The Governor's Man: A Quintus Valerius Mystery

by Jacquie Rogers

  This is an effective man with an eye for detail. A leader to keep onside with.

  Aradius Rufinus was seated, dressed in a broad-stripe toga and breeches, with a thick British wool blanket draped over his knees. He welcomed them, sending his attendants out to give them privacy. Once they had all sat down—Tiro slowly and with a grimace — Rufinus began by asking Quintus about the mission, right from the initial briefing by the Castra Commander in Rome. He was interested in why Quintus had been chosen for the mission, given his career background in the East.

  ‘I’ve thought about this, sir, and speaking bluntly, I was selected to fail.’ Quintus worked to keep a steady face. Maybe Tiro would guess how much this admission was costing him. ‘Gaius knew I was badly injured in Caledonia. I believe he also knew how shocked I was by the death of my younger brother during the same campaign. I’ve struggled to overcome that loss, knowing myself to have been responsible for Flavius. Frankly, I lost all ambition from that point. I took this assignment at face value, trusting my former comrade-in-arms. I didn’t even question his choice of Tiro here as replacement for my injured stator.’ He saw Tiro reddening, and carried on quickly. ‘If he only knew how critical that mistake was to his own interests. Appearances can be very deceptive. In the event, Tiro was probably the best man to have by my side, and it is in no small part due to him that we succeeded.’ Rufinus looked at Tiro, holding his eyes for longer than Tiro found comfortable.

  Tiro looked down, missing the understanding expression on the new Governor’s face when he said gently, ‘Gaius made many mistakes, not least of which was his equally deluded choice of Imperial Investigator. He could not have undermined his own plans more when he requested you to carry out the investigation, Quintus Valerius. But tell me, what was it that gave him away to you?’

  ‘White wax, sir.’

  ‘White wax?’

  ‘Yes, sir. On my very first day in Britannia, when I went to collect Tiro from…’ Tiro flinched here, but Quintus pretended not to see ’…from his previous post, I noticed that the letter from Gaius Trebonius authorising Tiro’s transfer was written on a white wax tablet. I had never seen that colour wax before. My — er, Lady Julia Aureliana of the Durotriges, who has also been of great assistance in this case, told me how rare white wax documents are. Later at Vebriacum, the mines manager Tertius showed me another white wax letter, an incriminating message sent to Claudius Bulbo.’

  Governor Rufinus nodded, as though this confirmed an idea he already had. Quintus saw his opening.

  ‘May I ask a question of my own, sir?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘How did you know to summon the Valeria Victrix in such good time? And to undertake what must have been a difficult journey to get here in the nick of time yourself, with only the Londinium garrison? It seems so risky, sir.’

  ‘Do you really not know, Frumentarius?’ The pale man looked intently at Quintus. His hazel eyes were so light they almost merged with the pallor of his countenance. All the same, Quintus had the impression of strength in his mild face.

  Quintus sighed, overcome with sadness at the waste. ‘I have thought a lot about this, sir. I knew from the start that someone was sending information about events at Vebriacum. I later discovered these messages were being brought to Londinium by a young Durotriges boy, Catus, until he was murdered. A death designed to throw me off the scent by falsely suggesting a Druid revolt. It was the mines manager Tertius who had been keeping the Governor informed. Trebonius told me so himself. And his suggestion that you, sir, were not to be trusted blinded me to the obvious.’

  ‘Which was, Frumentarius?’

  ’That Tertius, one of the bravest men I have ever met, was your agent.’

  Rufinus stood, bracing his hands against the arms of his wooden chair, and took a few clumsy paces around the tent. He returned, seating himself carefully, and stretched his legs out. The odd bundle of his foot was on full display.

  ‘You’re correct, Quintus Valerius. Tertius was my agent. Had been since his days in Syria. It was my doing that he was freed from slavery. I promoted his appointment at Vebriacum. Gaius Trebonius used his martial reputation and his network of comrades in the British army to establish a power base to underpin his coup. Both reputation and army friendships are potent tools and have served rebelling Governors and Emperors well in the past. I have no such resources. I rely on the loyalty of different men. Such men are often unperceived for their skills, with hidden bravery and initiative. I have been very fortunate in my career to come across some of these rare men, and women, too. Tertius was one such. He is a huge loss.’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’ Suddenly Quintus knew the time was right to ask the big question, the one troubling him since he had first realised the Druid connection was a cover. ‘Sir, why didn’t you tell me what was in your mind when I came to your Southwark palace?’

