The Governor's Man by Jacquie Rogers (best beach reads TXT) 📕

the very last person he wanted to see. But he had many years of professionalism to call upon, and he needed whatever local information she might have. He hoped he could remember that, and keep his bearing polite and proper when he saw the lady again.

As for Tiro—he’d be laughing on the other side of his face when they got up before cockcrow in the morning. He wanted to catch Lady Julia at home in private, early. He needed to know who to speak to at Vebriacum, and it wasn’t going to be the owner Bulbo.

It was barely daybreak the following day when Quintus and Tiro knocked at Julia’s front door. She owned an elegant little townhouse by the river, stretching back from a narrow frontage and embellished with skilful carvings. Bay trees in white marble stands stood duty on either side of a miniature portico. Quintus glanced down at his nondescript tunic, checked his cloak was arrayed neatly and stood straight. His hands felt clammy despite the morning chill.

Quintus Valerius, son of Senator Bassianus Valerius, scion of one of the oldest families in Rome, should fear no-one, he reminded himself fiercely. This woman means nothing to you; you owe her nothing and can expect nothing back. He pushed back at the shadows of past pain and loss trying to rush him. Remember, you are a soldier of Rome!

At his knock a sturdy young woman opened the door. Her chestnut hair was uncovered and she clutched a thick chequered shawl over her drab tunic. A scent of lavender clung to her skirts.

She frowned at them. Quintus felt taken aback, a feeling that was becoming too familiar since arriving on this forsaken island. It was unusual not to have a male porter, but this servant, judging by her confident bearing, was more than a common household slave.

‘My name is Frumentarius Quintus Valerius. I am here to consult your mistress, Lady Julia Aureliana.’

‘I know who you are. Sir.’ The young woman blocked the doorway, rounded arms folded across her chest. Quintus found himself missing the deference of Roman slaves. A window shutter creaked over their heads. Someone else in the household was stirring.

The woman glanced up, and moved aside to let them in.

‘Best step inside quick, you’ll be waking up … ,’ she hesitated, ‘the whole household.’

Tiro saluted her with a nod. She looked straight through him while his best smile went to waste. She didn’t ask his name either, before turning to stalk through the vestibule ahead of them. She threw open a door into a narrow pretty room at the back of the house. There was a dim dawnlit view through tall glazed windows, and a glimpse of a little courtyard to the rear.

‘Good morning, gentlemen.’

Julia stood near a brazier, wearing a long robe. There was a bowl of spring flowers, daffodils and crocuses, on a side table, but the room held the faint scent of roses. Her owl necklet was on vivid display against the sky-blue of her tunica. She looked remote, untouchable. Quintus longed to rush to her; longed to dash from the room. He stood paralysed, stiff and cold.

’Some spiced wine, perhaps?’ Julia nodded to the other woman. ‘Britta? If you would be so kind.’

The door closed softly.

‘I have very little time to spare, Frumentarius. Urgent family duties await me. Could we get to the point, please?’

That explained the more formal clothing today. Julia looked more the matrona docta this morning, and was clearly a wealthy woman. Quintus wondered about her husband. He hesitated, debating whether it would be good form to ask after her spouse. She wore no ring, he noted, twisting his own round his finger. Perhaps a widow?

She was watching him. A dismissive look crossed her face. What was it? Disdain, pride, impatience?

‘Lady Julia, it’s good of you to see us so early.’

There was a stony silence, broken when Britta came back into the room carrying a bronze tray with a carved glass decanter and four matching cups. Steam rose lazily as the housekeeper poured the wine. Despite himself, Quintus relaxed at the rich smell of cinnamon.

Tiro hurried forward to help Britta serve. She glared at him.

‘Madam,’ he murmured, grinning. She tossed her head and turned her back on him to set the tray down.

‘I’ll leave you in peace, my lady,’ she told her mistress. Tiro bowed to Britta as she left the room. The plaid shawl slid off one plump white shoulder as the door shut. Quintus saw Tiro was enjoying himself, and felt irritated.

‘Lady Julia,’ Quintus said again.

‘Frumentarius?’ A rigid look.

This wasn’t going to work. He was determined not to bring back the painful past. It was a long time ago, and there was nothing between them now. He had hoped they could have a polite conversation like the strangers they were. He tried again.

‘Lady Julia, I need information, and think your connections in the Summer Country may be of help.’

‘Help for you.’ It was said so scornfully, that if he had not been looking directly at her he would not have known that she shook from head to foot. The most minor of movements, but it cut through him like a knife.

Tiro broke in.

‘My lady, we seek - ‘

Quintus spoke across Tiro; his voice felt dry as sand in his throat. ‘I’m told you recognised the dead boy.’

Julia hesitated. ‘He looked familiar. I can’t be sure, though.’

Quintus tossed the wooden fragment onto the table.

’Time is pressing, Lady Julia. As I think you know, this was inside his despatch bag. Can you tell me anything about the writing?’

She picked up the birchwood note, turning it over carefully. She seemed to arrive at a decision.

‘If I tell you what I know, Frumentarius, can I rely on you to protect someone, an innocent party?’

Impatience rose in him;