John spoke up. “It’s true, he left us. Seems he didn’t have the stomaching for this life. This is all of us, there’d be no point in us lying about it.”

He’s trying too hard, Elena thought, but John’s heart was in the right place. Every moment they delayed gave Much time to run. What would I do, in Much’s place? If she’d held watch instead, she wouldn’t run. Something terrible told her that Much might try to do something, thinking to prove himself. But he wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack on his own … something in town, maybe. Or the town itself. Over the fields, there were still people living in the rest of Bernesdale, people who wouldn’t care for the captain’s occupation of their village. People who could be provoked to riot by a young boy screaming for help.

She could only dare to hope that Much would think the same thing.

“Well if Robin isn’t with you, then he may actually be smarter than I thought. But there is one person still missing, which you cannot deny.” Gisbourne looked them each in the eye. “His name is Jon Bassett.”

“Bassett?” Elena was confused. “The gord? We let him go weeks ago.”

“You let him go.” His scrutiny focused on her. “So you did have him.”

“We nursed him to health, aye,” John Little said. “Which was something we did not have to do. What did he tell you?”

The captain stared, and gave a pitiful single laugh. “That’s your story? That you helped him, and that you set him free.”

“It’s no story,” Arthur tried.

“Let me try this, then. If Bassett is dead, all of you will hang. Except for whomsoever admits the truth to me, right now.”

A gaping shock rolled through them, but no one spoke. Gilbert had returned Jon Bassett to Nottingham, he said it went smoothly. Elena stared at the captain, unsure what play he was making. She had never had a real look at the man. Older than she had thought, there was white in his beard and at the edges of his brow, and the crow’s lines around his eyes were deep. His blue doublet was frayed and worn threadbare at its seams, and hung on his frame loosely. It breathed with him. He was not wearing mail beneath it.

Of course not, she realized, they had dressed light to set this trap. If Much was able to rally even a small group in time … Elena played it out in her head. The guards turning, unsure what was happening, Will and the others swarming, the six of them taking three or four men on one side of the circle, enough to make an opening and run. Steal one blade and sink it in Gisbourne’s gut.