The Governor's Man: A Quintus Valerius Mystery

by Jacquie Rogers

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said, looking relieved. ‘I think the remaining scars will heal quickly. You’ve been looking after it.’ Then her face seemed to drop. ‘This must mean you’re ready to travel again.’

  Right, you have the opening. Get on with it, he thought, feeling his stomach lurch.

  ‘Well, Governor Rufinus is confirmed in post. And he’s given me permission to leave Britannia, but —‘

  She leapt up, standing over him with a thunderous look on her face. He stood too, reaching for her gloved hand. ‘Julia, —‘

  Before he could move, she slapped his face hard. He reeled and nearly fell.

  ‘It’s not what you think!’

  ‘What is it that I think, Quintus? You men, always telling us women what to think. Even your man Tiro. Although actually he’s a decent man, worth any number of you.’

  Now he was angry. The lurch in his stomach turned into a swoop and he contemplated simply walking away. Perhaps that was best. She would never let him forget Eboracum. Then he thought of Flavius, and knew he had to try again. He sat back down.

  ‘Julia, I’m not trying to tell you what to think, I don’t have that right. No-one does. I just want to explain my position, and then I’d like to suggest something to you.’

  She was still glaring at him. He went on, ‘Aradius Rufinus has been in touch with Rome.’ She stiffened, and tried to turn her face away. He twisted the bronze owl ring off his finger and held it out to her. She grabbed the ring, jerking back to her feet. He was startled to see tears forming in her eyes.

  ‘This is the end, isn’t it, Quintus? You’ve come to tell me you have your orders from Rome. You’re going home, leaving your daughter, leaving me. Are you even taking Tiro?‘

  Before he could stop her she had bolted away across the garden, her veil falling onto the lawn. It was a disaster. He could not bear it, he must go now —

  ‘Can I offer assistance, sir?’ A man he knew, a stooped older man with a long drooping nose, stood in front of him. His mind was blank. ‘Demetrios, sir.’

  ‘Yes, sorry, of course. I should have known you, Demetrios.’

  ‘May I sit?’

  The old man lowered himself slowly onto the bench. ‘Sir, I have known Lady Julia since before she was Aurelia’s age. To most people she seems a calm figure of authority. She will forgive me for telling you that this impression can be skin-deep. Underneath, Lady Julia is sometimes still a young girl. And if I may say so to you, sir, she is a young girl still longing for a young man she lost in Eboracum.’

  Quintus stared at Demetrios in shock. Was there anyone in this house who didn’t know his deepest secrets? He opened his mouth to make an angry retort, and closed it again. Anger would not help Aurelia, or Julia. He waited. The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes almost disappearing into deep wrinkles.

  ‘Well done, sir,’ he murmured. ‘Now then, if you want my advice, you will try again. Once you get past the hurt of a grief-stricken girl, you will find the real Julia. It will be worth the effort, I promise you.’ He stood slowly and walked away, humming to himself.

  Quintus stared after him. Then he saw Aurelia approaching, dragging Julia by the hand. He groaned. He hadn’t had time to marshal his thoughts, to find a different way to bridge the gulf between them. Then he realised that Aurelia was that bridge, the person who joined them together. He would have to make another effort, for Aurelia’s sake.

  His daughter smiled her wicked smile, little pointed chin raised, grey eyes gleaming. What did this mean? Perhaps she had guessed the truth. It wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t regain Julia’s trust.

  ‘Aurelia, thank you. Now please go away. I need to speak to Julia in private.’ His daughter gave him another grin and twirled herself away.

  Julia sat stiffly, not letting her back touch the bench.

  ‘Julia, I am returning to Rome, but commanded by Aradius Rufinus.’ She turned her eyes to his, looking puzzled. ‘He wrote to the Castra Peregrina, arranging my release. He has offered me a permanent assignment, working for him here in Britannia. As a beneficiarius consularis.’ He waited.

  ‘What does that mean? I’ve never heard of that rank.’ She was still listening, and he saw the base of her spine soften against the bench as she relaxed.

  ‘It means promotion as Governor’s Man, reporting only to Aradius Rufinus. I’d be a senior officer, with staff of my own. The Governor has explained he wants me to represent him in a roving role across the Province and beyond, so my base at Aquae Sulis would be notional. I will have his full authority to investigate all serious and sensitive crimes that warrant his intervention.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with Rome?’

  ‘He wants me to go there first, to witness Trebonius’s trial. And to assess how his new Governorship is being seen in Rome. The times are tricky, with such a young Emperor on the throne.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Well, I must congratulate you, Beneficarius. You’ll certainly be mixing with influential people. Sounds like quite a boost to your career.’

  He felt irritated. Is that what she thought, that he was pushing his career? Then he remembered what Demetrios had said, and saw the apprehension on her face. Her defences were back up, he realised. He had to make her understand that Britannia was where he wanted to be now.

