When the Romans left Britain, they left a lot behind. They left roads, they left fortresses, they left whole cities. London, Londinium-as-was, was a thriving place under Rome, the biggest city in the country, home to thousands.

And then the Romans left. And so did everyone else. By the 5th century Londinium was abandoned; it wouldn’t be fully settled again until Alfred the Great, 400-odd years later. For whatever reason, despite there being a perfectly good city sitting there waiting to be lived in, the Saxons built their own city at Lundenwic, about a mile next door. They refused to live in old London itself. Why? Why not move in? Why leave it ruined?

There are doubtless many historical reasons why; I’m a historian, I should know more of them. But personally, and for my own purposes, I like to think it was because of the ghosts.

Because even if there weren’t really any, imagine how creepy it would be: setting foot in a city that was once the greatest on the whole island, the foremost outpost of what was then the foremost civilisation in Europe, a bastion of the Roman Empire. Left empty. Abandoned. Crumbling to dust, its churches tumbled down, its walls sagging. Its streets filled with nothing but echoes. I can imagine the Saxons exploring those buildings, knowing objectively that they were almost sound, that a bit of roofing work would leave them with enough room for thousands of people, with ready-made marketplaces and even bathhouses, if they felt like it. They could have shored up those Roman walls and been safe as houses behind them. And I can imagine them starting at every shadow, too. I can imagine how it might have felt, walking in the footsteps of all those vanished Romans… and I can imagine why they decided to walk away instead.

But what if the Romans left behind more than ruins? What if they left secrets? Treasures, riches untold, lurking in those forgotten churches and temples, gold and silver and more besides? What if there was a reason to set foot in abandoned Londinium once again, and come out with a fortune in your pack?

And what if there was another reason that you really, really shouldn’t risk it? What if those ghosts weren’t so metaphorical after all?

That’s what my trio of Saxon treasure-hunters find out, in the pages of The Bull Beneath, which has just been published in the latest issue of Grimdark Magazine.

I don’t write horror very often (or dark fantasy, or whatever you call this sort of thing). I don’t write historical fiction very often either, if this counts. But when I do, Grimdark keep liking it. And I really do enjoy it. For all that many of my stories have their happy endings, I like to get twisted; I like to push my characters to and beyond their mental limits and watch them squirm. Salvage 7 is going to be a prime example of this, whatever it ends up becoming – there are some delightfully evil sections of that book for sure.

The Bull Beneath was an opportunity to do that, in short-form. And being able to base that story on real history – in some more specific real locations too, which you might be able to figure out if you read it – was great fun. I felt a bit like a historian again writing it. And I felt very evil, too.

So thanks, Grimdark. I’m rather proud to be in your pages again.

Pick up a copy of issue #44 here. I know I’ll be reading soon. It’s always a twisted treat.