The news spread through the Cassius palace like fire through dry grass. No one had seen it directly, but the story grew with each whispered retelling, each version bloodier and more terrible than the last.
"He tore off the jaw with his bare hands," whispered one young slave to another while folding linen sheets in the servants' quarters. "Broke every bone before killing him."
"That's a lie," replied the other, eyes wide. "No one is capable of that."
"Phineas saw it all," insisted the first. "He was delivering oil for the lamps when it happened. Said he'd never seen anything like it. Not even in public executions."
In the nearby corridor, two guards exchanged their own versions, voices kept low by professional caution.
"The African was twice his size," commented the older one, checking that no one was listening. "Veteran of forty combats. And the domina's favorite destroyed him like he was nothing."
"They say he's an imperial assassin in disguise," replied the younger one.
"Nonsense," cut the veteran. "The Emperor has simpler means of monitoring a senator. No, this one is different... I have a cousin who served on the eastern frontier. He spoke of men trained from childhood to kill with bare hands."
"Do you think the domina knows who he really is?"
The older guard shrugged. "Maybe that's exactly why she chose him."
The information continued circulating, transforming with each exchange. In the kitchen, the head of servants tried to maintain order while dinner preparations were interrupted by frantic conversations.
"Silence!" he finally ordered, banging heavily on the wooden table. "What happened in the ludus stays in the ludus. We have work to do!"
"But did the Senator really order the head impaled at the gate?" asked a young servant, unable to contain her curiosity.
The head servant's severe look was answer enough.
It was in this environment of contained excitement that Helena, Livia's personal slave, walked hurriedly through the palace corridors. As the domina's trusted servant, she had access to more accurate information than most—and the duty to report it promptly.
She found her mistress in the private inner garden, supervising the pruning of rare roses imported from Egypt. Livia seemed completely absorbed in the task, apparently oblivious to the silent tumult running through the house.
"Domina," called Helena respectfully, approaching with head slightly bowed. "News from the ludus."
"Mmm?" replied Livia distractedly, indicating to the gardener which branch should be cut. "Some problem with Lucius's training?"
Helena hesitated, uncertain how to present the information. "Not exactly a problem, domina. More... an incident."
Something in the servant's cautious tone finally captured Livia's complete attention. She turned, eyes narrowing slightly.
"What kind of incident?" she asked, dismissing the gardener with a casual gesture.
When they were alone, Helena moved closer, voice dropping to almost a whisper.
"Your gladiator killed Numidius this morning," she informed directly. "Decapitated him in the central courtyard, before witnesses."
For a moment, Livia just stared at her servant, as if processing impossible information. Then, without warning, she threw her head back and laughed—a genuinely amused sound that echoed through the silent garden.
"Oh, this is magnificent!" she exclaimed when she finally regained control. "Absolutely magnificent!"
Helena maintained a carefully neutral expression, though her eyes revealed shock at the reaction.
"There's... more, domina," she continued cautiously. "The way it was done... They say it was exceptionally brutal. That he systematically broke Numidius's limbs before killing him. That..." she hesitated briefly, "that he partially tore off the jaw with his own hands."
Instead of horror, Livia's face lit up with growing fascination.
"And my father?" she asked, eyes shining with almost childlike excitement. "How did he react?"
"The Senator went personally to the ludus," replied Helena. "They say he ordered the head to be impaled at the gate of the gladiators' quarters."
"Of course he did," murmured Livia, more to herself than to the servant. A slow smile spread across her face. "Family honor above all."
She walked a few steps through the garden, clearly processing the information with almost perverse delight.
"And what was the justification for this... execution?" she finally asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"They say Numidius insulted you, mistress," replied Helena carefully. "Repeatedly. In... improper terms."
"Ah," Livia stopped, turning slowly. "So Lucius acted in defense of my honor."
"Yes, domina."
Livia's smile transformed into something more calculating, more predatory.
"Prepare my bath, Helena," she suddenly ordered. "And my best dress—the blue one with silver embroidery. Also appropriate jewelry... something impressive, but not excessive."
"Yes, domina." Helena hesitated briefly. "Is there some special occasion?"
"The most special," replied Livia, eyes shining with anticipation. "I've discovered that my gift is even more valuable than I imagined."
As she walked back to the palace, a satisfied smile remained fixed on her face. To any casual observer, she seemed merely a young aristocrat contemplating some new entertainment or acquisition.
But Helena, who had served her since childhood, recognized the expression—it was the look Livia displayed when she discovered a particularly valuable new piece for her private collection.
A look of absolute possessiveness.
The sun was beginning its descent on the horizon when Lucius finally left the ludus. The training day had been surprisingly productive, considering the morning's bloody events. Varius, despite evident fear, had proven a competent instructor—his technique with dual swords was genuinely impressive, refined through years of specialization.
The other gladiators had maintained respectful distance throughout the day. No provocations, no challenging looks—just cautious observation from afar, like predators evaluating a new threat in their territory.
