There was ivy on the roof and he grabbed hold of some, but it pulled away and he slithered over the edge, wildly scrabbling for a purchase. Thankfully the ivy growing up the wall below was dense and overgrown and he managed to get a grip and stop himself from falling any further. The two roof tiles continued to the ground, noisily shattering on the paving stones below. Then there was silence.

James hung in the ivy and tried to slow his racing heart.

The Danger Society was fun, but it wasn’t worth risking his life for.

He took stock of his situation. He was badly scratched and bruised, but for the moment he was safe.

He looked around. He was about 25 feet above a courtyard, nesting in gnarled tendrils as thick as the branches on a tree, but beyond that he had no idea where he was. The place looked uncared for and rundown and was so covered with ivy that it didn’t look like Eton at all, more like some abandoned jungle temple.

James was just thinking about climbing down when a light showed in a ground-floor window and shortly afterwards a door opened and he heard voices.

The dim light from the window wasn’t enough to show him what was going on, but the flare of a match revealed the dark shapes of two men. One of them was smoking a cigarette – James saw an occasional red glow and could smell the burning tobacco.

The men looked around briefly and evidently spotted the broken tiles. James could just make out their pale faces as they looked up. Luckily they couldn’t see him as he was safely nestled in the thick, waxy leaves of the ivy, and his dark clothing helped to keep him hidden.

One of the men must have picked up a piece of tile, because James heard it clatter to the ground as he dropped it. Then the second man, the one who was smoking, laughed.

They stood for a while in the courtyard, talking, their voices low and muffled by the thick growth of ivy on the walls. James strained to hear what they were saying, but, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to focus on their words. It was only after a while that he realised that they were speaking a foreign language. He concentrated harder. Was it Spanish?

No.

Maybe Italian…?

No.

But there was definitely something familiar about it.

James was good at languages. He had grown up in Switzerland and spoke fluent French and German. So why was he having so much trouble placing this language?

And then it struck him. The two men were speaking Latin.

The odd word and phrase jumped out at him… tutus est, it is safe; navis, boat; and sanguis, blood.

James was amazed. Latin was a dead language. Nobody spoke it nowadays. Maybe it was the only common language these two men shared. That seemed unlikely, but it was a possibility. Or maybe they were two Latin masters practising their skills and showing off to one another. That seemed a more plausible explanation. Certainly one of them had something of the air of a schoolmaster about him.