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

‘Ah, Lady Julia. Have you seen Lucius? My sister says he was here earlier this evening. I’m concerned he may have come back for some reason, and got trapped in the fire.’

Julia looked at them both, puzzled. Why would Bulbo suppose his son to have returned to the villa? She studied Claudia’s face. The panic she had shown when Julia arrived seemed to have been set aside. Now Bulbo looked much the more troubled of the two. It was clear Claudia knew something Bulbo did not.

Julia was suddenly overwhelmed with anger. It wasn’t just the turmoil of that very long day, or even her own agony of worry about her brother and her daughter. She threw caution to the winds.

‘Lucius? Yes, I have seen Lucius. I saw Lucius tonight, consorting with thieves, traitors and murderers in my own home town. I saw him next to a duplicitous woman I suspect of poisoning a dear friend. I saw him talking confidentially to a vicious man who killed a boy of my tribe. A man I think you know well, Bulbo. A man you’re in fear of, who tried to kidnap me — Antoninus Labienus.’

Bulbo looked astonished. So you don’t know yet, do you Bulbo? Not about the missing money, nor about the death of your fellow conspirator Labienus.

‘And you, Claudia? What have you told your brother about Lucius?  Don’t bother lying. I heard you. Out of your own mouth, colluding with your nephew to hide theft and Imperial fraud on a grand scale. I’d say your lives, the lives of all the Claudii, are worth nothing now.  Did you know a frumentarius from Rome has tracked you down, right here to Bo Gwelt? Yes, dear sister-in-law, your plans have failed. Aurelia’s legacy will never be yours.’

She had the satisfaction of seeing Claudia turn white, gripping the arms of her chair with her bony jewelled hands. Julia had never liked or trusted Claudia. But Bulbo? He was dishonest, weak, easy to manipulate. He’d allowed himself to be dragged deeper and deeper into the plot. Nevertheless, Julia felt a tiny amount of compassion for this fat social-climber, who so wanted his son to be accepted into the upper-classes.

Julia’s eye was caught by a slight movement, and her heart lifted. She looked beyond Claudia into the smoke-veiled courtyard, hoping her voice would reach.

‘Bulbo, did you know the dangerous game your son was playing, hiding stolen Vebriacum silver at Bo Gwelt? What do you suppose his reward would have been? Trial, conviction and a short lifetime of slavery in the salt mines for conspiracy to steal from the Emperor, along with you? Or simply a knife between the ribs from your friend Labienus, when he discovered who was purloining his money?’

Another quick glance. They were closer now; she need no longer shout. ‘Ask your sister where Lucius is now, Bulbo. He came back late tonight, didn’t he, Claudia? To retrieve the hoard the two of you had hidden? Money even your brother knew nothing about?’

‘Even so, it’s a shame,’ said the frumentarius from behind Bulbo, ‘that we didn’t manage to rescue Lucius Claudius. He would have made a fine spectacle in Rome, in chains. I’m sorry, Claudius Bulbo, your son must have been caught in the fire. We couldn’t get to him in time. But we did find this.’

Quintus, clothes ripped and filthy, left arm red-raw, face soot-marked and exhausted, held out a saffron cloak in his right hand. Bulbo cried out in recognition and distress.

‘Claudius Bulbo, you are under arrest. I am Frumentarius Quintus Valerius, Imperial Investigator, sent by the Castra Peregrina in Rome to investigate silver missing from your mine. I think this cloak belonged to your son, with whom you conspired. I found it just now in Marcus’s estate office in the west wing. Along with a body, your son’s murder victim.’

Claudia remained immobile, her ring-laden hands clenched like claws.

Bulbo gave another despairing cry. ‘No! It can’t be. My boy, my only son! I promised his dear mother on her deathbed he would be the great success I never was. He’s everything to me. I don’t care about the money. It was all for him, everything I’ve ever done. But it’s not too late. I’ll save him! Lucius, my darling son, Father is coming!’

Before Quintus could move, before the watching Tiro could let go of Aurelia’s hand and spring into action, Bulbo was lurching across the courtyard. He burst in through the smashed front doors, brushing aside the flames as if they were gauzy curtains. They could hear him shouting —‘Lucius, Lucius!’—until the shouts turned to screams, and then fell into silence.

It was the longest night in Julia’s memory, even longer than the night Aurelia was born.

Quintus told her gently about her dead brother.  She listened as if from a vast distance, calm. Because she already knew. She had known that Marcus was dead from the moment she saw Quintus, exhausted and white-faced, burnt left arm hanging at his side, holding out the saffron cloak to Bulbo.

Perhaps it was better so. In truth Marcus had been leaving them for a long time, with only a drawn-out death to look forward to.

After hugging Aurelia until the girl protested, and then allowing herself one session of unbridled painful sobs seen by no-one but Britta,  Julia composed herself. She insisted on treating Quintus’s arm before he did anything else. From the wrist to above the elbow his left arm was scorched and beginning to blister.  Julia alone guessed the agony he was suppressing. She sent Britta to plunder Julia’s own baggage for the small bottle of essential lavender oil she took everywhere, poured a few drops into a bucket of cold water and forced Quintus to sit with his arm plunged into the water for as long as he could bear. She would