Jack went to jump into the pit after her, but two of Rakesby’s gang came rushing at him with rapiers. Armed only with the dagger, Jack managed to fend off the first jab but was caught on the arm by the second attack. Smarting from his wound, he retreated through the fleeing crowd, the bear still on the rampage. But now more gang members materialized to block his escape. Surrounded by rapiers, cudgels and knives, Jack had nowhere left to run.

Rakesby appeared with his knotted staff. ‘Enough of this blood sport!’ he spat. ‘Kill the runt!’

Jack pivoted on the spot, trying desperately to ward off any attacks. But he was outnumbered seven to one.

Then a slim gentleman with an upturned moustache stepped into the circle. He was dressed in a fine purple doublet and hose trimmed with lace. A black velvet cape hung stylishly off one shoulder and a wide-brimmed feathered hat adorned his head. With a flourish, he unsheathed his rapier – a long sliver of elegant steel.

‘And who are you?’ demanded Rakesby, furiously.

‘I, sir, am Signor Horatio Palavicino,’ announced the swordsman, with a grand air and distinctly foreign accent.

Rakesby sneered. ‘A fop from Italy? Get lost! This ain’t your fight.’

‘It is now,’ replied Signor Horatio, sinking into a low guard, his rapier out straight, his left arm held high for balance.

Rakesby shrugged. ‘So be it. Kill ’em both, lads.’

His gang rushed in. Jack readied himself to fight to his last breath, but he barely got a thrust in. Signor Horatio lunged, deflected and disarmed all six attackers in a matter of seconds. His sword work was almost too fast to see, the rapier blade whipping through the air like a hornet, stinging its victims and wounding them into immediate submission.

Rakesby gazed round at his men. Then he turned his outrage on the newcomer. ‘You may be quick with a rapier,’ he snarled, ‘but I daresay you ain’t as quick as a bullet!’

Pulling his flintlock pistol from his belt, the highwayman took aim at Signor Horatio. The swordsman held his ground, noble and proud even in the face of certain death. There was nothing Jack could do to save his saviour –

A guttural roar issued from the arena. Rakesby spun back round to face the approaching bear, re-aimed and fired his pistol. The bear flinched and howled in pain, but kept coming. And Rakesby fled for his life.

‘Ah, how Shakespeare would have approved!’ Signor Horatio laughed, as the highwayman hightailed it into the woods, with the enraged bear close behind. ‘Exit, pursued by a bear!’

30: Sword Master