  A sad look crossed the pale face. ‘After Trebonius’s insinuations about my own ambitions, Quintus Valerius, would you have believed me? Would you have trusted me above your old friend?’

  Quintus was silent, troubled. The sad look melted into a slight smile. ‘I thought not. But now I hope and believe, matters between us are different.’

  Quintus gave a heartfelt nod, and Rufinus smiled at him before dismissing them both. As they were being ushered out of the command tent Rufinus called, ‘Frumentarius, when your injured arm has healed, I would be pleased if you would come to Londinium for further talks with me. I have some ideas to discuss with you. Could you be ready to travel in, say, a couple of weeks?’

  ‘By all means, sir.’

  Outside the command tent, Quintus turned to Tiro. ‘Well, my excellent stator, how say you we find Marcellus and Antonius and visit the Corinium baths now?’

  ‘Can’t get there fast enough, sir.’

  The sustained rain of the previous night was petering out when Tiro emerged from his tent into the grey light of morning. He groaned as he stood. If anything the pain in his side was worse. The wine at the baths last night, and the beer shop crawl afterwards with Marcellus and Prefect Antonius had worn off all too quickly, and he had slept little. He thought glumly of the long ride home. But where was home? Surely not back in Londinium? What he needed in his life now was the gentle touch of a good woman, he decided. It would be okay, perhaps, to settle down with the right person, maybe have children. Not that he had ever intended to marry, he wasn’t the marrying kind. Although…and here he drifted off into the scent of lavender, until Aurelia appeared, shouting,’Tiro! Tiro! Are you here?’ He said nothing, glaring at her. She was looking scruffy after several days with no change of clothes and sleeping rough in a billet. But her mood was clearly sunny, and she seemed delighted to see him. He fended off her attempts at a hug.

  ‘Ribs!’ he gasped. ‘No touching.’ She released him and grinned.

  ‘I kept my promise yesterday, Tiro. I did exactly what you said — well, apart from going very quickly to warn Aunt Julia that Lucius was here. And then I got to spend the rest of the day with the Corinium Sisterhood. They’re wonderful, Tiro, they know so much and all about medicines and poisons …and magic! Actual magic, Tiro, and they talk to the Gods, the old gods too, all the time. So that’s what I want to be, like Aunt Julia, one day… Are you listening, Tiro?’ He had closed his eyes, only for a tiny moment, mind. He opened them to see Aurelia peering curiously at him. ‘Anyway, you promised me you’d say more about what you meant by “your mother and your…”

  Tiro clutched his side, and leaned back gingerly onto his bedroll, groaning. He thought it was good acting, and anyway he truly did feel rough. But Aurelia was having none of it.

  ‘Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll tell you instead, Tiro. You meant that you would talk to my mother, my mother Julia, didn’t you?’

  Tiro wondered why the Gods had chosen to inflict such suffering on him. Hadn’t he always made decent sacrifices, and carried out to the letter any promises he made in return for divine favour? And yet here he was, i
n this impossible position. He groaned again, for real this time. Aurelia laughed.

  ‘It’s okay, Tiro. I already guessed. I think I’ve known for ages. And one day last year, that wretch Lucius told me I wasn’t really the heir to my father’s estate. He said Claudia had told him I was the bastard mistake of my father’s sister. Well, Father had only one sister, my darling Aunt Julia. And I was so happy — until I began to wonder who my father could be. She never seems to have any boyfriends, always working, only seeing people like Surgeon Anicius. And it couldn’t be him!’ Aurelia shuddered, which Tiro thought was unfair on the tubby little medicus.

  ‘Then I met Quintus. And I heard from Britta that he and Aunt Julia knew each other many years ago.’ She cast Tiro a look of importance, as if she had discovered the secret of life. Which, Tiro supposed, she had.

  ‘Well?’ he said, pretending nonchalance.

  ‘Come on, Tiro — I’ve got the same grey eyes, same dark hair, nothing like my darling father Marcus. It was obvious. And then, when they started fighting every time they met—then I was sure.’

  Tiro sighed. Aurelia twinkled and leaned over to kiss his rough stubbled cheek. ’You don’t have to say anything. But I need you to make another promise.’

