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

and red rag-tile towering above the muddy foreshore. Had he noticed the budding foundations as the departing galley had lifted oars to carry him back to Rome, long ago? He couldn’t remember.

Once the unfortunate Gnaeus had been borne away in a hospital cart, Quintus walked west along the revetted riverbank to the Governor’s Palace. Two guards snapped to attention at the sight of his hasta, the miniature lance badge on his shoulder sash. He was clearly expected. The guards handed him over to the Governor’s major domo, who bowed and led the way through several large chambers, all with surprisingly good mosaics. At the back of the villa he was shown into a smaller room, where a broad man stood up to greet him. He was wearing two fine white woollen tunics over each other and red leather boots, despite the warmth from the heated floor.

‘Quintus Valerius, Brother!’

‘Governor.’ Quintus bowed slightly.

‘Nonsense, Quintus,’ said Gaius Trebonius, stepping out from behind his desk. ‘Let’s greet properly as old friends should. You’ve not forgotten Caledonia, eh?’ Quintus tried to relax as Trebonius clapped him on the back.

‘Gaius Trebonius, it’s good to see you. Congratulations on your promotion.’

His comrade’s rise in less than fifteen years from legionary tribune to Governor of a province was impressive. It spoke volumes for Trebonius’s quick-thinking political ability that he had continued to prosper in these times of shifting allegiances.

Trebonius shook his head, smiling. He motioned to Quintus to join him in worn leather camp seats near a brazier. The Governor poured wine for them both.

‘Safe journey? And the leg?’

‘Both fair enough, thank you sir.’ He wasn’t in the mood for chitchat, even with an old friend.

The Governor nodded, and took a swallow from his beaker. He fixed Quintus with a direct look, reminiscent of the younger officer briefing his raw new subaltern.

‘I never wrote, but I was sorry to hear about your father. Your family…they prosper, I hope?’

Quintus felt his face harden. The wounds were old but still surprisingly raw. It had been too much to hope that Trebonius had not heard about his father’s disgrace and fall from the Senate. Quintus didn’t know who had engineered the accusations, but he would find out — one day.

‘My mother and sister are well enough, thank you, sir. I was able to make adequate provision for them. My sister is married now to a dear friend of mine, and my mother lives with them.’

Trebonius nodded, then returned to business.

‘What did they tell you in Rome about this mission, Quintus?’

‘I understand it involves suspected loss of income to the Imperial estate from a mine in south-west Britannia. Hence Rome sending me to be attached to your staff during whatever investigation you deem best.’

The Governor frowned and picked up his beaker again. He seemed to study the depths of his wine before continuing.

‘Well, it is my great good fortune to have your service. I need the best for this job, and Rome sent you, thank the Gods. Let me be straight with you, Quintus. The income from the Vebriacum mines has dropped to almost nothing in the past year or so. The current lessee, Claudius Bulbo, has petitioned my colleague the Provincial Procurator Rufinus for a reduction in rent, claiming the silver content is now so low the cost of extraction is not worthwhile. Bulbo has a reputation as a competent man of business. He ran some sort of large enterprise in southern Gaul before moving to Britannia a few years ago. On the face of it I have no reason not to believe him. The silver in a lead mine can give out after many years of extraction. But we need to know for sure. Other mine lessees have tried to defraud the Emperor in the past.’

Trebonius looked uncomfortable. ‘And there is another reason I asked for you in particular, old comrade. There have been one or two reports in recent months, unsubstantiated but still worrying, about a resurgence of Druidism among the Durotriges.’

Quintus cocked his head, puzzled.

‘Ah, you won’t know. One of the larger native tribes of the southwest. Their territory covers the Summer Country and south to the coast, including the hills where Vebriacum is sited. They were among the last to be subdued by Vespasian at the time of the conquest, and a difficult job he had of it.’

Quintus thought this an understatement. He remembered reading of that famed campaign, including the massacre of the defending natives at the Fort of the Maiden.

Trebonius continued, ‘We’ve had little or no trouble there for many years, but all the same I’d prefer not to have to worry about a Druid uprising so close to the mines. As Imperial business, it’s a sensitive matter. I need an experienced and incorruptible officer to get to the bottom of this. I need you, Quintus, to be my Governor’s Man, reporting directly to me.’

Quintus wondered about the politics in this province. Normally matters of local policing would be dealt with by the Governor. But anything touching on provincial income, whether loss of taxes, fraud or rebellion, became a matter for Procurator Rufinus too. All too often, in Quintus’ experience, the military and fiscal heads of a province’s government were rivals in power. Plus Trebonius knew very well that Imperial Investigators sent by the Castra in Rome remained the Emperor’s men first and foremost. He decided not to mention that.

Quintus glanced at his friend. ‘And the Procurator…?’

The Governor’s eyes flicked away. ‘Aradius Rufinus is an effective official. His background in Rome is…influential.’

Ambitious, with friends in high places, Quintus translated. He understood now why Trebonius seemed twitchy, and why an officer as experienced as Quintus had been summoned from Rome to deal with the matter.

‘Very well, sir. A tactful but top priority investigation, then.’

The Governor looked relieved. His shoulders relaxed as he stood. ‘I knew you would