Acer roars in defiance and throws himself towards the emperor, despite having no weapon to hand. A praetorian blade tears at his flesh but it does not stop him. Two guards fall onto the polished marble floor as others rise to face him. I am there beside him, felling one guard before firmly striking the prefect across the jaw and disarming him. With a flurry of death and blood, the emperor’s finest are defeated by a lowly centurion and his friend.
‘No!’ I yell as a spear stabs through Acer’s armour and into his chest, but the brute does not slow. Acer tears the weapon from his bloody wound and uses it to vanquish more guards. He spits blood but fights on. He is a true warrior.
As I face the last guard in my path before I reach the emperor, my vision suddenly turns dark. Agony tears at the back of my skull as I fall to my knees. My sword is wrenched from my grasp.
‘Stop!’ The emperor’s voice rings through the chime of a thousand bells in my head.
Five blades are poised, ready to pierce my flesh and end my life. The fury in their eyes is as wild as the man who commands them. Acer lies before me, his eyes open and staring into the distance. Pools of blood spread across the floor.
‘You are a true Roman warrior,’ the emperor declares, standing before me. ‘Crucifixion would not be honourable enough for you – it is for the scum that plague our empire. Death would not be lasting or agonising enough for you. You are noble – to a fault –and so your life will be spared, but it is not your own. You are now my war-slave, and your true punishment is to witness the death of your remaining legion, with them knowing you have been spared. Know this, in the last moments, they will hate you.’
‘No…’ is all I can utter before the darkness claims me.
13
ADAM—The British Museum, London, England
I am given fresh clothes – jeans and a t-shirt – before I am led up to the operations floor. We use the lift instead of the utility staircase I apparently broke into.
‘How far underground are we?’ I ask as the lift passes floor after floor of artefact storage.
‘Far enough to house castles and pyramids,’ Emma replies with a smirk. I can’t tell if she is being serious or not.
‘Really?’ I can’t help but ask.
‘Yep,’ Dave replies. ‘All without a single window to the outside world. Hope you don’t get claustrophobic, kid.’
As we exit the lift with Charles at the lead, I see the operations rooms are a hive of activity. Small teams of people, all wearing headsets, are working at stations that link into vast screens, which cover the entire walls.
‘Each room denotes a different team,’ Charles tells me as we walk past them. ‘Echo, Delta, Charlie, Bravo, and Alpha. Charlie Team, headed by a husband and wife team, and Delta Team, led by famed Professor Helena Lainson, are on active hunts as we speak.’
The screens in Charlie show lands with dense tropical jungle. Ruins of long lost civilisations nestle between the verdant foliage. The screens for Delta show a very different scene. There are flames everywhere. A city on fire. From what I can work out, the teams in these rooms radio in instructions to the ground team using information gained from the drones and satellite images.
‘Bravo team is…’ His words falter as we pass the Bravo room. The lights are out and it is occupied by one single man. He is buried in his chair, coat wrapped over him as he sleeps. His feet are up on the console, which also houses an empty bottle of whiskey.
‘Well, you can judge for yourself what Bravo team is like,’ Charles says before speaking to Dave. ‘Remind me to have words with Gabriel.’
Dave nods.
‘We also have in support Chief Physician Dr Scott Wallace who helped see to your wounds, and our lead technician, Tristram Hill.’
‘What of the Alpha and Echo teams?’ I ask.
‘Alpha is stood down for the foreseeable future,’ Charles explains after a brief pause.
‘A long story, apparently,’ Dave adds to end the subject. Beyond him I can see the Alpha room lights off and long since occupied.
‘And as for Echo Team,’ Charles says as we reach the doors. ‘You can see for yourself.’
Inside, the screens all show maps and satellite images of Loch Lomond, the island of Inchlonaig, and the tombs of the Legio IX Hispana. One smaller set of monitors is the camera feeds showing the medical rooms, the corridors, and stairwells I walked and the containment & storage floors of the British Museum. In the centre of the room is the young woman who seemed so nervous when I first met her outside my house. Here, surrounded by all these monitors and maps, she seems completely at home.
