Christmas to you,

dear reader!

Author's Note

I love Christmas, always have, eventhough I'm not religious. It's a magicaltime of year, when we can spend longhours with loved ones, doing nice thingsand escaping the drudgery of everydaylife, right? Well, things were the sameback in the Middle Ages. They toolooked forward to their days off work,giving gifts to one another, playinggames and drinking themselvessenseless!

They also sang songs (many of thembawdy) and the earliest English carol

we have evidence for, A Child is BorenAmonges Man, which I mention in thestory, genuinely was written by aFranciscan friar and dates back tosometime before 1350. Could it havebeen the “real” Tuck that penned it? I'dlike to think so.

The other little traditions – likeplacing a pie on the hearthstone in thehope a spirit would come in and markhis initials in it, or the kissing bough –were real too. Mostly throwbacks topagan or Viking times, they wereupdated for a Christian populationalthough the Church frowned upon mostof those old practices.

They didn't have fir trees in theirhouses back then but they did use holly,

ivy, mistletoe and other evergreens,along with candles and the yule log tobrighten the place. Let's be honest,winter must have been a gloomy andgrim time for the commoners in thosedays. Freezing cold, even indoors withno double-glazing or central heating;food scarce; and of course, it wouldhave been extremely dark, both insideand outside.

That, no doubt, played a part in thefearful superstitions of the people. Hollyand ivy weren't just to brighten the placeup – they were believed to have thepower to deter witches. And it wasthought that the dead returned during thefestive period to check up on the worldthey'd left behind. Families would even

set a meal for the spirits before going outto mass on Christmas Day.

In an environment like that, you canimagine how the villagers would havereacted if hoof-prints had startedappearing in the snow overnight andbelongings went missing...

If you're interested in finding outmore, I'd recommend Sophie Jackson'slovely little book, The MedievalChristmas, which I found really helpfulwhen writing this novella.

I hope you've had a great year and arenow sitting with a glass of your favouritetipple, Slade, Wham! and Wizzardplaying loudly somewhere in thebackground. Actually, all those oldsongs which are trotted out every year

were one of the reasons I decided towrite this novella. Hopefully readingFriar Tuck and the Christmas Devileach December will become a traditionfor millions of readers all around theworld for generations to come, just likeNoddy Holder roaring “It's Christmas!”every five minutes on the radio or TV.Yes, even in my house, although I muchprefer Jethro Tull's “Ring Out SolsticeBells”.

Please look out for my fourth and finalForest Lord novel in 2016. After that'spublished I'll be starting a brand newhistorical fiction series.

Now – get the mince pies and thebooze out and...Wes hail!

Steven A. McKay,Old Kilpatrick,9 September 2015

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