Hooded Man

by Paul Kane

  The barred door usually had about three guards on it, but when his group reached the edge of the rock and Granger grabbed a quick look around the corner, he saw that number had tripled today. De Falaise was obviously taking no chances with security – and who could blame him? Granger held up his fingers to show how many guards there were.

  The only thing they had in their favour was that to all intents and purposes, none of Robert’s men had joined him on his lonely walk up to the castle. As far as anyone knew, he was all alone.

  “When we do this,” Granger whispered, “we have to do it quickly. We can’t afford to have any gunfire alerting the rest of them.”

  The men nodded. He felt like he was finally in charge again, at least of his squadron. It was payback time for Ennis and the other Jackals. “Ready?”

  More nods.

  “Wait a moment,” Tate said, gripping his arm. Granger thought there was something wrong, or someone had seen them, but then the Reverend closed his eyes and said a prayer. He finished it by crossing himself.

  “Nice to know we have the big guns on our side,” said Granger, smiling.

  “Always, my son,” Tate told him. “Always.”

  Granger slipped an arrow into his bow. “Right, let’s do it.” He came out from hiding, loosing the arrow as he ran. It hit the first of the guards, a man he actually recognised now as he approached, as Oaksey – a nasty piece of work. It caught him in the shoulder, though Granger had been aiming lower, and he went spinning back into another guard. Meanwhile, the men behind Granger were all letting off their arrows as well, with varying degrees of success. Some found their homes in legs or sides, others in upper arms. Only one guard fell right away, an arrow in his throat.

  None of them had a chance to fire back. They didn’t even have the opportunity to raise their rifles. Now those who were wounded were too preoccupied to think about their guns, crying out in pain at the wounds the arrows had inflicted.

  Well, that was a piece of cake, thought Granger, but the extra guards weren’t the only security measure De Falaise had added. There was a flash of a muzzle from inside the barred door. The bullets howled past Granger, taking down a man to his right, killing him outright.

  “Get down!” Granger called back, but they were sitting ducks out in the open. Lying down, they couldn’t shoot back with their bows and arrows. Not that they had to anymore. Shots had been fired, the cat was out of the bag, and his men drew their pistols, primed their own rifles – firing back at the door in the cave. Their own bullets sparked off the rocks protecting the men inside, none of them hitting their targets.

  Shit! Granger tried to wriggle backwards, but enemy fire chipped away at the floor around him. We’re going to die out here.

  So much for having the Big Guy on their side. Just like before, there was nobody who would help Granger except himself.

  Even here at the end, when he was a part of this, whatever it was, miles away from his home, he was going to die alone.

  JACK PEERED OUT of the window.

  He’d been looking out long before Robbie broke cover, mainly because there was nothing else to do while he was stuck here. They’d entered the building from the rear, as it was directly opposite the metal gates at the side of the castle, and afforded a view of what was happening in the grounds too. Jack had seen the preparations for the hangings, seen the prisoners being led out on the grass, followed by De Falaise and the man he knew as Tanek, dragging Mark up onto the platform. The kid looked as white as milk, hardly surprising after what he’d been through. But, as if that wasn’t enough, they were now fixing to put his neck in a noose.

  Jack had almost charged out there with his team right then. Even if he hadn’t had the handful of fighters with him, he probably would have done it anyway. He felt like he could just rip down those metal side gates and take on the whole of De Falaise’s army single-handed at that moment.

  But he had to wait for Robbie, had to do this the way they’d discussed. The kid meant more to him than any of them – and vice versa, Jack suspected. He had to give Robbie the chance to act. So what was keeping him?

  Finally, just as the six people – including Mark – were about to be executed, Robert appeared. Hood drawn as usual, he’d made his way coolly to the main castle gates. Jack had watched, anxiously, as De Falaise countered the order to hang them, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  “Here’s where all the fun begins, guys,” Jack said over his shoulder to his team. But as he kept watching, waiting for his cue, he could tell something wasn’t quite right. It was to do with Robbie’s walk, his height. In fact, the more closely Jack looked, the more convinced he became that it wasn’t his leader down there after all, but an impostor.

  The question was: Who?

  The mystery was cleared up when the person in the hood stepped up onto the platform and revealed her face.

  Jack let out a sharp breath. “Mary? What the blazes is she doing in there?” As far as he knew she was with one of the other strike teams about to hit the front wall of the castle, or at least that had been the strategy. When had that changed, and how come Robbie hadn’t informed the rest of them?

  Where the devil was he, anyway?

  The sound of gunfire broke into his thoughts. Mary or Robbie, it made little difference to the plan – it was still a distraction. What could mess it up completely would be if their men were already being shot at, as appeared to be happening somewhere.

  “Time to kick the bad guys’ butts,” he shouted and opened the door. The men behind Jack covered him with a hail of bullets and arrows, as he ran and tossed two grenades at the barricade. The explosion blew the metal inwards, buckling it and causing the side gates to swing back on their hinges. Jack ran towards them, staff in hand. Two soldiers with rifles were firing at him through the smoke, but he dropped to the ground, rolled, and came up sharply – jabbing with his staff to catch one in the face, then swinging it around and knocking the legs out from under the other.

