CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 

 

REINHART COULDN’T FIGURE it out.

He’d had his scope trained on the city below, moving left and right, taking in as far as a mile ahead of him. None of the teams had reported anything suspicious, all checking in on their half-hourly rota as per normal. Then, suddenly, there he was. The Hooded Man. As large as life, walking up Friar Lane towards the main entrance to the castle. Reinhart blinked several times. He couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. It was as if the man had just appeared out of nowhere.

In reality, he knew Hood must have come out of one of the buildings nearby when he wasn’t looking. But how had he come this far into the city without any of them knowing?

Reinhart watched as the man proceeded slowly up the road, bow and arrows on his back, that trademark hood of his pulled down over his face. There was something dangling at his hip as well, which glinted in the morning sunlight: a sword. So this was the person who had caused them so much trouble? Hardly looked like a threat at all. Why, with one bullet Reinhart could just end his life right there and then. No more problems. De Falaise would probably thank him for it.

Or would he?

The Dutchman knew his superior wanted to do that job personally. Had arranged all this just for that purpose, in fact. Quickly, he snatched up the radio and called it in.

Within seconds De Falaise had answered him. “You are quite sure?”

“I am,” confirmed Reinhart.

“Very well. Keep your eye out for anything else suspicious.” Reinhart heard De Falaise switch to the other channel, ordering his men at the gates not to open fire on pain of death. He was glad now he hadn’t acted so rashly.

By this time Hood had reached the entranceway, passing beneath a tree briefly, then vanishing out of Reinhart’s sight at the gatehouse.

But he heard the knock as the Hooded Man demanded entrance.

 

 

DE FALAISE GAZED down the incline, towards the gatehouse.

They all heard the banging on the old doors, a fist smacking the wood.

He was aware that his free arm was still in the air, frozen at the moment of ending the six prisoners’ lives. Slowly, he withdrew that arm – staying the execution for now. He had other, more pressing things to deal with first.

Even if he hadn’t just aborted the hangings, De Falaise doubted whether the order would have been obeyed. The soldier at the lever was staring down at the gate as well, along with the assembled crowd.

The banging came again.

“Sir...” A crackle over the radio reminded him he still had it in his grasp. “Sir, should we let him in?” This was a soldier at the gate.

The Sheriff brought the radio to his lips. “Yes, of course, you imbecile. Open the gate. This is what I have been waiting for. He is just one man, alone. He is not to be interfered with.”

De Falaise walked to the very edge of the platform, Tanek joining him.

Several men ran out of the buildings at the gatehouse, clambering to undo the huge doors.

“Come on, come on!” De Falaise said under his breath.

The doors opened wide and the Hooded Man stood there, a dark figure in the shadows. He took one step forward, then another. The men at the gate watched him pass.

In spite of the fact the Hooded Man had his bow slung over his back and a sword at his hip, the men there did nothing to take them. They’d been told not to interfere with the visitor, so they didn’t. It wasn’t as if the man could do anything with such antiquated weapons anyway, not before being gunned down.

The Hooded Man strode up the pathway, his gait confident, his head bowed so that they still couldn’t make out much of his features.

He began up the incline, and as he did so De Falaise’s men at the rear of the crowd ran to the edge and trained their guns on him. The Hooded Man gave the war memorial on his right a glance, then continued up the snaking path, until finally he reached the summit – steps led up to the East Terrace on his left, the crowd and the platform on his right.

“So,” shouted De Falaise, holstering his radio, “you finally came.”

The Hooded Man moved forwards, still with dozens of guns trained on him. One false move and he’d be torn to pieces, with no forest to cover him or swallow him up this time. Now he was on De Falaise’s home turf.

A strange thing happened as he walked towards the crowd. To begin with, the nearest few people moved aside – they didn’t really have much of a choice, as the man was coming no matter what. It caused a ripple effect, and soon another path had been created for him up towards the platform. Like a human Red Sea, the people – soldiers and prisoners alike – parted almost as one, creating a safe passageway for him.

The Hooded Man walked through them, looking neither left nor right. But the people stared. If there was to be anything worthy of record today, then it was this – something Jennings also recognised as he snapped off several pictures of the event. De Falaise glared across at him and he lowered the camera slowly.

“Sorry.”

“Take as many as you like when I kill him,” said the Sheriff.

