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

'I hate you!' Tom hissed up at him. 'We hate you. My brothers, everybody who works here, everybody who knows you-we all hate you!'

Abruptly William released his grip on one of Tom's wrists and slashed him across the face with a vicious back-handed blow. 'For all these years I've been trying to teach you manners,' he said softly, 'and you never learn.'

Tom's eyes filled with tears of pain, but he still managed to gather a mouthful of saliva and spit it at the swarthy face above him. It splattered across William's chin, but he ignored it. 'I'll get you, Black Billy!' Tom promised, in a painful whisper. 'One day I'll get you.'

'No.' William shook his head. 'I think not.' He smiled, 'Have you not heard of the law of primogeniture little monkey?' He landed another fullblooded, open-handed blow against the side of Tom's head. The boy's eyes glazed, and blood appeared below one nostril. 'Answer me, brother.' William swung back with the other hand, knocking Tom's head across. 'Do you know what it means?' He hit him again, right-handed. 'Answer me, my little beauty.'

The next swing was left-handed, then right-handed again, and the blows settled into a rhythm. Slam, with the right. Slam, with the left. Tom's head rolled loosely from side to side. He was swiftly losing consciousness, and the succession of blows never let up.

'Primogeniture-' Slam! '-Is the-' Slam! '-right-' Slam! '-of the-' Slam! '-first born.' Slam!

The next blow came from behind Black Billy's back. Dorian had followed them down the path and had seen what was happening to his favourite sibling. The blows raining down on Tom hurt Dorian just as painfully. He looked around desperately for a weapon. There was a thick accumulation of fallen branches along the edge of the path. He picked up a dry stick as thick as his wrist and as long as his arm and crept up behind William. He had the good sense to give no warning of what he was about to do, just quietly lifted the branch with both hands high above his head. He paused to take aim, gather all his strength, then brought down the branch on top of William's head with such force that the stick snapped in his hands.

William's hands flew to his pate and he rolled off Tom's chest. He looked up at Dorian, and let out a bellow. 'The whole stinking litter!' He came to his feet, and swayed unsteadily. 'Even the youngest cur.'

'You just leave my brother be,' Dorian threatened, white-faced with terror.

'Run, Dorry!' Tom croaked dazedly, from where he lay in the bracken, without the strength to sit up. 'He'll kill you. Run!'

But Dorian stood his ground. 'You leave him alone,' he said.

William took a step towards him. 'You know, Dorry, that your mother was a whore.' He smiled, soothingly, and took another step forward, dropping his hands from his injured head. 'That makes you the son of a whore.'

Dorian was not certain what a whore was, but he answered furiously, 'You are not to speak of my mama like that.' Despite himself he took a pace backwards, as William advanced menacingly upon him.

'Mama's baby,' William mocked him. 'Well, your whore mama is dead, baby.'

Tears flooded Dorian's eyes. 'Don't say that! I hate you, William Courtney.'

'You, too, must learn some manners, Baby Dorry.' William's hands shot out and locked around the child's neck. He lifted Dorian easily into the air, kicking, clawing.

'Manners maketh man,' William said, and pinned him against the trunk of the copper beech under which they stood. 'You must learn, Dorry.' He pressed carefully on the child's windpipe with both fingers, staring into his face, watching it swell and turn purple. Dorian's heels kicked helplessly against the tree trunk, and he scratched at William's hands, leaving red lines on his skin, but he made no sound.

'A nest of vipers,' said William. 'That's what you are, asps and vipers. I'll have to clean you out.'

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