Broken Arrow

CHAPTER TEN

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?"

If he'd been asked that once today, he'd been asked it a million times. By Mary — of course — by Jack, and now the one person he'd thought would be guaranteed to be on his side: Mark. This was for his benefit, after all.

Wasn't it?

Mostly. Robert was finally beginning to concede that the boy was getting older, that maybe it was time he started his training in earnest — and that didn't just mean messing about on the Bailey with Jack and the other men. It meant taking him out to where he himself had learnt his skills.

Where Robert had become The Hooded Man.

"Sherwood? Are you serious?" That had been Mary. "You can't go off again now, with everything that's happening."

Jack had broached similar concerns. They were only just starting to figure out the cult, with Tate's help, and for their leader to keep vanishing like this…

"I'm not vanishing. You know where I'll be if you need me," he argued. The first trip to Hope had been essential. This one they really didn't understand, and his flimsy explanation about Mark hadn't cut it. Especially after he'd been the one who kept knocking the boy back, telling him he wasn't ready.

Robert couldn't blame them for being freaked out, not after the incident at The Britannia. Mary had only just been able to save Geoff Baker's life. She'd set to work straight away after getting there, seemingly taking the dead body slumped across the table in her stride. Then she'd had Geoff moved somewhere they could treat him properly. Mary hadn't even acknowledged Robert or Tate's presence. Though that was understandable because she had her hands full, Robert still had a niggling feeling she was punishing him.

Later, when Geoff was stable — though there was still a good chance he wouldn't see the next dawn — Mary had demanded to see Robert and Tate alone in one of the small conference rooms at the hotel. That was when she'd asked them what they thought they were playing at, interrogating a prisoner without her present, with only Lucy on hand to deal with the medical side of things. "What were you thinking?" she'd asked, pacing up and down in front of them.

"There wasn't time, Mary," Robert told her.

"No time to let me know you were back, either," commented Mary with a sour face. "But time to send for me when Geoff had been attacked?"

"Lucy had given the Servitor-"

"The what?"

"It's what they call themselves. Anyway, Lucy had given him something to calm him down. He was secured. We didn't think-"

"No, you didn't, did you?" Mary sighed. "Look, some people's reactions to any drugs can be totally unexpected. Here, the Chlorpromazine obviously had exactly the reverse effect to calming him down."

Tate, seated on one of the chairs, was tapping his stick with a finger. "Can I just ask, Mary — and by the way, it's nice to see you again." His smile was weak, but sincere. "Could that same side-effect have made him stronger?"

"It's possible, yes," Mary admitted. "And it's nice to see you again, too, Reverend. I wish it was under better circumstances."

When they'd finished going over what had taken place, possible causes and reasons, and coming to no definitive conclusions, Tate had left to go and get settled back at the castle, he'd be staying there until this mess with the cult was sorted out. Robert and Mary had hung back in the room, at first hardly able to even look at each other. It was Robert who broke the silence first.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? For leaving so suddenly, or not saying a thing when you got back?"

"For whatever it is I'm supposed to be apologising about this time." It hadn't been the wisest thing he'd ever said.

"How about for giving Adele the run of our bedroom?" Mary had said, hands on hips.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Robert wracked his brains. Had he done that? He didn't remember it… maybe something about borrowing anything if she needed it, but he just assumed she'd ask first. Robert shook his head. This wasn't really about privacy, no more than it had been the other day. This was about him and Mary. About how strong they were together or, right now, the opposite.

"You've got to stop this, Mary. Adele is-"

"I know exactly what she is — and what she's after," Mary stated emphatically. "What I don't know is, if she's being encouraged."

"It's been another long day, I've just been wrestling with a maniac and almost seen one of my friends die right in front of me. I haven't got time for this nonsense."

"I understand," she'd told him; he could feel the chill in her words.

Robert followed Tate's lead, leaving Mary alone in the room. He hadn't seen her again until that night, when he'd felt her climb into bed. Part of him just wanted to reach out and put an arm around her, snuggle up tight and forget everything else. But his stubborn pride got in the way: wait and see if she does it first. She didn't. In fact she edged as far away from him as possible.

It was as he was lying there awake again that he'd thought of a solution. Of what he must do. Of a way of figuring out a direction. Things were falling apart rapidly, not only in his personal life, but in every other department. He didn't know how to fight monsters like the one who'd broken free at The Britannia — it was so far removed from his experience. He knew his men were being spread too thinly, both on patrol and looking after the prisoners they'd captured. Robert not only needed to get away from the chaos and confusion for a while, to rediscover who exactly he was, he needed some kind of guidance.