The Hooded Man was almost at the steps to the platform. He paused there, looking up slightly at the wooden construction. At Mark, slumping in his noose; it was the only thing keeping the boy on his feet.

“Do you like my new little toy?” De Falaise asked.

In a low voice, the Hooded Man replied: “Every pantomime villain needs a stage.”

De Falaise pouted. “Why do you not come up onto my stage, then, and participate in the production?”

The Hooded Man accepted this invitation, but drew out the act, taking one step at a time. For De Falaise, the wait was agonising, and he nearly ordered Tanek to put a bolt through the man’s head immediately. But he wasn’t quite finished with Hood yet – not after everything he’d put him through. For one thing, he needed to see his face; needed to look into his eyes. If he was to let some of these peasants go today to tell the tale, he wanted them to spread the word about the death of Hood. How the Sheriff of Nottingham – of Britain, by Christ! – humiliated him first, then shot him... no, wait, slit his throat... no, perhaps strangled him? De Falaise realised he’d given absolutely no thought whatsoever as to how he would actually finish this. How he would see an end to the Hooded Man, who was still wearing that damned piece of clothing even now: his trademark, his mask. Then he remembered the sabre hanging from his hip. It mirrored Hood’s own sword, one which he would never get to use. That was a good way – with Jennings documenting proceedings for posterity.

De Falaise realised that up until now the Hooded Man had stolen most of his thunder. Walking through the streets of Nottingham, only letting himself be seen when he wanted to, that business at the gates, even the crack about pantomime villains. But he would have the last laugh. He would win, just like he always won.

“Good. And now, I think it is time,” De Falaise began. “Time that we all saw what the Hooded Man looked like. Time to see that he is not a legend at all, far from it. He is just a man. Just a man.”

The two faced each other on the platform, just metres apart. De Falaise stepped forwards, hands raised. His enemy had been covered, not only by the men near the platform, but also Tanek with his crossbow and Reinhart above, since Hood had come into the grounds. He felt safe enough approaching his enemy. But before De Falaise could get close enough to do the deed himself, his rival reached up and grasped the sides of the hood.

It fell back, revealing more delicate features than De Falaise had been expecting. Much more delicate – beautiful, in fact. Full lips, chiselled cheekbones, and the deepest hazel eyes he’d ever seen. As the hood dropped a length of long, dark hair fell with it, trailing down the back.

De Falaise removed his sunglasses slowly and dropped them on the platform.

The girl stared at him and said: “I hear you have a problem with strong women?”

The Sheriff looked at Tanek, as if expecting answers from him. “What is this?”

But before anyone could reply, and just as he was turning back to face the woman who had pretended to be Hood – who surely couldn’t be Hood? – the first gunshots were already being fired.

 

 

IT HAD BEEN their signal to move.

Seeing Robert through the binoculars, approaching the gates, knocking on them – knowing most of the eyes at the castle would be on the Hooded Man at the other end of the wall, it was their opportunity to make a break for it. Though Granger had serious doubts about whether Tate would be able to make the short sprint across the street to the Trip to Jerusalem pub; then, skirting the sides of the buildings through the Brewhouse Yard, before breaking cover so that they could gain entrance at the barred door of the caves. It was fortified now, Granger knew, men posted on guard round the clock. But they had the element of surprise on their side.

That had been part of the plan Robert outlined, inspired by Mark’s hidden incursions into the towns and cities. To use the buildings of Nottingham to hide their own journey – going through them rather than around them. “The quickest way between two points has always been a straight line,” Robert had told them. “Like an arrowhead passing through a target.”

The teams had entered during the night, silently picking off or capturing the lookouts placed around the city and leaving some of their men behind to answer the radio check-ins. They’d reported no activity, every half-hour, while the rest of them had made their way through the buildings that hid them. It was just like being back in the forest, except it was concrete and stone now masking their presence rather than wood and foliage. The same principles applied, though. And that psychotic on the roof of the castle, who would definitely be on the case today, wouldn’t see them coming – hopefully – until it was too late.

For his part, Robert had entered the city alone. He would wait until it was time and then make his appearance, at which point they would make their move.

It was risky, crossing the street and heading towards Brewhouse Yard, but worth it if they could get into the castle that way.

Tate had surprised them all, moving pretty sprightly for a man with a stick. Now that would be used as a weapon, the only weapon he would carry, in fact. It was his choice.

