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

Tiro was keen to hear what his boss planned to do at Vebriacum, but at first the Imperial Investigator was quiet, concentrating on the stew. Tiro’s mind drifted, thinking about some of the people who had crossed their path. To begin with, Marcellus seemed a worthwhile young officer. Then there was the household in Aquae Sulis. The fragrant and feisty Britta. And Miss Aurelia, who was certainly entertaining. His mind switched to Cerberus, still snug in the saddle bag. Was the pup old enough to eat bits of meat? He’d have a quiet word with the tavern-keeper, see what little scraps or maybe milk he could scrounge.

‘Tiro!’

‘Sir?’ Quintus had clearly been speaking without his noticing. ‘I beg your pardon.’

What was that he’d just said? Begging the Italian toff’s pardon? Never mind; just this once.

‘I asked how your head was. Is it healing?’

‘Oh, yes sir.’ Tiro rubbed a hand along the itchy red line of the healing slash. It felt like a lifetime ago. ‘No problem.’

‘Good.’ There was more silence, a pause that stretched till Tiro thought that was all Quintus had to say. Then, ‘I did get some further information… from Lady Julia in Aquae Sulis.’

Tiro decided Quintus hadn’t realised how loud his conversation with the lady had been that morning. Truth to tell, it had been a full-blown argument. At the end, even through the solid front door, he had heard Quintus say sharply, ’I had no choice. I tried to tell you. I sent a message…’

Then Julia’s higher voice,’ ...didn’t my ring mean anything to you? I thought…’

‘You never wrote. I left a message.’

‘Your message didn’t reach me. I had to go home, to hide … I knew my brother and sister-in-law would help. I came to tell you, that day. I couldn’t stay in Eboracum, my grandmother would have been so upset…’

The voices softened; finally Quintus, in tones of palpable pain, had said, ‘So —a girl? What happened to her?…Yes, I see.’

Shortly after, the Frumentarius had come out onto the doorstep and stood staring at Aurelia, rigid agony on his face.

Tiro shook his head, paying attention again.

’Sir?’

‘Yes. Julia - Lady Julia Aureliana that is - thinks that the letter fragment we found in the dispatch bag was sent by a man called Tertius. He manages the mines at Vebriacum for Claudius Bulbo. Some sort of freedman, a clever Syrian accountant. And what makes it more plausible is the link with the boy Catus.’

Tiro was puzzled. Being a Londoner, he could easily imagine a Syrian being here in Britannia, but he didn’t understand the close relationships and unexpected connections country people often had with each other. Quintus went on.

‘The Lady Julia’s housekeeper, what was her name …’

‘Mistress Britta, sir?’ Ah, the luscious, lavender-scented Britta.  Tiro closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in.

‘Yes. Britta. It seems she is a close friend of Enica, the sister of the dead boy. They lived near each other as children on the Bo Gwelt estate, before Enica and Catus were sold into slavery. Enica went to work at the Iscalis villa. That’s the big villa downhill from Vebriacum. Enica became the property of Bulbo along with the house when he bought it, and she’s now a cook there.  And with Bulbo’s sister Claudia married to Julia’s brother, Magistrate Marcus Aurelianus, Britta and Enica see each other whenever Julia is invited to Bulbo’s house. It was Julia who suggested to Bulbo that young Catus would be a useful apprentice to his mines manager. If Tertius is a talented man with numbers and languages, I suppose Lady Julia thought she was helping the boy into a good career and maybe towards his freedom someday.’

That all made sense. But -

’So why was Tertius sending a message so dangerous that the boy was murdered to stop it reaching its destination?’

‘Why indeed? I think Tertius could be the whistle-blower who’s been passing on information about the loss of silver to the authorities in Londinium. If he is, he’s now a man in great danger. At all costs we must find out what more Tertius knows, and establish Bulbo’s involvement.’

Something rang a far-off bell in Tiro’s head, but he pushed it aside and rushed on with his next question.

‘But the way the boy was killed, sir?’

‘Yes, it’s strange. There is a bad smell about that, Tiro. Fraud and rebellion often go hand in hand. The inn-keeper here is a worried man, and I haven’t forgotten the attack on you at Calleva. We might be about to uncover a bigger stink than even Governor Trebonius suspects. But first things first. We have to find Tertius and question him, in secret.’

Quintus sat in thought, twisting the bronze ring on his finger and reflecting on his meetings in Londinium. Gaius Trebonius had been frank and welcoming, and Quintus knew where he stood with his old friend. But there had been that second meeting, in Southwark with the Provincial Procurator Aradius Rufinus. The pale-faced man had made an uncomfortable impression on the Imperial Investigator. He had spoken softly, but Quintus felt him watching with the eyes of a hawk. That sort of quiet could be ruthless.

Quintus seemed to realise Tiro was waiting. He flushed faintly, moving his hand to rest on his scarred right thigh.

‘Right. Given what we’ve just heard from the host here I want to approach the mines unseen. We’ll go by a less obvious route, check the lie of the land carefully before we find this Tertius. But first Marcellus Crispus needs to know the flavour of what our host here has told us. Outside his normal jurisdiction, perhaps, but I think we should keep him informed of our doings in case we need his backup.’

He called to the tavernkeeper for a writing materials. Tiro watched, something scratching away at his