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am certain of. My soldiers would not forget to tell me that or they'd swing with the rest of your kind at the weekend.'

Mark gulped. 'He took off.'

De Falaise grabbed the boy by his collar and pressed his face up close. 'Liar! If there's one thing I do know about my nemesis, it's that he wouldn't abandon his people to their fate. It is something I am very much counting on at the moment. Unlike myself, he has principles. But then you'd know that, being so close to him.'

'I-I've never met him…'

That was enough to set De Falaise off. He back-handed Mark across the face, his rings opening up cuts on the boy's cheek. As Mark began to cry, the Sheriff said: 'This will not go well for you if you insist on withholding the truth.'

De Falaise threw a look back over at Javier who was standing uneasily, watching.

'What is the matter, mon ami? You gave us this child, did you not, to do with as we will? Or is that another sin in the eyes of your God?'

Javier didn't know what else to do but shrug. Inside, though, he was beginning to doubt himself again.

'If so, then what we are about to do to the boy will really piss Him off.' De Falaise called for Tanek to approach. 'I suggest you answer my question truthfully this time,' the Sheriff told Mark, 'or I will instruct Tanek to do something thoroughly unpleasant.'

Mark looked from Tanek to De Falaise, then finally across at Javier. His eyes were wet, pleading for help, but Javier kept his mouth shut.

As did Mark – an act for which he paid dearly. Tanek got down on his knees in front of him and held up his leg. Removing the boy's shoes and socks, he placed the heel in one hand and then took out a small needle, barely big enough to sew a button back onto a shirt. Without further ado, he shoved this into a chosen spot on Mark's sole. The boy let out a scream.

Javier cringed.

'You see, Tanek has been trained in both reflexology and acupuncture. Techniques which, in the right hands, can heal or harm. He knows just where to inflict the maximum of pain with the minimum of effort,' De Falaise explained to Mark. 'All the other nonsense with chains and knives and red hot pokers… well, he mainly does that just for kicks.' The Sheriff glanced down at Tanek holding Mark's quivering leg. 'If you'll pardon the pun. So, I ask again – are you a member of Hood's gang?'

Gritting his teeth, Mark shook his head violently. De Falaise nodded at Tanek, who repeated his procedure. Another yelp came, less piercing than the last, but no less disturbing.

It took several jabs with the needle, on both feet, before Mark would admit to De Falaise's accusation, and then all the Frenchman got was a slight tip of the head that could just have been the exhausted boy drifting into unconsciousness. Not that De Falaise would allow that, of course. He was there, all the time, slapping Mark on the cheek to wake him – just in time for another fresh bout of agony.

They continued like this for a good few hours, De Falaise asking questions, Mark refusing to answer at first, then finally giving in when he couldn't hold out any longer. Tanek appeared to be able to reach every single part of Mark's body from that one spot, as Javier noticed arms, shoulders, torso and neck all spasming in turn. Mark eventually told the Sheriff how many men Hood had, what their capabilities were, and about the main members of his team – complete with descriptions of Bill, Tate and newcomer Jack. When it came to the exact location of the camp, however, Mark kept shaking his head.

In the end they called a break. 'My, is it afternoon already?' De Falaise exclaimed, looking at his watch. 'Time flies when you are having such fun, does it not?' He directed this at Javier. 'Are you pleased with our progress, Major?'

Javier, who had witnessed so many shocking things in his time, but nothing quite like the last half a day – a torture that left no physical scars, but had obviously taken its toll on the boy – responded with a weak: 'Y- Yes.'

'Good.'

Food was brought down and they ate in front of a starving Mark, De Falaise biting into chicken legs, wiping the grease from his chin. Tanek tucked into a practically raw steak, dribbling blood as he shoved each forkful into his mouth. A plate of eggs and bacon was placed in front of Javier and though his bonds were cut, for the first time since he'd come back to the castle – for the first time in his entire life – he found his appetite gone. He should have been wolfing down the meal, but every time he looked at it, then at Mark, he felt his stomach give a lurch. It's just because you haven't eaten in so long, Javier told himself. But was it? He thought back to the way Tate had gotten information out of him, a hardened soldier. The holy man had needed no needles, no pain – just the right combination of words, the right things to play on the guilt Javier had buried. Though the Reverend had wanted to do more – and who could blame him? – he hadn't. He'd shown the kind of compassion that was lacking here today. The torture of a boy… a fucking boy!

What had you expected them to do with him? Give him an ice cream? It was that same stupidity which had hoped De Falaise would forgive him for failing to kill The Hooded Man. For singing like a bird about their operations. He'd seen an opportunity for getting back in their goods books and selfishly taken it, relished a bit of revenge on one of the people who'd put him here in the first place.

But Mark wasn't much older than his little brother had been when Javier left for the army. A little brother who was now dead and gone. No matter how tough he acted, Mark was scared and vulnerable.

The image from Dante's Inferno flashed through Javier's mind once more, bodies writhing. He imagined what it would be like to experience what those prisoners were going through for all eternity.

'You want some, eh?' De Falaise called across to Mark. The boy regarded him with disdain.

The Sheriff tossed across the bone from the leg, which hit the boy in the chest and dropped into his lap. Even if he hadn't been bound, there was no meat left on the thing. De Falaise had picked the drumstick clean. 'He'll come for me, you know,' Mark promised them. 'Then you'll be sorry.'

'You don't seem to understand, I want him to come,' chuckled De Falaise. 'But he will be the sorry one.' He turned to Javier. 'What is the matter? Eat, Major. We have a long session ahead of us and must keep our strength up.'

A long session? Only because his 'leader' was watching, he forked some of the egg into his mouth. It tasted like ashes.

De Falaise left them alone for a while – Javier suspected he needed to work off other appetites, though he had no way of proving this and wasn't about to ask – but when he came back, the questioning began again.

'Where is Hood's camp located in Sherwood? Is it central, on the outskirts, where?'

Javier knew the information would do them no good anyway, because even if they were to send a whole battalion in there, the men would come back defeated. It was his turf, and his alone. There were traps, lookouts, probably guards. He was as safe there as De Falaise was in his castle.

Mark held out for a long time and, by the end of it all, he could do nothing but mumble. 'We will get no more from him,' said Tanek. Javier wasn't sure whether the man meant today or ever.

'That is a pity. But we have one last thing we must attend to. I wish to send The Hooded Man a gift, a souvenir if you will. Something belonging to the boy that he may remember him by.' De Falaise went over to where Tanek kept his instruments of torture. He picked up a set of bolt cutters. 'Major, would you care to do the honours?'

Javier touched his chest. 'Me?'

De Falaise nodded forcefully, as if he wouldn't take no for an answer. Javier walked across to him, his movements slow. In the end, De Falaise grew impatient and covered the rest of the distance between them, slapping the cutters into his hand. 'There. Now, which do you think? Finger or toe?'

Javier's mouth dropped open. He could not be serious, surely?

He was. 'I think a finger. We have done enough with his feet already, non?' De Falaise chortled. 'So, which one? Little finger, index, or how about a thumb?'

Javier was rooted to the spot.

'No suggestions? Then I will decide for you. Hmmm… little finger it is, I think.' He took Javier by the wrist and curled his fingers around the handles of the cutters. Then he got hold of Mark's little finger and placed that between the blades. The boy woke up then, realising what was about to happen. He shook his head, mumbling something that sounded like: 'Please.'