Granger wondered if he would have felt better using a rifle at this stage of the operation, but understood the reasons why Robert suggested bows and arrows – so as not to tip off the rest of the soldiers inside the castle too early.

The barred door usually had about three guards on it, but when his group reached the edge of the rock and Granger grabbed a quick look around the corner, he saw that number had tripled today. De Falaise was obviously taking no chances with security – and who could blame him? Granger held up his fingers to show how many guards there were.

The only thing they had in their favour was that to all intents and purposes, none of Robert’s men had joined him on his lonely walk up to the castle. As far as anyone knew, he was all alone.

“When we do this,” Granger whispered, “we have to do it quickly. We can’t afford to have any gunfire alerting the rest of them.”

The men nodded. He felt like he was finally in charge again, at least of his squadron. It was payback time for Ennis and the other Jackals. “Ready?”

More nods.

“Wait a moment,” Tate said, gripping his arm. Granger thought there was something wrong, or someone had seen them, but then the Reverend closed his eyes and said a prayer. He finished it by crossing himself.

“Nice to know we have the big guns on our side,” said Granger, smiling.

“Always, my son,” Tate told him. “Always.”

Granger slipped an arrow into his bow. “Right, let’s do it.” He came out from hiding, loosing the arrow as he ran. It hit the first of the guards, a man he actually recognised now as he approached, as Oaksey – a nasty piece of work. It caught him in the shoulder, though Granger had been aiming lower, and he went spinning back into another guard. Meanwhile, the men behind Granger were all letting off their arrows as well, with varying degrees of success. Some found their homes in legs or sides, others in upper arms. Only one guard fell right away, an arrow in his throat.

None of them had a chance to fire back. They didn’t even have the opportunity to raise their rifles. Now those who were wounded were too preoccupied to think about their guns, crying out in pain at the wounds the arrows had inflicted.

Well, that was a piece of cake, thought Granger, but the extra guards weren’t the only security measure De Falaise had added. There was a flash of a muzzle from inside the barred door. The bullets howled past Granger, taking down a man to his right, killing him outright.

“Get down!” Granger called back, but they were sitting ducks out in the open. Lying down, they couldn’t shoot back with their bows and arrows. Not that they had to anymore. Shots had been fired, the cat was out of the bag, and his men drew their pistols, primed their own rifles – firing back at the door in the cave. Their own bullets sparked off the rocks protecting the men inside, none of them hitting their targets.

Shit! Granger tried to wriggle backwards, but enemy fire chipped away at the floor around him. We’re going to die out here.

So much for having the Big Guy on their side. Just like before, there was nobody who would help Granger except himself.

Even here at the end, when he was a part of this, whatever it was, miles away from his home, he was going to die alone.

 

 

JACK PEERED OUT of the window.

He’d been looking out long before Robbie broke cover, mainly because there was nothing else to do while he was stuck here. They’d entered the building from the rear, as it was directly opposite the metal gates at the side of the castle, and afforded a view of what was happening in the grounds too. Jack had seen the preparations for the hangings, seen the prisoners being led out on the grass, followed by De Falaise and the man he knew as Tanek, dragging Mark up onto the platform. The kid looked as white as milk, hardly surprising after what he’d been through. But, as if that wasn’t enough, they were now fixing to put his neck in a noose.

Jack had almost charged out there with his team right then. Even if he hadn’t had the handful of fighters with him, he probably would have done it anyway. He felt like he could just rip down those metal side gates and take on the whole of De Falaise’s army single-handed at that moment.

But he had to wait for Robbie, had to do this the way they’d discussed. The kid meant more to him than any of them – and vice versa, Jack suspected. He had to give Robbie the chance to act. So what was keeping him?

Finally, just as the six people – including Mark – were about to be executed, Robert appeared. Hood drawn as usual, he’d made his way coolly to the main castle gates. Jack had watched, anxiously, as De Falaise countered the order to hang them, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Here’s where all the fun begins, guys,” Jack said over his shoulder to his team. But as he kept watching, waiting for his cue, he could tell something wasn’t quite right. It was to do with Robbie’s walk, his height. In fact, the more closely Jack looked, the more convinced he became that it wasn’t his leader down there after all, but an impostor.

The question was: Who?

The mystery was cleared up when the person in the hood stepped up onto the platform and revealed her face.

