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that their faces seemed to be covered with some white powder, which I found very strange.
    All the time, as I approached the centre of this great town, the bustle and noise increased. There were men pulling carts full of vegetables, shops displaying fly-covered meat, women carrying bags of bread and flour, and more horsemen, wearing stockings like my mother, and tunics with frills of white cloth around their necks. These men too had swords, and usually carried themselves with a certain swagger, the horses seeming as grand and arrogant as their owners. And there were others in flea-infested rags, sitting on the street with hands cupped, looking for coins. One or two played on mandolins like those of the Lanark beggars.
    Soon I found myself walking along narrow streets, full of inns and bustling with merchants and carts carrying barrels, timber, bales of wool and many other products. I passed a great tower on a hill, square in construction and with flags flying from each of its four turrets. But it was not the tower which caught my eye: it was a scaffold next to it, from which the bodies of three men were hanging. Further along I saw a great archway and close to it four high poles with what looked like turnips stuck on top. As I approached, I saw to my horror that these were human heads, drained, discoloured, the jaws hanging open and flies buzzing in their ears, eyes and mouths. Dark stains had trickled down the poles from the heads. I could not believe such barbarity. Whatever they had done, were they not Christians, and so entitled to Christian burial? Trying not to retch I passed under the arch. None of the crowd milling around me seemed even to notice the ghastly sight.
    In the late afternoon, with the sky growing dark and thundery, I walked alongside the broad river which I knew to be the Thames. Small ships, many of them loaded with cargo, were sailing up and down this stretch of water. I had seen pictures of ships but this was my first sight of real ones. I was enchanted by them and almost forgot the gruesome heads which I had earlier passed under. I walked along the embankment, past a timber crane which was being used to unload casks of what I believed to be French wine, until I came to a bridge, and joined the throng which was crossing it. By now it was almost dark, I still had no money and no place to sleep, and I was filled with great weariness, having walked four leagues that day.
    South of the river, London was clearly an area of great poverty, but there was also much merriment, or so it seemed. The streets were crowded with drunkards. A woman of great age, perhaps forty, with bright red lips and face powdered white, gave me a strange, unpleasant smile. I ignored her and passed. She smelled of flowers and sweat. I had hardly gone fifty paces when my path was blocked by four youths, some years older than me. They wore flat caps with feathers and had long, thin swords dangling from their belts. I did not like their demeanour.
    The oldest, a flat-faced individual with a dull red tunic and thin breeches, stopped me with a raised hand. 'So where have you crawled from, country boy? Scotland?' There was an outburst of coarse laughter from his friends, who were spreading themselves around me. 'And where did you steal these clothes? From the back of a sheep?' More laughter. I tried to push on past but the man shoved at my chest and said, 'I'm not finished with you, boy.' His face was a foot from mine and his breath was disgusting, with a strong smell of port.
    'And I don't like the look of you,' I replied.
    He looked at me with angry amazement and then slapped my face. The blow was hard and unexpected and I staggered, almost knocked to the ground and dropping my pike, which he stood on. I recovered my balance and suddenly, with rage and boldness, pulled my dagger from its sheath and lunged at his throat. He froze, wide-eyed in terror. I pricked the skin of his neck, drawing blood, and said loudly, making sure anger was in