He needed to be back in his one, true home.

So yes, Mark had been an excuse if he was honest — but Robert saw no harm in that. If the youth was one day to take all this over, which was Robert's hope, then he needed to begin where Robert had. Needed to experience what he'd experienced out in the wilderness, or at least start his journey there.

It hadn't gone down well. Mary believed it was just another excuse to get away (from her, though she only implied the last bit). "Go then. It's obviously where you'd prefer to be right now," she'd sniped.

Meanwhile Jack was worried because of the new threat they were facing. "I thought you were too, Robbie. The kid's training's going okay on the castle grounds."

"There are things I can show him at Sherwood that no-one can show him here. Things I never taught any of the troops when we were living there."

Jack had accepted it, but didn't like it.

Tate, on the other hand, never said a word. It was almost like he knew why Robert was making this pilgrimage, and why he wasn't going alone. He'd merely blessed him and said he would pray for his speedy return. "Bring wisdom back with you," Tate had said.

"I'll try, Reverend."

Mark had been all for it initially. But now, on their way to the forest on horseback, he asked Robert if he knew what he was doing. "I don't want to take you away from important things at the castle," he said, riding at a trot alongside.

"This is important, Mark. What we're doing here. But you're not the only reason we're heading back to Sherwood."

"I'm not?"

Robert leaned across and clapped him on the shoulder. "No. This trip's for me as well. I need to reconnect with something I've lost."

"Oh, okay… Talking of which," broached Mark. "You and Mary."

"Not you as well!" Robert gave him a stern look. It was the face he'd pulled when Mark had first followed him into the forest, first begun pestering him to help them against De Falaise. He'd eventually accepted his other role as well, his relationship with the boy growing, each of them replacing something — someone — they'd lost during the virus. But that didn't mean he could be as cheeky as he liked. "There's nothing to discuss, Mark. Drop it."

"But you need to reconnect with something back there as well, don't you see?"

"Since when did you become the fount of all knowledge?"

Mark laughed. "I always have been, didn't you notice? You two are good together."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I do, and that's the pity. You've lost your way a bit, that's all. What is it you say to me, face your fear?"

"And how about you and Sophie? How's it going there, bigshot?" Robert knew it wasn't really fair to turn this around on Mark, but the boy had asked for it. God, teenagers thought they knew it all, didn't they? But Robert had to stop and remind himself that this kid wasn't any ordinary teen, not like those he used to see on street corners with their mates during his time on the beat. Mark had already seen more than he should have of life's horrors, and perhaps that afforded him some leeway. Only not to discuss Robert's private life, and not this frankly.

Mark reacted as if slapped. "There is no me and Sophie. That's the trouble. If we had what you and Mary had… still have, then…"

Robert held up his hand. "I told you, let that drop." But then he couldn't help digging himself deeper. "Jack told me about the fight, you know. You're a brave guy taking on Dale. He's one of the best fighters I've got."

Mark grunted. "He's not so tough."

"Heard you gave him a bloody nose." Robert smiled. "That makes you pretty good too in my book." Mark joined him in the smile. "Mind if I ask what he did to deserve it? Jack told me about the song. He was just pulling your leg, the men do it all the time with each other."

"The men," said Mark, hinting at the problem.

"Ah, I see. You're fed up of being treated like a younger brother or something."

"Brother?" Mark let out a long, mournful breath. "Yeah, I guess that's how Sophie sees me."

"I meant Dale and the blokes. But now I see what's at the bottom of all this. She doesn't treat him like a brother, does she? Dale, I mean?"

Mark shook his head.

"Women, eh?" said Robert, then waited for the smile to broaden; and for it to become another laugh. "They operate on a whole other level, Mark. Out here it's simple. Even in a fight, it's simple. But relationships…"

The horses made their way up one final road. Robert saw the faded brown signs saying 'Sherwood Forest National Nature Reserve', and indicated they should turn in there. Normally, he would have entered the less obvious way, but he wanted to show Mark something before they got to all the survival stuff.

"Come on," he said to the boy, urging his horse to speed up a little and taking them through the first and biggest of the car parks. He looked around, admiring the way the forest had taken back what belonged to it, punching through the concrete in many places, overrunning the dividing posts and benches where families would have had their picnics in summer months. Where he'd once brought Stevie and Joanna to do the same.