Jack let out a sharp breath. “Mary? What the blazes is she doing in there?” As far as he knew she was with one of the other strike teams about to hit the front wall of the castle, or at least that had been the strategy. When had that changed, and how come Robbie hadn’t informed the rest of them?

Where the devil was he, anyway?

The sound of gunfire broke into his thoughts. Mary or Robbie, it made little difference to the plan – it was still a distraction. What could mess it up completely would be if their men were already being shot at, as appeared to be happening somewhere.

“Time to kick the bad guys’ butts,” he shouted and opened the door. The men behind Jack covered him with a hail of bullets and arrows, as he ran and tossed two grenades at the barricade. The explosion blew the metal inwards, buckling it and causing the side gates to swing back on their hinges. Jack ran towards them, staff in hand. Two soldiers with rifles were firing at him through the smoke, but he dropped to the ground, rolled, and came up sharply – jabbing with his staff to catch one in the face, then swinging it around and knocking the legs out from under the other.

“You’ve just been Jack-Hammered!” he said to the felled soldiers. Then he rose and led his team into the grounds of the castle.

 

 

AT THE SAME time as all this was going on, three more teams were making their assault on the castle from the front, springing from buildings adjacent to the wall.

Reinhart could see them, but couldn’t take them all out at once – especially when he had his rifle trained on the site of the old Middle Bailey. He was only one man. Then there was the explosion, and more of the Hooded Man’s – woman’s? – men were pouring in from the side entrance. It was impossible to keep up with what was happening in so many different locations at once.

You should not be here – any of you! Reinhart shouted inside his own head. He was used to one, two, maybe even three or four targets at once, not so many, from from so many different angles. Luckily there were men on the walls that were shooting at the other assault teams; they could hold them off for a little while.

Just then he heard something – a faint sound in the distance. He turned to see the dot on the horizon... which was reducing the distance between them fast.

And there was the distinctive sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. They must have been keeping low, out of my range, waiting, hiding, before rising up to let themselves be seen, Reinhart thought to himself. Clever. Very clever.

But it did mean that his targeting options were now more simple. He had to focus on the helicopter, which was obviously intended to give support to the men on the ground. They didn’t have anything they could put in the air to meet it and no one else was ready to fire on it. He couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t armed, either.

The choice had been made for him.

Reinhart swung his rifle around. He looked through the scope to see a man in a checked shirt, with a tatty tank top pulled over it, piloting the chopper. The scope was so good that he could even see the man’s ruddy features; he’d spent a lot of time outdoors – a lot of time at Sherwood. But he wasn’t alone. In the passenger seat was another man, younger, wearing the cobbled-together uniform of De Falaise’s men, albeit slightly bloodstained. Another traitor to the cause? Something told him different. It wasn’t just the fact he had a bow and arrow with him, because many of Hood’s men were carrying those ridiculous weapons: it was something about the way he held it, something about the steely look of determination in his eyes.

This was Hood, the real one. Reinhart had never been so sure of anything in his life. He aimed at the man, then remembered De Falaise’s orders about wanting to take out his enemy himself. Were they still relevant now that chaos reigned down there?

And what about afterwards, when they’re all dead and you have to explain to De Falaise how you killed his prize? What will he do to you then? Reinhart thought. Take down the chopper, but don’t kill them. Cause them to make an emergency landing and then radio De Falaise to let him know.

It was a plan indeed. After all, what harm could they do from this distance? Put an arrow in him? Hardly.

Reinhart smiled and closed one eye, aiming for the side of the helicopter. “Time to bring you down to earth now, birdy.”

He squeezed the trigger.

 

 

A COUPLE MORE shots rang out in the cave entrance. Granger saw the muzzle flash and ducked, but nothing flew past him. Raising his head slightly, he heard more bangs – saw the cave light up – and it was then that he realised the shots were on the inside.

Then there was silence.

Nothing moved in the cave entrance, no rifles poked out and took pot shots at the men spreadeagled on the ground.

“What’s happening?” shouted one of the men behind him.

“Not sure,” Granger called back. “Stay down.” He got up, keeping his bow raised in case a sudden volley was let loose – and wondering what good it would do him anyway. Then a figure appeared at the gate, a woman with auburn hair that he recognised.

“Hold your fire,” he called out.

