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

have liked to smear hypericum and marigold ointment onto the blisters then, but lacking provision here at the villa she had to settle for honey instead.  Ripping up the hem of her linen tunica, she soaked a length of fabric in Bo Gwelt’s own garden honey, and wrapped the bandage round Quintus’s arm.

‘There, pull your sleeve down tight over that. Try not to let it move or slip down. I’ll renew the bandage when you next rest.’ Quintus said nothing, but she fancied the greyness of his face warmed a little.

Morcant and the other farmworkers had managed to extinguish the fires in the servant’s and reception wings, leaving part of the two blocks a broken black devastation, but still standing. The west wing was a lost cause. They simply left the fire there to burn out, and a merciful rain fell in the early hours to hasten the end. At dawn, Quintus, face still shadowy with fatigue, searched carefully through the cinders and soot. He found a smashed oil lamp on the portico by the estate office, and trails of oil baked on the bronze door.

Tiro helped Morcant and the stableman carry the body of Marcus out of the smouldering west wing. Julia immediately confirmed the cause of death when she saw the head wound. Britta and Aurelia went to keep vigil over their master and father, laid out with love on a slab in the cool dairy room. Julia knew her silent white-faced daughter needed to be with her father, and asked Britta to sit with Aurelia for a while.  Julia herself would follow to be with her beloved brother once there were no more injuries to treat.

Then Morcant, Tiro and Quintus went off together through the ruins, searching. In the corridor outside the office they found another body. Morcant recognised him as a young servant, probably lighting the evening lamps when he was unfortunate enough to get in Lucius’s way. He had been fatally stabbed, and was long dead when the fire caught him.

The other body they found felt even more tragic to Julia when she heard. He had been a big man, slumping to fat, with aspirations proclaimed by the charred remains of a toga.  At least, thought Julia, Bulbo had escaped the worst consequences of his actions. He would not now have to live to see the downfall of his son. Quintus said very little, his face cool and still as Tiro turned Bulbo’s body over.

‘I wonder where you are?’ Julia heard him mutter. She knew he meant Lucius. Like her, he believed the culprit had got away and was still alive somewhere.

Claudia was locked into her sleeping cubicle, with two stout men hand-picked by Morcant posted outside.

‘What will happen to the Domina, mistress?’

‘I don’t know, Britta. Tiro may have a better idea.’ Britta needed no more encouragement, moving close to Tiro and touching his arm while they talked. Eventually Julia took Aurelia to her own bedchamber, and tucked her into bed beside her.  The room stank of smoke, but at least it was untouched by the fire. Aurelia, who had hardly spoken since seeing her dead father, sank into a troubled sleep, turning and mumbling in her sleep. Julia was desperately tired, but sleep kept dodging away. Her mind churned between periods of dozing. Every time she woke she found she had been chasing down impossible corridors to unlikely sunlit endings. There was Aurelia to think of. Aurelia, who had just lost the father she adored. Aurelia, the new mistress of Bo Gwelt, who was now responsible for dozens of servants and hundreds of tenant farmers and their families, as well as her own future.

No, she’s too young to take on that burden yet. I’ll speak to Demetrios about Marcus’s will. When I’m not so tired — then I’ll think about what’s best for Aurelia. Maybe she’d like to live in Aquae Sulis with me for a while?

Julia drifted off at last, tears pressed between heavy eyelids and the image of her brother before her, sitting as she had last seen him in pale spring sunshine in the garden, with the books he loved.

When they had all managed a few hours of rest in the least damaged rooms, Gwenn roused them with a hearty soup and fresh bread made in her own kitchen. Tiro smacked his lips, and slurped the broth down as fast as he could. Quintus gave him a poker-faced look.

‘It’s not proper Roman food, sir, not the fancy stuff you’re used to,’ Gwenn apologised to Quintus. She was still shy of Quintus, even after her husband had told her roundly there was no better man in an emergency. Julia was diverted into a fleeting smile, remembering a much younger Praetorian’s grumbling about army marching rations during the Caledonian wars.

After breakfast, Demetrios led the household in paying their respects to Marcus, whose body now lay in a splendid lead sarcophagus arranged on a stout table in the garden. Julia stood with her arms wrapped round Aurelia, wiping her eyes. Demetrios explained in halting words how the master had insisted on having the coffin made to his design some time ago, when Julia told him his illness would be terminal. His funeral and interment in the Aurelianus cemetery near the river would take place in a few days, when friends and associates from Lindinis and the neighbouring estates would be able to attend.

Julia was grateful for one thing. The ceremonial structure of the funeral process that would deliver her brother into the loving arms of his ancestors and the gods was something she could share with Aurelia. It would channel the grieving the bereft girl badly needed. Aurelia was crying openly now. It was so hard to know how to comfort her. So difficult to convince her the world would still turn without her father. Julia wanted to cry too, overwhelmed by the terrible loss of the brother