Thornton greeted Friar Tuck at the door to Locksley Manor, regretfully telling him, "I am sorry, but your dogs must remain outside."

"They've been in this house before," Tuck jovially reminded Locksley's reeve and steward, remembering a day long ago when Robin's infectious laughter rang out at seeing Tuck's three dogs race up and down his staircase.

Thornton glanced over his shoulder, leaned close to Tuck, then lowered his voice to comment, "The current master does not share the rightful one's good and generous nature. Be careful what you say, or even what you hear."

"But I am here to take confession! How can I guard what I hear?"

"That is what alarms me," Thornton warned, as the two men climbed the stairs toward Gisbourne's bedchamber. "Cut him off if he begins to reveal too much. He may come to regret telling you, and have you silenced."

"A man of the cloth?"

"Your vocation may save you, for he respects authority, at least those whom he believes serve his interests. Just be careful, Friar, if you value your life."

Tuck crossed himself, then waited while Thornton knocked respectfully on the door to his master's bedchamber.

"What?" bellowed Gisbourne's voice, through the door.

"My lord, Brother Tuck has arrived," Thornton answered back, respectfully.

"Then show him in," Gisbourne's voice snarled back.

"He's a joyless one, isn't he?" Tuck muttered quietly to Thornton. "I pray his confession might ease his soul, and lead him toward the path of righteousness."

"Amen to that," Thornton agreed, just before pushing open the bedchamber door.

Thornton bowed his head to the figure sitting up in the massive bed, then departed, leaving Tuck alone with Gisbourne. Treading carefully, Tuck made his way through the outer chamber, crossing further into the rooms, toward the bed.

It felt unreal, walking through these rooms that ought to be housing Robin! Tuck couldn't suppress a vivid memory of a mischievious but good hearted ten-year-old boy, forced to move from his child's room into this suite and take up a man's responsibilities, the day his lord father died, leaving him an orphan. How brave and stoic the lad had been that day, how determined to prove himself a worthy lord to his people! How small he'd appeared, standing beside the heavily carved furnishings of his ancestors.

Those same furnishings still decorated the rooms, Tuck noticed. To all intents and purposes, very little had changed in the grand bedchamber. Black and yellow crests hung where green and gold used to, but other than that, Tuck could discern no other changes. Yet how different everything seemed!

...

Gisbourne felt uncomfortable carrying out this scheme of the sheriff's. He felt his soul imperilled by making a false confession, no matter how stupid he found the fat monk.

He hated this jolly, overfed man of the cloth. Hated him for the childlike smile he always seemed to wear, for the aura of tranquilly that surrounded him! Just such a fool would follow Hood, misled by his so called acts of charity! The England Gisbourne and the sheriff were building held no place for such fools! And if "Father Dumpling," as Vaisey called him, was indeed Hood's spy, he deserved to die!

But first, they would use him to trap and capture Hood. Such a trusting fool should be easy to trick.

Gisbourne cleared his throat and began.

"I wish to make confession," he said, his voice low and breathy.

"Very good, my son," Tuck told him, sincerely praying that he could help lead Gisbourne away from sin.

Gisbourne found it next to impossible to continue. He was tormented by his sins, but never unburdened his soul by confession. Even this mock confession was too much, and he chafed under it, growing enraged by his own feelings of weakness and vulnerability.

"Go on," Tuck advised him gently. "You will be forgiven, no matter the crime. The Lord has already paid the penalty for all our sins."

Blocking out his feelings, Gisbourne spat out the words the sheriff had told him to say.

"I have a son," Gisbourne confessed. "I have not done right by him. I wish to make amends, and provide for him now."

Tuck was amazed. Was Gisbourne speaking of Bat? That certainly sounded like good news for the boy!

"That sounds like a worthy notion," Tuck prompted. "What plans have you made for the boy?"

"I can't locate him!" Gisbourne answered. "Hood's got him, in the forest! If I could find him, I would place him in Kirklees Abbey, and pay for his keep and education there."

"That would be most generous," Tuck approved. What a marvellous opportunity for the boy! Tuck couldn't wait to tell Robin. "Do you wish to unburden anything else from your soul, my son?"

Without meaning to, Gisbourne, usually so cautious, blurted out, "I have committed grave sins. I live in hell, with demons feeding on my brain."

Tuck silently prayed for Gisbourne's soul, grieved for the man's plight, willing him to continue speaking.

But Gisbourne caught his breath, angry that he had revealed himself, especially to one in league with Hood!

"You know where Hood hides, don't you?" he sneered, unable to control his fury.

"I know he hides in Sherwood," Tuck admitted, thankful Robin had blindfolded him for his own protection, before leading him to his camp. "But back to your confession. Take off the yoke of sin, my son, and God will give you rest."

