Excerpt from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Tom hopped on one foot, then on the other as he jerked up his breeches and hauled at the laces. 'Get you gone, Mary,' he snapped at the girl. She was scrabbling about on hands and knees, trying to gather up the fallen beads.

'Leave those!' Tom told her, but she ignored him. Her naked buttocks were marked with pink where they had caught the edge of the coffin-he could almost make out his grandfather's inscription imprinted on the white skin, and he felt a ridiculous urge to laugh. Instead he grabbed Guy by the shoulder. 'Come on! It might be Father!' That thought put wings on their feet and they flew up the stairs, jostling each other in their haste.

As they tumbled out of the vestry door, they found Dorian waiting for them, hiding in the ivy that covered the wall.

'Who is it, Dorry?' Tom gasped.

'Black Billy!' shrilled Dorian. 'He's just left the stables on Sultan and took the path straight up the hill. He'll be here in a minute.'

Tom gave vent to his most potent oath, learned from Big Daniel Fisher, his father's boatswain. 'He mustn't catch us here. Come on!' The three raced to the stone wall. Tom boosted Dorian over it, then he and Guy sprang over and pulled their younger brother down into the grass.

'Quiet! Both of you!' Tom was snorting with laughter and excitement.

'What happened?' Dorian piped up. 'I saw Mary go in. Did you do it with her, Guy?'

'You don't even know what it is.' Guy tried to avoid the question.

'I do know what it is,' Dorian told him indignantly. 'I've seen the rams at it, and the dogs and the cocks, and Hercules the bull, like this.' He rose on all fours and gave a lurid imitation, bucking and pumping his hips, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and rolling his eyes horribly. 'Is this what you did to Mary, Guy?'

Guy flushed furiously. 'Stop that, Dorian Courtney! Do you hear me?' But Tom gave a delighted guffaw and pushed Dorian's face into the grass. 'You dirty little monkey. I bet a guinea you'd be better at it than Guy, hairs or no hairs.'

'Will you let me try next time, Tom?' Dorian pleaded, his voice muffled his face was still buried in the turf.

'I'll let you try, when you've got a bit more to try with,' Tom said, and let him sit up, but at that moment they all heard the hoofbeats coming up the hill.

'Quiet!' Tom said, through his giggles, and they lay behind the wall in a row, trying to control their breathing and their mirth. They heard the horseman approach at a canter and rein down to a walk as he reached the gravelled area in front of the main doors of the chapel.

'Keep down!' Tom whispered to his brothers, but he pulled off the feathered cap and raised his head cautiously to peer over the top of the wall.

William Courtney sat up on Sultan. He was a superb horseman: the art had come to him naturally, perhaps some instinct from his African origins. He was slim and tall, and as usual dressed all in black. This, apart from his skin and hair pigmentation, was why his half-brothers had given him the nickname he hated so vehemently. Although today he was bare-headed, he usually wore a wide-brimmed black hat decorated with a bunch of ostrich feathers. His high boots were black; his saddle and bridle were black. Sultan was a black stallion, groomed until he shone in the pale sunlight. Horse and rider were magnificent.

It was obvious that he'd come to check the arrangements for his impending marriage. The nuptials were to be held here rather than in the bride's home chapel, for other important ceremonies were to follow. These could only be held in the chapel of the Nautonnier Knights.

lie stopped at the front door of the chapel and stooped low in the saddle to peer inside, then straightened and rode slowly around the side of the building to the vestry door. He looked about carefully then stared straight at Tom. Tom froze. He and the other boys were supposed to be down at the river mouth, helping Simon and his crew with the salmon nets. The itinerant labourers, whom William hired for the harvest, were fed almost entirely on salmon. It was cheap and plentiful, but they protested at this monotonous diet.

Reprinted from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, a St Martin's Press publication, by permission of St Martin's Press. © 1999 by Wilbur Smith