The midday sun scorched the city streets as Lucius arrived at Tribune Cornelius's temporary residence. Modest by Roman standards, the villa was nonetheless imposing compared to local constructions—a calculated display of power without excessive ostentation, typical of a man who valued efficiency over extravagance.
Two Praetorian guards flanked the entrance, their expressions impassive as they examined the gladiator with professional distrust. Only when a secretary arrived and confirmed the expected visit did they allow him through, their reluctance plain—to them, any gladiator was a potential threat.
The interior of the house was surprisingly cool, with a well-proportioned central atrium and a fountain that offered not just beauty but practical relief from the heat. Lucius was led down a side corridor to a study where the Tribune awaited.
Cornelius did not rise when Lucius entered, continuing to examine a map spread across a dark wooden table. Only after a few deliberately extended moments did he look up.
"Punctual," he remarked, as though punctuality were an unexpected virtue in a gladiator. "Sit."
Lucius complied, taking a seat on a plain bench across from the table. There was only one cup of wine—clearly intended for the Tribune, not for a lower-status visitor.
"I've received detailed reports from Metilius," Cornelius began, dispensing with small talk. "He's moderately satisfied with your progress. A rare compliment, coming from him."
"Honored by the assessment," Lucius replied simply.
"No doubt." The Tribune finally served himself some wine, taking a small sip before continuing. "However, an... unexpected complication has arisen. Senator Cassius's daughter appears to have developed a personal interest in you."
It wasn't a question, but it clearly demanded a response. Lucius chose his words carefully.
"The domina has expressed some interest, yes."
"Some interest," the Tribune repeated with mild sarcasm. "Livia Cassia doesn't have 'some interests.' She has momentary obsessions that she pursues with irrational intensity."
He stood, circling the table to stand closer to Lucius. "Let me be absolutely clear. Our arrangement was established before this... complication. I have specific plans for your skills that will benefit us both significantly. Plans that transcend the fleeting whims of a bored young woman."
He stopped directly in front of Lucius, forcing him to look up—a deliberate tactic of physical dominance.
"So I should refuse her offer?" Lucius asked, his tone neutral.
"On the contrary," the Tribune replied, surprising him. "Refusing her outright would be as unwise as accepting prematurely."
He returned to his seat behind the table, moving with the precise deliberation of a man used to commanding attention.
"Livia is impulsive and emotional, but not stupid. A direct rejection would turn her into a declared enemy—potentially dangerous for tomorrow's games, given her influence over her father." He paused deliberately. "Likewise, committing to her prematurely would be... reckless under the circumstances."
"What course of action do you recommend then?" Lucius asked, genuinely curious about the Tribune's strategy.
"Calculated ambiguity," Cornelius replied at once. "Neither rejection nor acceptance. Keep possibilities open without concrete commitments until after the games. Survival tomorrow is the prerequisite for any future plan."
It was strikingly similar to Lucius's own conclusion—an observation he kept to himself.
"And after the games?" he pressed.
The Tribune studied him with renewed interest, as if the question were unexpectedly insightful.
"After the games, assuming you survive, you'll be in a stronger position. At that point, definitive choices can be made." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Choices that, I hope, will recognize the value of lasting alliances over momentary pleasures."
It was a veiled warning, but also revealing—the Tribune implicitly admitted he could not simply impose his will after a successful performance in the games. Lucius would have real power of choice, a rare thing for a gladiator.
"Understood," Lucius replied. "Survive first, choose later."
"Exactly." The Tribune seemed moderately satisfied. "An admirably perspective."
He stood, signaling the end of the formal meeting. However, instead of dismissing Lucius immediately, he walked over to a nearby wooden chest and retrieved a small object wrapped in cloth.
"A gift," he said, handing over the package. "For tomorrow."
Lucius carefully unwrapped the cloth, revealing a small, perfectly balanced dagger. The blade was dark, nearly black, with the wavy patterns characteristic of the finest Damascus steel—a weapon worth more than many slaves.
"Eastern steel," the Tribune explained. "Capable of piercing hardened leather without losing its edge. Small enough to conceal as a secondary weapon, but lethal in skilled hands."
It was a valuable gift, but also a message—the Tribune was investing tangibly in his survival, not just with words.
"I'm grateful," Lucius said, genuinely impressed by the weapon's quality. "I will put it to good use."
"I'm sure you will." The Tribune gestured toward the door. "Quintus has obtained special permission for you to rest today, no further training. I suggest you take advantage. The tribal warriors are... unpredictable."
As Lucius rose to leave, the Tribune added a final comment:
"One last note. Livia has sent similar 'gifts' to at least seven gladiators over the past two years. None of them survived more than three months after accepting her... patronage."
The information lingered in the air between them—a final warning disguised as a casual remark.
"Interesting statistic," Lucius remarked.
"Isn't it?" The Tribune's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Until tomorrow, gladiator. I will be watching with great interest."