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

reaching my Commander there. Copies of all my reports also went to Trebonius, damn him. He knew all my thinking. At least until I began to suspect that he himself might be the usurper.’

‘Could it be the Londinium garrison?’ Marcellus wondered aloud. ‘If Trebonius has bribed the mighty Augusta, he may not worry too much about the loyalty of the Londinium boys.’

Tiro groaned. ‘He won’t worry about their loyalty at all. The numbers there have been reduced to a tiny garrison in recent decades.  Just rattling around in a corner of that huge old fort. We couldn’t hope to hold back the Augusta with such small numbers, even if they could get here in time.’

‘There’s the men of the Summer Country, don’t forget them,’ said Senecio, a Summer Country man himself and proud of it. ’Our boys’ll make holes in they traitors.’

Quintus was still pondering Tertius’s final message. But the last words of a dying man could simply be ravings, and he couldn’t rely on wishful thinking. Plus there was still the dreadful possibility that Trebonius had got to the XX Valeria Victrix first. If they did come marching down that north road from Deva, there was no saying whose side they’d be on.

He turned to the young centurion. ‘Marcellus, you suggested to me that we could appeal to the loyalty of the men of the Augusta. It is always possible that the shortfall in the bribe caused by Lucius’s theft might have an effect, and make some of the legionaries think again. Now, I know as well as you do that we’re in a bad position right now, with little might to throw against a full legion of five thousand trained soldiers. Any extra swords we can muster will help, but if help is coming, it’s not here yet. As I see it, we have two choices. We could just surrender to Trebonius when the legion arrives at Corinium Dubonnorum. It might save a lot of lives.’

There was another shocked silence. Quintus waited, a grim smile on his face.

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Senecio. ‘But that’s not even funny. I think I can speak for all of us. Let’s hear your other option.’

‘Right. Unless anyone has any better ideas, I propose that we use any and every tactic to delay a pitched battle with Trebonius and his legion. The Summer countrymen are on their way, and that’s one advantage our enemy doesn’t know about. If Tertius was right, and there is more help coming from the east, we must do everything possible to keep that road open. Here’s what we might do …’

Chapter Twenty-six

Tiro was feeling surprisingly upbeat.

The previous day Marcellus had sent his best scout west towards Glevum to watch in secret for the approaching legion. At dawn the scout brought word back that Trebonius and his large force had left the colonia, and were marching east along Ermin Street on the final leg to Corinium. By then Marcellus had moved his company out of camp and cross-country to cautiously circle round to the south side of Corinium. Quintus reckoned Trebonius would assume the non-responsive Aquae Sulis detachment was cowering in its little riverside fort, keeping a low profile till the revolt was over.

Tiro joined Decimus and the lads to eat his evening meal. Marcellus and Quintus were deep into discussing tactics. Tiro was quite content to be told what to do once they’d worked out a plan. The lads were in a good humour, and Tiro was offered beer by men who had won bets on him at the pancratium competition. He reluctantly turned down a third beer, remembering he would need to be at his sharpest the following day.

So this morning he was feeling quite chipper. He was cantering along the muddy road with three troopers when they saw what could only be the Durotriges approaching them. A compact force of a few hundred, kept in reasonable order by some robust middle-aged men with various mismatching bits of old uniform and kit. The main body, mostly farmers and tradesmen, were carrying a variety of weapons. Old spears, axes, an assortment of swords — both short gladii and the more popular longer spathas — hoes and spades, even what looked to be sharpened billhooks. One broad-shouldered man carried an enormous hammer. Probably the town smith. Tiro arranged his face into a confident welcome as the leading horseman saw him, and spurred ahead.

‘Decurion Sorio, you’ve made good time.’

The councillor was dressed in an old mail shirt and leather breeches, with his toga swathed about him. It looked an uncomfortable turnout, but no doubt imposing to his men. His sword at least was high quality, burnished to a gleam, and very much on display. The eager Drusus was by his side. He and Tiro greeted each other warmly.

‘This way, sir,’ said Tiro, wheeling his horse round. ‘We have food and campfires waiting for your men.’ A ragged cheer greeted this, and the footsore Durotriges picked up their pace. Tiro held his horse to one side while they passed, noting with pleasure that there were no stragglers and everyone kept in line, more or less.

Not everyone. There was a straggler, a horseman clearly reluctant to ride with the others, so shy he was keeping to the shade of the dripping trees along the verge. Tiro’s hackles immediately rose. Was he a spy for Trebonius? Tiro spurred to the rear, and caught up with the rider just as he realised he’d been spotted and tried to turn away. Little bloke, skinny as a rake, oddly long hooded robe and not even armed. Tiro accosted him, knocked him sideways and nearly out of his saddle.

Tiro discovered he had captured Aurelia. The girl cocked her little face up at him.

‘Hello, Tiro.’

Tiro suddenly found out what it must feel like to be a father. He looked sternly at the grinning Aurelia.