Swinging down from their steeds, the pair walked them down an overgrown trail, marked out by fences, and left them with plenty of hay inside the abandoned and rundown 'Forest Table' — once a thriving eating place for visitors to Sherwood. They walked on into the middle of the Visitor's Centre, with its focal point: the peeling statue of two legendary figures battling it out with staffs. "Reminds me of the night we met Jack, remember?" said Mark.

Robert did. He'd assumed — wrongly as it turned out — that Jack had been sent into the woods to assassinate him. He was actually auditioning, as he called it (Jack and his movies!) for the role of the man in front of them. One of the old Hood's most faithful companions. It had worked out similarly this time around as well, Robert had to agree. He didn't know now what he'd do without the hulking American by his side.

Robert lit a couple of torches, then led Mark inside a big building off to their left, forcing open a stiff door. As they stepped inside, Mark could see through into a deserted shop on his right. It looked like a cave filled with ancient treasure. Cobwebs covered everything: from toy bows and swords, to hats with feathers in them; from mugs and plates to pens, badges and notebooks. Ahead of them, though, was an exhibition — which, via winding corridors, told the history of the original Hooded Man. Robert took them past another statue of that man, in a more familiar pose, about to fire an arrow. This, too, was covered in cobwebs. As they ventured further inside, there were more representations, including one of the Sheriff of Nottingham in full panto villain mode, rubbing his chin.

"What are we doing here?" asked Mark. "It's all a bit creepy."

Robert knew what he meant: the parallels were too close for comfort. But there was a purpose, as he showed him soon enough. Behind the wooden walls of these displays Robert had hidden an entire arsenal of weapons. Dotted throughout the exhibition were dozens of real bows and swords, bolas made from twine and rocks, and quivers bristling with arrows, even spare clothes. It was his own private stash.

"The stock room we passed on the way in was far too obvious, plus I didn't want them all in one place," he explained. "I came back a while ago. Thought I'd leave all this in case of an emergency."

"What kind of emergency?"

Robert shrugged. "It wouldn't be an emergency if I knew in advance."

The boy was studying his features in the light from the burning torches. "You've never really considered that castle your home, have you?" Once again, he had to hand it to him — the fount of all knowledge. "Is that why you left this lot, because you thought you'd be back one day?"

Robert didn't answer that. "I just wanted to show someone. Not even Mary knows."

Mark gave Robert a hand to conceal the weapons again, then they made their way up and through the final winding corridor. Before they came to the exit, both of them paused. There was a display on their right. Behind cracked and smeared glass was an arrow embedded in some earth. "'And where this arrow is taken up,'" read Mark, "'There shall my grave be.'"

Robert pushed him out by the shoulder. "Not yet you don't."

The pair headed deep into the forest, with Robert preferring to make a new camp rather than seeking out an old one.

He'd noticed a change in himself almost as soon as he'd entered this place. His body had relaxed, but was still coiled and ready to attack if provoked; just like it had been when he'd first moved here. His mind was also more balanced than it had been in a long time. Robert had seen Sherwood in all seasons, so the bare trees were not a shock to him — in fact they only added to the beauty of the place on this winter's day, especially with that sprinkling of snow on them.

When they'd found the right spot — somewhere that was hard to locate if an intruder might be looking for it, but gave them a clear 360? view of the area — they set up their camp. "Your base camp should be the safest location in your territory," Robert said.

"This is all so cool," Mark told him. "Do you know how often I wished you'd teach me all this stuff when we were here before?"

Robert gave a half smile. "Well now I am, so pay attention."

He went through how to make a lean-to, using branches for poles and whatever foliage they could find — not easy at this time of year — then how to make a bed out of moss.

"Okay, time to go hunting," announced Robert. Nothing big at first, in fact just a couple of hares which they staked out near a warren. "Rabbits and hares don't hibernate in the winter," Robert explained in hushed tones, "but fortunately for us they become slower and less active to conserve energy. So they're easier to catch when they're rattled. Now keep well out of sight. Always let them come out into the open — then deliver your surprise."

Mark had grumbled a little about preying on such easy targets but, as Robert informed him, when you lived out here sometimes meat was in short supply. You took what you could find. Besides which, hare was tasty.

When they returned to camp, Robert taught him how to make a fire, tucking away the lighter and forcing Mark to use the tried and tested method of rubbing sticks together. When the boy had built up a sweat, Robert chuckled and finally showed him the easier way of using a little bow to create friction, feeding the flames when they began to catch light.

