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

small bronze side-table, and handed the papers over to Quintus in silence. Quintus unrolled the paper in the pool of light from a nearby candelabra, and squinted to make out the official words.

Divortium …remancipatio… retentio dotis …

The document was signed by seven witnesses, as the law of divorce required. His wife had kept the part of her dowry allowed to a divorcing adultress. At the end was appended a vicious little note in Calpurnia’s own hand: I’m keeping the baby. It’s not yours, of course. When it’s born it will be the legitimate heir of my new husband. You never wanted children anyway, did you? I don’t think you ever really wanted a wife.

Perhaps he hadn’t, not after Britannia. The marriage to Calpurnia was his mother’s project, a pathetic attempt to shore up the family’s status after his father and brother died.

Lucilla was watching him, worry in her eyes. ‘Say something, Quintus.’

‘There’s nothing to say. I suppose she took the household slaves and the rest of the furniture with her?’

Lucilla nodded. ‘Not Silenus - we have offered him a home with us.’

The steward edged into the room.

’Sir…’

Quintus smiled tightly at the old man, and forced himself to look round the room a final time.

’Sell the house, Justin. Please. Send the proceeds to Mother. Tell her I hope it’s some compensation for having such a disappointing son.’

He stood up and left through the darkening atrium. Soft steps rushed after him. He twisted round, catching his sister up into his arms. She was crying.

‘It doesn’t matter, Lucilla. It’s the right thing for all of us.’

‘But where will you go, Quintus?’

He gave a short unhappy laugh. ‘Wherever the Emperor decides I am needed.’

She touched his face.

‘I’m so sorry, Quintus. About Calpurnia, the baby, your home. I wish we could go back to how things used to be.’

‘That was another world, before I went to war in Britannia -- before Father and Flavius were lost.’

Justin broke the silence as he came into the room and took his wife’s hand.

Lucilla said, ‘One day, my dearest Quintus, you will discover you still have a heart, and find you can let people back into your life. Till that happens, you’ll always have a home with Justin and me. Don’t forget us.’ She turned to Justin.

Quintus left the house quietly before he had to look at their faces again.

The Castra gateway guards saluted as Quintus passed under the imposing marble portico and headed straight to the Principia. His mind was on his most recent mission: Palaestina, again. Dust, zealots, and the constant rumble of uprisings. That province was never truly secure. On this trip Quintus had been hard put to choose which sect was the more troublesome, the Jews or the Christians. He expected he and his stator Gnaeus would be posted back east again after their upcoming leave.

The commandant raised his eyes from his paperwork as Quintus entered the room. An administrator sat at a small table to one side making notes of the meeting.

’Sit, Frumentarius Valerius. I’ll keep this brief.’

Quintus sat, grateful for brevity. They were on professional rather than cordial terms, the commandant of the Frumentariate and his most experienced investigator. Quintus expected nothing more; it derived from the miasma of scandal enveloping his family since his father had been driven out of the Senate. He got on with his missions without question, did his duty, went where he was sent.

The commandant picked up a paper.

‘The Governor in Tyre has sent in his praises, Quintus Valerius. Job well done, as always. So I’ll ask you again if you will reconsider my standing offer of promotion. Your career would benefit, and you could spend more time at home…’

More time bearing his mother’s reproaches at his lack of will to climb the slippery political pole to restore the family’s fortunes? More opportunity to regret the end of his barren marriage, the loss of the old house on the Quirinal? More chance to listen to the well-meaning platitudes of his father’s ancient friends and experience the downright avoidance of his former Praetorian colleagues?

He shuddered. The commandant’s mouth twitched.

‘No? Well, just submit your final report in the next few days and then take some leave.’

The commandant paused. Quintus looked up to find his superior looking not unkindly at him. It seemed he would say more, had there been the slightest invitation. Quintus waited, and the moment passed.

‘Report back next month. The Saturnalia holiday will keep us quiet for a while; I’ll consider your next mission in January.’

Quintus saluted, and turned to leave.

‘Oh, Quintus Valerius…’

‘Sir?’

‘Pack cold weather clothes.’

‘Germania, sir?’

That might make an interesting break from the routine run of assignments; it had been long since Quintus had been to the German limes or seen the Rhenus.

‘You’ll be briefed later. I’ll just say you’ve been paid the compliment of being requested by name. Enjoy your leave, Frumentarius.’

There it was again - a look almost of sympathy flashing across the commandant’s face. Quintus shrugged mentally, not caring. He called into the Duty Office to sign Gnaeus onto leave, and then walked blindly back to the sad shuttered house on the Quirinal to collect his few belongings.

Chapter Two

Britannia

Quintus steadied the portable cabin desk with his knees as the naval packet from Gesiacorum lurched into the choppy estuary of the Tamesis. The scars on his right thigh itched; he ignored the irritation. The storm was easing, and the waves abated as the ship manoeuvred in from the open sea. He could hear the reverberating drumbeat on the deck keeping the sailors to a smart rowing pace.

Nearly there.

He spread out his commandant’s orders. It seemed that the Imperial Procurator in Rome was unhappy. When a mission came from the Imperial Procurator, it meant money was involved. The