‘Thank you, sir. Do you really think they’re from Outer Germania? Well, I suppose you should know.’

‘And why’s that, Gnaeus Junius? Because, even though my mother tongue is a purer Latin than yours, my father was from Germania Inferior and my mother was from Belgica, which to the likes of you means I may as well be transrhenus myself, is that it?’

‘Of course not, sir.’

‘We’re not all moon worshippers and bear shaggers, you know.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it, sir.’

‘And my ancestors did put up a hell of a fight. The legions had to drive us all the way to the coast of the Mare Suevicum before they were subdued.’

‘As you’ve pointed out before, sir.’

‘So don’t try to flatter me, Gnaeus Junius.’

‘Sir—’

‘You’re very bad at it—’

‘Sir. The intruder is doing something with his pack.’

Quintus saw that the man had turned away from his companion, the woman, and she was opening up the pack on his back for him. Quintus and Gnaeus immediately drew their ballistae, their handguns. Quintus heard the senior man of the squad behind him murmur brusque commands.

The male stranger, seeing the Romans’ reaction, spread his empty palms wide once more and again called out.

‘We should jump them,’ Quintus said.

‘Give them a moment, sir,’ Gnaeus said. ‘They’re speaking again. That tongue does sound more Germanic than not. But, you know, I would swear I can hear a third voice, neither the man’s nor the woman’s.’

Quintus glanced around sharply. The two strangers were alone. ‘Your hearing is either better than mine, optio, or worse.’

‘As if it’s coming from the pack on the man’s back …’

‘A belly-speaker? But we are rather far from any theatre here. I’ll not be amused by trickery.’

The woman was closing up the pack now. Evidently she had found what she wanted. She held two compact nodules of a smooth, white substance, like small marble pebbles.

‘Whatever that is,’ Gnaeus murmured, ‘it’s surely too small to be a weapon.’

‘Now who’s jumping to conclusions?’

The woman handed one of the nodules to her companion. They were both watchful of the Romans, and were evidently endeavouring to make sure Quintus’s men could see everything they were doing. Cautiously, they each pressed a nodule into one ear.

And when the man spoke again, Quintus was startled to discover he could understand his words.

‘Is the translation correct? Can you understand me?’

‘He speaks Latin,’ Gnaeus breathed. ‘Rather stilted, formal Latin.’

Quintus growled, ‘If they could speak Latin all the while, why address us in German?’

‘Perhaps they could not speak it,’ Gnaeus said, puzzling it out. ‘Perhaps it is those nodules in their ears that speak it for them. For I think I hear a trace of the German behind the louder Latin words  … Or perhaps it is the little fellow they carry in the pack on the man’s back who knows the Latin.’

‘And who belly-speaks for the other two, I suppose? Your imagination runs away with you, optio.’

‘This is a strange situation, sir. Perhaps imagination is what we need.’

‘Let’s get down to reality.’ Quintus put his weapon back into its loop at his belt and stepped forward, bunched fists on hips. ‘What is your mission here?’

The strangers exchanged glances. ‘We have no mission. We are—’ and here the speaker stumbled, as if searching for a precise term ‘—we are scouts.’ The two of them pulled the white pods away from their ears and spoke in their own tongue, briefly.

‘Scouts? For what army? Are you Brikanti or Xin or Roman? To which emperor do you pay your taxes?’

Gnaeus murmured, ‘The Brikanti don’t have an emperor, sir.’

‘Shut up.’

The woman said now, ‘Our speaker has not the right word. We are,’ another hesitation, ‘philosophers. We came through the, the door—’

‘The Hatch,’ said Gnaeus.

‘Yes, very well, the Hatch. We came to discover what is here, on this world. Not as part of a military force.’

‘They’re saying they’re explorers, sir.’

Quintus grunted. ‘They’re lying, then. Romans don’t explore, any more than Alexander did – not for any abstract purpose. Romans discover, survey, conquer.’

‘But they aren’t Romans, sir.’

Quintus repeated, ‘What emperor do you serve?’

The strangers exchanged a glance. ‘We serve no emperor. Our province is unconquered.’ Again they looked uncertain at the translation.

Quintus scoffed. ‘Nowhere on Terra is “unconquered” save for the icy wastes of the south. Flags fly everywhere – somebody’s flag at least, and more than one if there’s a war in progress.’

The woman tried again. ‘We recognise none of the names you mentioned. None of the polities.’

Gnaeus said, ‘Then you can’t come from Terra.’

The woman looked at him frankly. ‘Not from your Terra.’

Gnaeus’s eyes widened.

Quintus was baffled, and frustrated. ‘What do you mean by that? Perhaps your country has vanished under conquest, like the kingdom of the Jews. Perhaps your people are slaves.’

‘No,’ the woman said firmly. ‘We are not slaves.’ She seemed to listen for a moment. ‘Very well, ColU. I’ll emphasise that. We are freeborn.’

Gnaeus asked, ‘Who are you speaking to? Who is  … Collu? Collius?’

‘We are freeborn,’ the woman said again. ‘Strangers to you, strangers in this place, but freeborn. We ask for your protection.’

‘Protection?’ Quintus rapped his breastplate. ‘What do you think I am, a vicarius, a Bible scholar? So you don’t have nations. You don’t have owners. Do you have names? You?’ He jabbed a finger at the woman.

‘My name is Stephanie Karen Kalinski.’

‘And you?’

The man grinned, almost insolently. ‘Yuri Eden.’

Quintus glanced at Gnaeus. ‘What do you make of that? “Stephanie” sounds Greek – respectable enough. But “Yu-ri” – Scythian? Hun?’

‘Their names are as exotic as their appearance, sir,’ Gnaeus murmured.

‘Oh, I’ve had enough of this. We’ve a lot to get done before the Malleus Jesu can leave this desolate place – the sorting out of the veterans and their colonia for a start. I’ve no time for philosophical conundrums. Disarm them, take them as slaves – find some use for them, if they have any. And if all else fails find a suitably economical way to dispose of them.’

Gnaeus looked unhappy, but he nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

The woman stepped forward sharply. ‘Quintus Fabius. You’re making a mistake to dismiss us. We can be useful to you.’

He laughed. ‘How? You’re too old to be a concubine, too flabby and soft to fight – what, can you cook?’

She tapped her skull. ‘We have knowledge. Knowledge you don’t share.’

Gnaeus said hastily, ‘She may have a point, sir. We still don’t know anything about these people, how they came to be here. The Greeks have a saying: “Knowledge is the most potent weapon.” ’

Quintus grunted his contempt for that. ‘A phrase no doubt cooked up by some shiny-domed philosopher when Roman legionaries first came to his hometown waving their swords.’

‘He’s right,’ the woman said. ‘It would be irresponsible of you to discard us without being sure—’

Quintus roared, ‘Irresponsible? Do you presume to tell me my duty, woman?’

But Kalinski held her ground. ‘For example, perhaps we have knowledge to share of a common enemy.’ She thought it over. ‘An enemy of Rome, stronger and more wily than even the Xin and the—’

‘The Brikanti,’ Gnaeus prompted.

Quintus demanded, ‘Of what enemy do you speak?’

She gestured at the installation behind her. ‘I speak of whoever wishes these Hatches to be built to straddle the stars. And who manipulates the destinies of mightier empires even than your Rome to make it so …’

But now the man, Yuri Eden, seemed distracted by something. Apparently oblivious of the conversation, he took a step forward.

The legionaries reacted, drawing their weapons and pulling closer to their commander. Quintus too made to draw his ballista.