by Paul Kane
"Ah, that's it... " he grunted in the man's ear. "You're mine n-"
Savero was aware of a numbness. Something warm and wet was leaking into the crotch of his trousers, and for a bizarre second he thought he might have somehow wet himself. But a wave of pain was spreading outwards; enough for him to let go of his captive. Savero looked down and saw the knife sticking out of him, right in the 'V' of his legs. It was almost as if the sight, the knowledge of what had happened made things so much worse, caused the pain to increase a million fold.
Savero dropped his own knife and his hands went to the other one. He thought about it, but daren't touch the thing, let alone pull it out. He saw the faces in the crowd, the 'thank God that's not me' expressions, and he stared at the hooded man, uncomprehending. It was one thing to kill him, to die in battle - it was quite another to do this to someone.
Savero staggered a couple of feet, but the pain when he moved was tremendous. He knew the blood was draining out of him rapidly - the femoral artery sliced. Wincing, he dropped to his knees, then fell over sideways. Tears were streaming from his eyes.
The shape of the man standing over him was indistinct, the pain that had been so sharp a minute or two ago was now dull and throbbing. So this is what it's like, Savero thought to himself. In a funny sort of way he welcomed death, for what kind of a shameful life would he be able to lead after what had happened.
Something De Falaise had said that first time they met came back to Savero. "You have balls..."
He would have laughed, or at least chuckled at the dark irony, had he been able.
Robert took no great delight in what he'd done.
It had been kill or be killed, and once again his survival instinct hadn't allowed him to give up. Breathing hard, he gazed down at the dead man, curled up on the road in a foetal position, then at the people who'd been watching the fight. Their mouths hung open. They'd never seen anything like it, not even during The Cull. He knew he had to say something - anything - to break the silence.
"Check the back of the trucks, see what we've got... and where we need to return it."
They all continued to gawp at him. He'd said only recently that he didn't want to be like De Falaise, couldn't rule through fear, and yet here they were all so scared of him they could barely move. Thank goodness Mark hadn't been here to see this; Robert was grateful he'd got him to see sense about staying out of harm's way, if only this time. The kid had probably seen worse, out there on the streets, but still...
His opinion of you matters, doesn't it? Go on, admit it.
"Didn't you hear me? Check the truck, I said. We have work to do." This time they snapped out of their reverie, welcoming the chance to leave the scene. Robert nodded at Granger, who'd been the bait in this particular hunter's trap. "You did well," he told him.
The young man blinked and nodded back. "Thanks."
"You're in charge of talking to the men from this unit - finding out whether we can trust them or not, weeding out the bad bets."
Robert had to admit, he still hadn't been a hundred per cent sure about his men until they'd come out from behind their hiding places, until Granger had pushed the commander's arm when the man was firing at him. Now he knew he'd been right to do what he did, freeing them, giving them the option of walking away or teaming up with him. He'd seen wayward kids like Granger before on the beat, who needed to be shown trust before they could trust. Given the right circumstances - and motivation - they could be turned around.
But that hadn't been what changed Robert's mind. Nor that little pep talk Tate had given him, right after he broke down in the face of those flames.
(All he'd been able to see was his house burning, his wife and son being cremated inside, his injured dog crawling out of the door on fire... Jesus, it was enough to make anyone seize up, wasn't it?)
Though Robert had to declare that something Tate mentioned sparked the turnaround. He asked him what Robert's family would have thought, what they would have wanted him to do...
"Read to me some more, Dad... please..."
It was then that it all fell into place for him. It was all connected, he saw that now. Even down to how he'd chosen to dress, where he'd picked to hide away from the world.
"Read it to me again, read the part about where he robs from the rich to give to the poor."
Somebody, somewhere, was playing a game with him - providence was having its own little joke. Robert Stokes's life was now the equivalent of a storybook. Only an idiot couldn't spot the parallels, and only an idiot couldn't figure out what he had to do next.
"Read the bit where he defeats the evil Sheriff..."
What would his family have wanted him to do? Joanne would have wanted to keep him safe, of that he was certain, but she was also so very proud of what he did.
"You help people. It's what you do, it's who you are, even without the uniform."
As for Stevie, he'd been trying to tell Robert all along.
"Read to me, Dad, go on."
That's when he'd got up and walked across to the captured men. That's when the decision had been made, not even really by him, but by two people he'd loved so dearly and lost so suddenly. If he was to wait it out, bide his time until he could be with them again, then he might as well do some good while he was at it. But if Robert was going to bring down this new 'Sheriff of Nottingham' he'd need men. And he was banking on the fact that Granger and his lot could be persuaded to switch sides.
Some had been unsure, of course, and some Granger had marked out as being dangerous; the ones who hadn't needed any threats to throw in with De Falaise. Robert would still let them go, in spite of Bill and Tate's protestations. He was, after all, a man of his word.
The others had told him all they could of De Falaise. What the set-up was like at the castle, what his plans were - which Robert had pretty much guessed anyway - and roughly how many troops he had. The answer to that one was too many, not all of which could be relied on to do what Granger had done, especially in the core group that De Falaise had brought with him or had bribed with promises of power and fortune.
