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

he shook it off. Full professionalism, nothing less. That was his duty.

‘My job is to protect the Emperor’s interests, and ensure justice is done in his name. I have the power to call up witnesses, and the power to protect them.’

Julia turned the fragment over once more, then handed it back to Quintus.

‘The boy is — was — Catus. His father was a farm worker on my family’s estate in the Summer Country. He and his sister lost their mother when he was born, and were eventually sold into slavery by their father, who soon after died of drink. I…’ she sighed, and paused a moment. ‘I got to know Catus and his sister Enica after Catus fell out of an orchard tree scrumping for apples and broke his arm. I was training with Demetrios back then, still living at home with my brother at Bo Gwelt. The injury took some time to heal, and I got to know the sweet little boy well. He was so affectionate to Enica. I felt really sorry when their father sold them to the Iscalis estate. But I kept an eye on them when I could. Later I helped Catus become apprenticed to the mines manager at nearby Vebriacum, carrying out errands and delivering messages. He was very close to his sister, who works in the kitchens at Iscalis villa.’

‘Iscalis? Owned by Claudius Bulbo?’

‘Yes. The letters VEB here could refer to Bulbo’s lead mines at Vebriacum. And TER? I may know who that is, too.’ She paused again, apparently weighing up something. Then she surprised him by veering away onto a different subject. Her voice seemed to harden.

‘Frumentarius, tell me why you still wear that ring with the bronze owl.’

Quintus looked at Tiro. ‘Tiro, go and ready the horses for departure.’

Tiro looked disappointed but left the room promptly.  The Briton must now realise there was something wrong between the lady and his boss, but Quintus had no intention of revealing what.

Chapter Eight

It was cold outside. Tiro stamped his studded boots against the cobbles to shake the feeling back into his feet. Mist rose from the nearby Abona as daylight strengthened into full morning. He tried not to hear the raised voices inside the house.

The shuttered window above his head opened again. This time there was no Britta to prevent him from looking. A young girl peered through the open window, dark wavy hair escaping from a shawl over her head.

‘Who are you?’

Tiro grinned. ‘I’m Tiro. Who are you?’

‘Aurelia. This is my Aunt Julia’s house. I’m just staying here. I really live at Bo Gwelt with Father. And with my horrid stepmother, Claudia. Why do you sound funny?’

Tiro bowed. ‘My excuse, pretty lady, must be my birth in the great city of Londinium.’

‘Oh, Londinium! How I long to go there! Is it true the streets are paved with gold, and the walls stretch forever?’

‘The streets are paved, but not with gold, Miss Aurelia.’ Tiro frowned a little. Even he had to admit that Londinium’s streets were often filthy, full of waste and mud after high tides and rain. And the city had shrunk somewhat since the plague of his grandparents’ time, he had heard. ‘But the walls are certainly tall.’

‘Why are you here?’

Tiro puffed out his broad chest a little. ‘I can’t tell you that. Except to say I’m assisting Frumentarius Quintus Valerius from Rome.’

But the girl had stopped listening. Something else had attracted her attention.

‘Hush! Over there! What’s that?’ Before he could look, the shutters were banged close. Tiro shrugged. No accounting for the nobility. Then the front door opened quietly, and a thin young girl slipped out. There was something at once engaging and arresting about her. She was dressed in a fine linen shift, with a thick plaid shawl clipped at her shoulder by a bronze brooch, and shiny leather slippers on her feet. Not quite enough clothing for the briskness of this March morning, but the girl seemed heedless of the cold. She darted across the road, her dark curls tangled and flying, and leaned down to peer over the stone balustrade towards the river path below.

‘I thought so!’ She pointed triumphantly. Tiro, joining her, saw something moving feebly in the reeds at the river’s edge. Knowing his duty as a Roman soldier, he heaved himself over the balustrade and searched through the reed bed, emerging with a near-drowned little bundle.

‘Is it dead?’ Her face was a picture of dismay.

‘No, I think not.’ He stripped off his birrus, and folded it round the pitiful soaked creature. He had never until now appreciated quite how versatile a garment the birrus was. He hoped the mud wouldn’t be as hard to shift as the messenger boy’s blood stains had been. The girl grabbed the bundle out of his arms, cooing over the shivering animal.

‘It’s a puppy,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘Not very old. Some cruel slave has thrown him in the river. Poor little darling!’

Tiro forbore to point out that any slave tasked with ridding the world of an unwanted cur would have little say in the matter. Aurelia carried on crooning, holding the little dog tight against her bony chest. A small tongue slid out and licked her face. She giggled, then her face dropped when she saw Britta appear in the doorway.

‘Britta, please say I may keep him! He is so little, and cold, and all licky. He needs a good home. I’ll call him Cerberus, after the guardian dog of Hades.’

‘Will you now, Miss Aurelia?’

Britta sounded stern, but Tiro saw her smile. The scent of lavender had followed her outside.  ‘You know we have no room for a dog here. He would have to go back home with you. Maybe Morcant has room in his kennels for another dog. Although,’ her forehead wrinkled as she looked at the tiny