He felt something cold on his skin and turned to look at the girl. She was sitting on a low wooden stool with a bowl in her lap, smearing a thick greenish-grey paste on to him. She began to gently rub it in with her strong, bony fingers.

James lay back and tried to keep still. It was very difficult. He badly wanted to scratch himself but whenever he moved his hand she slapped it away and gave him a nasty look.

The girl had her own small fire on which aromatic twigs and leaves were burning and sending off scented smoke. A little kettle hung over it on a tripod. The girl stopped what she was doing and peered into it. She then pounded up some wormwood leaves, bark and berries on a flat stone and scraped them in. She stirred the mixture for a while before pouring some into a tin cup and passing it to James to drink.

It smelt foul, but he didn’t want to annoy the girl, so he took a sip. It was disgusting – bitter and gritty. He fought back the urge to vomit and caught the girl’s eye. She evidently expected him to drink the whole lot. He forced down another couple of sips before handing her back the cup and shaking his head.

She looked cross and went back to applying the paste to his bites with intense concentration. The paste felt cool and soothing, but it did little to stop the horrible itching.

After a while the girl grew impatient with his fidgeting and left.

James took the opportunity to scratch himself all over, even though he knew that he shouldn’t.

His arms were the worst affected and he raked them till they bled.

The girl suddenly returned and yelled at him. She was with the big barrel-chested man who had carried James last night. He stroked his long black moustache, smiled at James, and then lashed his arms to his sides with thin ropes so that he couldn’t move his hands. The man gave him a friendly, apologetic look and wandered back over to the fire.

Even though James knew it was for the best, he felt humiliated and helpless.

He struggled up into a seated position and the girl fed him a cup of water like a baby. He drank some and dribbled the rest down his front.

She laughed, and suddenly looked years younger. She became a cheerful, happy child, not the grim-faced assassin who had rescued him last night.

A couple of minutes later there was a shout from across the cave as Stefano came down the steps. James was so relieved to see a familiar face he almost wept.

‘What’s going on?’ he said as Stefano hurried over. ‘Who are these people?’