As dawn broke the next day, Jack and his friends were struggling to put one foot in front of the other. They’d been walking all through the night, the fear of the plague doctors driving them on, and had covered some twenty miles, despite no longer having Sir Henry’s horses at their disposal. Tired, cold and hungry, they urged their weary bodies along the deserted highway. The chill morning mist that hung over the meadows slowly turned golden with the rising sun and the birds struck up their dawn chorus. As the world awoke, the peal of a church bell rang softly in the distance. Jack glanced up from the muddy road. A wooden spire could be seen piercing the glowing coals of the horizon.

‘That must be Stratford!’ he exclaimed, feeling a renewed vigour enter his stride.

The others, encouraged by his burst of enthusiasm, hurried after him.

The road soon met with the main highway and they joined a steady procession of people heading from the countryside into the town, farmers driving their cattle, herdsmen their sheep, itinerant labourers, assorted tradesmen, and villagers bearing baskets, with their children in tow.

‘Is it market day?’ Rose asked an apple-cheeked boy who was leading a rather large and reluctant pig by a ring through its nose.

‘No, it’s harvest festival,’ he replied, casting a wary eye over the four dishevelled travellers before giving his swine a tug and moving on ahead.

Rose grinned at Jack. ‘It’s your lucky day, Jack! If your sister’s in Stratford, she’s bound to be out and about for the festival.’

Impatient to get into town, Jack threaded his way through the stream of farmers and villagers, all the time keeping his eye out for a glimpse of a girl with barley-blonde hair. Akiko, Yori and Rose followed close behind as the flow of people thickened into a bottleneck at a long bridge spanning the great river.

Crossing over the fourteen stone arches, Jack and his friends finally arrived in Stratford-upon-Avon. The main thoroughfare, Bridge Street, was already bustling with tradesmen and women arriving early for the festival. Stalls had been set up on both sides, as well as crammed down the centre. They passed needle-makers and hosiers, wool merchants and weavers, glovers and tailors; there were butchers, bakers and fishmongers, barbers and ironmongers. A band of wandering minstrels played and people were laughing and dancing to the music in a circle round them. Games of chance were being won and lost on street corners, and the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meats laced the air. On two sides of the busy marketplace, and forming a grand backdrop to it, were rows of timber-and-brick houses, three storeys high, with glazed windows with lead lattices. Stratford was in all ways a prosperous and popular town.

‘Let’s spread out,’ instructed Jack, eager to find his sister. ‘We’ll have a better chance of spotting Jess.’