Which brought them to Javier.
"Let me talk to him," Tate had practically begged Robert. "I can get you all the information you need."
He'd hesitated, taking note of Bill's shaking head, before finally relenting and giving the Reverend his time with the man. Tate promised not to hurt him... much, though it was very hard to tell whether the holy man was serious or not. They'd left Tate all alone with the bound Javier, splashing water in his face to wake him up.
Three hours later, Tate had fetched Robert. As good as his word, there hadn't a mark on the prisoner that hadn't been there before. "He's ready to talk now," Tate said. Which the fat man begrudgingly did, detailing De Falaise's operations that he knew of, routes back to the castle, routes the patrols took in the area, villages they were planning on targeting in the near future.
"How did you do that?" Robert asked him later on.
Tate merely smiled. "I can be very persuasive, as you know. I also have God on my side. There were just the three of us there in that forest today."
"Faith again."
"Faith," Tate confirmed. "It can move mountains. Ultimately Javier is more frightened of divine retribution than anything De Falaise might do to him."
Robert shook his head. "Do you ever think that's what all this might be about?"
"Sorry?"
"The virus. Divine retribution, for 'man's sins'? After all, God didn't do much to stop it, did He?"
"Perhaps. All I know is that He is at work here, in you and in me. We have to trust that He knows what he's doing."
Pursing his lips, Robert held his tongue and walked away, unwilling to get into another debate with the holy man. He had too much to do. For starters, he had a trap to set. They'd tackle one of De Falaise's supply lines, striking where it would hurt the most (especially, as it turned out, in the case of the Italian in charge).
"There's something else you should know,
" Tate called after him. "My friend, Gwen, who was taken from Hope. She's still alive and in the castle, a plaything of De Falaise."
Robert paused, head turning to the side. "Then you pray for her, Reverend. And while you're at it, pray that we succeed in our endeavours." He'd continued walking. Robert hadn't wished to sound callous, he just didn't see what he could do about the woman right now. One step at a time was how they'd have to take it, and that meant not rushing to attack the castle if it was as heavily fortified as Granger and his men had described.
Once this first step, first attack, had been figured out, he'd ordered that Javier and the ones who wanted out - or Robert didn't want in - to be driven back to the outskirts of Nottingham in their own vehicles, then sent on their way. It amounted to about four or five men in all.
"I reckon you're makin' a mistake there," Bill had informed him when he learnt of the releases. "Why should we let 'em go?"
"What do you suggest," said Robert, "hold them prisoner here, feed them and keep a watch on them in case one escapes and kills us all? Or maybe just murder them in cold blood?"
"They're bound to be spotted by patrols and they know too much about where we are."
"They know we're in the woods, in the forest. De Falaise knew that already. Don't you see that this sends him a clear message?"
"Aye, come and get us."
"Let him come," answered Robert firmly. "We'll be ready."
One of his men interrupted Robert's thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He'd found a list of villages that this unit had passed through on its expedition. Robert had heard of a lot of them and Bill knew the rest. In any event they had a map they could follow, replacing what had been stolen from people in those communities. It would be a long job, but splitting up would make it easier. And at least the people out there wouldn't starve. Then they'd do the same again with any other supply lines to the castle.
"Right then," Robert said. "Let's get all this stuff back to where it belongs."
In his head he heard that voice again: "Read it to me again, read the part about where he robs from the rich to give to the poor..."
It hadn't come as a total shock, of course.
News about the bound men walking through the streets of Nottingham, had been radioed in from look-outs near the train station more than fifteen minutes ago. Orders had come back to leave them be, and so they'd walked past the red brick of the Gresham Hotel, over the bridge, past derelict shops, making their way up towards the centre of the city.
So no, it hadn't come as a complete surprise to De Falaise, who was now standing on the roof of the castle, but it was still a somewhat unexpected turn of events. To his left, the Dutchman, Reinhart, was on one knee, leaning over the side. De Falaise had swapped his sunglasses for powerful binoculars and was watching the tiny group of men shuffling along the road towards the Britannia Hotel, wrists tied in front of them: trussed up like Christmas turkeys. All that was left of the assault team he'd sent to dispose of the hooded man.
Right at the very front was his Major, Javier, looking like the sorriest turkey of the bunch. Around his neck was a crudely painted sign. The message read: 'You Missed'. How could the simpleton have let this happen? De Falaise stamped his foot., his ringed fingers tightening around the binoculars. Reinhart watched through the scope of his sniper's rifle.
"He failed me," griped De Falaise. "And I don't like to lose."
"What would you have me do?" asked Reinhart.
De Falaise thought about this for a moment. "Wing Javier somewhere... uncomfortable, but not fatal. Kill the rest." Before the man could fire, De Falaise laid a hand on his shoulder. "No, wait, shoot the others first. I want Javier to see them die."
