This is the tale of the Spanish murderer and your mother.
I have said nothing of it heretofore, but now it must out.

When I was a lad it happened that I also went to Spain because my father willed it.

I went to a monastery at Seville, but I had no liking for monks and their ways, and I broke out from the monastery.

For a year or more I made my living as I best might, for I feared to return to England as a runaway.
Still I made a living and not a bad one, now in this way and now in that, but though I am ashamed to say it, mostly by gaming, at which I had great luck.

One night I met this man Juan de Garcia--for in his hate he gave you his true name when he would have stabbed you--at play.