The man ducked inside despite it being early in the day when there were no performances taking place. Church and Jerzy followed, though Jerzy was baffled and Church had no real idea what it was about the man that had alerted him. Inside it was cool and dark and smelled of oil lamps and candle wax. A maze of corridors and stairs ran past rooms like huge burrows where theatre staff went about their business, oblivious.
Church lost sight of the man in the warren. After a while they emerged into bright sunlight and ahead of them was the expansive semicircle of the open-air theatre with mountainous tiers of seats reaching up to the summit of grand arches. It was completely deserted, but had the echoing charm of a pre-match football stadium.
‘He must still be inside-’ Jerzy began before he was cut short by rough hands clamping across his mouth. Church was assaulted from behind just as quickly, and the two of them were subdued by several arms and fists before a sharp blow to the back of the head plunged Church into unconsciousness.
He came round in a small room crowded with several figures. The windows were shuttered and thick, acrid candle smoke filled the air. The large-boned stranger they had been pursuing sat in one corner, gnawing on the remnants of a hambone. His cold gaze never left Church’s face.
Church’s sword lay on a table, its faint blue glow illuminating the face of a serious young man who was examining it. Nervously, he kept pushing back the black hair that fell in ringlets around his face.
Church quickly sized up the situation. There were four others: a woman with blonde hair pulled severely back into a clasp, her expression frosty; a second woman with olive skin and a mass of curly black hair, beautiful, with a hint of aristocracy, and wearing a toga of the upper classes; a pensive North African man in long, black robes; and a centurion standing near the door. His presence was charismatic, but his expression appeared permanently troubled.
‘The sword is filled with the Blue Fire,’ said the young man. ‘See the way the light plays along the edge of the blade? It is an object of power.’
‘Then why does this scrawny one carry it?’ the one with the hambone said gruffly. ‘His arms are barely strong enough to lift it.’
‘Try me,’ Church said. ‘You’ll see.’
The man threw the hambone to one side and wiped the grease from his mouth. I never thought I would see the day when I heard an insect speak.’
‘Why were you following Decebalus?’ the centurion asked. He had the authority of a leader and the others all looked to him as they awaited an answer.
When Church didn’t respond, Decebalus leaned forward and snatched away Jerzy’s mask. Everyone recoiled from the grinning, white visage. The one leaning over the sword crossed himself and mouthed, ‘Jesu!’
‘Please do not hurt me!’ Jerzy shrieked. ‘I am only a simple entertainer.’
‘He’s no threat to you,’ Church stressed. He saw hands go for daggers and swords, the steel in eyes used to searching for threats in every corner. Only the dark-haired woman remained calm.
‘What is he?’ the blonde said with disgust.
‘He comes from the Otherworld.’ The dark-haired woman leaned forward to examine Jerzy carefully. ‘Do you not?’
‘Yes …’ Jerzy said hesitantly.
‘And you?’ Decebalus said harshly to Church. ‘Are you one of the beasts who have tormented us since the dark days when the world was formed?’
‘I’m a man, like you.’ Church moderated his tone to try to calm the situation.
‘What kind of man wields an object of such power?’ the North African asked.
The young man looked from the sword to Church and said uncertainly, ‘A Brother of Dragons.’
‘Five is the number,’ the centurion said, ‘and there are five of us already.’
‘You’re Brothers of Dragons?’ It was Church’s turn to be shocked.
‘And sisters,’ the blonde woman said icily.
‘This is too much of a coincidence-’
‘There are no coincidences,’ the young man said fiercely. ‘That is the first rule we are taught. Existence moves us like pieces on a board to where we should be at the right time.’ His eyes blazed with a fierce intelligence. He motioned to Church’s arm. ‘You have a scar?’
Not understanding how the young man could know, Church cautiously revealed the scar where the spider had been in his arm.
The young man blanched. ‘Jack, Giantkiller,’ he said with awe.
‘What are you saying, you little runt?’ Decebalus demanded.
‘Long, long ago, when the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons first emerged from the Blue Fire, my ancestor met the great hero to whom we all owe allegiance: Jack the Giantkiller.’
Church looked into the young man’s face and saw something he recognised in the line of his jaw or the shape of his eyes. ‘Conoran,’ he said. ‘He was your ancestor.’
‘The King of the Land,’ the young man continued, ‘who disappeared across the water to the Isle of Apples, accompanied by the Golden Lady, to return when we needed him most.’
‘And this is he?’ The North African stared at Church in awe before bowing his head.
‘You are Jack, Giantkiller?’ the centurion asked.
‘He is!’ Jerzy chimed in with a note of hysterical relief. ‘A great hero!’
‘I prefer to be called Church.’
Dazed, the young man ran his hands through his ringlets. ‘This is … beyond belief! I never thought I would see the day!’
‘Your ancestor was a good man,’ Church said. ‘He saved my life.’
The young man smiled shyly. ‘My name is Joseph. I am a shepherd in the Church of Christ, and a Watchman. Legends say our society was established by my ancestor before its knowledge spread into all religions.’
‘It was.’ Church recalled his final conversation with Conoran, which was only a few months ago by his reckoning. ‘You have all the secret knowledge of the Culture?’
Joseph nodded. ‘Knowledge of the stars and the animals and all growing things. Knowledge of the Blue Fire that is in everything. Knowledge of all the lands, both here and beyond the veil, and of the beings who reside there, and the threats that humanity faces in coming times. I am here to ensure we are always prepared.’
The centurion shook Church’s hand. ‘I have heard many tales of the Great King Beyond the Water. I am proud to serve you. My name is Marcus Aelius Aquila of the Sixth Legion, stationed here in Eboracum.’
Church was stunned that events he had set in motion had taken on a life of their own, rolling out across the centuries right up to his own time. The others introduced themselves with varying degrees of openness. Decebalus had once been one of Rome’s enemies in Dacia, the region that would become Romania. The Dacians were renowned as fierce, brutal warriors and Decebalus was clearly of that tradition. Even after the introduction, he continued to regard Church with suspicion.
The dark-haired woman was Lucia Aeternia Constans, originally from Rome. Her husband had died in undisclosed circumstances. Decebalus called her strega, which Church knew meant witch’ though he couldn’t tell if it was a description or an insult. She had a seductive though kindly nature and reminded Church a little of Ruth.
The North African was Secullian, another Christian with an introspective nature and a wry sense of humour. He spoke repeatedly of prophecy and magics and how information came to him in what he called ‘day-sleeps’. And finally the blonde-haired woman who was the most closed-off of all of them: her name was Aula Fabricia Candida, born in Britain and married to a scholar now travelling across the Empire. Church couldn’t define her role within the group, but she regularly touched an unusual brooch that featured a circle of interlocking leaves.
‘You have come because of the dreams?’ Marcus asked. ‘Are these the End-Times of which Joseph speaks?’