  ‘Why not come with me, Julia? A holiday trip. You could meet my family. See Rome, where I grew up.’

  She moved impatiently.

  ‘How? I can’t just drop everything. I have responsibilities. Aurelia. The estate. My work with Anicius …’ He studied her. Looked past the lovely grown woman to the child inside, the one who had hidden her wounds for so long. As he had too, he suddenly thought. He held his hand out again, palm flat.

  ‘I have something else to ask you, Julia. Give me the ring again, the bronze owl ring. And let me give you a ring too. Let’s go together to Rome as man and wife. We should have done this years ago. Please?’ He kept his hand extended.

  ‘If this gesture is for Aurelia, it’s not needed. She’s told me she knows that we are her real mother and father, and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t need us to marry for her sake. She has high status among our people as Marcus’s adopted daughter. This isn’t Rome, Quintus. We do things differently here.’

  He tried one last time.

  ‘It’s not just for Aurelia. She’s already making her own way in the world, and always will. I’m asking you to marry me because I love you. I’ve always loved you, but I was too young and stupid to realise what really mattered.’

  She fixed her eyes on him as if she hadn’t seen him properly until now.

  ‘I will come to Rome with you, Quintus. But I won’t marry you. If I meet your Roman family, it must be as Julia Aureliana, of a British family and tribe as proud and honourable as any in the Empire.’

  He had his answer, but was it enough?

  He felt almost resentful, as if she had just pushed him away. He thrust down the resentment, lifting her face to kiss. She returned the kiss, pressing her lips generously against his. She felt like the Julia of old; and yet, not. Was she holding something back? And then she did pull away, looking intently at him.

  ‘Quintus, I’m not the same girl you left in Eboracum.’

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she put her finger to his lips. He waited in agony. He had offered his heart as well as his hand and name. This was his way, the honourable Roman way. But Julia clearly had different ideas.

  ‘You might wonder why I have never married. Marriage, even back then when we were so young, never seemed to me just another stage on life’s path, predictable and expected. To me, it has to be so much more. I already have my daughter, my work, my own property, and my status as a tribeswoman.’

  Quintus tried to understand, but he was unsure what she was telling him. Didn’t she want him? Perhaps she couldn’t see how their lives could resume smoothly from the point where they had been interrupted fourteen years ago. How arrogant he had been. Thinking he could heal al
l that was damaged between them simply by wanting to. What a fool he was!

  Then she reached for him, and kissed him again, long and lingering. It felt like farewell. Or possibly a greeting, the first one of a new love. He pulled her tightly into his arms.

  ’I think I understand you now. I was naive to think we could go back to the people we were, that summer.’ He felt a tear, and then another, on his fingers. The young girl was indeed gone, replaced by a mature complex woman. A stranger; one he loved and longed to learn about.

  She stirred in his arms. ’Yes, I think you do understand. Those two young people are gone forever, torn apart by long years and hurt. I think we should let them go. But, maybe, the man and woman we have become could have a different, better future together?’ He took her hand, and raised it to kiss.

  ‘Lady Julia Aureliana of the Durotriges, it would be my great honour to get to know you better. And to know our daughter.’

  He smiled, feeling a great relief. ‘I would still love to show you the splendours of Rome, and introduce my family to you.’

  ‘Beneficiarius Consularis Quintus Valerius, I would be delighted to come to Rome with you. Without the company of our darling daughter, this time. ‘

  She pulled the bronze owl ring out of her pocket, and placed it on his finger. He laughed and folded her into another kiss.

  All too soon Aurelia returned, demanding to know if they were ever coming in for dinner. Narina came to tell them that Enica said the evening meal was out on the table and going cold. As they entered the house, Tiro joined them, looking enquiring. Quintus sighed, wondering how much Tiro had heard. This wretched house — nothing ever stayed private.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What about it, Tiro? Fancy a trip to Rome? As my optio?’

  Tiro looked exhilarated.

  ‘I thought the Governor might have given you a new stator, sir. And packed me off, being just temporary as you know.’

  Quintus smiled, and held out a small package wrapped in linen.

  ‘There’s this too. With the Governor’s thanks, in recognition of your bravery on and off the field of war. He apologises for the lack of ceremony. Maybe later on our return.’

  Tiro unwrapped a heavy silver disc decorated in relief with the image of Hercules.

  ‘My phalera!’ He looked delighted for a moment. Then he looked away, towards the servant’s quarters. Quintus sighed again.

  ‘Well, Tiro?’

  ‘It’s just ... there’s Britta, you know…’

  ‘Tell her it will give you time to save, on your higher salary.’ He didn’t add what to save for, but Tiro seemed struck by the notion.

