The Governor's Man: A Quintus Valerius Mystery

by Jacquie Rogers

  Quintus swung round, eyes quartering the forum. No Lucius — and no Fulminata, either. Damn! That boy kept slipping through his fingers. He squinted across the emptying forum into the failing light of the sputtering torches. A gold-edged mantle caught the guttering lamplights. Councillor Sorio was leaving. Quintus hurried over to catch him. The older man looked chagrined when he saw Quintus’s spearhead badge.

  ‘Frumentarius! Well, I am ashamed of our town, and of my son too. I had no idea our young men were planning any such foolishness, attending an illegal meeting like this. Good job I got suspicious and followed Drusus. Of course, boys will be boys, but I blame that Claudius youngster. He’s the real stirrer, him and his floozy from Londinium. Actresses! I don’t hold with the theatre. Wait till I speak to Claudius Bulbo - I’ll give him such a piece of my mind. He needs to keep that boy of his in check—’

  ‘Thank you, Decurion Sorio. But I need to speak to your son. He may be able to tell me more of young Lucius’s involvement in this affair. Do you know where Drusus is?’

  A troubled look passed over Councillor Sorio’s face. He flicked up his gaudy mantle and used a fold of fine wool to wipe the sweat off his plump cheeks.

  ‘I tried to persuade him to leave with me earlier. He wouldn’t come, saying he had plans to join up with Lucius after the meeting. And now I can’t find him anywhere, and his horse has gone.’

  ‘I see. Well, if either Drusus or Lucius turns up, send word to me at Bo Gwelt. And I’m afraid there are two dead confederates of the plotters behind the basilica. May I leave them for you to deal with? I need to continue my investigations urgently elsewhere.’

  The older man nodded, still looking embarrassed. He was clearly grateful to be given responsibility fitting his town council role. Quintus saluted, and moved off quickly. He drew Morcant and Tiro into a huddle, leaving Rufus, knife drawn and standing guard over the shackled prisoners. Julia joined them.

  ‘Lucius has gone, probably with his friend Drusus Sorio. And maybe also taking his girlfriend, our fake Druidess Fulminata. I need them all in custody.’

  Julia broke in. ‘Velvinna told me the Druid rising also involved her people, the Dobunni. They may be heading north to try to stir up that tribe too, in which case we should follow them along the Fosse Way.’

  Tiro scratched the scar on his forehead. ‘But the stolen money, sir. That must have something to do with the plot too, and I’m pretty sure Lucius has hidden some or all of it at Bo Gwelt.’

  Julia nodded. ‘Yes, that’s true. I overheard Lucius asking Claudia to help him dig up some money they’ve hidden somewhere in the house.’

  ‘Right.’ Quintus went over to Rufus and his little chain-gang. He drew his sword, pulled Blue Cloak up onto his feet, and pushed the tip of his gladius into the soft skin under the man’s chin, pricking it hard enough to force a bead of blood through the skin. He nodded at Tiro, who sauntered over to Caesulanus and twisted his arm forcefully right up behind his back. The centurion gave a squeal, high-pitched for such a big man.

  ‘Look away, Julia,’ Quintus said. He jerked his left knee up into Blue Cloak’s groin, hard. Blue Cloak doubled over, gasping, and Quintus followed up with a crash of the pommel of his sword into the man’s ribs. There was a sharp crack, and a gurgle, and the man slumped back to the ground. Quintus put one foot on the broken rib, and pressed down.

  Julia kept her face turned away.

  Blue Cloak forced out, ’I don’t know where the money is, or the boy. Both gone. I told his father I’d kill them if the missing money wasn’t back by sundown.’ He refused to say a word about why the silver had been stolen. ‘Go ahead and kill me. My life is over anyway. You’d be doing me a favour. The one I report to will do far worse than you can. But I will not die unnamed. I am Antoninus Cassius Labienus.’ Quintus got nothing more out of Labienus.

  And Caesulanus, though he appeared to favour staying alive, could tell them nothing about the hidden silver.

  Quintus motioned to Tiro to step aside.

  ‘Any ideas?’

  Tiro scratched his chin.