Tacitus had supervised the training with forced neutrality, eyes constantly following Lucius, expression revealing a complex mixture of resentment and calculating reevaluation.
Numidius's head had been impaled at the gate of the gladiators' quarters as ordered—a grotesque but effective reminder of the new balance of power. No one had mentioned the deceased's name all day, as if referencing him might somehow invoke a similar fate.
While walking toward the palace for his meeting with the Senator, Lucius methodically evaluated the results of his actions. The demonstration of exceptional violence had established dominant position more quickly and efficiently than months of gradual confrontations. The cost—Numidius's life—was irrelevant in the larger equation.
More significant was the new type of respect he had earned—not genuine admiration, but primitive fear that inspired instinctive caution. It was a more reliable tool than any other form of social influence.
The main palace seemed different when he entered—not physically altered, but the atmosphere had subtly changed. Servants who normally barely noticed him now watched with poorly disguised fearful fascination, some bowing more deeply than protocol required, others simply moving out of his way with exaggerated haste.
Titus, the elderly steward, awaited him in the main vestibule.
"The Senator expects you in his private study," he informed formally, though his eyes studied Lucius with renewed curiosity. "I should escort you immediately."
"Thank you, Titus," replied Lucius with calculated courtesy. "News travels fast, I perceive."
The steward allowed himself a minimal smile. "Few secrets survive among curious servants, dominus."
The use of the honorific title—normally reserved for free men of significant status—didn't go unnoticed. Another small indication of the transformation in his social position.
When they reached the Senator's private study, two praetorian guards flanked the entrance—different men from those who had accompanied Marcus Cassius to the ludus that morning. Their expressions remained professionally neutral, but Lucius noticed the slight adjustment in their postures when they saw him—almost imperceptible tension, hands moving unconsciously a few millimeters closer to their weapons.
The study was illuminated by several oil lamps, creating an atmosphere of controlled intimacy. The Senator was not alone—to Lucius's moderate surprise, Livia was also present, elegantly reclining on a side couch, dressed with studied sophistication that suggested deliberate preparation for the meeting.
"Ah, our exceptional gladiator," greeted Marcus Cassius, indicating an available seat. "Please, join us."
Lucius bowed respectfully before taking the indicated place. He immediately noticed the carefully orchestrated configuration—the Senator seated in a slightly elevated position, Livia positioned where she could observe without dominating the conversation, and his own seat placed so he would have to look slightly upward to face his host.
Basic spatial psychology to establish visual hierarchy. Effective, if predictable.
"Productive day, from what I've heard," commented the Senator, studying Lucius with analytical intensity that few could endure without visible discomfort.
"Quite so, dominus," agreed Lucius calmly.
"I imagine so." Marcus Cassius poured wine into three crystal goblets of finest quality—an unusual gesture that would normally be performed by a servant. "It's not every day that a newly arrived gladiator executes the ludus's second-in-command before breakfast."
He offered a goblet to Lucius—another significant gesture that transcended conventional social norms. Personally sharing wine was treatment normally reserved for guests of comparable status.
"Exceptional circumstances require exceptional responses," replied Lucius, accepting the goblet with a respectful nod.
Livia watched the exchange with almost predatory interest, eyes alternating between her father and Lucius like a particularly attentive spectator of a complex game.
"Exceptional circumstances, indeed," agreed the Senator, leaning back slightly. "Which brings me to the inevitable question: who are you, really?"
The question hung in the air between them—direct, without the usual aristocratic subterfuge.
"A gladiator in service to the Cassius house," replied Lucius simply.
The Senator smiled—an expression that didn't reach his calculating eyes. "Appropriately evasive answer. Allow me to rephrase: what type of training produces a man capable of killing as you killed this morning?"
Lucius took a small sip of wine, buying a moment to consider the ideal response. Complete lies would be detected; absolute truth was impossible to share.
"I was born beyond the eastern frontiers," he began, creating a narrative that came close enough to truth to be convincing. "I was trained from youth by a warrior sect that few in the empire know. They don't fight for glory or entertainment—only to kill with maximum efficiency."
"Interesting," commented the Senator, eyes never leaving Lucius's face. "And how does someone with such training become a gladiator in an obscure province?"
"I was captured during tribal conflict," continued Lucius, building a plausible story based on fragments of historical knowledge. "Sold to merchants, eventually reaching the provincial ludus. The memory loss wasn't completely fabricated—I suffered significant injury during capture. Recollections come in fragments, often triggered by specific situations."
"Like being attacked by Numidius," suggested Livia, speaking for the first time. Her voice carried genuine fascination.
"Precisely," agreed Lucius, turning briefly to her. "Survival instinct often recovers training when necessary, even when conscious memory remains incomplete."
Marcus Cassius contemplated the explanation in silence for several moments, clearly evaluating its plausibility. The story was carefully calibrated—exotic enough to explain uncommon skills, but grounded in elements that would be difficult to verify or refute.
"Your Latin is exceptionally refined for a tribal warrior," he finally observed, testing the narrative for inconsistencies.