“Gwen!” This was Tate, who was already getting up, albeit with a little difficulty, using his stick for support.

“Reverend?” came the reply.

Granger watched as the woman who had been De Falaise’s love slave worked to open the door with keys she’d taken from the felled soldiers. He motioned his men to move forwards, but still keep low.

When Tate reached the gate, Gwen had it open already. She fell into the holy man’s arms.

“My God, I can hardly believe it. Are you all right?” he asked her, but she didn’t answer. Instead she shouldered the still smoking rifle she’d used to dispatch the men laying on the floor, and pointed up the sandstone steps.

“You can get into the grounds this way – it’s pretty clear. I got rid of any soldiers you might run into between here and there, but can’t say there won’t be more once you leave the caves. They’re bound to have heard the shooting.” When Granger and the other men looked at her blankly, she said. “Look, follow me. But promise me one thing when we get there.”

“What’s that?” asked Granger before Tate could.

She looked at him. “I know you, don’t I?”

“I used to be here at the castle before –”

“Yes, I thought so.” Gwen unslung her rifle, as if to shoot him.

“Wait, wait...” Tate put himself between them. “Things have changed since Granger was in the Frenchman’s army. Unlike the Sheriff, Robert – the Hooded Man – gave him a choice. A real choice,” Tate explained to her. “Granger’s here of his own free will. He’s here to fight De Falaise. So are all these men who once served him.”

“He killed the best friend I ever had,” Granger told her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help you when you were here, but I’d have been killed on the spot. You know yourself that he never needs much of an excuse. But...” He shrugged. “Well, I’m here now.”

“I could have... should have been dead by now,” she said, but Granger saw her eyes soften, and the rifle lowered. “We’ll discuss this later. We’re wasting time.” Gwen turned to lead them up the steps.

“Hold on,” said Tate. “You didn’t finish what you were saying, Gwen. What did you want us to promise?”

The auburn-haired woman cast a glance over her shoulder. “To leave the Sheriff alive,” she said in a serious tone. “At least until I get to him. He’s mine!”

 

 

DE FALAISE HAD flinched when he heard the first round of gunshots. But that was nothing compared to the explosions down below at the castle’s side gates.

The woman in front of him had used the distraction to nock an arrow and aim her bow – shooting at the soldiers closest before they could do a thing. He thought he heard her say something that sounded very much like, “Yay me.” Though some went wide, as if she hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet, most of the arrows found their mark, diminishing the numbers around the platform.

A much smaller arrow whistled past her, and when De Falaise looked he saw that Tanek had taken the shot with his crossbow. But what should have gone into her cranium missed because of the boy. Perhaps spurred on by what was happening, Mark had somehow found the strength to raise his hands, lift his head out of the noose, and then swing over to where Tanek was standing, letting go when he reached the right spot.

The lad flopped onto the larger man rather than landing gracefully, and although he spoilt Tanek’s aim, he couldn’t hang on to him. Mark slid down the length of his body – helped by a shrug from the giant himself.

Just as Tanek was about to stamp on the boy, a second man – who matched Tanek in height – leapt up onto the platform. He was carrying what appeared to be a staff in one hand.

“I’d advise against that, buddy,” said the guy in an American accent. Then he smacked Tanek across the face with a balled fist. Tanek took the blow, his face shunted to the side, though not by much. Then he hit the man wearing the cap, squarely in the chest – and he went back by a couple of steps. It was like watching a colossal clash of the titans.

Tanek raised his crossbow to take a shot at the other giant, but before he could shoot another bolt, the man lashed out with his staff, knocking the weapon to the floor. Tanek ran at him, nimble for a man of his size, and swatted the staff aside. Both fell backwards heavily onto the already creaking platform.

The other villagers waiting to be hanged, seeing now that there was a chance of escape, and a possibility that the soldier with the lever might accidentally get knocked and pull it anyway, followed Mark’s lead. Unhooking themselves with their bound hands, they leapt from their places, fleeing the scene as quickly as they could. The soldier in charge of the lever – seeing no further use for his services – hopped off the back of the platform, swiftly followed by Jennings and his camera.

Which left De Falaise facing the woman, the impostor who had started all this. In the absence of Hood, he decided to take it out on her. Afraid of strong women, indeed! She had simply thrown him momentarily...