The Dutchman closed his left eye, centring a soldier's head in the crosshairs. He pulled the trigger as De Falaise observed. The soldier carried on walking for a second, then stumbled and fell, the contents of his skull leaking out onto the road.
The other men only really began to register what was happening when two more of their team went down. They ran then, not so much turkeys now as soon to be headless chickens. Javier looked around him, screaming as more men were picked off.
"What is he doing?" asked De Falaise, watching as Javier dropped to his knees "Is he praying? I don't believe it, he actually is! How pathetic."
"What should I do?" Reinhart enquired.
"You have your orders.
The Dutchman picked a spot on his target, the side of Javier's head. It would take all of his skill and precision; very delicate shooting indeed. Reinhart blew away the Mexican's right ear. Though neither of the men on the roof could hear his cries from this far away, they almost felt they could. Javier clutched at the red mess the bullet had made, hands shaking.
"No, it is far too late to repent, my friend," De Falaise said in hushed tones, then he radioed the troops he had on the ground, ordering them to bring the injured Javier to him at the castle..
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It came again, the dream of water and fire.
Of De Falaise and his men.
But something was different this time, something that gave Robert hope. When the soldiers appeared brandishing their weapons, when De Falaise began his walk across the lake, Robert realised he was not observing it alone. Not only was Mark by his side, Robert was joined by others, too. Bill was there, as were Tate and Granger, plus another man that wasn't so well defined. Behind them all stood a further line of defence, the new recruits who had chosen Robert over their former master. De Falaise's face fell when he saw this united front. He was no longer dealing with just one rebel, but a group.
It came to the point in the dream where the Frenchman was about to shoot Max - but Robert was ready for him this time. Hands tried to stop him, but he ran across the lake of flames - towards De Falaise - the burning liquid somehow solid beneath his feet. Max was morphing into the stag once more, but the stag was also transforming. It was like watching one of those old Universal movies where the wolfman changed in dissolves under the influence of the full moon. The stag was taking on human features. De Falaise appeared totally oblivious to this - still intent on shooting the creature.
"Stop!" shouted Robert, notching an arrow. For some reason he felt sure that if the stag-man died, everything would be lost.
De Falaise laughed. Then pulled the trigger.
Robert could see the bullet leaving the chamber, as though it moved in slow motion, but he was powerless to stop it. The stag had changed into a man, though it still wore its antlers. The creature turned just before the bullet struck.
Robert drew in a sharp breath when he recognised the face. The features were his own.
He recoiled in terror, the bow falling from his grasp as he witnessed his death at De Falaise's hands. But more than that, Robert was now the one facing the bullet, was now in its path, helpless to get out of its way.
Time speeded up and the darkness was deafening.
Robert was being shaken.
"Wake up—"
Robert was not only awake, he was also holding his knife blade to this person's throat. He tried to focus on whoever had interrupted his sleep. It was one of his new 'guests', a member of Granger's old gang. After seeing what Robert had done to their unit, anyone would have thought he'd take more care. Robert asked him what he wanted, lowering his weapon.
"S-S-Someone." stuttered the lad, eyes still on the knife. "Mark says he saw someone enter the forest, told me to get you quickly."
Robert let him go, pulling the weapon away. "Tell him I'm coming." He watched the envoy scramble back and out of the tent, glad that he hadn't accidentally hurt him. But he still wasn't used to having people around, even after a week or more and a move deeper into the mature woodland areas of the forest. It would take a while to adjust.
The suggestion had been put forward that they make use of Rufford Abbey or the visitors' centre at Sherwood itself - at least then there would be a roof over their heads. Robert had reminded them that they would be one of the
first places De Falaise's troops would search, and would be infinitely harder to escape from.
"You want a siege on your hands, that's the right way to go about it," he told them. "Here you have cover, roughly 450 acres of forest, and you have the element of surprise. It was how I got the jump on you lot, remember?"
In truth that centre held too many memories for him. It was one of the occasional bank holiday haunts he and Stevie would visit: going in the shops and buying souvenirs; taking photos; walking the trail to see the Major Oak, its branches being held up by poles now because of age. His son would marvel at the history connected with it, would imagine the outlaws hiding their stolen goods there before tackling the Sheriff's men.
Robert never thought that he'd be doing it for real.
He grabbed his bow and arrows. Walking through the camp he saw Granger and some of the others asleep in the army-issue sleeping bags from the trucks, the blackened remains of the fire from the night before now a charred heap. He'd show them how to build their own shelters at some point, along with a few other things, but for now he had other matters to deal with. Like the figure Mark had spotted. The kid was turning into quite the little lookout.
Seeing Mark, Robert went over to him.
"What is it?"
"A bloke, really big. He came into the forest not long ago."
"Did he see you?"
"Naw, I kept well away. Looked like he meant business by the way he was sneaking through the trees."
"Was he armed?"
"Couldn't really tell." admitted Mark. "What're you thinking?"
"I'm thinking the Frenchman has sent an assassin. He couldn't get me by brute force, so he's trying the complete opposite. All right, take me to the last place you saw him."