  ‘Well, sir, they might want to raise the Dobunni, as Velvinna said. But if Lucius is planning on running away with Fulminata, like I heard him say while I was locked in that bleeding hog-shed, and he’s got money hidden at Bo Gwelt as the lady thinks —‘ he nodded at Julia, ‘— then I reckon he’ll make his way back there. So maybe they’ll split up for now, and each go their separates.’

  Quintus nodded. ‘There is one thing our friend Labienus has told us that we didn’t know before. There’s someone else, much bigger, controlling this whole plot. And I don’t mean the pathetic Claudius Bulbo. He’s as much of a pawn as anyone. The theft of the silver had a purpose, but the real plot is more than theft. So, I wonder cui bono? This little charade tonight doesn’t convince me that a Druid rising is the whole story either. Maybe that’s a smokescreen. My job is to stop the treason, for the sake of this province, the Emperor, and the Empire.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Well, we began by following the money, Tiro. Something in my bones tells me to keep following the money.’

  ‘Bo Gwelt, then, sir?’

  ‘Back to Bo Gwelt, yes.’

  ‘What about our prisoners? Might slow us down if we have to drag them across country with us.’

  ‘Indeed. I’m reluctant to let them out of my sight, but it might do them good to cool their heels in the Lindinis lockup. Perhaps they’ll have more to say tomorrow. I’ll arrange for Decurion Sorio to take custody of them for tonight.’

  Rufus came running over, his face chalk-white. He gasped out, ‘Frumentarius, come quickly! It’s the prisoner, the tall one.’

  Quintus groaned, knowing immediately that Antoninus Labienus had spoken the truth when he said his life was forfeit. The fair man lay still, his tunic a bloody mess. A slim blade protruded from his chest. His hands were still pinioned.

  Quintus glared at Caesulanus, whose freed hands were covered in blood. ‘You’re a dead man, you know that.’

  The man shrugged, his scarred face non-committal. ‘Your peasants didn’t search me properly; your loss. You heard what Antoninus said about the boss. I just did as he asked, one comrade for another. He didn’t want to risk spilling the beans under torture. And before you ask, I have no idea who the boss is. Don’t know, never knew, never wanted to know. Keeps it all clean that way.’

  Quintus was furious, but he didn’t show it. He would likely never find out whether Labienus’s death was an act of mercy or expedient murder. Caesulanus was now the sole witness.

  He would try one more thing, though. Before turning back to Tiro, he said softly, ‘Capricornus, eh?’ and watched in satisfaction as the former soldier’s eyes brightened momentarily. He veiled them again almost immediately, but that was enough for Quintus. Now he knew the man was formerly of the Second Augusta, whose symbol was the Capricorn, birth sign of their founder the Emperor Augustus. The troubled Second Legion again.

  ’Tiro, we’ll take this one with us after all. Search and restrain him yourself this time. I’ll fetch another horse.’

  Decurion Sorio had gone, but the night watch was still hauling away the bodies from behind the basilica. It took a while to negotiate the loan of a horse from the slow-thinking local who was apparently Lindinis’s finest. Eventually Quintus lost patience. He dragged the man up by his dirty tunic, eyeball to chest, rubbing the man’s nose into the spearhead badge of his authority.

  ‘I never did see that before, though I heard tell of such fine officers as you, sir,’ the watchman said, shaking his head. Eventually he found them a sorry nag from the town stables, gave lengthy instructions about its return, and headed off to resume his watch rounds.

  The night was well advanced by the time the little procession headed west out of Lindinis. Julia was shivering but upright on her beautiful white mare. Tiro rode alongside, mounted less showily on his army horse. Quintus smiled briefly, watching the pair. They were equally matched in horsemanship, but s
till looked funny together. Julia so slim and tall, an elegant patrician to her fingertips despite her torn and bedraggled robe. And stocky eager Tiro, straw hair sticking up all round his head, filthy tunic and birrus, but vibrant under his nonchalance. The ultimate Londinium soldier, if only he knew it.

  Quintus kept the horse carrying the bundled Caesulanus on a short rein alongside his own chestnut. He was infinitely weary now, as much from the evening’s emotions as his exertions. He would not let himself think about what had happened between Julia and him. That would have to wait till another time. Or whether Aurelia and he had a future together, father and daughter.

