The Governor's Man: A Quintus Valerius Mystery

by Jacquie Rogers

  ‘Not you, moron. The lady.’

  ‘Oh. Lady, err… Julia. Julia something.’

  Marcellus looked at Quintus. ‘Well, Brother, as we both know a Lady Julia Something, I think we should admit her, don’t you?’

  Quintus made no reply. His dark eyebrows drew together. He stalked over to the open tent flaps in two steps. Thrusting the guard out, he pulled Julia inside. He was horrified to see her, and furious at the risk she had taken. He gathered her into his arms, crushing her cheek against his hasta badge. They stood glued together for a brief moment, both breathing hard, while Marcellus tried to pretend he was somewhere else. Senecio frowned, and Tiro frankly grinned. Then Quintus pushed Julia away.

  ‘What are you doing here, Julia? Are you completely mad?’

  She stiffened, straightening the fold of jade-green palla he had knocked off her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll see to the scouts outside,’ Marcellus murmured, wagging a beckoning finger at Senecio and Tiro. The tent flaps fell back into place behind them with the finality of a door slamming.

  ‘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 friend of Gaius Trebonius? I heard he asked for you by name.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Quintus murmured, ’Gaius asked for me. He saved my life in Caledonia. Since my return to Rome and transfer out of the Praetorian Guard, I have remained a centurion in the frumentariate. While he rose to become a Provincial Governor with two legions at his command. My career as an Imperial Investigator has all been spent in the eastern Empire. I don’t speak a word of the British tongue, I don’t know the country, I don’t know the politics, I have no network of informers here. So why choose me?’

  They were silent. Probably wondering what sort of friendship this was.

  ‘Next: Claudius Bulbo. According to Drusus Sorio, he didn’t want to cross the river to Southwark because he was frightened of being mugged in the stews of Southwark. And that may well be true. But think about it: the two rivals, the Governor and the Procurator, both have impressive palaces in Londinium, both have large staffs, both have the authority to investigate frauds affecting an Imperial estate. But only one of them is based south of the river.’

  ‘The Procurator, Aradius Rufinus! I never trusted that pale slimy man!’

  ‘You’re missing my point, Tiro. Bulbo refused to go to Southwark with Lucius because he didn’t need to go there. Lucius claimed they met Fulminata “at a meeting of important people in a big fancy building“ where the appearanc
e of tribal rebellions was being planned. As we now know, that meeting took place north of the river.

  ‘Now, let’s turn to the wax tablets. Julia, you raise bees and know about wax production. What did you tell me about the use of white wax for letter tablets?’

  ‘That it’s rare because it’s difficult to produce. Compared to yellow wax, which does all the same jobs and is much cheaper and easier to get hold of.’

  ’So most people, most of the time, would use yellow wax in writing tablets?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Only people wanting to impress the recipient with their high status, those with money to throw around, would use white wax for correspondence.’

  ’So, does it strike anyone that it would be quite some coincidence if –‘

  Tiro broke in, ‘ – two white wax letter tablets, written in Londinium around the same time, and both connected with our investigation, weren’t from the same sender.’

  ‘Correct. And on whose desk did we see the first one?’

  ‘The Commander of the Londinium garrison, who was instructed in that letter to assign me to you as your stator.’

  Quintus looked at the others, letting that sink in. ‘The second tablet was handed to us by Tertius. It was sent last winter to Bulbo, asking him to bring samples of newly-minted silver coins to a meeting in Londinium. Samples of the same coins I later found to have been shipped to Isca of the Legion, the base of the Second Augusta.

  ‘If I’m right — and Mithras preserve all of us if I am — the sender of the first letter was my generous friend Gaius Trebonius, who knew I needed a replacement for my previous stator. That gave Governor Trebonius the chance to choose for me a man recently reduced to the ranks for drunkenness, who he hoped would be unreliable, resentful and truculent.’

  ‘And illiterate,’ muttered Tiro.

  ‘I suspect Trebonius believed me to be a broken man when he requested me from the Frumentariate. Not without reason. He hoped to further stymie my mission by assigning me Tiro. How very wrong he turned out to be — with regard to Tiro at any rate. I could not have found myself a better assistant if I had scoured the Empire.’

  Tiro looked away, his neck reddening.

  Quintus went on, ‘The second letter gave us the evidence that Bulbo’s meeting of important people, held in an impressive building not on the south bank, was instigated by the same man. Gaius Trebonius, whose Governor’s palace is on the north bank of Tamesis.’

  Marcellus broke in, ‘And who also happens to have been the previous Legate of the Second Augusta. And he had the means to provide the flow of silver denarii I saw at the Tribune’s birthday party. It’s all so obvious now. Trebonius was quite the war hero. Always a very popular Legate, spent a lot of time socialising with the men. If anyone could suborn the legion’s loyalty away from a distant and untried young Emperor, he was the man to do it.’

  Quintus nodded. ‘We have Tertius to thank for these revelations. He’s the bravest among us, with the most to lose as a whistleblower.’

  Julia drew a sharp breath and spoke, low and unhappy.

  ‘Quintus, that’s why I’m here. I came to tell you. Tertius has been killed.’

  There was a moment of silent shock. Only Senecio among them had not known Tertius. They sat numbly while Julia told of the murderous attack by Fulminata, and how she had been caught by Britta and punished by the Sisterhood. ‘So at least the threat to Aquae Sulis and Corinium is now negated. No tribesman will even look at a murderer who’s been judged, marked and cast out by the Wise Women, let alone listen to or give assistance to her.

  ‘There’s something else. Tertius gave me a message for you, Quintus. Only a fragment, but it seemed to matter very much to him.’ Quintus saw her lips quiver, and knew her to be on the brink of tears. He touched her arm, the lightest of caresses. Her mouth trembled.