‘I suppose you remember Abbey,’ Charles says as we walk into the room.
‘I thought I recognised that voice,’ I say.
‘Sorry, couldn’t resist,’ she says with a big grin, high-fiving Emma as she perches against her desk.
‘So, what does this have to do with Matt?’
‘Echo Team was assembled two years ago when the previous team disbanded,’ Charles explains. ‘I recruited the brightest and best of the new generation; Matt, Abbey, and Emma, with Dave as support. They trained for six months before they were sent into the field.’
‘For what reason?’ I ask. ‘What was the point in these teams?’
‘Each team down here is focussed on the acquisition of items of historical importance…’
‘Grave robbers,’ I interrupt.
‘Far from it – we’re guardians,’ Emma disagrees. ‘We act to keep relics out of the hands of thieves and tyrants. Each team has at least one or two specialists that are dispatched into the field,’ she continues.
‘Operatives is the correct term,’ Charles corrects her.
‘Hunters are what I call them,’ she says, ignoring both Charles and Dave as they sigh with annoyance.
‘Good choice of name!’ I quip drily.
‘Matt and Emma are Echo Team’s hunters,’ Abbey explains, bringing up an image of the team – Matt is at its centre.
‘The best of the best,’ she adds, drawing a brief smile from Emma who fixes me with a hard stare. I struggle to ignore it and focus, her green and blue eyes almost mesmerising.
‘So my brother was a relic hunter?’ I ask, barely able to believe what I was hearing. ‘This all sounds
ridiculous. Did he wear a fedora too?’
‘A baseball cap,’ Charles says without humour. Abbey is unable to contain a small laugh.
‘So you recruited the best and brightest?’ I ask.
Charles nods with pride.
‘Yeah, that sounds like the golden boy.’
‘Is that jealousy I hear?’ Emma teases.
‘Yep,’ I admit, ‘but not in the way you think.’
‘Anyway,’ Charles says, thankfully ignoring my last remarks, ‘Matthew has been very successful. He has acquired many items of historical prominence, preventing them from falling into the wrong hands. We protect them here, below the main museum.’
‘How do you fund all this?’ I ask, looking between the monitors and thinking of the other teams all over the world. ‘Somehow I can’t imagine the museum donations quite cover it.’
‘We’re a branch of the British government. The British Museum is our storefront, so to speak,’ Charles explains. ‘We link with aspects of MI-5, MI-6, and occasionally, other units that deal with things… stranger. Our division has been in place since before the creation of the museum above in 1753. Some of our funding comes from the government, but not nearly enough. The rest we find through the sale of some of our acquisitions to private collectors, or as we call them, custodians.’
‘Meaning you pawn off some of what you find?’ I remark.
‘Pretty much,’ Abbey whispers to me.
‘This all sounds crazy,’ I say. ‘The museum was built to cover your facility beneath it?’
‘Exactly,’ Charles replies. ‘Fortunately, the museum doubles as a site where we can display the objects of lesser interest to us. Others, like what your brother went to Loch Lomo
nd to search for, are too dangerous to house anywhere else.’
‘What was my brother after?’ I ask. ‘I assume it was more than just the legion’s tomb.’
‘You found the coin down there, right?’ Abbey asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, remembering the edged coin, the imprint of an eagle on one side and the Property of the British Museum stamp on the other.
‘That coin was of the Roman era,’ Abbey says. ‘From 27BC to 476AD, the Roman Empire ruled much of the known world. Roads, bridges, aqueducts, baths, theatres and arenas; the Romans built them all. They had the best army in the world, setting many of the standards that are still in place in armed forces. Julius Caesar, Mark Antony, Augustus, Vespasian, Titus… the list goes on of rulers and emperors, names that are still well known by most.’
‘So, about the coin,’ I say, lost in Abbey’s history lesson. ‘It opened the stone doorway into the tombs below the loch.’
‘As Matt thought it would,’ she says with a smile. ‘That coin was found in northern Scotland on a dig five years ago; the Eagle emblazoned on one side and, very faintly on the other, the words Legio IX Hispana. You know the tales of the legion, right?’
