Broken Arrow

'Neither is being hit in the back of the head with a rifle butt.'

'Granted,' said Tate.

'So, you went off to join Hood's men?'

'Not intentionally,' Tate pointed out. 'But I suppose I did end up getting dragged along for the ride. That's a story for another time, though.'

Gwen was standing by the jeep, cradling Clive Jr, feeding him a bottle of milk. Darryl came over and smiled at the little one. 'So who's this then? He's really cute.'

'This is Clive's son.'

'Clive's…' Darryl frowned. 'But I thought-'

'Darryl, Darryl.' Tate interrupted, limping round the side of the jeep. 'Enough of your questions. We've been on the road a while and there's still food and drink in the back of the jeep. Enough for a celebratory dinner, I'd suspect.'

So that's how they'd spent their first night back; inside The Red Lion, filling their bellies and swapping stories about what had happened in the time since they'd all last seen each other. The remaining members of what had once been Hope had carried on with their lives, but lived in fear that the soldiers might return. That was one of the reasons why they hadn't cleaned up the place much.

'It was a reminder of what could happen again,' Graham told them. 'A reminder not to get taken unawares again.'

'That's why when we heard your jeep… well, you know,' said Andy, now feeling slightly foolish.

'De Falaise is no more,' Tate assured them, nursing a brandy. 'His men have been defeated, his legacy replaced by a new law in the land.'

Gwen pulled a face at this and Tate caught it out of the corner of his eye. As far as she was concerned, she'd got herself out of the mess at the castle. Robert Stokes had been far too late to save her, in every sense of the word.

'Do you really think he can protect us?' asked Darryl, also seeing Gwen's expression.

Tate nodded. 'I think he'll try his best.'

'So what now?' asked Graham, putting his feet up on one of the tables.

It was Gwen who answered, rocking the baby in her arms. 'We start again. We turn this back into the place Clive always wanted it to be. With one or two exceptions.'

Graham frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'It's like you said.' Gwen held Clive Jr in the nook of one arm and picked up the pistol that was resting on the table in front of her. Tate raised an eyebrow, which she completely ignored. 'We're never going to be taken unawares again. This time, we make sure we can defend ourselves. There are more in the jeep; rifles and pistols, plus ammo.'

'What? Gwen, you stole-'

'I borrowed them from the caves,' she said, cutting Tate off. 'Besides, from the sound of things they won't be using them any time soon.'

Many of Clive's ideas had been sound, she went on to explain, but in attempting to start again with a bunch of people skilled in various areas — Graham's knowledge of agriculture, for example; Darryl's handyman ability — he'd left out the very people who could fight off an attack like the one they'd encountered. Now, every single person in New Hope, as Gwen suggested renaming the village, would know how to fight as well. With guns, with their hands. This met with nods of approval from the folk in The Red Lion.

All except Tate.

He'd talked to her about it later, asking her if a community based on violence was what Clive would really have wanted. It certainly wasn't the 'loving atmosphere' she'd said she was looking for when they'd left the castle.

'We also need to be safe, Reverend. I don't want to be reliant on Stokes and his people.'

'You'd rather create a mini army of your own, is that it?'

She shook her head. 'We'll leave the outside world alone, if they'll do the same with us.'

While Tate conceded that she had a point about defending themselves, he still wasn't mad on the idea of these ordinary men and women being on a state of constant alert, trained in using firearms and hand-to-hand combat. 'How is it any different to what you did for Robert?' Gwen had said after she'd asked Tate to teach his self defence tactics.

'That was a war,' Tate replied. 'Desperate times…'

'These are still desperate times, in case you hadn't noticed. What happens if another threat comes, if another De Falaise decides to try and take over?'

He didn't have an answer. But nor would he willingly teach these people how to fight in what he saw as a time of peace. While it was true he'd taught classes before The Cull, Tate was only trying to keep people safe. So what was the difference here? He couldn't explain it; he just knew that it was wrong and it wasn't what he'd come here to do. These people needed spiritual guidance, not advice on how to disable a person using the flat of your hand. Gwen might not have any faith in Robert to police the area, but Tate at least had that.

'Suit yourself,' Gwen said in the end, realising she wasn't going to talk him round.

Thankfully, the task of revitalising Hope had kept a lot of them busy, including Gwen. The first order of business had been to clean up the streets, the cottages — to make it look as good as, if not better than it had been before. Darryl was put in charge of that operation, while Graham and Andy headed up the task of planting crops in time for the coming harvest (and it had been a good one, Tate had to admit). Meanwhile some of the newer people had been sent out to look for more skilled workers who might want to boost their numbers. Gwen had gone on a number of these missions, just as Clive had done before her. Tate found out later that she'd even poached people from other villages: like their doctor Ken Jeffreys, who they'd discovered in a community near Worksop. Somehow Gwen had managed to persuade Ken to join them, leaving behind the people he'd tended to up there. 'I told him we needed him more,' was all Gwen would tell Tate. 'It was his choice.' But something told Tate that the woman hadn't taken no for an answer.

When she went away on these 'head-hunting' trips (which invariably were getting shorter and shorter), Gwen would leave Clive Jr with Tate. It showed how much she trusted the holy man, as she wouldn't let anyone else within a mile of the little one, but for Tate it always proved a difficult undertaking. Many a time he'd look down on the boy and those dark eyes would stare back. He'd shiver then, but couldn't explain why. This was only a child, after all.

But hadn't their very own Jesus Christ once been a baby just like this one, and look how he'd changed the world.

Tate shook his head; these were ridiculous thoughts. The whole next generation of infants had the capacity to change the world: for better or for worse. What made Clive Jr so special?

Yet he couldn't help thinking…

When she returned, Gwen would always go to the child and make a fuss of him. As she'd rest him on her shoulder, whispering to him, the baby would look over and find Tate again. The Reverend would smile when he saw Gwen looking, but it was pasted on. Was that one of the reasons why he'd stayed so close to New Hope? So he could keep an eye not only on the welfare of this community but also so he could watch Clive Jr?

Before they knew it, Spring and Summer were a distant memory, Autumn had come and gone, and Winter had set in. They'd celebrated Christmas, this burgeoning group of people, and Tate had led them all in carols in the renovated chapel. All except Gwen and her son.

'I won't be coming,' she'd told Tate long before the celebration. 'I don't feel it would be right. I don't… I'm just not that religious, especially after…' Gwen's sentence tailed off and he didn't push it.

But her actions, her attitude, troubled Tate more and more as the months crawled by.

That morning, Tate had called round to see Gwen, only to be told she was visiting Clive's grave again; a burial Tate himself had presided over, in the small graveyard behind the chapel, after Gwen had been taken to the castle. Now he returned to see Gwen and her baby, wrapped up warm against the icy chill which also bit into his leg. Clive Jr was in a pushchair, a bobble hat covering his head and thick woollen blankets tucking him in.

Gwen didn't notice Tate's approach until he was almost at the grave — not a stone one, like most of those here, or even marble, but a simple cross made by Darryl. It was all anyone had been able to manage in these times,