  ‘Even in great pain, and knowing he was dying, he managed to say: “Tell your man that help is on the way. Watch the Londinium road.”’ Julia turned her tear-marked face away.

  The three men looked to Quintus.

  ‘From Londinium? Who could send help in time from there? I sent word to the Castra in Rome, but that report must still be a long way from reaching my Commander there. Copies of all my reports also went to Trebonius, damn him. He knew all my thinking. At least until I began to suspect that he himself might be the usurper.’

  ‘Could it be the Londinium garrison?’ Marcellus wondered aloud. ‘If Trebonius has bribed the mighty Augusta, he may not worry too much about the loyalty of the Londinium boys.’

  Tiro groaned. ‘He won’t worry about their loyalty at all. The numbers there have been reduced to a tiny garrison in recent decades. Just rattling around in a corner of that huge old fort. We couldn’t hope to hold back the Augusta with such small numbers, even if they could get here in time.’

  ‘There’s the men of the Summer Country, don’t forget them,’ said Senecio, a Summer Country man himself and proud of it. ’Our boys’ll make holes in they traitors.’

  Quintus was still pondering Tertius’s final message. But the last words of a dying man could simply be ravings, and he couldn’t rely on wishful thinking. Plus there was still the dreadful possibility that Trebonius had got to the XX Valeria Victrix first. If they did come marching down that north road from Deva, there was no saying whose side they’d be on.

  He turned to the young centurion. ‘Marcellus, you suggested to me that we could appeal to the loyalty of the men of the Augusta. It is always possible that the shortfall in the bribe caused by Lucius’s theft might have an effect, and make some of the legionaries think again. Now, I know as well as you do that we’re in a bad position right now, with little might to throw against a full legion of five thousand trained soldiers. Any extra swords we can muster will help, but if help is coming, it’s not here yet. As I see it, we have two choices. We could just surrender to Trebonius when the legion arrives at Corinium Dubonnorum. It might save a lot of lives.’

  There was another shocked silence. Quintus waited, a grim smile on his face.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Senecio. ‘But that’s not even funny. I think I can speak for all of us. Let’s hear your other option.’

  ‘Right. Unless anyone has any better ideas, I propose that we use any and every tactic to delay a pitched battle with Trebonius and his legion. The Summer countrymen are on their way, and that’s one advantage our enemy doesn’t know about. If Tertius was right, and there is more help coming from the east, we must do everything possible to keep that road open. Here’s what we might do …’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Tiro was feeling surprisingly upbeat.

  The previous day Marcellus had sent his best scout west towards Glevum to watch in secret for the approaching legion. At dawn the scout brought word back that Trebonius and his large force had left the colonia, and were marching east along Ermin Street on the final leg to Corinium. By then Marcellus had moved his company out of camp and cross-country to cautiously circle round to the south side of Corinium. Quintus reckoned Trebonius would assume the non-responsive Aquae Sulis detachment was cowering in its little riverside fort, keeping a low profile till the revolt was over.

  Tiro joined Decimus and the lads to eat his evening meal. Marcellus and Quintus were deep into discussing tactics. Tiro was quite content to be told what to do once they’d worked out a plan. The lads were in a good humour, and Tiro was offered beer by men who had won bets on him at the pancratium competition. He reluctantly turned down a third beer, remembering he would need to be at his sharpest the following day.

  So this morning he was feeling quite chipper. He was cantering along the muddy road with three troopers when they saw what could only be the Durotriges approaching them. A compact force of a few hundred, kept in reasonable order by some robust middle-aged men with various mismatching bits of old uniform and kit. The main body, mostly farmers and tradesmen, were carrying a variety of weapons. Old spears, axes, an assortment of swords — both short gl
adii and the more popular longer spathas — hoes and spades, even what looked to be sharpened billhooks. One broad-shouldered man carried an enormous hammer. Probably the town smith. Tiro arranged his face into a confident welcome as the leading horseman saw him, and spurred ahead.

  ‘Decurion Sorio, you’ve made good time.’

  The councillor was dressed in an old mail shirt and leather breeches, with his toga swathed about him. It looked an uncomfortable turnout, but no doubt imposing to his men. His sword at least was high quality, burnished to a gleam, and very much on display. The eager Drusus was by his side. He and Tiro greeted each other warmly.

  ‘This way, sir,’ said Tiro, wheeling his horse round. ‘We have food and campfires waiting for your men.’ A ragged cheer greeted this, and the footsore Durotriges picked up their pace. Tiro held his horse to one side while they passed, noting with pleasure that there were no stragglers and everyone kept in line, more or less.

  Not everyone. There was a straggler, a horseman clearly reluctant to ride with the others, so shy he was keeping to the shade of the dripping trees along the verge. Tiro’s hackles immediately rose. Was he a spy for Trebonius? Tiro spurred to the rear, and caught up with the rider just as he realised he’d been spotted and tried to turn away. Little bloke, skinny as a rake, oddly long hooded robe and not even armed. Tiro accosted him, knocked him sideways and nearly out of his saddle.

  Tiro discovered he had captured Aurelia. The girl cocked her little face up at him.

  ‘Hello, Tiro.’

  Tiro suddenly found out what it must feel like to be a father. He looked sternly at the grinning Aurelia.

  ‘Oh no. You are not here. You’re in Aquae Sulis with Britta.’

  She dimpled at him. ‘I couldn’t stay at home. I thought about it, but when Aunt Julia explained that she had to leave with an urgent message for Quintus, even though she most wanted to be with me, and then Britta said you were here helping Centurion Marcellus, I just had to come. Aunt Julia said how proud she was of me being brave and staying at home where she needed my help. But coming here to fight is even braver, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’ve been sensible. I left a note for Britta, and specially asked her to look after Cerberus.’