The pale morning light filtered through the narrow cracks of the infirmary when Lucius opened his eyes. His sleep had been light, a vigil disguised as rest. Throughout the entire night, the spectacle had proceeded as planned — assistants and guards always found the same scene when checking his condition: a man fighting against mysterious poisons, sometimes plunged in delirious fever, sometimes agitating in meticulously controlled spasms.
The door opened without sound. Servius entered carrying a tray of herbs and potions, the ingredients for the next act of this carefully orchestrated farce.
"The sun has risen for the living and nearly-dead," murmured the physician with a contained smile, peering down the corridor before closing the door. "Ready for your resurrection?"
Lucius rose with deliberately slow movements, taking care not to disturb the elaborate arrangement of vials and bandages strategically positioned around him. His face bore the marks of nocturnal performance — dark circles that Servius had accentuated with dark powders, an artificial pallor that any observer would interpret as aftereffects of poisoning.
"The outside world?" he asked in a low voice, his alert eyes contradicting his debilitated appearance.
Servius arranged the vials on the table with the satisfaction of an artist contemplating his work. "Couldn't be better. Macro and Sven are cornered like rats. Varro transformed the ludus into an interrogation camp — spent half the night extracting confessions from the arsenal guards." His eyes gleamed with contained amusement. "The poisoned weapon is being treated as if it were a cursed relic."
"And our host?"
"Quintus?" The physician now mixed a potion of viscous appearance and dubious color. "Oscillates between wanting to execute someone and praying to all gods. Visited three times during dawn, each time later and more anxious. Even the pompous Tribune sent a messenger to verify if his valuable investment would survive."
Lucius allowed himself a slight eyebrow arch. "The conspirators?"
"Macro keeps distance, feigning ignorance with the subtlety of an elephant in a pottery market." Servius couldn't contain a sardonic smile. "And Sven — ah, this is the best part — suddenly discovered religious devotion. Requested permission to visit the local temple and pray for your recovery."
"An ironic touch," commented Lucius, his cold eyes momentarily gleaming with something resembling amusement.
He silently absorbed this information, each piece fitting perfectly into the mental board he had constructed. His adversaries were exactly where he wanted them — disoriented, on the defensive, under official investigation. The ludus authorities were completely engaged, and his position, paradoxically, strengthened through his apparent fragility.
"The moment is perfect to begin recovery," he decided.
"My exact thoughts." Servius offered the vial with the unpleasant-looking liquid. "This will produce convincing external signs — better coloration, abundant sweat as if your body were 'expelling toxins', and an impressive episode of vomiting for our little audience arriving soon."
Lucius took the vial without hesitation, downing the contents in a single gulp. The taste was genuinely repulsive, provoking an involuntary grimace that would only increase the credibility of his performance.
"Your dedication to authenticity is admirable," he commented, voice slightly hoarse from the potion.
"Theater requires certain sacrifices," replied Servius, shrugging. "The guards will make their rounds in a few minutes. I suggest mentally preparing for a convincing performance."
The following minutes were dedicated to final scene adjustments. Servius reorganized medical instruments to suggest a night of intensive interventions, while Lucius calibrated his expression and posture — weak enough to appear on death's threshold, but with first signs of improvement emerging subtly.
When the door finally opened, revealing Marcus accompanied by two guards, the stage was perfectly set. Servius leaned over his patient with expression of intense concentration, applying a damp compress to Lucius's forehead, who alternated between low moans and irregular breathing.
"Any change?" Marcus's voice was loaded with poorly disguised concern.
Servius rose, his face carefully composed in a mask of cautious optimism. "I believe we've won the battle. The crisis peaked during the third watch, but treatments finally began taking effect."
As if responding to cue, Lucius stirred on the table, his eyes opening with apparent effort. "Water," he whispered with broken voice, so weak that Marcus had to lean in to hear.
The lanista approached quickly while Servius offered a small cup. "Is he conscious?"
"Comes and goes," replied the physician. "But considering the state he was in a few hours ago, this is almost a miracle."
Lucius drank with studied difficulty, letting a thread of water trickle from the corner of his mouth — a small but effective detail for scene verisimilitude. Then, with perfect timing, his body convulsed in a controlled spasm, Servius's potion manifesting its effects precisely as planned.
"Stand back!" commanded Servius, his voice loaded with professional authority while quickly positioning a receptacle. Lucius produced a vomiting episode that, though staged, was visually convincing.
The observers recoiled instinctively. The expelled liquid had a disturbing dark-green coloration, prepared by Servius for maximum impact.
"By all the gods," murmured one of the guards, face pale.
"Exactly what we expected," declared Servius with professional confidence. "The body is actively expelling toxins. An excellent sign."
Lucius reclined, breathing elaborately labored, eyes half-closed as if the brief effort had drained his last energies. "Where... how long?" he asked, voice almost a whisper.
"In the infirmary," replied Marcus, approaching again. "Since yesterday. You were... poisoned during training."
Lucius frowned, a carefully constructed expression of confusion. "I remember the sword... the exercise. After... nothing."
The performance clearly convinced. Marcus exchanged significant glances with guards before turning to Servius. "I'll inform Quintus immediately. When will he be in condition to speak adequately?"
"A few hours for stabilization," estimated the physician. "Mental recovery will come throughout the day, if he continues progressing thus."
Marcus nodded, relief visible in his previously tense shoulders. "Guards will remain positioned. Quintus will certainly come as soon as he knows."
With a last glance at Lucius, the lanista withdrew with the guards, leaving physician and patient alone again.
"Impeccable," murmured Servius when footsteps faded down the corridor. "The touch of water trickling down your chin was particularly inspired. Small details like that sell the illusion."
Lucius relaxed slightly, though maintaining debilitated appearance in case any unexpected observer appeared. "The vomiting was surprisingly convincing. What was in that mixture?"
"A professional secret," replied Servius with slight smile. "Basically harmless ingredients that produce dramatically visual effects. Momentary discomfort is a small price for the impact obtained."
For a brief instant, the two men shared a look of mutual appreciation — two artists recognizing each other's skill.
"Quintus won't delay," observed Lucius, quickly returning to planning. "Our first chance to establish the official narrative."
"Any specific guidelines?" asked Servius, reorganizing his instruments.
"Maintain ambiguity," replied Lucius. "Sufficient confirmation of poisoning to sustain investigation, but without pointing fingers yet. My apparent confusion gives us flexibility to adjust the story as necessary."
Servius nodded. "Sensible. Maintains pressure on our conspirator friends while preserving our options."
While awaiting Quintus's imminent arrival, Lucius mentally recalibrated his plans. The "miraculous recovery" would set the stage for his return to normal activities, including the postponed meeting with the specialist sent by Tribune Cornelius — now identified as possible agent of the mysterious Custodians.
This new information completely transformed the context of imminent training. What initially seemed an opportunity for improvement and approach with a potential patron now revealed itself as sophisticated test to determine his true nature.
An internal shiver ran through Lucius, though his expression remained impassive. He would need to navigate with extreme care — demonstrate sufficient abilities to maintain interest, but not so much as to confirm suspicions about his true nature.
The sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor announced Quintus's arrival. Lucius immediately reassumed his convalescent posture, adjusting his expression to a calibrated mixture of weakness and first signs of recovery.