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

‘Well, sir, they might want to raise the Dobunni, as Velvinna said. But if Lucius is planning on running away with Fulminata, like I heard him say while I was locked in that bleeding hog-shed, and he’s got money hidden at Bo Gwelt as the lady thinks —‘ he nodded at Julia, ‘— then I reckon he’ll make his way back there. So maybe they’ll split up for now, and each go their separates.’

Quintus nodded. ‘There is one thing our friend Labienus has told us that we didn’t know before. There’s someone else, much bigger, controlling this whole plot. And I don’t mean the pathetic Claudius Bulbo. He’s as much of a pawn as anyone. The theft of the silver had a purpose, but the real plot is more than theft. So, I wonder cui bono? This little charade tonight doesn’t convince me that a Druid rising is the whole story either. Maybe that’s a smokescreen. My job is to stop the treason, for the sake of this province, the Emperor, and the Empire.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Well, we began by following the money, Tiro. Something in my bones tells me to keep following the money.’

‘Bo Gwelt, then, sir?’

‘Back to Bo Gwelt, yes.’

‘What about our prisoners? Might slow us down if we have to drag them across country with us.’

‘Indeed. I’m reluctant to let them out of my sight, but it might do them good to cool their heels in the Lindinis lockup. Perhaps they’ll have more to say tomorrow. I’ll arrange for Decurion Sorio to take custody of them for tonight.’

Rufus came running over, his face chalk-white. He gasped out, ‘Frumentarius, come quickly! It’s the prisoner, the tall one.’

Quintus groaned, knowing immediately that Antoninus Labienus had spoken the truth when he said his life was forfeit. The fair man lay still, his tunic a bloody mess. A slim blade protruded from his chest. His hands were still pinioned.

Quintus glared at Caesulanus, whose freed hands were covered in blood. ‘You’re a dead man, you know that.’

The man shrugged, his scarred face non-committal. ‘Your peasants didn’t search me properly; your loss. You heard what Antoninus said about the boss. I just did as he asked, one comrade for another. He didn’t want to risk spilling the beans under torture. And before you ask, I have no idea who the boss is. Don’t know, never knew, never wanted to know. Keeps it all clean that way.’

Quintus was furious, but he didn’t show it. He would likely never find out whether Labienus’s death was an act of mercy or expedient murder. Caesulanus was now the sole witness.

He would try one more thing, though. Before turning back to Tiro, he said softly, ‘Capricornus, eh?’ and watched in satisfaction as the former soldier’s eyes brightened momentarily. He veiled them again almost immediately, but that was enough for Quintus. Now he knew the man was formerly of the Second Augusta, whose symbol was the Capricorn, birth sign of their founder the Emperor Augustus. The troubled Second Legion again.

’Tiro, we’ll take this one with us after all. Search and restrain him yourself this time. I’ll fetch another horse.’

Decurion Sorio had gone, but the night watch was still hauling away the bodies from behind the basilica. It took a while to negotiate the loan of a horse from the slow-thinking local who was apparently Lindinis’s finest. Eventually Quintus lost patience. He dragged the man up by his dirty tunic, eyeball to chest, rubbing the man’s nose into the spearhead badge of his authority.

‘I never did see that before, though I heard tell of such fine officers as you, sir,’ the watchman said, shaking his head. Eventually he found them a sorry nag from the town stables, gave lengthy instructions about its return, and headed off to resume his watch rounds.

The night was well advanced by the time the little procession headed west out of Lindinis. Julia was shivering but upright on her beautiful white mare. Tiro rode alongside, mounted less showily on his army horse. Quintus smiled briefly, watching the pair. They were equally matched in horsemanship, but still looked funny together. Julia so slim and tall, an elegant patrician to her fingertips despite her torn and bedraggled robe. And stocky eager Tiro, straw hair sticking up all round his head, filthy tunic and birrus, but vibrant under his nonchalance. The ultimate Londinium soldier, if only he knew it.

Quintus kept the horse carrying the bundled Caesulanus on a short rein alongside his own chestnut. He was infinitely weary now, as much from the evening’s emotions as his exertions. He would not let himself think about what had happened between Julia and him. That would have to wait till another time. Or whether Aurelia and he had a future together, father and daughter.

Caesulanus had slumped into stillness now. All the fight seemed to have left him now Labienus was dead. Good. Pray Mithras it stayed that way. Bringing up the rear were the solid reliable Morcant and young Rufus, swaying occasionally in his saddle, and furtively looking around in case anyone had noticed how exhausted he was. Another fine horseman, Quintus had to concede. All these Britons, Tiro included, knew their way around horses.

It was a clear night and the waxing moon had risen, swinging up to faintly light their way. It might have been that, or the low mists lapping over the road and onto the ridge that fooled his eyes. He became aware that the pale mist had taken on a pink, then red, tinge. As they approached the turn off the Polden ridge road to enter the Bo Gwelt estate, Julia reined her mare in sharply and gasped. The wind changed and he too knew. Smuts and smoke streamed towards them, and he heard the unmistakable crackle of flames. Julia held her reins motionless a second only, then galloped ahead at a reckless speed