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

to Calleva to sort them out. My mate never came home, but this fellow seems to have got back on his feet just fine. I want to know why he’s here, and where his boss has got to. Then I’ll deal with him properly.’

Lucius broke in. ‘There isn’t time for your petty revenges now, Centurion. Get the money ready to move. Your story will have to be told later.’ There was a pause, a sound of tearing fabric, and a high-pitched gasp. The boy’s voice moved up an octave, coming quick and breathless. ‘No need for violence, Caesulanus, we’re partners — all in it together. I meant no disrespect.’

‘No? Then keep your trap shut, and remember who’s in charge.’

Tiro played dead while he was hauled out of the wagon and thrown onto the ground. More than ever, he wished he’d never left Londinium.

’Stick him in the shed for now,’ Caesulanus said. He heard a door being dragged open. Tiro was bundled into a dark place and fell heavily onto his shoulder. The door was banged shut, and bolted from the outside. Muffled footsteps moved around and then a rhythmic metallic banging started up.

The smell in the shed was foul. Tiro guessed it had been the home of farm animals, probably sheep, before being pressed into use as a prison. He pulled the wretched cloak off his head using his teeth and lay back tallying his injuries. A sickening bruise at the base of his skull; pain erupting in bursts from the shoulder he’d just landed on; scrapes to elbow and hip. That was about it, with the infernally itching scab on his forehead. Apart from being locked with tied hands in a stinking shed miles away from Vebriacum with several criminals outside, and no way to let Quintus know. And a big ex-military thug who seemed to have taken quite a dislike to him. And his knife gone.

First things first. He looked around the hut. Empty, apart from a couple of sacks and the animal dung. Nothing useful there. On the plus side, the cloth binding his wrists was nowhere near as strong as the whipcord he routinely carried himself.

He wriggled his bound hands over a splintered wedge in the wooden wall, rubbing the fabric to and fro over the rough wood. The cloth tore and gave way, at the cost of a deep scratch. He spent a moment rubbing the feeling back into his numb swollen wrists and sucked the scratch to stop it bleeding.

Better.

He crouched to look through a knot in the wood. He had a narrow view of Caesulanus and Lucius in a dusty yard. A tall block of wood had been hammered into the ground. Set into the block was what he guessed to be a mould. A man sat on a stool before the block, holding a metal stamp in pincers. A second man wielded a hammer, and Tiro watched as he aimed skilfully and struck a hard blow, forcing the disk down onto the mould.

‘Right, on my way,’ said the centurion. ‘If I’m going to be back again before dark, when our cockerel in there has softened up enough to start crowing, I’d best get a shuffle on.’  Caesulanus heaved himself up onto the wagon.

‘You can find your own way to Iscalis docks, can’t you?’ he called to Lucius. ‘And check all the coins are there before you take them away. I don’t trust these peasants to count right.’ He shook the reins, and the wagon rolled out of the yard.

Tiro watched Lucius. He was the one to follow, now he had the denarii. The boy looked quite sick. His face had turned white, sweat was starting out under his eyes. His hands shook, and he stuck them under his armpits as if to hide them. Maybe he also didn’t care for Caesulanus and his manners, thought Tiro.

‘You heard, you revolting pigs! Get those coins laid out where I can see them. And they’d better all be true copies.’ If Lucius was trying to sound as frightening as Caesulanus, he had a way to go. His voice was cracked and pitched too high to sound assured. But the counterfeiters seemed impressed, and moved quickly to lay out the coins. They looked anxious as he began counting, muttering under his breath. After a while, he paused to look at the scared men. He sniggered.

‘Can’t count, hey?’ Lucius seemed to be getting some confidence back now the big man had gone.

Tiro wouldn’t be surprised himself if the men were innumerate. He bet they couldn’t read or write either. Just like him, dammit.

Another giggle, too shrill, burst from Lucius. The young man was back to counting the rolls of coins, grinning and laughing while beads of sweat rolled down his pallid face. The sound made Tiro’s skin crawl.

Lucius wrote on the docket recording the acceptance of denarii struck against the bullion supplied. Tucking the money into his saddle bag, he let a full-blooded laugh rip out. The counterfeiters stepped aside, faces stricken. Lucius glanced at them. ‘Don’t you see?’ They looked away, as if trying to avoid the infectious gaze of a madman. One man made the sign against the Evil Eye, provoking Lucius to more laughter. Tiro was amazed - had the boy been struck insane by the gods?

‘It’s such a joke!’ Lucius was nearly gabbling now. ‘They think it’s all for the cause.  Only Fulminata knows, and she’s totally mine.’

He picked up the laden saddle bag, swayed and nearly fell. Even this seemed to amuse him, and he carried on sniggering while one of the men hurried to fetch his horse. Moments later Lucius had mounted the black stallion and cantered away. The two men looked at each other, one shaking his head. The other slapped him on the shoulder and fetched a jug left under a tree. He poured wine with a shaking