‘It marched north into Scotland and was never seen again.’
‘Until now. Your brother heard talk of a cave system found on the island of Inchlonaig. Another Roman coin, almost identical, was found at the scene. Matt took our coin from the vaults and set out without word to any of us. Always impulsive.’
‘It runs in the family,’ Charles added, looking to me.
‘He only got in touch with us when he was already inside the tombs,’ Abbey adds.
‘Why is that legion of so much interest?’ I ask. ‘I mean, sure it vanished without a trace and it’s inspired many books and films …’
‘Channing Tatum…’ Abbey whispers, in a daze.
‘On track, Abbey,’ Dave says.
She rolls her eyes at him and I see then just how close their team is. I’m strangely jealous that Matt is part of this world. Abbey is tapping something out on her computer screen and talking over her shoulder, as if all of this is the most perfectly normal thing in the world.
‘The disappearance of the legion isn’t the end of the story.’ Excitement grows in her voice. ‘Do you know what a legion’s Eagle is?
‘Like a regiment’s flag?’
‘Exactly,’ Abbey responds. ‘In the Roman army, the legion’s standard was the most sacred possession, touched by the hand of the emperor himself. Men fought and died for their Eagle. It was the greatest dishonour for the Eagle to be captured by the enemy. It’s a tradition that continued on into the armies of French emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, his brigades carrying Eagle standards too. Even the British armies under the Duke of Wellington marched beneath their colours, their regimental and national flags.’
‘Back to the Ninth Legion, Abbey,’ Charles instructs.
‘Yes, so you see, in 76 AD, the Legio IX Hispana, known commonly as the Ninth Legion, was stationed in Britannia as part of Emperor Vespasian’s invasion. They marched north to deal with barbarian hordes in the north of Britain, aiding one tribe in particular under the dragon banner, its leader being Uther.’
‘You mean the Uther, Uther Pendragon, as in King Arthur’s father?’ I ask in surprise. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘That’s off track, Abbey,’ Charles intercedes. ‘A story for another day.’
‘Right,’ she says, taking off her glasses and rubbing them clean. ‘So the Ninth Legion marched north with a dozen tribes in pursuit of one. Except when battle came, it wasn’t just one tribe they faced. All but a few of the tribes they called an ally turned on them and the legion was massacred.’
‘So far so Hollywood film,’ I say.
‘Until we come to the end,’ Abbey says, her eyes alive and the speed of her words rapid, which, along with her broad Irish accent, was making her increasingly hard to follow. ‘When they were down to a handful of men, the legion commander took the standard, their bronze Eagle, and with his dying breath, raised it to the heavens. The heavens replied, a beam of light striking down and blinding all those who faced the Romans. Victory was seized from certain defeat. Whether it was a bolt of lightning striking the Earth, the gods answering a dying man’s prayers, or something else, nobody can be sure. It had long been thought of as a rumour, an old wives’ tale told generation to generation,’
‘A myth, you mean,’ Dave mutters.
‘That’s not the end of the story,’ Abbey says. ‘Once their foes were blinded, the Romans found they were not alone on that hilltop. The souls of their fallen brothers supposedly rose up to save the legion. Their fallen never truly stopped protecting their own.’
‘It’s a ghost story, then,’ I say, enthralled by her tale. ‘How do you know it isn’t anything more than a myth?’
‘We don’t, not truly,’ Charles says, ‘but that coin was the only proof in existence that we had relating to the Eagle and the legion. That and the vase.’
‘Vase?’ I ask.
With three taps on her computer, Abbey brings up a rotating image of a chipped and faded vase on the main screen. There are pale images on the vase, but time had not ravaged them beyond recognition. Roman soldiers with raised Eagle, holy light shining down, and deformed demons falling to the ground. It was an impressive sight, depicting what Abbey described perfectly, except the demonic Britons. My eyes settle on the Eagle.
‘The vase was found in a dig just south of modern day Glasgow,’ Abbey states, ‘along with a small amount of Roman armour, coin, and weaponry.’
‘Where is the vase now?’ I ask.