  “You’ve just been Jack-Hammered!” he said to the felled soldiers. Then he rose and led his team into the grounds of the castle.

  AT THE SAME time as all this was going on, three more teams were making their assault on the castle from the front, springing from buildings adjacent to the wall.

  Reinhart could see them, but couldn’t take them all out at once – especially when he had his rifle trained on the site of the old Middle Bailey. He was only one man. Then there was the explosion, and more of the Hooded Man’s – woman’s? – men were pouring in from the side entrance. It was impossible to keep up with what was happening in so many different locations at once.

  You should not be here – any of you! Reinhart shouted inside his own head. He was used to one, two, maybe even three or four targets at once, not so many, from from so many different angles. Luckily there were men on the walls that were shooting at the other assault teams; they could hold them off for a little while.

  Just then he heard something – a faint sound in the distance. He turned to see the dot on the horizon... which was reducing the distance between them fast.

  And there was the distinctive sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. They must have been keeping low, out of my range, waiting, hiding, before rising up to let themselves be seen, Reinhart thought to himself. Clever. Very clever.

  But it did mean that his targeting options were now more simple. He had to focus on the helicopter, which was obviously intended to give support to the men on the ground. They didn’t have anything they could put in the air to meet it and no one else was ready to fire on it. He couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t armed, either.

  The choice had been made for him.

  Reinhart swung his rifle around. He looked through the scope to see a man in a checked shirt, with a tatty tank top pulled over it, piloting the chopper. The scope was so good that he could even see the man’s ruddy features; he’d spent a lot of time outdoors – a lot of time at Sherwood. But he wasn’t alone. I
n the passenger seat was another man, younger, wearing the cobbled-together uniform of De Falaise’s men, albeit slightly bloodstained. Another traitor to the cause? Something told him different. It wasn’t just the fact he had a bow and arrow with him, because many of Hood’s men were carrying those ridiculous weapons: it was something about the way he held it, something about the steely look of determination in his eyes.

  This was Hood, the real one. Reinhart had never been so sure of anything in his life. He aimed at the man, then remembered De Falaise’s orders about wanting to take out his enemy himself. Were they still relevant now that chaos reigned down there?

  And what about afterwards, when they’re all dead and you have to explain to De Falaise how you killed his prize? What will he do to you then? Reinhart thought. Take down the chopper, but don’t kill them. Cause them to make an emergency landing and then radio De Falaise to let him know.

  It was a plan indeed. After all, what harm could they do from this distance? Put an arrow in him? Hardly.

  Reinhart smiled and closed one eye, aiming for the side of the helicopter. “Time to bring you down to earth now, birdy.”

  He squeezed the trigger.

  A COUPLE MORE shots rang out in the cave entrance. Granger saw the muzzle flash and ducked, but nothing flew past him. Raising his head slightly, he heard more bangs – saw the cave light up – and it was then that he realised the shots were on the inside.

  Then there was silence.

  Nothing moved in the cave entrance, no rifles poked out and took pot shots at the men spreadeagled on the ground.

  “What’s happening?” shouted one of the men behind him.

  “Not sure,” Granger called back. “Stay down.” He got up, keeping his bow raised in case a sudden volley was let loose – and wondering what good it would do him anyway. Then a figure appeared at the gate, a woman with auburn hair that he recognised.

  “Hold your fire,” he called out.

  “Gwen!” This was Tate, who was already getting up, albeit with a little difficulty, using his stick for support.

  “Reverend?” came the reply.

  Granger watched as the woman who had been De Falaise’s love slave worked to open the door with keys she’d taken from the felled soldiers. He motioned his men to move forwards, but still keep low.

  When Tate reached the gate, Gwen had it open already. She fell into the holy man’s arms.

  “My God, I can hardly believe it. Are you all right?” he asked her, but she didn’t answer. Instead she shouldered the still smoking rifle she’d used to dispatch the men laying on the floor, and pointed up the sandstone steps.

  “You can get into the grounds this way – it’s pretty clear. I got rid of any soldiers you might run into between here and there, but can’t say there won’t be more once you leave the caves. They’re bound to have heard the shooting.” When Granger and the other men looked at her blankly, she said. “Look, follow me. But promise me one thing when we get there.”

  “What’s that?” asked Granger before Tate could.

  She looked at him. “I know you, don’t I?”

  “I used to be here at the castle before –”

  “Yes, I thought so.” Gwen unslung her rifle, as if to shoot him.

  “Wait, wait...” Tate put himself between them. “Things have changed since Granger was in the Frenchman’s army. Unlike the Sheriff, Robert – the Hooded Man – gave him a choice. A real choice,” Tate explained to her. “Granger’s here of his own free will. He’s here to fight De Falaise. So are all these men who once served him.”

  “He killed the best friend I ever had,” Granger told her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help you when you were here, but I’d have been killed on the spot. You know yourself that he never needs much of an excuse. But...” He shrugged. “Well, I’m here now.”

  “I could have... should have been dead by now,” she said, but Granger saw her eyes soften, and the rifle lowered. “We’ll discuss this later. We’re wasting time.” Gwen turned to lead them up the steps.

