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

owed Flavius, he owed his father, he owed Julia, he owed the Emperor. He thought about the direction his duty must take him to settle his debts to each of them. The image of his brother flashed before his eyes once more. Now he knew which course of action to take, to ensure Flavius had not died in vain. He moved his horse three paces forward, then twitched the reins to bring the chestnut to a precise stop.

’Sir, Governor Gaius Trebonius, my duty to the Emperor and to my men here does not allow me to betray the Empire. However, I understand that the men of the Second Augusta also feel loyalty to their old Legate. It would be a terrible waste of blood to settle our differences in battle and lose these men, if another way can be found.’

Trebonius looked interested, an eager expression that betrayed his hopes. Quintus began to think he would take his bait. He looked down at the road carefully, finding what he needed, and dismounted. One of his little company ran forward and took his horse’s reins to lead it away. Quintus drew his gladius. He knew this might be the last time he did so. He saluted, bringing the blade upright before his face, and swung it away again.

‘Gaius Trebonius, in my role as Imperial Investigator on commission from the Emperor and the Commander of the Castra Peregrina in Rome, I pronounce you traitor and criminal. I strip you of your office of Governor of Britannia Superior. I offer you one last chance to save your honour. Dismount and defend yourself against me, in single combat. Mithras, Lord of Light, I call on you to witness the righteousness of my actions and strengthen my hand.’

The Governor dropped all pretence at comradeship. He scowled. Quintus held his breath. Would Trebonius accept the single combat challenge from an inferior officer?

Quintus had no shield, so took up the defensive position as best he could, with knees flexed and sword angled up.  Trebonius flung his reins to Lucius and dropped off his horse, drawing his own sword as he landed. Quintus saw he carried a spatha. The longer blade would give the Governor the advantage. So he did the only thing he could. He rushed Trebonius before he could take up a pose, forcing him to step back quickly. One more step back… There it was!

The road behind the Governor was cratered with muddy holes after the night’s heavy rain. Trebonius’s backstepping foot slid in a rut, he lost balance and fell. Quintus darted forward, thrusting. The man twisted like a cat and rolled onto his side. Quintus’s gladius scored a deep line along the side of the other’s gilded cuirass, and slashed across his arm. Whether out of vanity or lack of preparation, Trebonius was wearing only the sleeveless decorative breastplate by way of armour. His arms were not protected at all. He swore, rolling out of range again as beads of blood sprang up along the line of the sword cut. The wound was long and already bled steadily. Trebonius got to his feet, then slid again in the bloody slime. Quintus sprang forward. He did not see the man run out from behind the Governor’s horse, a tall man who flung off his green cloak and stepped ahead of the bleeding Governor to threaten Quintus.

‘You want a fight to the death, you bastard? I’ll give you death all right. I am Cassius Labienus, the new Emperor’s deputy. I accept your challenge as his champion. Mine is the right of vengeance. Vengeance for my brother Antoninus, who died at your hands.'

Quintus took stock. Unlike the short solid Governor, this man was tall with a long reach. He was fresh, and had a round shield as well as a spatha. He also had good reason to want Quintus dead.

Quintus took a deep breath, settling himself into this new fight. He blocked out all sights and sounds except the man in front of him. He was no longer aware of Trebonius being escorted aside, or the grizzled camp prefect watching closely, or the cheering rows of legionaries. He lost all sense of his own men gathered close, and even of the road under his feet. He called on his long experience and years of training. He knew not to watch the eyes, or the hands, or even the sword itself. He focused his gaze on his opponent’s sternum. Any movement of the core of the body would betray where the next blow would come from, and allow a reflexive parry to be aimed where it should.

And all the time he was weighing up his situation. This man was fresh, tall and well-armoured. On the other hand, Quintus knew himself to be fast, with nimble footwork. His scarred leg might tire, but the short gladius suited his style of fighting. And, he hoped and prayed, he had the gods of Rome on his side, including Minerva the goddess of justice.

He took one more deep breath, rubbing his boots around in the damp gravel to centre his weight. He was ready to strike.

‘Come and seek your vengeance, Labienus!’

Chapter Twenty-eight

Tiro looked round at the Durotriges, swords and axes in hand. They were ready to fight, but Tiro hoped desperately that they wouldn’t need to. Apart from a handful of retired soldiers, they had no clue how to defend themselves against trained legionaries.

A better plan was needed. And being stuck here at the back of everything was not the place to deliver that better plan. Off we go again, Tiro. As he worked his way forward he recognised the young Sorio lad. He was standing at his father’s shoulder, round shield slung on his back and sword out in a shaky hand. The boy looked round. Tiro put his fingers to his lips. No time to negotiate passage with Sorio senior. The boy nodded