The spotlights were brightening on the platform. A hush ran through the crowd, settling as an uneasy silence, the sort that comes as the prelude to screaming at the top of your voice. Albert saw the crowd moving at the very front, right next to the stage, parting to make way for someone to walk up to the platform. A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. He could hear hoots and cheers breaking out from different parts of the gathering.

A bulky, heavily-muscled man, bald and scowling, with a lush beard and the broadest and hairiest chest that Albert had ever seen, jumped up on to the apron, swinging over the ropes to get into the ring. The crowd erupted. ‘Bosco! Bosco! Bosco! Bosco!’

‘There he is,’ shouted Kieran. ‘That’s Bosco,’ he added, somewhat unnecessarily.

‘He seems quite popular.’

‘Aye! Never lost a fight, has he, an’ he’s been doin’ this eight years or more, every place there is!’

‘Every place?’

‘Aye, these ain’t the only fights, an’ there’s plenty of places pay better, cause the odds are higher, y’know. But there ain’t nobody gonna place odds against Bosco. ’E’s a legend!’

‘He sounds pretty impressive.’

‘Impressive? He’s unbelievable, that’s what it is! Eight years! Most people don’t go eight fights!’

‘I’m sure he must be really good.’

‘Good? Good ain’t the ’alf of it! ’E ain’t good, ’e’s Bosco!’

‘I gather you’re a fan, then.’

‘Me? Well, I got a bet ridin’ on ’im ’cos ’e’s the best fighter there be, but I don’ like ’im much. Too mean by ’alf.’

The crowd around didn’t seem to share his sentiment. ‘Bosco! Bosco! Bosco! Bosco!’

The individual in question, who, Albert had just noticed, was wearing an animal skin of some sort, galloped around the ring, revelling in the attention.

‘Bosco! Bosco! Bosco! Bosco!’ The chant went on and on, echoing round the Arena, showing no signs of abating. Albert began to feel sorry for this Bosco’s opponent. The way this crowd was behaving, they’d probably hate the guy even more if he managed to beat their beloved. On the other hand, there seemed to be no sign of that worthy gentleman, whoever he might be. Maybe he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

‘Bosco! Bosco! Bosco! Bosco!’