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

and twisting his gladius up in a lightning move to slice across the other’s knuckles. The boy cursed and wrenched his cut hand away.

Quintus had no time for these fools. ‘Frumentarius, on Government business! Stand aside!’

‘Is that right?’ said Drusus’s friend. ‘Our fathers are the Government round here, the decurions on the town council. Where’s your authority to break up a tribal gathering, eh? Frumentarius — tax collector! Grab him lads. Oi, Lucius, look what we’ve caught!’ The boy called up to his friend on the stage, then swore, realising Lucius was no longer there.

There came a sudden roar near the front, and a ripple of movement as those further back pushed and jumped up to see what was happening. Laughter arose: ‘That one must be drunk. She’s just fallen off the stage! This is better than the comedies in Aquae Sulis!’

Attention shifted away from Quintus. He kicked out, catching the lad Drusus on the side of his knee and getting away into the crowd.

He heard more roars, of surprise and approbation this time. The red-haired woman had disappeared from the stage.

‘Julia Aureliana! It’s our own White One, the noble Lady Julia. Lady Julia of the Durotriges!’ The name spread like a spell, and the mayhem and good-natured noise abated. Heads craned. Children were picked up to see better.

Quintus swore. It was Julia, his Julia, dressed in Druid robes and taking up a commanding stance centre stage. Jupiter and Minerva, no! This can’t be happening.

His heart drubbed, and he felt sick to his core, but the long years of legionary training kept him moving. Then his cursed bad leg, already tired and prickling, suddenly hesitated. He stumbled. Leaning on his gladius, he stooped to rub his scarred thigh. He was close enough now to hear her, the melodious voice he knew so well sounding full and proud.

‘Listen to me, Durotriges! People of Lindinis! People of our tribe! You know me, Julia Aureliana, and you know my brother, Magistrate Marcus Aurelianus. You know our family, who have led this tribe since before Rome came. We have always cared for our people, always been proud to protect you, to lead you into battle and out of danger.’

 Why was she here? What in the name of the Gods was she doing here, tonight, on the eve of a rebellion?

Despite everything — her disdain, her anger, her possible involvement in the deaths of Velvinna, and perhaps Catus too — and despite the evidence of his own eyes and ears, he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing and seeing.

What has happened to you, Julia? Is this really you, this strident barbarian, this treacherous daughter of Boudica?

Julia spoke again. Her voice was full of pride, her bearing tall and fearless.

‘Durotriges! Listen to me now. That woman is no White One, not one of us at all. She is a mere actress from Londinium, paid to prey on your tribal pride and rouse up old enmities. Take no heed of her or her fellow conspirators here. Do not let these wicked criminals lead you into foolish paths. Please, I beg you, go home peacefully, back to your homes and families.’

Quintus reeled. What had Julia said? He saw sudden movement in the shadows. The redheaded woman had rejoined the gaggle of robed men. With a rush of horror, he saw how wrong he’d been. Of course this was his Julia! A lioness protecting her own. Just as Britta said, she’d come to single-handedly stop a doomed rebellion that would leave her tribe decimated or enslaved.

The man with the blue cloak jumped up onto the porch and grabbed Julia by the arm. A big man in well-worn army kit reached for Julia’s other arm, twisting her around and dragging her away despite her struggles.

Mithras, lend me speed!

Quintus accelerated into a run as if his life depended on it, pushing through the crowd like a dolphin through waves.  His leg was forgotten. A familiar feeling of narrow focus and intense rage rose. He welcomed the anger. There was no room for anything now but the urge to attack. He saw the steps ahead, the big man looming. He raised his sword to stab, and heard a voice he knew well.

‘ You take Blue Cloak, Gov, leave that arse Caesulanus to me!’

It was the most welcome sound in the world, Tiro in all the glory of his flat London vowels.

Quintus left his stator to deal with Caesulanus in a whirl of fists and kicks, while he chased after Blue Cloak. The tall fair man was bundling Julia into the shadows beyond the intermittent flare of the torches. Somehow Blue Cloak had found himself two confederates, a hard-faced man with a knife, and a youngster, less eager but well-armed with a long sword. They both stepped forward, crouching into fight positions. Quintus launched himself at them, all fatigue far away. His sword flickered between the two men as his feet danced an intricate pattern of deception. He snared the youngster first, seducing him into trying an open swing at his head with his long sword. Quintus brought his shorter, deadlier sword up to pierce deep into the youngster’s belly. He was vaguely aware of cries and bellows behind him. He moved his attention to focus on the older man. This hard-faced one was more experienced, and although he had only a knife, it was a good long one. Quintus twisted his sword free, and stepped back. The lack of light made the footing treacherous. Quintus pressed the man, forcing him swiftly round and casting his own shadow over them both.  Sweat ran down the man’s face. He was gasping now, and Quintus knew one more feint would allow him a deadly stab.

A cry of pain came from nearby. ‘You bitch! Bite me, would you?’

Julia screamed, a short sharp sound cut off suddenly. For a tiny moment