"The sect valued knowledge as much as physical skill," replied Lucius without hesitation. "We studied the languages of potential enemies. Understanding an opponent is the first step to defeating him."
The Senator smiled again—this time with more genuine appreciation for the skillful response.
"Surprisingly sophisticated philosophy for a warrior cult," he commented. "Could almost be a quote from some Roman strategist."
"Effective principles often transcend cultures," replied Lucius, allowing himself a slight smile in return.
Livia watched the exchange with growing intensity, clearly fascinated by the verbal dance between the two men. When she spoke again, her voice carried a tone of poorly disguised pride.
"I told you he was exceptional, father," she commented, eyes never leaving Lucius. "From the first moment I saw him fight."
"Yes, daughter, you certainly have an eye for... uncommon talents," replied the Senator, subtle irony coloring his words. He turned again to Lucius. "Which raises an additional question: your loyalty."
"I belong to the Cassius house now," replied Lucius directly. "My previous life ended the moment of capture."
"That simple?" questioned the Senator, clearly skeptical. "Men trained from childhood rarely completely abandon their original loyalties."
"When there's no alternative, adaptation is not choice, but necessity," explained Lucius. "My sect believed in absolute pragmatism. The past is irrelevant; only present and future matter."
Marcus Cassius nodded slowly, as if the response confirmed some previous theory.
"A convenient philosophy," he observed. "And potentially valuable for someone in your position."
He paused deliberately, fingers drumming lightly on the crystal goblet. When he continued, his voice acquired a more direct, almost commercial tone.
"Your actions today created an interesting situation," he declared. "On one hand, you eliminated valuable property of the Cassius house. On the other, you demonstrated exceptional loyalty by defending family honor—particularly my daughter's."
He looked briefly at Livia before continuing. "You also revealed skills that significantly transcend conventional gladiatorial training. Skills potentially applicable in... diverse contexts."
The implication was clear, even if carefully not articulated directly.
"I am at the disposal of the Cassius house in any capacity considered useful," replied Lucius, maintaining neutral expression despite immediate understanding of what was being proposed.
"Excellent." The Senator smiled—the calculating expression of a satisfied predator. "Jupiter's games in six weeks will be your official debut in Rome's arena. Until then, you'll continue training with Varius. But occasionally, you may be requested for... additional tasks. Tasks requiring absolute discretion."
"I understand perfectly, dominus."
"I'm certain you do." Marcus Cassius rose, signaling formal conclusion of the meeting. "Rome is a city of opportunities for men with specific talents. Especially those loyal to the correct patrons."
Lucius also rose, bowing respectfully. "I am grateful for the opportunity to serve the Cassius house."
"Naturally." The Senator made a casual gesture toward Livia. "My daughter has expressed desire to discuss additional aspects of your training. You may accompany her to her quarters after our conversation."
The double meaning was impossible to ignore, though delivered with impeccable aristocratic formality. Livia couldn't completely hide her satisfied smile at the implicit permission.
"Before you depart," added the Senator, voice acquiring sudden hardness, "one final observation: loyalty is valuable merchandise precisely because it is rare. Men capable of killing as you demonstrated this morning are equally rare, but considerably less valuable if their loyalty is questionable."
The veiled warning hung in the air between them.
"I would never allow myself to forget whom I serve," assured Lucius, meeting the Senator's gaze without hesitation.
"Excellent," replied Marcus Cassius, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Then I believe our association will be mutually beneficial."
When Lucius finally left the study, escorted by Livia, he felt the Senator's calculating gaze following him—not with open suspicion, but with constant evaluation that would probably never completely cease.
Perfect balance had been established: value recognized and rewarded, but never completely trusted. Exactly as he had planned.
"He liked you," commented Livia as they walked down the corridor toward her private quarters. "More than I expected, I believe."
"Your father seems a man who values practical utility," replied Lucius neutrally.
Livia laughed—a genuinely amused sound. "My father values efficient tools. Particularly those with multiple uses."
When they reached the entrance to her quarters, she turned to face him directly, eyes shining with a mixture of desire and something more complex—almost admiration.
"You killed for me today," she declared, voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Destroyed a man who insulted me in a way no one will ever forget."
"It was necessary," replied Lucius simply.
"Necessary," she repeated, savoring the word. "Not 'it was my honor,' not 'it was my duty'... simply 'necessary.'" Her smile intensified. "You really are different from all the others."
Before he could respond, Livia opened the door to her quarters, an unmistakable gesture of invitation.
"Come," she said, eyes never leaving his. "I want to hear exactly how you killed him. Every detail. And then..."
The rest of the sentence remained unsaid, but perfectly understood. In the depths of Livia's eyes, Lucius recognized something beyond mere physical desire or even gratitude for defending her honor.
It was almost reverent fascination for what he now represented—raw power, controlled violence, death personified in human form.
When the door closed behind them, Lucius recognized that he had created a new reality for himself. No longer just an exotic lover or promising gladiator, but a personalized weapon of the Cassius house.