Despite the arrow wound to his thigh, Gisbourne rose from his bed and stood over the friar, puffing out his chest in a threatening gesture.

"I am tired of do gooders shielding him!" he bellowed. "Hood, and anyone who aids him, deserves to die! You will tell me where he's hiding, or suffer for it!"

A chorus of barking broke out in the yard below, as Tuck's dogs sensed his danger. All three dogs burst through the door of the manor and bounded up the stairs, running to protect their master. Gisbourne's guards followed in breathless pursuit.

Tuck had closed the bedchamber door to provide privacy for the confession, and he could hear his dogs barking and leaping upon it now, scratching on the door in their efforts to come to his protection.

"My lord," Gisbourne's sergeant called through the door, "we can't stop them! The beasts bear their fangs, whenever we get close!"

"Spear them!" Gisbourne bellowed.

"No, please, my lord," Tuck begged. "I can quiet them, I assure you." Lifting his voice, he cried out, "Brownie! Thor! Caesar! Quiet! Be still!"

Immediately, the dogs stopped barking and sat outside the door, their tongues panting as they awaited their master's further orders.

"They've quieted, my lord," Gisbourne's sergeant called. "We'll take them outside."

"No," Gisbourne ordered. "Open the door. Let them come in."

Tuck gulped, then uttered another silent prayer.

The door creeked open, and Tuck's three canine companions bounded to his side, nearly knocking him over as they leapt upon his chest in the sheer joy of being once again in his presence.

"Fine company you keep," Gisbourne sneered. "Dogs and outlaws. Both covered in fleas."

"Will there be anything else, my son?" Tuck continued bravely, now that his dogs lay quietly at his feet. "I do not believe you finished your confession."

Gisbourne narrowed his eyes, leaned down, and pressed his face up against Tuck's jowls. Tuck's dogs snarled threateningly under their breath, but Tuck silenced them with a command.

"You are the one due to confess now," Gisbourne sneered. "Tell me where Hood lurks, and you and your dogs can go free."

"And if I cannot?" Tuck asked.

Without warning, Gisbourne raised his sword and drove it through the heart of the closest dog.

"Caesar!" Tuck cried, dropping to his knees beside the dog's blood soaked body.

The two remaining dogs began to whimper, and Tuck lifted his face to Gisbourne's, staring at him in stunned disbelief.

"Now," Gisbourne sneered, "tell me where Hood is, before I bloody my sword again."

"I told you, Sir Guy," Tuck stammered, fighting back tears from his eyes, "I have no idea where he makes his camp! Somewhere deep in Sherwood! That is all I know!"

Again, Gisbourne raised his sword, driving it into a second dog.

"Thor!" Tuck screamed, crying wildly now.

"Brownie, go!" Tuck ordered. "Run!"

Brownie, whimpering at the loss of his companions, rose to his feet the rushed out of the chamber.

"Stop that dog!" Gisbourne bellowed, sending a host of men after the brown, fleeing dog. "If his fat master won't lead me to Hood's camp, perhaps the hound will!"

But Brownie was too fast. Charging through Gisbourne's men, he bolted down the stairs and leaped through an open window, darting through the village and off towards the forest.

"Get after him!" Gisbourne shouted. "Don't let him out of your sight! He'll run to Hood, and then, we'll have him!"

Gisbourne's men grudgingly obeyed. They knew what would meet them should they venture too far into Sherwood. It was all very well for Guy, staying at home, but they had no desire to be met by a shower of grey goose fletched arrows!

"Thornton," Gisbourne continued raving. "Clean up this mess! Throw these mutts in the yard, and let the carrion birds eat their flesh! And get their blood off my floor! As for you, Father Dumpling, you're free to go. Don't forget my change of heart about my...my son. I mean to do right by him, don't forget."

Tuck didn't feel he could move. "May I please, at least, take my dogs away, and bury them?" he asked, weeping.

"Tell me where Hood is, and then, maybe, we can make a deal," Gisbourne sneered.

Tuck feebly shook his head. What monster was this, living in Robin's place? This was the man Marian had nearly married? Thank God she hadn't gone through with it!

Tuck's Christian mercy was at an end, temporarily at least. Rising slowly to his feet, he silently bid the bodies of his dogs goodbye, then shuffled out the door of Gisbourne's room.

"Goodbye, Sir Guy," he stammered. "May God have mercy on your blackened soul. And if demons do indeed feed on your brain, you have only yourself to blame."

...

(Note: I did not make up the story of Tuck having faithful dogs as companions, nor Gisbourne killing them to try to find out Robin Hood's location. This is part of the stories that has been told in many versions.)