Now, the day had grown dark but I was a burly rogue, carrying sword and dagger, yet my assailants just seemed to step out of the shadows. They didn't attack me: my arms were pinioned and I was turned round, my face pressed into the dank wall of the alleyway. Perhaps it was the wine I had drunk but I only gave a short yell before my hair was grabbed and my head jerked violently back.

'Monsieur!' a voice hissed. 'Do not struggle! There are four of us. We mean you no harm but Monsieur Ralemberg is not the man he appears. It would be best if you looked for another business partner.'

'What do you mean?' I stuttered, my usual cowardice now taking hold. 'Ralemberg… who is he?' 'Monsieur,' the voice repeated slowly, 'you should not be worried about Monsieur Ralemberg but rather us.'

One of my hands was seized and, strange upon strange, a small wax candle thrust into my palm.

'Next time you meet Monsieur Ralemberg, just tell him his old friends the Luciferi are with him!' Suddenly a voice bellowed from the top of the alleyway. 'You, sirs! What are you doing?'

My face was banged against the wall and my assailants disappeared. I crouched, holding my bruised temple and cursing the arrow of pain which coursed through my face. My rescuers were three bully boys, swords and daggers stuck through their waists. You know the type, with their tight hose, protruding codpieces, puffed doublets and short cloaks. They didn't chase my assailants but helped me to my feet, solicitously enquiring after my health. It was dark, I couldn't make out their features, but I was terrified that I had jumped from the pot into the flames. Even then I should have known something was wrong. Why should three bully boys help a stranger in a darkened alleyway off Cheapside? However, they caused me no ill and I staggered back to the Golden Turk and the tender care of the slattern, a bowl of rich broth and countless frothing tankards of ale.