That night they cooked the animals over a spit and talked more about their time together here before. Most of the stories were preceded by: "Do you remember when?" and Robert was surprised by how many ended with them both laughing. It had been a trying period, out here waiting to be discovered or killed by De Falaise's troops, but it was also, in some ways, a happy time. With each moment that passed during that evening, Robert was more convinced he'd done the right thing by bringing Mark here.

As the fire died down a little, Robert caught Mark resting against his backpack and looking at his missing finger, lost in thought. "You still think about what happened back then, don't you?"

"Don't you?" Mark said, tossing aside a piece of bone that had been picked clean and taking a swig of the water they'd made from boiling down the plentiful supply of snow.

Robert nodded. "It takes a while to come to terms with our demons, whatever shape they take."

"Is this about facing your fear again?"

"Sort of. Only sometimes we get to face it in the flesh." Robert poked the fire, then jabbed a finger at it. "That was one of mine."

"Yeah, I remember what happened when the Mexican used those incendiary grenades. It sent you almost to pieces."

Robert stared directly at him. "It made me weak, that fear."

"Some folk might say it made you human," Mark countered.

"Then being human can get you killed."

"Or save you. Are you ever going to tell me why it frightens you so much?"

Buried memories intruded now: his house on fire, the knowledge that the men in yellow suits were cooking his wife and son, dead upstairs in the bedroom. His dog, Max, limping out, fur alight…

Robert ignored the question, and rolled onto his back, looking up into the night sky. "The stars seem so much clearer out here. Everything's clear, in fact. No distractions."

"You're going to have to open up someday," he heard Mark comment. "To me, Mary. Maybe even Reverend Tate."

"What I'm doing now," Robert broke in, totally off topic, "with you, I mean. Someone else did the same with me. His name was Eric Meadows. He showed me the ropes."

"I don't underst-"

"And do you know the most important thing, the first thing I learned from him?" Robert couldn't see Mark shaking his head, but he knew the boy was doing it. "To keep my mouth shut and listen." He rolled back onto his side, resting his head against his hand and looking past the fire at Mark. "He was older than me, more experienced. So I listened."

Mark looked down into the fire. "And was there ever a time when you were able to help him?"

Like most of Mark's questions, this caught him off guard, but his mind automatically supplied an answer. Another memory, not buried, just forgotten until now. Of Robert and Eric being called to a fight in a bar, where two twenty-somethings had decided to kick off over a girl who looked like she wanted nothing to do with either of them. By the time they'd arrived, the men were smashing bottles and throwing punches, so Eric had been the first to wade in. What he hadn't spotted was that one of the guys had mates in the corner, who came at Eric and were about to glass him when Robert stepped in. Several years down the line from the first collar he'd made, and he was a different officer. Confident, though not a risk-taker (because he had a wife to return to and they were planning on starting a family soon), but able to assess a situation like this and turn it to his advantage.

Robert had kicked the glass out of the attacker's hand, then followed up with a punch that sent him to the floor. Technically not the done thing, but Robert wasn't about to play nice in this powder keg of a situation. He'd been ready to tackle the others as well, but when the fighters heard sirens outside — Eric and Robert's backup — they'd fled the pub. Eric had cuffed the two original trouble-causers, leaving Robert to handle his. So he had no idea whether his mentor knew he'd probably saved his skin that night. Neither of them said anything to each other, as it was all in a day's work for Her Majesty's Constabulary, though Robert often wondered if he realised the favour had been returned.

But that wasn't what Mark had asked, was it? Had Robert been able to help him? Truly help him? Where was he when Eric had been injured at that football match? Robert couldn't even remember now. On holiday? Sequestered to one of the CID units? He hadn't been able to help Eric when it came to the real crunch, had he? Only postponed the inevitable.

"Never let them put you behind one of those. You stay out there, young Stokes. Stay where you can make a difference and leave all that to the paper pushers."

Was that what this was all about? Did he need to get back out there for Eric, do something for the man even though he was probably dead by now (Robert had absolutely no idea what his blood group was, but he had to be pushing seventy even if he had survived).

Robert realised that long minutes had passed and he hadn't said a word in reply to Mark. "I'm… I'm sorry. Just remembering something."

"About when you were able to help this Eric guy?" asked Mark, looking up at him.

"I think in my own way I'm helping him right now," Robert replied, not even attempting to explain. He wasn't sure he understood himself.

The fire was really dropping now, so they said their goodnights and retreated to their lean-tos. Robert faster than Mark, if anything. Not to get out of the cold, but to do what he'd come here to do all along: sleep.

And hope that the forest would find it in its heart to speak to him.