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

suspecting murder. The soldier picked up a glazed dish standing on a dresser near the bed. It contained powdered leaves, rather dusty. He handed it to Quintus, who cautiously sniffed. The leaves stank. It was a familiar smell, taking Quintus years back to a case in Dalmatia when he had investigated the suspicious death of a high-ranking official. That official had been poisoned with dried foxglove, digitalis as the local doctor called it. ‘It has a characteristic smell, and the taste is hot, like black pepper. But don’t ever try it unless it’s prescribed specifically for you — it’s quite deadly,’ the medic had warned.

And so it must have proved for Velvinna. ‘Foxglove. Enough of it to drop a horse. An overdose would certainly stop her heart.’

‘Yes, sir, I agree.’

‘That alone is not evidence of murder. She may have taken too much by accident. Still, it’s potential evidence. Anything else of note in here?’ They searched the room; there was little apart from two dresses and some ritual robes hanging from hooks, one of them a white full-length gown of a rough weave, with a matching hood. Quintus raised his eyebrows. Marcellus said slowly, ‘I believe that to be the robe of a wise-woman, one of the local Sisterhood of healers and sages. Velvinna had that status. No longer connected with the Druids of old,’ he added hastily.

Downstairs they found the dead woman’s library. It was quite a collection, mostly books on medicine, native plants and herbs. On a writing desk near a window was a pile of papyrus. Velvinna was apparently writing a herbal treatise of her own. Quintus took up some sheets and looked through the text, written in a careful spiky hand in lampblack ink.

‘I did look myself, sir.’

‘What’s the book about?’

‘Native plants, and their properties for healing and poison, sir. And…’

‘Yes?’

Marcellus looked away. ’She makes some mention about the old beliefs, sir.  As I said, Velvinna was well-known hereabouts as a wise woman, a herbalist and healer. She trained other wise-women. She seemed also to have an interest in the White Ones, the old Druids.’

‘Did she now? Any dubious friends? Or enemies among the local tribes?’

‘Velvinna, sir?’ The young centurion sounded shocked. ‘Oh no. Velvinna was loved and highly regarded in the city and the surrounding countryside. She was a wonderful healer, and often gave her services free to those in need. She was a renowned teacher, too. I believe she trained the Lady Julia Aureliana.’

Quintus was moving around the room, searching carefully.

‘Could you check the kitchen with Tiro?’

‘What are we looking for, sir?’

‘I’m not sure. I want to know more about Velvinna, her life and work. Who she knew, who’s been here recently.’ Marcellus left, and Quintus heard hob-nailed boots clack along the narrow tiled hall and into a larger room at the back. Voices reached back to him, muffled.

He picked up a tiny bone cup on the desk. There were a few drops of liquid at the bottom, whitish with pale brown traces caking dry on the sides. He sniffed, holding the little cup closer to his face. Ginger…and something else underneath, masked by the pungent Eastern spice. Interesting. He ruthlessly plundered Velvinna’s book, using torn-out sheets to carefully wrap up the cup. The foxglove leaves he poured out into a separate twist of paper.

In the spacious airy kitchen he found his two colleagues inspecting hanks of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling over the big scrubbed kitchen table. There were amphorae stacked around the white-washed walls, and stoppered bottles and jars arrayed on shelves. Labels written in the same spiky hand had been stuck to each container, but beyond a few simples like lavender oil, honey, and marigold ointment, Quintus was none the wiser. There was a small locked cabinet on one wall, too. Tiro got the key from Silvanus. The cupboard contained a single glass jar, sealed and labelled Digitalis. The smell of the contents told them this was nothing but the truth. It seemed that Velvinna was as she had appeared to be: a wise-woman, herbalist and teacher.

‘Marcellus, can you call the steward back in, please?’

The  old man looked scared, but Quintus invited him to sit, saying, ’Don’t be frightened, Silvanus. My job here is to find out what has happened to your mistress.  You were fond of her, I think?’

‘Oh yes, sir. We all loved her. So did everyone who knew our mistress.’ It had the simple ring of truth. Quintus probed further, asking about her friends, business acquaintances, any unexpected visitors in the past few days. One or two people had called to collect regular prescriptions; a pregnant neighbour popped in for raspberry leaf tea and a chat; a young visiting herbalist had borrowed a book and brought a gift of powdered ginger for the mistress’s cold. Nothing of obvious use there. The cook was summoned too. Had Velvinna been eating as normal, been given any gifts of food? None, said the cook firmly. In fact her mistress had been troubled with a cold for a few days and had lost her appetite, despite all the cook’s efforts to tempt her.  In any event, like so many old ladies Velvinna ate like a sparrow, and much of her mostly plant-based diet was supplied from their own garden. The cook herself and the steward were both freed slaves who had been with their mistress since childhood. The cook’s assistant was her daughter. No strangers had called, no parcels of food or drugs had been received out of the ordinary. Her friends were for the most part herbalists and healers in the city, many of whom had attended Velvinna’s school in their youth. No new visitors or anyone unknown to the staff had been to the house in months.

‘The mistress retired from formal teaching and all but occasional healing consultations a few years ago, saying she was getting tired and