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off her hood to show her face clearly.

‘Listen to me, Durotriges!’

The crowd pushed forward to see who was causing the fracas. There were gasps, and voices cried, ’Julia Aureliana! It’s our own Wise Woman, the noble healer, Lady Julia. Lady Julia of the Durotriges!’

Julia took a deep breath, and began to speak, loudly and firmly.

Chapter Sixteen

Quintus was never one to cry over spilt milk. He boarded the small ship anyway, catching its master readying to depart. The man was in a hurry, but the sight of Quintus’s official hasta made him pause.

‘All I know, sir, is my sailing orders. I do a regular run across the Severn Sea. I was to dock in Iscalis as usual, and load a mixed cargo including a special consignment for Isca. But the cargo hasn’t come, and I can’t wait now, tide’s on the turn.’

The man had been told only to hand the special cargo over on docking at the legionary fort of the Second Augusta, to a soldier who would show authorisation from the legate’s office. Quintus looked round the ship but found nothing out of the ordinary.

He headed back into town. At least he now knew that the special consignment for Isca had not arrived at the docks. And he knew Blue Cloak was mightily put out with Bulbo. Quintus saw an opportunity to drive a wedge between these conspirators. The edge of a turning tide, perhaps.

He found Tertius and Enica waiting at the snug little posthouse on the western outskirts of Iscalis. They looked relieved to see him, but he ignored Tertius’s questions and the waiting jug of wine until he had collected his mail. In small rural establishments like this, mansio-keepers doubled as Imperial postmasters.

There were two letters addressed to Frumentarius Quintus Valerius: one bearing the stamp of the Aquae Sulis garrison; and a short tablet of a few lines only, signed by the innkeeper at Calleva. Quintus broke the ties on that tablet first, and read:

Hail and greetings, sir. The dead man stayed here three nights in total, but as I told you, the other two men left after the first night. My stable boy saw them depart for the west. They came back the following day, heading east. They stopped briefly to speak to the other man again, before moving on. That was two days before your honour arrived here.

I hope this helps. My duty to you and salutations.

It certainly did help. It meant that Blue Cloak and his companion had been travelling westbound from Calleva, nicely in time to ambush and kill Catus, and had then come back east the following day. Perhaps to report to Londinium? To Procurator Aradius Rufinus at his Londinium headquarters, perhaps, where Tiro had seen them?

The letter from Marcellus was longer. Piso’s examination of Velvinna revealed that she had long suffered from a heart condition, but had apparently died of an unknown poison. Not digitalis. The surgeon said it was a skilful murder, with no signs of struggle or spasm. That  reminded Quintus that he too had thought the dead woman blessedly calm. From what Quintus knew of poisons, that would rule out powdered foxglove as the cause. The unfortunate Dalmatian tribune whose death he had investigated previously had suffered appalling nausea and vomiting, and died in obvious distress.

Velvinna’s elderly steward had remembered something more, and faithful to his promise to Quintus had reported to Marcellus. The trainee herbalist of a few days earlier had attracted his notice, the old man said. She had been wearing a long hooded robe, not surprising in the cool weather. But Silvanus had noted the remarkable eyes under her deep hood, impossible to miss. Unfortunately, Marcellus commented drily, that was all he could remember — not the colour, or shape, or even some defect. Just that they were “remarkable eyes”. Well, that’s indeed helpful. Thank you Silvanus! I’ll just cast about the Summer Country until I meet a pair of striking eyes, and then all will be solved.

There was a final item that Marcellus had witnessed himself, although he couldn’t see how it was linked in any way to the death of the old herbalist. Being a conscientious young man he reported it anyway, at length.

You may remember, Brother, that my garrison is a vexillation detached from the Second Legion Augusta, based further west at Isca. I keep in touch with my fellow legionary officers, and recently attended the birthday party of one of the tribunes there. The wine and beer flowed, of course, and the officers were in high spirits. Surprisingly high spirits, I thought, as my fellow officers have often made it a point to complain about being buried out there in the backwoods of the Empire, with no glory to win and not even good hunting.

This time there were no such complaints. I also noticed that money was flowing even more freely than the wine, and high stakes in denarii were being offered at every table. The bets concerned mere pranks for the most part, such as a fence-jumping dare for the cavalry decurion. One young officer was heard offering his colleagues odds on how long the young Emperor would last on the throne. I was shocked to hear the camp prefect say, ‘Who cares? It won’t matter soon, after all.’

I covered up my disapproval, Brother, but know you will share my distaste. I was amazed that the legate, a man of rank and experience and successor in that post to our esteemed Governor Trebonius, uttered no word of chastisement. Perhaps he didn’t hear the prefect’s remark. He looked very pale, and left the party early.

I have no idea what is at the root of this, but doubt it bodes well. I enclose something that might help you to the truth.

Farewell, Brother, in hopes of your success and swift return,

Centurion Marcellus Crispus.

Quintus smiled as he pictured

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