He drew his sabre and slashed it through the air, catching her bow and sending it flying out into the panicked crowd. It was difficult to see now who was guard and who was prisoner, mixed up as they were, but every now and again there was a hint of uniform, a rifle barrel to show allegiance.

The woman, unperturbed at losing one weapon, drew her broadsword. She met De Falaise’s strike with not inconsiderable strength. The two of them came together, hilts of their respective blades sliding upwards, and he only just managed to back away before she kicked out – hoping to catch him between the legs.

De Falaise’s face soured.

“Not used to fighting a woman, are you?” she goaded him. “Used to them playing nicely, eh?”

He came at her again, the sabre swishing as it narrowly missed her. She leaned first one way, then another, countering his next swing with one of her own, before hefting the sword and almost opening up his belly.

There was a sound from above, heard even over the rage of gunfire. The thrump-thrump-thrump of a helicopter. It had been so long since De Falaise had heard the noise of rotor blades that he stopped what he was doing and looked. Shots rang out from the rooftop of the castle, hitting the side of the machine, but as De Falaise kept his eyes trained on the scene, someone leaned out of the side of the chopper and attempted to shoot a bow and arrow.

When he looked down again, he saw that the woman was also gazing upwards – mouth wide in surprise. He took his opportunity, to make her as ‘compliant’ as the others females he had known, to knock the fight out of her as someone should have done long ago. De Falaise gripped the handle of the sabre and punched her with the hilt, splitting her lip open with the guard of the blade.

Her cry was music to his ears. She toppled backwards, losing her grasp on her sword. De Falaise grinned wildly. Whatever else was happening around them, he was at least winning this fight...

 

 

“HOW’S THE HEAD?” Bill asked as they’d manoeuvred in and out of buildings, keeping low to avoid detection.

Robert let out a soft moan by way of a reply. Whatever Mary had stuck him with had left one stinker of a headache behind. The last thing he’d remembered was them hugging goodbye, then something in his shoulder – the prick of a needle.

“I’m sorry,” she’d said, as he slumped forward into her arms. But all he could think was: Why are you doing this? Had she been a spy of De Falaise’s all along? Impossible. The Sheriff’s men had been attacking her when they arrived at the farmhouse.

Then there were no more thoughts, just dreams. The same one he’d had many times before, where he’d faced De Falaise. This time the balance was shifting, the darkness was winning.

He’d come to at some point in the early hours of that morning. Sitting up in the tent, he felt his head spin and nausea rise. What had she injected him with, that same stuff from when he’d been shot? Or something else, something stronger she’d found in the supplies?

“There was all kinds of stuff in the medical packs...”

Whatever it was, it packed more of a punch than any fist.

Robert looked down and realised that his clothes were gone again, stolen. He glanced to his right and saw the clipboard with the sketch on Mary had drawn. Him with and without his hood. It was then that he’d had the first inklings of what she was intending to do. “No... Mary, what were you thinking?”

Snatching up his bow and arrows, and the sword she’d given him, he’d staggered from the tent wearing virtually nothing. It didn’t matter, because there was nobody in the camp apart from a sleeping Mills, tied to a tree. All Robert’s men had left to put the plan – his plan – in motion. But they’d left without him!

He looked up at the sky and saw the first hints of light there. Whatever Mary had used had put him out for most of the night. But there was still a slim chance. Robert raced round, grabbing clothing where he could find it – spare bits of uniforms, mainly. Then, though his head was pounding fit to burst, he ran through the forest he knew so well, taking a short cut to try and reach Bill. With a bit of luck he wouldn’t have set off yet.

Robert just about made it, propelling himself from the trees just as Bill was preparing to take off. He’d waved his hands to attract the man’s attention, but when that hadn’t worked, Robert had fired an arrow across the front of the helicopter’s nose bubble. Bill had looked over, mouthing the words ‘Judas Priest!’ when he saw Robert.

“Yer supposed to be in the city,” he said as Robert climbed inside and put on the headset. “Left ages ago.”

“That was Mary,” explained Robert. “I’ll tell you about it when we get in the air.” And he had, waiting until they were well on their way.

Bill tutted. “What’s she playin’ at? Lass’ll get herself killed.”

Robert knew exactly what she was doing, and why, but he didn’t say anything. He just instructed Bill to follow the plan as if nothing had happened. They’d assess the situation when they reached Nottingham.

