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Robin reached it first. She put her shoulder against the wood and pushed. Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Then she crouched beside the door and raised the lamp.

"Guy."

"What?"

"Come look at this."

I stepped beside her.

"These fittings are new." She touched the ironwork. "There's no rust on them, and someone's put a bar across the other side."

I examined the metal. She was right. The iron was bright, the fastenings recently installed.

"How long?" I asked.

"Within the last month, I'd say."

I looked at the door. Fitzwalter had arranged for it to be secured before I ever returned from Sherwood.

He'd anticipated someone trying to escape through this passage.

"Tell me you've got another way out."

"I've got several."

"Good."

"Although I was rather hoping to use this one."

"Robin."

"I'm thinking."

"Think quickly."

She glanced over her shoulder.

"You're very demanding for a man I've just rescued."

Before I could answer, footsteps sounded behind us. Several men were coming down the passage. They weren't running.

Whoever was approaching knew we had nowhere to go. Light appeared around the bend, followed by the glow of several torches.

Edmund Fitzwalter emerged with eight armed soldiers.

He stopped about fifteen feet away, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Robin of Locksley," he said. "At last."

Robin looked him over from his boots to his collar.

"Lord Fitzwalter. You're shorter than I expected."

His mouth tightened. "I see your years in the forest haven't improved your manners."