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

memory while Quintus signed the note, bound it round and sealed it.

’Have this conveyed immediately to the nearest post station,’ he told the tavern-keeper, showing him the hasta token on his baldric, and dropping a few extra coins into his hand. ‘It’s to be sent urgently to Aquae Sulis, for the attention of Centurion Marcellus Crispus at the garrison.’ The innkeeper bowed, assuring the investigator it would be dispatched immediately with his best groom. ‘Ah, another thing — ‘ the man turned back, enquiringly. ‘My stator here has care of a pup. It’s too young to come further with us, but it is beloved by a … lady friend of his. Could you arrange to have the dog cared for and conveyed to the Bo Gwelt estate for the attention of the Lady Aurelia Aureliana?’ Again the man bowed, and left them. No doubt he hoped they would go quickly, before any more onerous tasks came his way.

Tiro shuffled his feet.

‘How long did you think I wouldn’t notice the whimpers and snuffles coming from your saddlebag?’  Then turning serious, Quintus said, ‘Tiro, I don’t like this combination of fraud, deaths, murder, restless local tribesmen. There’s too much going on. It’s more than coincidence. And talking of your saddlebags — have you got Velvinna’s cup and dish still safe?

Tiro nodded.

‘I asked Marcellus to send on the results of Piso’s examination, as quickly as possible. I’ve been thinking about Velvinna’s cold.’

Tiro was lost. ‘Velvinna’s cold, sir?’

‘Yes. It might turn out to have been a very convenient time for her sense of smell and taste to be blunted. Velvinna was apparently a Wise Woman of influence and connections. She was interested in the old Druids, at a time when there has been another murder with possible Druidic links, and whispers of Druid-inspired rebellion across the region. We don’t know her affiliations, but if she was mixed up in something she could have acquired deadly enemies who decided to get rid of her influence.  I’m thinking about that drink with the ginger we found by her bedside, as well as the possible foxglove overdose.

‘Tiro, perhaps you should go back to Aquae Sulis to support Marcellus. He hasn’t got your experience, and may need help with his investigations and his interview with Lady Julia. What do you think?’

Tiro thought that he was amazed that Quintus would trust him with this task, especially given which lady was involved. He was also very taken with the chance to see Britta again. On the other hand…

‘Well sir, what if you go getting yourself into bother at the mines without me? I mean, with Tertius being such an important witness and all. There are bound to be guards, and who knows what there. Plus I speak the British lingo; you might run into yokels there in the Summer Country who can’t speak Latin.’

’True enough. We go together then. The mission at Vebriacum must take precedence, and where there is fraud on this scale, there will be people who will stop at nothing. All the same … I can’t make the links join up yet, but I would bet a crate of best Falernian and a year’s pay that this tribal unrest has something to do with the deaths of Catus and Velvinna.’

Tiro grinned. He was as fond of pay as the next Roman subaltern; and a sincere lover of any wine. Falernian, watered gut rot, and anything in between.

Quintus sat a moment longer.

‘Right. On with our original plan. I hope you’re up for more danger, Tiro?’

A rare smile appeared on the frumentarius’s face, gone almost as soon as Tiro spotted it. Tiro grinned too, trying to remember how much he disliked his boss. As they stood to leave the taverna, Quintus lifted the red leather baldric off over his head, twisted the leather strap, and replaced it with the miniature hasta hidden.

Chapter Eleven

‘Those must be the Mendip Hills. Vebriacum is over that ridge.’ Quintus pointed south-west, directly into the sinking sun. ‘Further along the Fosse Way there’s a crossroads with the main road running west to Vebriacum.’

Tiro rubbed the healing knife-wound on his forehead, looking troubled.

‘Cheer up, Tiro. We’ll take the older British trackways. The main road is likely to be watched. I want to approach the mines from an unexpected direction so we can take stock before we enter the operations centre. It’s a cross-country route, and you’ll learn more about the history of your country, I’m told. A brisk night under the stars in the company of your ancestors. What could be better?’

Tiro’s mouth turned down.

Leaving the main road, they began to scramble north-west up the hillside to the ridge-top. They turned due west towards the sea, following the highest line. It was moonrise and light enough to pick their way between tussocks and outcrops of pale grey rock. As the night advanced it grew colder and Tiro pulled up the hood of his grubby birrus.

The breeze had been blowing light but steady from the south-west, a sweet whistle across the sedges and rushes colonising the hills from the damp valleys below. As the night progressed the whisper turning to buffets of swirl, coiling and changing direction. Suddenly the cloud dispersed. Right in front of them a long dark hill reared up, taking Tiro’s dun horse by surprise. She tried to shear away, but Tiro put his hand on her shaggy neck to reassure her. He spoke to her softly in the British tongue.

Quintus watched. ‘She feels the old dead.’

‘What?’  Tiro spat on the ground against the Evil Eye. With the moon rising before them, the shadow firmed. No hill, it was clear. A long earthen barrow. Quintus was right – it was a house of the ancient dead, and full of dread to the Briton.

Quintus clapped his stator on the shoulder, making Tiro jump.

‘Tiro, if you could only