The March Beneath York

In the winter of 1953, York slumbered under a frost-veiled sky, its ancient stones whispering secrets older than the city itself. The Treasurer’s House, a stoic sentinel of history, stood beside the mighty York Minster, its elegant halls masking a darker truth below. Beneath its polished floors, in a cellar carved from the earth’s bones, the echoes of Eboracum—Rome’s northern stronghold—lingered like a half-forgotten dream. Here, where time seemed to pool in the damp shadows, a young plumber’s apprentice named Harry Martindale would stumble into the impossible. On a routine job, armed only with tools and scepticism, he would face a spectral legion marching through the dark—a glimpse of a world long buried, yet never truly gone.