Salvation by Harriet Steel

he shouted.
    ‘Quick,’ Tom muttered as the boy reached him, ‘before they change their minds.’
    In the street, they ran until they reached the place of execution once again. The crowds were already melting away and no one gave them a second glance. Tom took the boy over to a horse trough and, scooping up some water in his palms, splashed it on the place where his hair was bloodied. The boy yelped. ‘It hurts.’
    Tom peered at the exposed gash. ‘It doesn’t look too deep. You’ll live.’
    The boy pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled.
     
    *
     
    After the brightness outside, it took Tom a few minutes to accustom himself to the dingy basement tavern. Smoke from the damp logs in the fireplace rasped his throat. The boy pushed him over to an empty table and sat him down.
    ‘Stay there, I’ll be back.’
    He returned with a hunk of bread and an onion. Producing a pocket knife, he sliced the onion into thin rings, put some of them on a piece of bread then offered it to Tom. ‘For helping me,’ he said.
    Tom took the food and started to eat. The bread was no staler than he was used to and the onion was sweet and crunchy. ‘Thank you, that was good,’ he said when he had finished. ‘My name’s Tom. Are you going to tell me yours?’
    The boy hesitated for a moment before he spoke. ‘Jack, my name’s Jack.’
    ‘You don’t sound very sure.’
    ‘People call me lots of things, but I like Jack best.’
    ‘All right, Jack it is.’ Tom smiled ruefully. ‘To tell you the truth, Jack, I think I may need your help more than you do mine. London’s a lot bigger than I expected. I’ve nowhere to sleep and no money.’
    ‘I got money.’ Jack dug down into one of his battered boots and, with a chinking sound, brought out a small black velvet purse. ‘They didn’t think of looking there,’ he said with a grin.
    Tom frowned. No doubt it wasn’t come by honestly, but now he had stolen himself, he had no business telling the boy off. In any case he had had enough punishment for one day.
    ‘I didn’t steal it,’ Jack said defiantly, ‘the old codger was asking for someone to take it off him.’
    Tom raised an eyebrow at this piece of logic.
    ‘You ate the food,’ Jack scowled.
    ‘I know, and I’m grateful, really I am.’
    Jack grinned. ‘There’s enough to pay for a proper bed tonight and more food tomorrow.’
    ‘Don’t you have anyone who looks after you?’ Tom asked and, seeing the grin leave Jack’s face, immediately regretted it.
    ‘I will,’ Jack said, recovering, ‘just as soon as my dad comes for me. My dad’s a general. He’s fighting the Spanish in the Low Countries. He’s the most important man in the whole army and my ma, she’s a great lady,’ his voice faltered, ‘but she had to go away.’ He glowered. ‘It’s true, it is, don’t you look at me so queer.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    Jack’s face brightened. ‘So you’ll come?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Out in the street, night was drawing in. A swaying man relieved himself against the wall of the tavern then tottered away into the gloom. Smoke curled from every chimney, filling the air with particles of soot and making it hard for Tom to see where Jack was leading him, but trusting the boy seemed the best choice he had, so he followed.

 
    4
     
     
    Salisbury  
    May–July, 1586
     
     
    On Whit Sunday, Salisbury’s market square rang with the sound of Morris bells. Birch boughs decked the cathedral and the city churches, but Meg’s heart was heavy. There was no news of Tom and she missed him sorely.
    She noticed that Bess too seemed wretched and, remembering how she had seen them together in the courtyard, she suspected Ralph Fiddler was the cause of her distress. In the weeks after William Kemp’s death, he was often at Stuckton Court but there was little doubt in Meg’s mind that it was not to seize any opportunity to meet Bess. He seemed to spend every hour there talking in private with Edward. Once, when