  Caesulanus had slumped into stillness now. All the fight seemed to have left him now Labienus was dead. Good. Pray Mithras it stayed that way. Bringing up the rear were the solid reliable Morcant and young Rufus, swaying occasionally in his saddle, and furtively looking around in case anyone had noticed how exhausted he was. Another fine horseman, Quintus had to concede. All these Britons, Tiro included, knew their way around horses.

  It was a clear night and the waxing moon had risen, swinging up to faintly light their way. It might have been that, or the low mists lapping over the road and onto the ridge that fooled his eyes. He became aware that the pale mist had taken on a pink, then red, tinge. As they approached the turn off the Polden ridge road to enter the Bo Gwelt estate, Julia reined her mare in sharply and gasped. The wind changed and he too knew. Smuts and smoke streamed towards them, and he heard the unmistakable crackle of flames. Julia held her reins motionless a second only, then galloped ahead at a reckless speed along the dark stony track. Tiro turned in astonishment, but Quintus wasted no time.

  ‘Here, take this!’ he shouted at Tiro, tossing him the halter of the prisoner’s horse.

  Rufus and Morcant were passing Tiro, too, both spurring their horses from canter to full gallop.

  ‘Bo Gwelt! The villa - it’s on fire!’ the boy yelled, as his horse bolted past Tiro.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tiro tied up the horses outside the villa, near a bright red cart with two distressed mules harnessed to it. The trussed Caesulanus lay motionless on his horse. Tiro tugged tight on the cord securing the prisoner’s wrists. You never knew though, did you? He whacked the centurion over the head with a stout stick. Not too hard, didn’t want to kill him—not yet. He left the manacled man slumped over the unfortunate horse, and hurried into the courtyard.

  A wall of heat and sound nearly bowled him over. Tiro stood aghast, getting his bearings. All three of the house’s main wings were on fire. The south block containing the atrium and reception rooms, and the north kitchen and servants’ wing were blowing gouts of smoke from some of their windows, and Tiro could see lines of fire crawling along the ground floor corridors.

  But the fire must have started in the west wing. Still scaffolded at its south end where the new hypocaust was in progress, the wing was well ablaze, a red mass of heat and crunching blasts of noise. There was a tearing sound as an avalanche of clay tiles slid off the roof and hurled themselves into red ruin on the paving below. The holed roof let out a sustained belch of flame, lighting up the courtyard.

  People were rushing around everywhere. Near the kitchen was a water fountain, and a well where a line of servants had assembled. They were passing buckets slopping water, hand over hand towards the flames, directed by a thin old man with drooping shoulders. Tiro realised this was Demetrios, the Greek secretary and tutor. A richly-dressed woman sat wailing in a highback chair. That must be Domina Claudia, Aurelia’s stepmother. Julia’s dresser was leaning over her. The two women seemed helpless in the face of the disaster. A fat man in a smoke-stained toga was trying to grasp passing servants, apparently urgently questioning everyone. Marcus? No, too fat, too strong.

  Ah, there was the boss. Quintus had joined Demetrios in directing the flow of buckets, leading groups of servants close to the flames to point out critical spots to fling the water, and diving in and out of rooms not yet ablaze to rescue missing people.

  Julia had found a mattress from somewhere, and had Gwenn with her, helping her to treat staff with burns and injuries. An old woman sat shaking on the mattress, crying as Julia smoothed a salve on her face and neck. To his relief, Tiro spotted Britta nearby with his little friend Narina, dipping drinking jars into clean water from the fountain and pressing them into the hands of thirsty people.

  Morcant was working with a red-faced man, gasping in the smoke-filled air as they tried to carry a large wooden beam from the carpenter’s quarters across the courtyard. Tiro hurried to help them.

  ‘We’re going to break down the front door. The domina thinks her nephew is trapped in the main block.’

  With Morcant in the lead and Tiro anchoring the end, they swung the wood against the doors. The double doors groaned but held. Tiro bellowed over the crackling of flames, ‘We need to get nearer. Morcant, really swing the beam back this time!’ The three men hefted the wood as hard and high as they could. Morcant’s big muscles bunched and he gave a mighty roar as they swung again. Tiro pushed his shoulders and hips into the action, nearly losing his footing in the process. The leading end of the beam crashed into the doors. There was a satisfying crunch and explosion of splinters as the doors shattered inward. Tiro rushed forward, but was immediately beaten away by billowing smoke and flames taller than himself reaching greedily for the outside air. He fell back, coughing and slapping at clinging cinders on his tunic. There was no going in that way.