They came in low over the city. If all had gone well, then De Falaise’s spotters on the ground had now been replaced by theirs, but they couldn’t risk using the radios to check in case frequencies were being monitored.

“We ’aven’t been shot down yet. That’s a good sign,” Bill commented. He kept low until dawn had broken completely, then he lifted the helicopter up above the rooftops and began their run.

By the time they reached the castle, everything was kicking off. “Looks like the party’s already started.” Bill pushed the chopper forward, dipping the nose to gain more speed.

Robert had his face pressed against the glass, looking down at his men attacking on several fronts – Jack from the north; Granger and Tate from the south; the rest from the east. It was the latter who were encountering the most resistance from the soldiers on the walls firing at them. Robert also saw the crowd and the gallows, making out the figures of De Falaise, a huge man who had to be Tanek, a smaller figure who was undoubtedly Mark – and someone dressed in his clothes. “Mary,” he said.

Even as he watched, he saw Jack tackle Tanek – quite possibly the only man who could stand a chance against him at close quarters – then De Falaise and Mary’s duel begin.

There was a heavy ping as a bullet ricocheted off the side of the Sioux. “That were too close for comfort!” Bill exclaimed. “Looks like we got our man there’s attention.”

Robert took his eyes off the scene below and refocused on the castle rooftop. There was the sniper Granger and the others had told him about, and he had his weapon trained on them.

“Think you can keep us alive long enough for me to take him out?” Robert asked Bill.

“Aye.”

Bill zigzagged the chopper and Robert saw now what the man meant about manoeuvrability. If they’d attempted this in any one of the planes from the museum, they’d have crash-landed.

Robert opened the door of the helicopter, wrapping one thigh around the safety belt and using it to hold him while he leaned out. He didn’t dare look down, and kept his mind totally on the job at hand. This was a tricky shot, especially while the chopper was moving, and with the sniper still firing at them, but Robert shut everything else out apart from the gunman and the threat he posed. Time slowed down; he was back in the woods, in the forest, hunter versus prey. Robert slipped an arrow into his bow, drawing it back as far as he could.

Bill helped him by bringing the chopper sideways on, though he couldn’t hold the position for long. It would be a case of who fired first, and who was the most accurate shot.

“Now! Y’have to take it now!” Bill shouted.

Robert let out the breath he’d been holding, then let go of the arrow. At the same time, the sniper fired off another shot.

The sniper’s round grazed the back end of the Sioux as Robert’s arrow rocketed through the sniper’s scope and straight into his eye. The man let out a howl that could be heard above everything else. Flailing around, his hip caught the edge of the roof’s wall and he went over.

“Shot!” Bill clapped Robert on the shoulder as he eased himself back inside.

The helicopter made a strange noise that sounded like a cough. That cough turned into a splutter and Bill wrestled with the controls.

“What’s happening?”

“Must’ve nicked somethin’,” Bill told him.

“Can you get us in lower, I need to help Mary and put those soldiers on the wall out of commission.”

“We’ll be goin’ in lower, all right,” said Bill as the chopper took a turn downwards.

It was the speed they were coming in at that Robert didn’t care for. He glanced at Bill, who threw a look back, and they both focussed their attention on the ground that was coming towards them fast.

 

 

THEY SAW NO more soldiers on their way up through the caves. Only when they reached the exit did some of De Falaise’s men begin shooting.

Granger and his group returned fire, picking them off with bullets and arrows alike. It was Tate who pointed out that the men on the walls needed to be incapacitated first. “Try just to wound or injure if you can. The fewer deaths the better,” advised the Reverend.

“Tell that to them,” replied Granger, nodding at the soldiers with machine guns. “They’re not holding back on our men outside.” But they took it on board and, where possible, fired to debilitate rather than kill.

Gwen ran off ahead on her own, desperate to reach the Middle Bailey and find De Falaise. Tate limped after her, knocking one soldier out with his stick and taking another one down with a series of simple judo moves.

“Gwen, wait! God will provide his own revenge,” promised the Reverend. But just then he got caught in a crossfire of bullets and was hit in the shoulder. Gwen turned and doubled back to check on him. She pressed his own hand against the shoulder and told him to keep pressure on it.

“I have to go,” she told him firmly.

“Gwen...” mumbled Tate, but she was already on her way to meet De Falaise.