To Keep Hope Alive
Dong… Dong… Dong… Dong…
The steady patter of rain was almost drowned out by the tolling of the bell, from inside the church. And from outside, if anyone was listening, it was a sound of familiarity and comfort. Friar Tuck pulled at the bell rope over and over, losing himself in the steady rhythm of stooping and stretching.
The soft sounds of a pipe organ came from the main chapel, the sexton playing a quiet melody of his own. The small mouse had to stretch to reach some of the keys, but that didn't stop him from playing it well. He stopped and sighed. "Friar Tuck? I don't think anyone is coming." For it was true. The small church of Nottingham was empty today.
Friar Tuck let go of the bell rope and lowered his cowl, stepping into the now-silent chapel. "I know, Sexton," he agreed. "But maybe the sound of this church bell will bring the poor people some comfort." He hoped they could hear it wherever they were… in jail, or in hiding from the prince and the sheriff's men. "We must do what we can to keep their hopes alive." The Sexton nodded sadly in agreement, resuming his playing.
Little Sister, the Sexton's wife was carefully sweeping out the entrance to their living chambers, a small hole in the base of the stone. "Oh, how can there be any hope with that tyrant Prince John taxing the heart and soul out of the poor people?" She clutched her broom tightly to her for a moment.
"Yes, those poor people," the friar agreed sadly. Going to a charity box on the wall, he opened it, a saddened look crossing his face. "Look, our poor box is like our church… empty."
Little Sister paused, biting her lip for a moment, then hurried into the mousehole. Reaching under the mattress of the bed made from a shoe, she drew out a single coin, half as big as she was, and took it back outside. Friar Tuck had slumped onto a low bench, looking despondent.
"Friar Tuck?" she asked quietly, approaching and holding up the coin. "We've saved this… It's not much, but, please take it for the poor."
"Your last farthing?" Tuck's eyes widened and the badger smiled, accepting the small coin. "Oh, Little Sister. No one can give more than that." Carefully, he deposited it in the poor box, the farthing making a cheery clinking sound as it hit the bottom. "Bless you both."
The Sexton chuckled. "Oh, we were just saving it for a rainy day."
"Well, it's raining now," Tuck nodded to the window, one pane broken, and laughed. "Things can't get worse."
"Howdy, Friar!" They all froze at the sound of that voice. The Sexton was so startled he missed a note, instead causing a discordant crash of the keys as the Sheriff of Nottingham entered.
"Looks like I've dropped by just in time," the sheriff continued, striding up the aisle.
"What does that big-bellied bully want here?" the Sexton hissed furiously.
"Father, shh!" Little Sister hushed him.
Opening the charity box, the wolf peered inside, a grin crossing his face as he drew out Little Sister's farthing. "Well, what have we got here?"
"Now just a minute, Sheriff!" Friar Tuck started forward, incredulous. "Th-that's the poor box!"
The sheriff was unmoved. "It sure is, and I'll just take this to poor Prince John." He chuckled and shoved the coin into the money sack on his belt. "Every little bit helps," he added.
Little Sister approached him, bristling. "Oh, you put that back!" she hissed.
"And His Majesty also blesses you, Little Sister," the wolf added in falsely gracious overtones, looking down at her.
Tuck hurried forward, shaking his fist. "You thieving scoundrel!" he shouted.
"Now, take it easy, Friar, I'm just doing my duty," the sheriff reasoned, crossing his arms over his chest.
Friar Tuck's hand clenched into fists at his side. "Collecting taxes for that arrogant, ruthless, greedy, no-good Prince John?" His voice rose with every word, echoing off the stones.
The sheriff's brows rose and then lowered into a scowl. "Listen, Friar, you're mighty preachy, and you're gonna preach your neck right into a hangman's noose!" He shook his finger warningly in the badger's face.
"GET OUT OF MY CHURCH!" the friar roared. Using his own large stomach, he shoved the wolf backwards in several strides, the two exiting the chapel and going into the pouring rain outside.
"Oh, dear me…" Little Sister clapped her hands over her mouth. The Sexton, beside her was jumping up and down in rage.
Outside, Tuck had drawn his quarterstaff and was railing against the sheriff. "You want taxes? I'll give you taxes!" He battered at the sheriff's hand that clutched his sword, the wolf retreating under the hail of blows. Seeing an opening as the sheriff's arm flung out, the badger winded the wolf with a sharp poke in the belly, then cracked him over the head.
"Give it to him, give to him, give it to him, Friar!" The Sexton bellowed, with as much force as a mouse could muster, from his place on the chapel steps.
Tuck continued to batter at the Sheriff, who'd managed to collect some of his wits now, and was blocking the blows with his sword. Then the steel weapon flashed, and the quarterstaff was snapped in two, the friar having to duck the next blow over his head.
Trigger, the sheriff's accomplice, decided to step in. Swooping down from his perch, the vulture flew up behind Tuck, yanking his cowl over his eyes. Despite being caught by surprise, the badger still managed to land a blow that knocked Trigger off him, stunned. But now the sheriff came up, a neck iron ready. "You're under arrest for high treason to the crown!"
Tuck still slashed with his broken quarterstaff, hoping to land a blow- but was stopped cold as the iron was clapped upon his neck.
"Oh no!" Little Sister clutched her husband's arm desperately, burying her face in her apron. The Sexton tried in vain to comfort her, but they could only watch sadly as Friar Tuck was led away, and the rain kept pattering down around them.