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Plague. And then the dark, panic-filled time after, when they were locked up inside the house to prevent it from spreading. Finally, the cries of pain and tears of grief as William breathed his last, rattling breath.
    He shivered and flicked his eyes open. Everything had changed after that. No more games of leapfrog and stopping the sinking of old King Henry’s flagship, the Mary Rose . No more beachcombing on the shore for Spanish treasure and playing at being fish in the shallows. And no more William to stick up for him in fights with the other boys in their street.
    Mother and Father had changed too. Mother had become nervous and sad, wanting him to stay at home and help her with the chores. As for Father, he’d barely been able to look at him in those first few weeks after William had died. Even now, a year and more later, he was always sostern-faced, as if judging him and finding a lack.
    Tom sighed and slid the prayer book back inside his jerkin. Time to go. Taking a last mouthful of bread and cheese, he picked up his bundle and scrambled down on to the road.
    Slowly the sun sank below the horizon. The hoot of an owl sounded from a nearby copse of trees. Night was drawing in. It couldn’t be much further, could it? He shivered and plodded on, willing himself forwards step by painful step. Just when he thought he couldn’t go any further and would have to bed down in a pile of leaves, a string of distant lights came into view, winking out across the fields.
    Midhurst: the town closest to Cowdray. It must be! His stomach fluttered. Now all he had to do was find his uncle’s house. Then with his and God’s help, he would make everything right again.

Chapter Seven
    T he blister stung more with every step Tom took. He gritted his teeth and hobbled on, past a row of half-timbered cottages, some in darkness, others with windows lit by flickering candles. Further on, he came to a crossroads. He stopped and looked about him. Which way now?
    â€˜Lost, are you?’
    He spun round.
    A figure pulled away from the porch of a building opposite. ‘’Tis not a night for a boy to be travelling alone.’ The man’s voice was flat and iron-edged: not like the soft country burr of the locals.
    The sound of music and merrymaking wound through the air from the half-open door behind him.
    â€˜Where are you bound?’ The man towered above him, blotting out the night sky.
    Hugging his bundle, Tom took a step back and peeredup at him. The man wore a thick, curling beard. That much he could see. But the rest of his face was in shadow, hidden by his hat and the upturned collar of his cloak.
    â€˜What’s wrong, boy? Lost your tongue?’
    He licked his lips. ‘To – to Cowdray, sir, to see my uncle.’
    â€˜Your uncle, eh? And who is he?’ The man lifted a slim white pipe to his mouth. He sucked on it and blew a puff of grey smoke into the air. A glint of gold shone back from the little finger of his left hand.
    The sweet smell of tobacco pricked Tom’s nose. He clenched his jaw tight shut. He’d had his fill of roadside encounters.
    â€˜Rather keep your counsel, would you? A sound position when there are so many spies and ne’er-do-wells about.’ The man gave a low chuckle, swirled his cloak about him and turned back towards the tavern door.
    â€˜Wait!’ Tom stumbled after him. ‘Do you know the way?’
    â€˜Hmmm.’ The man raised his hand to his chin and raked his fingers through his beard. ‘Some might regard me as a stranger in these parts, but as a matter of fact, yes I do.’ He pulled on the pipe again and blew a smoke ring at him. ‘What’s it worth?’
    Tom stifled a cough and gripped his bundle tighter still. ‘I – I don’t have any money.’
    The man’s eyes flashed black in the glow of embers from his pipe. He looked him up and down and laughed. ‘If we meet again, you can repay me then.