‘One of our rivals has it,’ Charles states coldly, anger simmering within. ‘There has been a spate of robberies on museums across Europe in the past three months by two men, an Australian and an American.’
‘Leon and Bishop,’ I say under my breath.
‘This vase is recorded as currently missing,’ Charles continues.
‘Until you and Matt found the tombs, the coin and vase were the only proof of the legion.’ Abbey indicates to the main screens on the wall as she displays the live feeds of survey teams heading into the caves of Inchlonaig.
‘Your own token of the crypt,’ Dave says, placing the Roman gladius blade upon a table in the centre of the room. ‘I believe it now belongs to you. Fortunate you didn’t land on it when your bike crashed. I found the blade a few yards away from where you landed.’
For the first time, I get a proper look at the gladius in good light. Engraved across the blade is the name of its last owner, Thadian, and on the pommel of the ivory hilt are the letters H IX, Legio IX Hispana.
‘It really is a beautiful place,’ Abbey says, looking up to the live feeds of the island and surrounding loch.’
Looking up to the monitors, I see the teams making their way through the caves, following the route I took. ‘Make sure to warn them of the traps down there,’ I say, instinctively feeling the bandages at my arm.
‘The support teams are aware,’ Charles replies.
‘How are you feeling, anyway?’ Abbey asks, showing some genuine concern.
‘Better than I look, that’s for certain,’ I say. ‘Injuries aren’t that bad, although I don’t remember the one to my head.’
‘That was from your tumble off the bike,’ Emma says. ‘You need to be more careful.’
‘Dave patched you up before bringing you here for further medical attention,’ Charles explains. ‘He is a former combat medic, among other things, formerly of the Royal Marines Commandos and the Special Air Service.’
‘In a past life,’ he mutters gruffly. ‘Best forgotten, believe me.’
‘Thank you,’ I say but he says nothing back. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Two days recuperating,’ Charles explains. ‘We kept you sedated so your body would have time to recover. It proved difficult as you kept waking up, despite the sedation.’
‘Probably something to do with being hyperac
tive,’ I say. ‘My mother always says that, as a boy, I ran before I crawled.’
‘Yes, well we notified your mother that you are here and safe,’ Charles says. ‘She was exceedingly pleased to hear you are not harmed. We told her you are helping us with the search for Matthew. To be truthful, we were concerned about your head injury but it was not nearly as serious as we first feared. She wasn’t happy though …’
‘Wouldn’t be her if she was happy,’ I say.
‘She wants you home as soon as possible,’ he adds.
‘Why does she dislike you so much, Charles?’ I ask, ignoring his last comment.
‘I lost her son.’ His voice is distant. ‘I lost someone she loves.’
‘What of the guys who ran me off the road and nearly killed me?’ I ask, changing the uncomfortable subject. ‘Leon and Bishop?’
‘Jack Bishop and Leon Bransby,’ Dave says. ‘They call themselves climbers and explorers but they are more like hired mercenaries. I’ve faced them once or twice before.’
‘And put a bullet in one of them,’ Emma adds with a wink.
‘Anyway,’ Dave continues, undeterred, ‘they wouldn’t be in Scotland without being on the payroll of someone.’
‘There was someone else down there with us,’ I say. ‘Covered in tattoos, black hair, black eyes. He… he used fire on me, blue flames.’
I see Charles and Abbey share a knowing glance, before Dave speaks. ‘Sounds like you were hallucinating down there. Fear can do strange things to the mind.’
‘He engulfed me in flames. It burned me, yet when it was gone there wasn’t a mark on my body. I’m sure that he has Matt – there was something about him.’
‘We have alerted MI-5 and MI-6 and they are aiding us in every way they can to track them and your brother down,’ Dave explains.
‘They wanted the Eagle,’ I say. I’m coming to understand that my brother is no closer to returning home to his family.
‘And I’m guessing it was not in the tombs?’ Charles asks.
‘Not that I saw,’ I reply.
‘And not that your camera did either,’ Abbey says. With a few button clicks, the main screens change to the photos I took with my phone, showing the tombs, caskets, and Roman armour.
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