‘Restrain him,’ said my father. ‘Let me take care of the rights and wrongs of it.’

That silken voice, the tone that had first caused me to take leave of my judgment. A voice that could whisper suggestions even as it spoke banalities. ‘By the word of the Lord,’ said that voice. ‘If one of you lays a hand on me, I will not be held accountable for what I do. Choose what happens, and choose it well.’

It was a fatal misjudgment: I could see it in the faces of the sealers, the sudden tension in their bodies. They had been equivocating: now they were decided.

The tension finally broke and the long-suppressed eruption ripped the air.

Two of the sealers lunged at Gideon. He twisted from their grip, taking a wild swing at one. It missed: had it connected, I cannot imagine the damage.

There was a glint and I saw he had a fork in his hand. He struck at the other man, overhand, and it stuck in the side of his neck; the doctor had to tug it free to stab at him again. Another man hit him in the kidneys and he grunted but he was intent on what he was doing. He punched the fork into the man’s face and must have hit bone, for it stayed there and the man reeled away with the handle protruding just near his eye.

A crowd of men were now pressing him against the edge of the bench while he swung madly at them with his fists. As they pressed him back his body tilted the timbers and the objects on it began to slide, the debris of the great lobster and runnels of f luid. Then the brackets snapped and the bench upended, slamming into my father, who was half-standing, and clinging to the back of a chair at the far end. Other chairs went flying and, for just a moment, the doctor and my father were caught together in the maelstrom. Then they spilled away from each other.

My father was on his back on the floor, kicking at the air like an overturned beetle, and as likely to be crushed. I reached for him and curled myself over him as the mayhem continued above.

Men were diving at Gideon, women arming themselves with implements from the scullery, shrieking. A long wooden oven peel swung through the air and a man ducked expertly under it. Gideon was the centre of the brawl, punching, kicking and lurching. I caught sight of his face in one swirl of the fight and did not recognise him at all. His eyes had rolled back and his mouth was bloodied. I thought first that a blow had split his skin, but then he spat a hunk of flesh and a man came away with the length of his eyebrow gone, blood streaming down his face.