The interior communicated the same impression.

I guessed that, if this rambling coruscation of architecture had a heart, it was most likely the keep to which we had just been admitted. The porticos and collunades and courtyards - be they occupied by low life or high - were the incidental benign tumors of the whole structure. The solid core was this massive, square, black stone structure and everywhere I now looked, I could see that in evidence.

We stepped through to a relatively tiny reception space, surrounded by defended balconies from which rocks could be dropped or arrows fired and, as I looked up, I saw the dark shapes of figures hidden in shadow, watching. From there we walked into a narrow gateway that grew narrower still, with a low roof that would bottleneck invaders and make it almost impossible to swing a sword or axe.

This then opened up into a much larger space: a reception room, also surrounded by balconies. And everywhere I looked were serious-faced men and women in chainmail and plate armour in various levels of readiness. At the far side, a low wooden dais presided over a long table, covered in paper, scrolls and books. And on the dais itself were five chairs: a large central one flanked on each side by two others, each one occupied by the same breed of serious men and women as those who even now tracked my and Anthelion's progress across the room, trailing behind the gatekeeper.

And now that I thought about it, I could see others like him around the room. All no more than five feet tall, hunched and powerfully built. In heavy-looking armour they looked both more dangerous and less monstrous than our guide.

The man at the centre of the dais looked angrily at Anthelion and shouted at him as we drew closer, but the gatekeeper replied - his comments eliciting laughter from those around us. In response, Anthelion casually punched the gatekeeper in the side of his head, pushed him aside and made a grand-looking and -sounding pronouncement ( of which I, of course, understood not a single word) before turning to point at me.

That gesture was followed by more silence before the whole room burst out laughing. And, it had to be admitted, I don't do well with people to whom I've not been introduced laughing at my expense, so you may imagine how I felt at a roomful of strangers acting like they think I'm David Fucking Brent doing his office dance.

There followed an angry exchange between the Big Man, who stood up from his throne to be able to really put his back into the abuse he was hurling at Anthelion, while my man there was giving it back some, albeit with what I sensed was a lot fewer assertions regarding the Big Man's parentage and private habits.

Then it all went a bit Pete Tong, because some dick in a suit of armour stepped quickly up in my face. He had no helmet on. But he had an incredibly silly haircut, like a cross between a bowl cut and a tonsure: the sort of thing premiership footballers get for a dare only to see eleven-year-old Asbos copying it all over the country. Plus, he had one of those faces that was just asking to be slapped, with big smooth cheeks and the kind of thin-lipped, pouty mouth from which you just know the next words out of it are going to be "Well, my Dad's a barrister..."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Anyway, before I could ask him what he thought he was doing, he stuck a knife in my chest. I mean, I hadn't much liked the look of him before he stabbed me, as you may have gathered. But when it comes to prejudice, I think it's fair to say that, on this occasion, I was right on the money.

I was, however, wearing my full protective detail as required by the exercise briefing, so his dagger slid off the steel/ceramic chest plate and got tangled up in my layers before it finally - and painfully - broke skin. But even though I registered that I wasn't, in fact, dead, a different part of my brain had registered that the individual currently up in my grill had just tried to murder me, which caused a 100% instinctive reaction on my part which started with me dropping back and cocking my M4, flicking off the safety at the same time, and ended with a good chunk of the back of chummy's head decorating the paper-strewn table.

He crumpled, dramatically, to the floor, then chaos descended.

A forest of swords appeared on every side, and I didn't neglect to notice the appearance of yet more dark figures on the balcony above me, nor the evident fact that this world had invented the crossbow.

The four others on the dais - two men and two women - were shouting and Anthelion was shouting and I, meanwhile, had my M4 at the shoulder as I turned rapidly in pursuit of an exit or cover or both, until I had made a full three-sixty to come back to where I started, when I noticed that there was one person in the room not shouting, and not moving, but instead staring very intently and very directly at me.

The Big Man raised a hand and the voices slowly fell to silence.

Anthelion looked at me like I'd grown an extra head, then down at the dead dickhead whose dagger was still dangling from my smock. I could feel the bloody leaking from the wound in my upper chest, but I ignored it, as I lined up my barrel on the Big Man, who continued to stare at me, no fear in his face.

He spoke to me, and Anthelion tried, I think, to explain that I didn't understand but the Big Man shut him down and addressed me again.

"I am Colour Sergeant Ryan Shakespeare," I replied. "Two six four one, eight nine five one. And I will shoot you dead if your people don't stand down right the fuck now."

The Big Man looked confused, as he had every right to, and Anthelion spoke again. Then the Big Man seemed, at last, to listen. He let Anthelion speak for a while before he raised his hand again, interrupting my host, and speaking, I guessed, to the general assembly.

As he spoke, swords and bows were lowered, and I flicked the safety back on, lowering the M4's barrel in turn. Then the Big Man addressed Anthelion directly, who answered him briefly. I heard a lot of "kip" being said. Then Anthelion turned to me, approached me carefully, patted me cautiously on the shoulder and then took a firmer grip with his free hand, turning me back the way we had come.

The gatekeeper hurried to catch up, looking far less amused and far more fearful of both me and Anthelion. And as we left, I heard the room erupt back into chatter.