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

‘I’m sorry…’ Quintus began.

‘So I see! Sorry you ever came back to Britannia, sorry you had to see me again, sorry to discover you have an inconvenient daughter.‘

Quintus had never before known that anger and desire were such close bedfellows. What she said was true. He was sorry to be in this predicament. He wished desperately that he could return to the easier numbed times before he had sailed back up Tamesis.

And yet she was still here, the impossible wonderful infuriating Julia. The broken thing inside him washed around, making him feel seasick in a way sea crossings never had. He tried to back away, and found instead he had stepped in closer to her. The familiar scent of rosewater swept aside whatever he had intended. He roughly pushed past her. She turned on her heel to stare, a look of intense hurt forming on her face. He reached for the leather door flap ties, fastened them into a ruthless knot, and came back to her. He took her hands, and looked intently into her face. They were suddenly very close. He could feel her warmth, despite the chill of the little tent.

For a moment of madness, he considered removing her tunica. She was saying his name, and the madness continued long enough for him to know that his Julia, the Julia of Eboracum, had not gone away after all. He reached his hand around the back of her neck, and his fingers snagged on the necklet of owls. He paused. Yes, that young girl who had trusted him once might still be here, but so was the mature beautiful woman she had become. ‘Not here, Julia, not now,’ he whispered. She pulled back to look at him, and nodded.

The broken thing inside him dissolved and floated away. He held her still for one more moment.

‘ I can hear Tiro breathing outside,’ she said.

’Sir?’ It was definitely Tiro.

‘Yes, yes, come in.’

‘I’ll just fetch the Commander and the Optio, then.’

At least he’d been that tactful.

Marcellus was full of news, and after a brief welcoming smile for Julia got straight down to business. ‘Shall I begin with the scouts’ reports, Frumentarius, before we come to Lady Julia’s business?’

Quintus nodded.

Marcellus began. ‘The men of the Summer Country are coming to our aid, and the good news is they’ll be here by tomorrow. Decurion Sorio has them in charge, and he’s found them an assortment of weapons. The scout reports that there’s a goodly mix of retired soldiers among them. It seems Imperial soldiering is a tradition among the Durotriges.’ He paused.

‘And?’

‘Well, we could have done with more of them. Perhaps Fulminata did more harm than we guessed. There are some well-equipped young noblemen, but for the most part the company is formed of older soldiers and farmworkers of all ages, a couple of hundred in all.

‘Of the two scouts we sent north,’ Marcellus continued, ‘there’s no word yet from one of them. That may mean he hasn’t yet met up with the Twentieth Valeria Victrix. The other reports no troops on the road as far north as the salt baths at Salinae. ’

‘Or it could mean the Victrix isn’t bloody-well coming!’ burst in the optio. ‘Or that they’re in league with our enemies and taking their time on the road. I’m sure they’ll arrive in time to mop up any little bits of us left by our treacherous mates in the Augusta.’

Quintus wasn’t surprised that Senecio sounded so bitter. The optio was a career soldier who had undoubtedly done a good solid job for many years. He would have been looking forward to a wife, a family and nice bit of land for his retirement. Not the horror of fighting his old comrades to the death.

‘And no significant movement reported on the Londinium road, either,’ finished Marcellus.

Tiro had been rubbing his bristly chin for some time, a sign of anxious thought. He jumped up.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, turning hastily to Quintus. ‘I for one can’t go on not knowing. Just who is this enemy? Who’s leading those filthy traitors of the Augusta, bribing them with the Emperor’s silver? Just who is this traitor who fancies making himself the Emperor of Britannia?’

Marcellus looked steadily at Quintus. The same question was in his eyes. Senecio stared down at his folded hands, grim and intent.

Quintus sighed. ‘All right. Maybe the time has come to share my reasoning. I hope you can find fault with it. I pray to all-powerful Jupiter and Mithras the Sun God that I’m wrong.

‘Tiro, I told you last time you asked to think of three questions. Where did we see white wax tablets? Why didn’t Claudius Bulbo want to cross the bridge south of Tamesis? Why did the Governor ask for you and me in particular for this mission?

‘Let’s go back to the beginning. Before you and I first met, Tiro, the Governor tacitly admitted to me that he was at loggerheads with the Procurator. The top two men of the British government, fighting for overall power. And later you heard the Procurator’s men badmouthing me as the “Governor’s Man”. Let’s take that last accusation first. I am on the staff of frumentarii detached from their legions. Our sole task is to protect the interests of the Emperor and the Imperial Estate. None of us are ever formally attached to a Governor while on missions. We merely keep provincial governments informed, and expected to be resourced by them. ’

Marcellus interrupted. ’Have you no previous experience in Britannia then, Frumentarius?’

‘Only as a raw young officer in the army brought here by Emperor Septimius Severus to invade Caledonia. I have not once set foot here since I was invalided home to Italy at the end of that campaign, many years ago.’

Tiro frowned. ‘Surely, sir you were a comrade-in-arms and close