  “Hold on,” said Tate. “You didn’t finish what you were saying, Gwen. What did you want us to promise?”

  The auburn-haired woman cast a glance over her shoulder. “To leave the Sheriff alive,” she said in a serious tone. “At least until I get to him. He’s mine!”

  DE FALAISE HAD flinched when he heard the first round of gunshots. But that was nothing compared to the explosions down below at the castle’s side gates.

  The woman in front of him had used the distraction to nock an arrow and aim her bow – shooting at the soldiers closest before they could do a thing. He thought he heard her say something that sounded very much like, “Yay me.” Though some went wide, as if she hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet, most of the arrows found their mark, diminishing the numbers around the platform.

  A much smaller arrow whistled past her, and when De Falaise looked he saw that Tanek had taken the shot with his crossbow. But what should have gone into her cranium missed because of the boy. Perhaps spurred on by what was happening, Mark had somehow found the strength to raise his hands, lift his head out of the noose, and then swing over to where Tanek was standing, letting go when he reached the right spot.

  The lad flopped onto the larger man rather than landing gracefully, and although he spoilt Tanek’s aim, he couldn’t hang on to him. Mark slid down the length of his body – helped by a shrug from the giant himself.

  Just as Tanek was about to stamp on the boy, a second man – who matched Tanek in height – leapt up onto the platform. He was carrying what appeared to be a staff in one hand.

  “I’d advise against that, buddy,” said the guy in an American accent. Then he smacked Tanek across the face with a balled fist. Tanek took the blow, his face shunted to the side, though not by much. Then he hit the man wearing the cap, squarely in the chest – and he went back by a couple of steps. It was like watching a colossal clash of the titans.

  Tanek raised his crossbow to take a shot at the other giant, but before he could shoot another bolt, the man lashed out with his staff, knocking the weapon to the floor. Tanek ran at him, nimble for a man of his size, and swatted the staff aside. Both fell backwards heavily onto the already creaking platform.

  The other villagers waiting to be hanged, seeing now that there was a chance of escape, and a possibility that the soldier with the lever might accidentally get knocked and pull it anyway, followed Mark’s lead. Unhooking themselves with their bound hands, they leapt from their places, fleeing the scene as quickly as they could. The soldier in charge of the lever – seeing no further use for his services – hopped off the back of the platform, swiftly followed by Jennings and his camera.

  Which left De Falaise facing the woman, the impostor who had started all this. In the absence of Hood, he decided to take it out on her. Afraid of strong women, indeed! She had simply thrown him momentarily...

  He drew his sabre and slashed it through the air, catching her bow and sending it flying out into the panicked crowd. It was difficult to see now who was guard and who was prisoner, mixed up as they were, but every now and again there was a hint of uniform, a rifle barrel to show allegiance.

  The woman, unperturbed at losing one weapon, drew her broadsword. She met De Falaise’s strike with not inconsiderable strength. The two of them came together, hilts of their respective blades sliding upwards, and he only just managed to back away before she kicked out – hoping to catch him between the legs.

  De Falaise’s face soured.

  “Not used to fighting a woman, are you?” she goaded him. “Used to them playing nicely, eh?”

  He came at her again, the sabre swishing as it narrowly missed her. She leaned first one way, then another, countering his next swing with one of her own, before hefting the sword and almost opening up his belly.

  There was a sound from above, heard even over the rage of gunfire. The thrump-thrump-thrump of a helicopter. It had been so long since De Falaise had heard the noise
of rotor blades that he stopped what he was doing and looked. Shots rang out from the rooftop of the castle, hitting the side of the machine, but as De Falaise kept his eyes trained on the scene, someone leaned out of the side of the chopper and attempted to shoot a bow and arrow.

  When he looked down again, he saw that the woman was also gazing upwards – mouth wide in surprise. He took his opportunity, to make her as ‘compliant’ as the others females he had known, to knock the fight out of her as someone should have done long ago. De Falaise gripped the handle of the sabre and punched her with the hilt, splitting her lip open with the guard of the blade.

  Her cry was music to his ears. She toppled backwards, losing her grasp on her sword. De Falaise grinned wildly. Whatever else was happening around them, he was at least winning this fight...

  “HOW’S THE HEAD?” Bill asked as they’d manoeuvred in and out of buildings, keeping low to avoid detection.

  Robert let out a soft moan by way of a reply. Whatever Mary had stuck him with had left one stinker of a headache behind. The last thing he’d remembered was them hugging goodbye, then something in his shoulder – the prick of a needle.

  “I’m sorry,” she’d said, as he slumped forward into her arms. But all he could think was: Why are you doing this? Had she been a spy of De Falaise’s all along? Impossible. The Sheriff’s men had been attacking her when they arrived at the farmhouse.

  Then there were no more thoughts, just dreams. The same one he’d had many times before, where he’d faced De Falaise. This time the balance was shifting, the darkness was winning.

  He’d come to at some point in the early hours of that morning. Sitting up in the tent, he felt his head spin and nausea rise. What had she injected him with, that same stuff from when he’d been shot? Or something else, something stronger she’d found in the supplies?