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

‘Get back to work, girl,’ he said,’ before I report you to your owner for impertinence and laziness.’

For a second she was shocked into silence. Then she drew herself up, twitched her cloak round her, and spoke to him.

‘This is the estate of Magistrate Marcus Aurelianus. You and your — ‘ Aurelia glanced for a second at the other young man, now hanging back ‘ — companions, are trespassing on our land.  Leave this instant, and do not return if you wish to avoid my father’s anger at the way you treat his daughter and his property.’ The fair lad, who Aurelia recognised as the eldest son of the Sorio family at Bawdrip, looked away awkwardly.

There was a momentary stillness. From a nearby tree, Aurelia heard the hoot of an owl in the sudden quiet. Then the silent swoop of the tawny bird passed above her head as the tension spooled out like a wire between the stranger and her.

Lucius stared at her, his brown eyes hard as pebbles. He threw back his head and laughed shrilly. ‘Well, I see I have met your neighbour, Drusus,’ he said. ‘I apologise, my lady Aurelia. Next time I will await an invitation before hunting on your father’s estate.’ He clicked his fingers, swerved his horse around, and was gone so quickly Aurelia had no choice but to crush down a bitter retort.

The next month, her father told her he was soon to marry Claudia, Lucius’s aunt.

Not till the stable had grown nearly dark and the air chilly did Quintus realise how long he had been held there, enchanted by this daughter he had never known. At last the energetic irruption of Britta in search of Aurelia brought him back into time. Aurelia slipped away before she was scolded for messing about in a stable instead of dressing for dinner. Britta let Aurelia go with no more than a distracted nod. She glared at Quintus as if he was a turd trodden in by the puppy.

Quintus felt tiredness seep into his bones. His scarred leg was itching ferociously. He had no desire for a confrontation with Britta.

‘Whatever you’ve come to say to my mistress, you’re too late. She’s gone off to Lindinis to do her job as the high lady of the Durotriges. That stator of yours went with her. Fancy, he wanted her to wait here for you.’

This was said so dismissively that Quintus blinked, struck speechless. At least he now knew where Tiro was.

‘Tiro did say as how you weren’t looking to arrest my mistress any more for the murder of her dear friend. So that’s summat, I suppose.’

Britta summed up her feelings with a loud sniff and left the stable, throwing over her shoulder, ‘If that horse is any good, you might catch them up before they get to Lindinis. I’ll have some bread and cheese made up for you.’

Chapter Seventeen

The lessening light and unfamiliar way delayed Quintus.  By the time he entered the forum in Lindinis a sizeable crowd filled the square up to the front of the town’s scruffy little basilica. Full darkness had fallen and flaring torches held aloft by groups of young men showed a mixed assembly. Townsfolk, housewives, merchants and innkeepers were in holiday mood. Mobs of roving youngsters, some of them dressed in traditional chequered woollen clothes handed round jars of beer. Excited slaves huddled together. A tight group of people was gathered at one side of the basilica’s open portico. Quintus was shoving his way on foot through the crowd when he caught the mention of a significant name. A richly-dressed young man, fair-faced and flushed with drink, was laughing with his friends and about someone they all apparently knew.

’So I said to him, If I had a father rich enough and soft enough to take me carousing in Londinium, I’d want my friends to come too. I wouldn’t fancy going alone to visit the whorehouses of Southwark. Where’s the fun in that? You know what Lucius said? He told me his father wouldn’t go south of the river, saying that he was frightened of being mugged there, day or night. Claudius Bulbo apparently refused to cross over Tamesis bridge, no matter what.’ They all laughed, the hilarity of very young men who were secretly envious of a bolder friend’s adventures. ‘Anyway, Lucius did go, on his own. And here she is, the lovely lady!’

‘From the Londinium whorehouses, Drusus?’ gasped his friend as a swaying slender figure in a floor-length white robe emerged into the lamplight, greeted by cheers and tossed-up swords among the crowd.

‘No,’ said Drusus, ‘she’s actually a famous actress from the theatre. Called Fulminata, they say. But I can’t see Lucius with her. Where is he?’

‘I wouldn’t leave one like that alone, hey Drusus?’

They tried to push their way further forward and were hushed down, as the graceful figure spread her arms wide to gain attention. She began to speak.

‘Durotriges! Great hearts! British heroes!’ It was a clear modulated voice, projected with professional skill to reach all parts of the square. The crowd roared approval, and the woman pulled back the deep hood to reveal a long mane of rich red hair. But it was her eyes that captivated. They were as black as midnight, bold and searching.

Quintus stared until a movement at the edge of vision caught his eye. Behind her, right at the back. The man in the blue cloak. He slid his gladius silently out of its red leather-covered scabbard. Breath coming faster now, Quintus swerved and dodged between townspeople towards the basilica steps.

‘Hey, where d’you think you’re going? Stranger! Spy! Hi, Drusus, stop that man with the sword!’

Two of the young men ahead swung round and tripped him. One grabbed hold of his arm.

‘Not now,’ Quintus growled, sliding easily out of the young man’s grasp