  Now what?

  ‘Err… yes?’ he said cautiously.

  ‘Now we know who my real father is, you must promise to go everywhere with him. And keep him safe.’ He saw a glint of bright water in her eye. ‘I can’t lose a second father. And I think Julia wants him, although maybe she doesn’t know it yet. And I want her to be happy. So you’ll get it all sorted, won’t you, dearest Tiro?’

  Tiro watched in astonishment as the girl pranced her way out of the tent. So it’s “Julia” now, is it? Oh, how he regretted that night of drunken debauchery followed by prison in Londinium, all those weeks ago. Without that night he would never have crossed the path of the Governor’s Man. What was he going to tell him? He gave the problem two seconds thought. Nothing. He would say absolutely nothing to Quintus. Wasn’t his problem. But he would look after the frumentarius for Aurelia.

  Once his bloody ribs had stopped hurting.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was the final leg of a hot journey. It was still only late April, but felt to Quintus more like June. The heat had persuaded the hedgerow flowers to bloom early. His scarred leg itched with fatigue and the dusty sweat on his clothes irked him. His chestnut horse plodded without enthusiasm along the dusty ridge road of the Poldens. They turned off to Bo Gwelt, and Quintus realised he should have planned what to say. Too late now. Cantering towards him was Milo, with Aurelia in the saddle. And, oh Gods, Drusus lying forward on his horse, galloping to catch her. His daughter saw him and shrieked, nearly tumbling off her pony with dusty hair flying awry and her worn tunic caught up.

  ‘Sir! I knew you would come back today. I told Britta, and she said how did I know, had Tiro said something he didn’t tell her, and poor Tiro nearly got in trouble till I said, no, no, I just had a feeling. And I was right!’

  ‘Greetings, sir.’ Drusus drew level. ‘Is that a new hasta, sir?’ He looked impressed at the full-size intricately-carved lance lashed to the chestnut’s saddle.

  ‘Do you live at Bo Gwelt now, Drusus?’

  ‘Er, no, sir. Just — I just like to …er… ride out. And I’ve been helping Morcant and Demetrios with the workmen, y’know, supervising the rebuilding.’

  Quintus smiled wryly, and the young boy looked embarrassed. ‘Well done, lad. I am sure Morcant and Demetrios are grateful. I’ll tell your father how useful you are here, if I see him on this trip.’

  ‘Oh, sir, umm, please don’t bother to say anything to Father. He — he rather thinks I am with my Greek tutor right now.’

  ‘I see. Your secret is safe with me.’

  They passed the new tomb of Marcus Aurelianus with its beautiful engraved reliefs. Aurelia dismounted to stroke the stone, murmuring ‘Darling Father.’ Next to it were two stone memorials: one carved with an image of an adolescent boy. The inscription begged the Departed to accept the spirit of Catus, “son of this estate, who was much loved and died too young”. Alongside was a memorial to “Tertius, freedman and mines manager at Vebriacum, who was wise, courageous and kind”.

  On arrival at the house Aurelia rushed into the kitchen, refurbished and re-equipped. Enica was cooking, her glorious hair hidden in a cloth. She looked round, and dropped a curtesy when she saw Quintus.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Enica. Are you settled at Bo Gwelt?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Lady Julia arranged to buy me from the widow Claudia.’ Quintus was puzzled.

  Aurelia burst in, ’Oh, Claudia jumped at the chance to have Julia’s dresser instead. I never liked her dresser, so snooty. Neither did Julia, it turns out. So they swapped, and then Julia gave Enica her freedom. And lovely Enica, who cooks the most delicious food you will ever eat, decided to stay here with us as paid cook.’

  ‘I’m very happy for you, Enica, and I know Tertius and Catus would have been too.’ Enica turned away, hiding her face.

  Aurelia impatiently steered Quintus through the house and into the courtyard, where they found Tiro. Not alone. He was leading a horse on the end of a long rein. She was a solid-looking mare with a mild eye, despite bearing perhaps the most nervous rider she had ever encountered.

  Britta was leaning forward, clutching the reins, swaying at each step of the horse. Narina was dashing around the courtyard not helping the lesson proceed, until Gwenn emerged from the laundry and removed her. The little girl could be heard complaining that she didn’t see why Aurelia could watch Britta fall off the horse if she couldn’t. Britta was also complaining, muttering a stream of British oaths.

