Three of the largest boys advanced on him. ‘Come along, little rabbit,’ said one of them. ‘You’re going in the pot!’

‘Stop it!’ James yelled, and they turned round laughing.

James stepped out of the crowd. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he said, looking from one boy to another.

He recognised the ringleader, a large boy with floppy hair. He would have been quite handsome if his ears and nose hadn’t stuck out so much, and he wore an expression of arrogant superiority that only the truly stupid can pull off. He was well known in the school. His name was Tony Fitzpaine and he was the Duke of something, or the Earl of somewhere.

‘We’re going to throw Nandra in the river,’ he drawled, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

‘What’s he done?’

‘He’s not one of us,’ scoffed Fitzpaine. ‘He’s an invader and we’re going to throw him back into the sea, just like Haight’s Sardinian bandits.’

‘Wash him in the Thames!’ someone shouted.

James stepped forward and put himself between the boys and his friend. ‘Leave him alone,’ he said. ‘He’s better than the lot of you.’

‘Ha!’ snorted Fitzpaine. ‘Do you know who I am, you dirty little pleb?’

‘Yes,’ said James. ‘And you could be the King of England for all I care. Pritpal is my friend and you’re not going to throw him in the river.’

‘If you don’t get out of my way,’ bawled Fitzpaine, ‘I’m going to throw you in the river.’ He looked to his friends and brayed with laughter like a donkey.

‘No, you’re not,’ said James flatly and Fitzpaine frowned at him.

The two of them stood there, staring at each other. Fitzpaine was not used to anyone standing up to him. His father was an important, powerful man, so, within Eton, Fitzpaine was also important and powerful. For a moment he seemed confused, then the arrogant look returned. In his mind there was a certain order in the world, and this order was being threatened. He didn’t know James, which meant that James wasn’t important. And you could do whatever you liked to unimportant people. Fitzpaine pulled his lips back from his large teeth and forced his mouth into a superior smile.

‘Well, you asked for it,’ he said, and pushed James hard backwards in the direction of the river’s edge. But James had been expecting something and stood his ground. Then, before the older boy knew what was happening, he punched him hard in the mouth.

Fitzpaine rocked on his feet, stunned, trying to focus his eyes, his knees shaking and his legs wobbly.

There was a shocked silence from the other boys.

James calmly walked over and gave Fitzpaine a shove. He toppled over into the Thames and floundered about in the reeds at the river’s edge, spluttering in amazement. Two of his friends went to haul him out.

James confronted the rest of the mob. Now what? They’d probably lynch him.