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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.