Stand and deliver! That's the phrase, isn't it? The words that made strong men tremble and fine ladies faint.

​

I was the terror of the Fens, once, my shadow cast long across the flatlands. Travellers would empty their purses before I even cleared my throat. Silver, gold, a pretty trinket for a sweetheart, I took it all.

​

They called me a villain. A robber. A plague on honest folk.

​

They were not wrong.

​

But the Fens… the Fens are hungry country. Flat and cold and endless. A man does what he must to survive the winter. The burn of good gin kept me warm while I went about my business. One night, I supped too hard: it was my undoing.

​

They hanged me at King's Lynn. But the rope was poorly tied, the hangman drunk. Or perhaps the Lord above has a sense of humour darker than my own. My head came away in their hands. A messy end for a messy life.

​

And now? Now I collect the toll for every sin I committed on this road. They took my horse. They took my life. They took my head. But they left me here. Forever.

​

Sometimes, on the clearest nights, I lift my head high, so high, and I look across the Fens I once rode with such reckless freedom.

​

So if you see me here abouts… don't run, I cannot steal from you now.