  Someone else was missing too, he realised.

  ‘Have you seen Lady Aurelia?’ he called to Morcant. The noise thrusting out from the main wing nearly drowned his shout, and he coughed as he sucked in smoke. ‘Aurelia? Has anyone seen her?’

  The other two shook their heads. Tiro ran over to Julia, who was directing a small boy to fetch more honey for antiseptic salve.

  ‘Aurelia? No, I haven’t seen her … oh Minerva, where is she?’ Panic filled Julia’s eyes as she jumped to her feet. Tiro fought his own confusion, thinking.

  ‘Don’t worry, my lady. Leave it to me.’

  He was sure he knew where Aurelia had gone, but he had sense enough to tell Quintus too. ’Sir, I’m heading to the stables to look for Aurelia. Lady Julia knows. I’ll get Aurelia all right. Oh, and Domina Claudia thinks Lucius is trapped inside the main wing. The fire has well and truly blocked that entrance.’

  Quintus was smeared in black ash, sweating and dirty. He shot out a hand, red and scorched, grabbing Tiro by the shoulder.

  ‘Your arm, sir!’

  ‘No time. We can’t find Marcus Aurelianus either. We must find another way into the house. Morcant! Take over here!’ Tiro heard Morcant’s deep bellow as he took charge in the courtyard.

  ‘This way, sir!’ Tiro led Quintus at a run to the stables. Aurelia was crouched down by a locked cage. She’d managed to get the terrified horses out and tied to surrounding trees by their halters. Some of them were still plunging and attempting to kick out, but Tiro saw at a glance they were securely tied. Back in the stable Quintus snapped the shackle on the cage with a single twist of his gladius. Aurelia screamed with delight as her puppy tumbled out.

  ‘Right, Aurelia, out of here. Into the courtyard with Julia and Britta,’ said Quintus; but the struggling puppy had scrambled out of Aurelia’s arms and dashed away. With a sob, she flung herself after him.

  ‘Hades and all the Furies!’

  Cerberus was scampering straight for the scaffolding at the end of the west wing, with Aurelia at his heels. Tiro tore off his birrus and plunged it into the stableyard water trough. Quintus was soon with him, soaking his long red cloak. Demetrios had followed them, hobbling as fast as his arthritic hip would allow and holding up a small glazed lantern to light his slippery way across the ash-marked cobbles.

  ‘My master? Lady Aurelia?’

  ‘We’ll find them. Give me your lantern, Demetrios.’

  Quintus licked his finger, and paused with it lifted up.

  ‘Nort
h of west. Pray to every god you know, Tiro, that the wind doesn’t back much. If the smoke catches us in the hypocaust we’re dead, along with anyone we manage to rescue.’ He strapped his soaked cloak over his shoulders and back.

  Tiro spat surreptitiously to allay the Evil Eye. He prayed as hard as he could. It seemed the goddess Minerva heard him. As they neared the doorway to the new hypocaust system, a small tawny owl emerged from the furnace room. In the dark Tiro heard it swoop over their heads, circling and hooting in a plaintive voice. It was the sign they needed.

  They plunged into the hypocaust.

  The height of the underfloor was knee-high to an adult man, forcing them to wriggle along on their arms. Plus it was pitch-black in the narrow space.

  Tiro’s heart sank. How were they to find Aurelia? They had no idea where she’d headed, and the light from Demetrios’ lantern was feeble and uneven. He suspected the small girl would crawl much faster than they could, driven by fear for her precious dog.

  Quintus led the way with apparent confidence, and Tiro tucked down in his wake as they slithered across the broken subsoil, scraping and scratching themselves despite the soaked cloaks. Quintus kept calling ‘Aurelia!’ but his cries seemed to fall leaden and be sucked into the darkness unanswered. After what felt like an age Quintus stopped, and Tiro glimpsed the lantern light rocking from side to side.

  ‘There’s a divide in the way here, Tiro. Wait a moment.’ He moved forward, leaving Tiro blanketed in stifling blackness. Tiro felt his forehead prickling. Sweat was running down into his eyes, spreading dust and particles of building rubble over his face. His breath came short. Waves of panic rose in him. This was a hideous type of Hades, suffocating, dark, without escape.