This time, the silence seemed to stretch for ever. Kodjeote was on the point of repeating the question when the response came. It emerged as a dry-throated rasp, like the skittering of autumn leaves as they were blown across a dry forest floor.

Spoken in his grandfather’s voice. Three words.

“He is coming.”

6

May 1780

The boy stared down at the sorry-looking bundle of blood and fur before turning to Tam, who looked very pleased with himself, in the way that dogs do when they think they’ve performed a clever feat and are seeking a reward.

“I don’t know what you’re looking so happy about, Tam Hooper. You had me chasing you all over the woods for a cottontail? You could at least have found a decent mouthful! Wait till I get you home!”

Detecting the admonishing tone in his master’s voice, Tam stared ruefully at the carcass and wagged his tail tentatively before sinking down and placing his head on his front paws.

When he’d seen Tam pad off into the trees during the morning rest stop, the boy hadn’t been that concerned. In the days since they’d left the big house, Tam had often wandered away from the march to follow an interesting scent or explore a mysterious rustle in the bushes.

A few times, he’d returned bearing gifts; either a plump rabbit or a squirrel held fast in his jaws. The kills had been handed to the cook, who’d accepted them with due reverence because when there was no guarantee where your next meal was coming from you never turned down rations, no matter how meagre. Not that anyone was likely to starve on the march as game was plentiful and the hunting parties invariably returned to camp with food for the pot.

On this last occasion, however, when the end of the column came into sight and there was no sign of the hound, the boy had decided to go and look for him. In doing so he knew he had to be careful.

It had reached the stage where no one paid much attention when people left the trail; it was something everyone did when they needed to take a piss or a shit, and the edges of the woods were usually close enough that no one would notice him leave anyway. Even if they were to see him go, they’d likely assume that he’d been given permission to leave the line on his own. After all, it wasn’t as if he was a child who needed someone to take his breeches down and wipe his backside for him.

But it paid to take precautions.