As he was ranting on, James took time to study the occupants of the exclusive guest of honour seats, a motley collection of about twenty men sitting next to Ugo. They didn’t appear to be locals. They looked out of place here in their flashy suits and sunglasses. They had an air of arrogance and self-importance about them, as if they were used to giving orders and being obeyed. They didn’t look like politicians, aristocrats or military men, though. There was something dangerous and secretive about them, something that said keep away. They looked as bored by the speech as James was, and sat there fanning themselves and not speaking to each other.

As James watched, Zoltan the Magyar took his place with them. He seemed perfectly at home among these men.

When Ugo finally finished there was a burst of applause from the audience and some cheering, then the gates opened and a brass band marched in, playing a dreary tune. Ugo conducted the music with a serious look on his face.

After the band finished playing there were more cheers from the crowd as a procession of locals in traditional attire marched in and circled the stadium with pipes bleating, trumpets blaring, drums banging, people singing and flowers raining down on to their heads.

The procession seemed to go on forever, and James kept nodding off as the locals tramped round and round the ring. Eventually some men in wooden masks and weird hairy goat costumes festooned with cowbells ran into the ring. They danced all over the place and acted out some sort of ritual that James found baffling but the crowd seemed to enjoy. There was a cheerful, rowdy atmosphere, but it was obvious that everyone was waiting for the main event.

James tried to stay awake by chatting to Perry, and told him everything that had happened since he had left him in Abbasanta.

‘Well, you’ve certainly had a more exciting time of it than we have,’ Perry babbled breathlessly. ‘It’s been so dull since you left. Dull, dull, dull. Just ruins and m-more ruins, didn’t know there were so m-many ruins in the world, beginning to think the whole world’s one big ruin. Cagliari not m-much better, dismal place, and we’ve been staying in the worst hotel, I m-mean the worst, I’m sure the place has rats. I’ve been having the m-most awful time trying to sleep. Luckily, good old Love-Haight has some m-medicine. Ghastly stuff, bitter as anything, like drinking seawater.’

‘Well, I think I would have preferred a quiet time, actually,’ said James. ‘Rather than being attacked by bandits and nearly killed. I would have been more than happy if my only problem had been not being able to sleep.’