  ‘Dearest one, you really must try harder to sit up straight,’ said Tiro in a patently patient voice.

  ‘No, I mustn’t! Bring the mounting block. I’ve had enough of this torture.’

  Tiro complied, and helped Britta dismount. Quintus managed to swallow his laughter while Britta was in the saddle. Now he openly chuckled as she said tartly to Tiro, smoothing out her ruffled tunica, ‘It’s your turn for torture. Get your books out, my man.’ Tiro cast a despairing look at his boss, who shook his head.

  ‘Off you go to your reading lesson. I’ll catch up with you later.’ Turning to Aurelia, he asked where Lady Julia would be.

  ‘Oh, she’s around somewhere. She got back from Aquae Sulis yesterday. She’s been busy working with Anicius and the Sisterhood to train apprentices at the clinic, as she now comes to Bo Gwelt such a lot. I don’t know why she worries, there are plenty of people here already to keep an eye on me. And Drusus comes a lot, too, supervising the construction workers that kind Uncle Agrippa Sorio has lent us. Come and see what a good job they’re doing.’

  She dragged Quintus off to inspect the new works. The main reception wing was almost rebuilt, raw amber stone and bright red tiles standing out in contrast to the remaining older parts. ‘The mosaicist in Corinium brought designs to show us. They’re gorgeous, lots of animals and gods and nymphs. Just what I wanted. But the plastering won’t happen yet, they were too busy and anyway Demetrios said we should get the floors done first…’ She chattered on as they walked through the quadrangle and into the garden behind. Quintus stemmed her stream of consciousness to ask her to let him to have a few quiet words with her aunt. She looked at him pertly and went away laughing, leaving him uneasy.

  Julia was carrying a basket on one arm, hands gloved as she tended her bees. She wore a homespun wool dress, green-stained from gardening. Over her head was a fine veil to protect her from the bees. But they seemed to respect her intentions, and were quite content to carry on visiting the flowers along the back border. Julia turned, wiping sweat away from under her veil. She checked on seeing Quintus, and pulled the veil away.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Hello, Julia. I’m back from Londinium.’ He winced, realising how foolish that sounded.

  ‘So you are, Quintus.’ Her voice w
as cool. It was not a promising start.

  ‘How are you?’ he tried again. ‘How are things at the villa? I see a lot of work is going on.’

  ‘Yes, Quintus, some of us do have a lot of work.’ She added in a more mellow tone, ’Was your trip successful?’

  ‘Er, yes. I came to tell you about it. But first, how is Aurelia? She looks well. How is she getting on in her lessons?’

  Julia’s face softened, as it always did when Aurelia was mentioned. Except, he supposed, when their impulsive daughter did something she disapproved of.

  ‘She attends her lessons when she thinks she’ll be caught truanting. Last week I had to tell her that she could not expect to run Bo Gwelt successfully when she comes of age if she doesn’t concentrate on her lessons. That seemed to make some impression, and Demetrios tells me that when she applies herself, she has real ability. Speaking of Aurelia, I had a visit from Agrippa Sorio last week. A formal one.’

  ‘Oh?’ Quintus knew what was coming. He had seen the besotted look on Drusus’s face several times.

  ‘He came on behalf of Drusus, to ask for Aurelia’s hand.’ Julia looked strangely flustered. ‘I told him she was far too young and flighty. He hadn’t known that it was my decision to make, under the terms of my brother’s will. I think he was surprised that a single woman was Aurelia’s guardian. He mentioned —well it doesn’t matter what foolishness Agrippa said.’

  Her eyes flashed, and his heart sank. But he had steeled himself over the days of travel from Londinium to have this conversation, and he must not let the chance go.

  ‘Julia, could we sit down? I have a few matters to discuss with you. Including Aurelia.’

  She drew a sharp breath, but allowed him to steer her to a nearby bench. He was struck silent, unsure how to begin. She spoke first.

  ‘You obviously have difficult things to say, Frumentarius, and I can guess what they are. Now that your business in Londinium is done, I assume you have come to collect Tiro. He has healed well, by the way, ribs mended, fever all gone. Back to his usual noisy self.’ She paused, reaching for Quintus’s left wrist. She gently peeled back his sleeve, a gesture at odds with her brusque tone. He let her inspect his arm.