  ‘Do I get a decent sword this time, sir? And another go at that Lucius? I still owe him a shield.’

  ‘We may well get our chance with Lucius. And you can have any damn weapon you want, Tiro. I think for once the Governor will be happy to pay the bill.’

  Tiro went off, smiling and whistling. He swung into the servant’s hall, where no doubt Britta was waiting to hear his news. Tiro managed to see the upside of most challenges, Quintus realised. Whatever Quintus had said to Julia about the trip to Rome being a holiday, he knew there would be challenges. Rome was always challenging.

  From the dining room came the sound of laughter. Julia was thanking Aurelia for pouring out the wine without spilling, and his daughter was giving a suitably sassy riposte. Quintus lingered in the corridor. He thought fleetingly of the sad old house on the Quirinal.

  Then he straightened his shoulders, and stepped over the threshold to join his family.

  Place Names

  Abona: river Avon, and the port at Sea Mills near Bristol

  Aquae Sulis: Bath

  Aust: a small ferry terminus, and the landing point on the east bank of the Severn estuary for military traffic crossing the river from Caerleon. Now disused and under the M48 toll bridge.

  Bawdrip: a villa at the west end of the Polden Hills, Somerset, home of the Sorio family

  Bo Gwelt: a villa at Shapwick in the Polden Hills, home of the Aurelianus family

  Bruella: river Brue, the Somerset Levels

  Caledonia: northern Scotland

  Calleva Atrebatum: Silchester

  Camerton: hamlet on the Fosse Way, south of Aquae Sulis

  Castra Deva: Chester

  Chilton Polden: a small village at the east end of the Poldens

  Crandon Bridge: in Roman times a port on the river Pedrida, now land-locked

  Cunetio: near Mildenhall, Wiltshire

  Corinium Dubonnorum: Cirencester

  Durnovaria: Dorchester

  Eboracum: York

  Gesiacorum: Boulogne

  Glevum: Gloucester

  Iscalis: Cheddar, and home of the Claudius family

  Isca Silurium: Caerleon, base of the 11 Legion Augusta

  Lindinis: Ilchester, Somerset

  Londinium: London

  Pontes: Staines

  Rhenus: river Rhine

  Sabrina: river Severn

  Salinae: Droitwich

  Severn Sea: Bristol estuary

  Silures, land of: roughly, south-east Wales

  Soviodunum: Salisbury

  The Summer Country: loosely, Somerset

  Tamesis: river Thames

  Vebriacum: Charterhouse-on-Mendip, a large silver/lead mine

  Verlucio: Sandy Lane, Wiltshire

  Verulamium: St Albans

  General note:

  In naming places I have used contemporary Roman placenames, except where that name is not known. In that case I have tried to use British Celtic names. E.g. Bo Gwelt may be the British forerunner to Pouelt, used in Domesday Book to denote the whole estate. The British name refers to the grazing of sheep. This estate no longer exists as such, but is thought to be the forerunner of the modern parish boundaries.

  Where I haven’t been able to find either a Roman or a Celtic place name, as in Crandon Bridge, I have used the modern English name.

  Author’s Acknowledgements

  Many people have helped me with time, support and knowledge. My gratitude goes to:

  The superb staff at the Somerset Heritage Centre, who showed me fascinating artefacts from their archives (sadly not on public display), and first alerted me to the existence of an archaeology report on the Shapwick dig in 1998.

  The knowledgeable and enthusiastic local guides at the Cheddar Gorge.

  Ilchester Community Museum — you must go on one of their Roman Heritage Days, mind-blowing.

  The incomparable Sue Willetts and her colleagues at the Hellenic and Roman Library in London, who slaved through several coronavirus lockdowns to keep me supplied with research material.

  My exceptional tutors at the Arvon historical fiction course in 2018, Robert Wilton and Manda (MC) Scott, who are superb teachers as well as supremely talented writers themselves.

  My brother Ste Finnemore, who taught me how to cook the books Roman-style without double-entry bookkeeping, and sister-in-law and psychotherapist Ann Finnemore, who pointed me to helpful sites for PTSD research.

  And Phillippa of Classic Cottages, who rescued me from a building site and found me a writing haven in a storm-tossed Cornwall January.

  I was blessed with wonderful beta readers: Ian Walker, Kate Standish Hayes, Lynn Johnson, Fran Martel, Ste Finnemore, Rhodri Orders, David Orders, Debra Williams, Mark Selvester and Julie Stanbridge. My gratitude to you all, and guess what? The Governor’s Man 2 is on its way.

  My independent editor Gemma Taylor was a stalwart, and great supporter.

  Special thanks to Richard, Tara and all at Sharpe Books, of course.

  And first and foremost, thus mentioned last: my husband and soul mate, Peter, who kept me going long after it would have been reasonable to stop. I owe this book to him.

 

 

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