Broken Arrow

and it was more than some poor people had been granted. He heard Gwen talking to her baby, then to the grave, before waiting — as if expecting an answer from the man buried there. It was only when she heard the crunch of snow under Tate's feet that she stopped.

'You shouldn't be out here, Reverend,' she told him when she did finally look round. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement. Was she telling him he wasn't welcome? 'It's treacherous underfoot.' Gwen nodded at his stick.

'I'm not an invalid,' he pointed out. Far from it; even with his disability Tate could put an able-bodied person through their paces. 'I'll be all right. I'm more concerned about your welfare.'

'Me?' She looked mystified. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Tate let out a sigh. 'This isn't healthy, Gwen. It never has been.'

'What, visiting the man I loved? Clive Jr's father?'

'That's not what I'm saying and you know it. You're not facing… certain facts.'

Again, she gave him a confused look.

'Facts like-' Tate was interrupted by someone shouting from the gate. It was Andy. He was holding a different rifle to the one he'd brandished when they first arrived, one of the automatics Gwen had taken from the castle.

'Someone's coming,' he yelled.

Tate and Gwen exchanged glances, then set off down the path. The holy man had nearly stumbled, but only in his haste to reach the street. He saw Gwen take out her pistol, ready to protect her child, and it didn't even seem strange this time — that's how much she'd altered. Gwen with a gun seemed like a natural thing.

They joined Andy out on New Hope's main road and he pointed. 'There.'

Tate squinted. There was a lone figure heading up the street on horseback. The Hood pulled down over the figure's face betrayed his identity. As if that wasn't enough, the bow and quiver on his back provided more evidence. And though you couldn't tell for sure just by that — look how Mary had fooled everybody on the day of the attack — something told Tate that this was indeed the man he'd first encountered in Sherwood Forest some time ago.

'You can put those weapons away,' he told Andy and Gwen, then he hobbled up the street towards the horse.

The rider brought his steed to a halt, then climbed down. As Tate drew near, the man pulled down his hood and the Reverend saw he'd been right. It was Robert Stokes, but he looked older, more tired than he had the last time he'd seen him.

'Hello, my son. What brings you to New Hope?'

'Trouble.'

'Yes, I can see that by the bruise on your face.'

'Could someone fetch my horse water and hay?'

'Andy,' Tate said, waving his hand for the man to approach.

Robert handed over the reins. 'Much appreciated.'

'I'm surprised to see you travelling alone,' Gwen said by way of greeting. As she pushed the buggy towards Robert, she tucked the gun back in her jeans. 'Someone of your importance, I'd have thought you'd have two or three men with you.'

'I don't need any protection. I never have.' There was something in his tone which said she'd hit a nerve.

'You say there's trouble, Robert,' Tate said. 'What kind?'

'Can we talk inside, Reverend? Somewhere a bit more private?'

'This isn't the castle,' Gwen informed him. Tate balked at her rudeness. 'It's my village. You can talk in my house if you're talking anywhere.'

Robert nodded. 'Understood. So lead the way, we've got a lot to discuss.'

Robert sat down at the kitchen table while Tate put a kettle on the range.

Their visitor had taken off his bow and quiver but kept them close — and he kept the sword he always wore now at his hip, even though it stuck out behind his chair. Looking at the scene, Tate mused what a curious blend of ancient and modern it was, perhaps that was the way of the future after all?

Gwen, having placed Clive Jr in his playpen, leaned against the edge of the work surface, her arms folded. The silence was deafening, and in the end it was Gwen that broke it. 'So, how are things back up at the castle?'

'Ticking over,' Robert replied.

'You managing to keep on top of everything, keeping the area safe?'

'I'm working on it.'

'Quite a task you've set yourself, though. And quite an ego to think you can right the wrongs of the whole world.'

'Gwen, that's not fair,' Tate said.

'Let her speak, Reverend. She's obviously got something on her mind.'

Gwen's smile was tight. 'I'm just making idle conversation.'

'Those heavy duty guns you and your friend were waving around, they looked awfully familiar.'

'How's Mary?' Gwen said quickly, changing the subject. 'I liked Mary. She was good to me when I had Clive Jr.'

'Ah yes,' said Robert, glancing over at the baby. 'Clive Jr.'

The whistling of the kettle broke in, and moments later Tate was announcing that tea was ready.

'No cucumber sandwiches for our guest?' Gwen tutted. 'I'm surprised at you.'

'Look, what exactly is your problem?' Robert said.

'What's my problem? I'll tell you what my problem is-' Gwen was about to say more when Tate called for her to fetch the tea, his voice firm. When she placed the tray down on the table, the china rattled.

'You two knock yourself out,' said Gwen, then she picked up Clive Jr and left the room.

Tate eased himself down on the chair opposite Robert, rubbing his temple where he felt the beginnings of a headache. 'I'm sorry about that. She's been through a lot.'

'We all have. It's no excuse.'

'I know. I know. But, well, seeing the man you love get shot right in front of you and then… Well, I don't need to refresh your memory about what that creature did to her.'

Robert shook his head. 'She blames me for not coming sooner, doesn't she?'

'I think that's part of it, yes.'

Tate suddenly recalled the moment Mary told them Gwen might still be alive.

'Are we finally going to do something about this Sheriff now, once and for all? Are we finally going to go in there and get those people out?'

'Like your Gwen, you mean?'

Yes, like Gwen, who he'd failed so spectacularly. Who Robert had failed, too.

'So,' said Tate, drinking his tea and feeling the headache waning slightly, 'are you going to tell me what this is about?'

Robert explained that they'd been tracking members of a cult, how they painted their faces like skulls and were growing in numbers. How he and his men had caught a few of them. 'They're incredibly dangerous, intent on killing whoever they come across. I really need you to come back with me and-'

'Robert, I'm afraid my fighting days are over. I never really wanted them to begin in the first place. If circumstances hadn't forced me to…' Tate didn't feel like he could continue with that line of argument.

But Robert was shaking his head. 'You misunderstand me, Reverend. I need your help figuring out the religious side of all this, maybe to sit in while I question the prisoners. I'm afraid I'm in over my head where all that stuff is concerned.'

Tate could feel the headache building again, this time with a vengeance.

'Take this…' Robert reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. 'I got Mary to draw it, based on our descriptions of the tattoos the men have on their foreheads. I didn't want her getting too close to any