In Quintus's private office, the air seemed dense enough to cut with a blade. The ludus owner paced in agitated circles while Varro, motionless as a statue, finished his report.
"All evidence points to a deliberate act," concluded the security chief, his rigid posture reflecting years of military discipline. "The weapon swapped in the arsenal, the 'accidental' wound during training, the poisoning symptoms... This was no coincidence, sir."
Quintus stopped abruptly, his face red as a senator's robes. His hands trembled — not from fear, but from barely contained fury that threatened to explode at any moment.
"Are you telling me," his voice dropped to a dangerous hiss, "that someone tried to kill my most valuable gladiator? Just when I finally have the chance to impress Senator Cassius?"
Varro didn't flinch before the imminent explosion. "Yes, sir. And considering the specific nature of the poison, this wasn't amateur work. Modified cicuta isn't something you find in the local market."
"By all the gods!" Quintus grabbed a wine cup and hurled it against the wall, where it exploded in a constellation of fragments. "Who? Who would dare sabotage my plans this way?"
"We're still investigating, sir. Two guards responsible for the arsenal are being interrogated. And there are suspicions involving certain gladiators..."
"Macro," Quintus practically spat the name. "Always envious of anyone who threatens his position. And that stupid Nordic, what's his name? Sven."
Varro nodded slightly. "Both are under intensified surveillance. Particularly suspicious is Sven's convenient absence at the critical moment — his supposed temple visit is being verified."
The lanista approached with cautious expression. "If I may, sir, there's another consideration..."
"Speak, Marcus," ordered Quintus, serving himself more wine with still trembling hands.
"The attempt occurred precisely after announcing Lucius's participation in Senator Cassius's games. This suggests the motives may transcend simple gladiator rivalry."
Quintus froze with the cup halfway to his lips, this perspective clearly hadn't occurred to him. "What are you suggesting?"
"That perhaps the interests at stake are greater than the ludus," replied Marcus carefully. "Someone might not want you to impress the Senator."
Heavy silence fell over the room while Quintus absorbed the implication. Varro and Marcus exchanged glances — the lanista worried, the security chief calculating.
"Commercial rivals?" murmured Quintus finally. "Or political?"
"Impossible to determine with certainty at this moment," replied Varro. "But the attack's sophistication suggests significant resources."
Quintus sank into his chair, suddenly seeming smaller and older. For a brief moment, the mask of arrogant confidence slipped, revealing the vulnerable man behind it — someone whose ambition had created powerful enemies.
"And Lucius?" he finally asked. "Will he survive?"
"Servius believes so," replied Marcus. "Apparently, intervention was sufficiently quick. If the prognosis holds, he'll be fit for limited training in two or three days."
"Thanks to the gods," murmured Quintus, his relief evidently divided between genuine concern and practical considerations about his plans. "Double security. Interrogate whoever necessary. Find those responsible."
"Already being done, sir," assured Varro.
"And send message to Tribune Cornelius," added Quintus, recovering something of his usual posture. "He must be informed about this... setback. Assure him that plans for the Senator's games will proceed as agreed."
When the two men withdrew, Quintus remained seated alone in the darkened office. Slowly, his expression transformed from concern to something more calculating.
"So that's how it is," he murmured to himself, twirling the wine cup between his fingers. "The game begins even before the games."
While night descended over the ludus, Caius's private quarters received another furtive visit. This time it wasn't Antonia, but Septimus — or Flaccus, as he was known in his current guard identity. He slipped inside like a shadow, moving with silent grace that defied his appearance as an aged soldier.
"Interesting situation," he commented without preamble, sitting on the only available bench. "Your friend survived a surprisingly sophisticated elimination attempt."
Caius, seated on the edge of his narrow bed, studied his old companion's face. "Not just survived — seems to have transformed the incident into advantage."
"Explain," requested Septimus, leaning forward slightly.
"I observed the pattern developing throughout the day," replied Caius, keeping his voice low. "Varro's investigation conveniently focused on Macro and his allies. The guards who supervised the arsenal are being interrogated intensively. And the interest of important figures like Tribune Cornelius apparently intensified, not diminished."
"I don't see how almost dying from poison constitutes advantage," commented Septimus skeptically.
A thin smile touched Caius's scarred face. "Don't you see the pattern? First, he publicly humiliates Sven, establishing himself as dominant force. Then, he 'survives' an assassination attempt that conveniently eliminates his main internal rivals through official investigation. Simultaneously, he consolidates Quintus's protection and intensifies the Tribune's interest."
Septimus considered this perspective for a moment, his expression gradually transforming into reluctant appreciation. "You're suggesting he anticipated the attack? Or perhaps even deliberately provoked it?"
"Go further," replied Caius. "Consider the possibility that the 'poisoning' was orchestrated by Lucius himself."
Heavy silence followed. Septimus studied his old companion with new intensity. "An extraordinary accusation. Based on what?"
"Observation," replied Caius simply. "The perfectly convenient timing. The surprisingly quick recovery. The way each development seems to benefit him while weakening his opponents." He made significant pause. "And, most revealing, the peculiarly close relationship he developed with Servius."
"The physician?" Septimus raised an eyebrow. "He would have been necessarily complicit."
"Precisely." Caius leaned closer. "I noticed discrete interactions between them in the days before the incident. And Servius isn't just a common physician — he studied in Alexandria, with access to advanced pharmacological knowledge."
"Interesting," murmured Septimus, leaning back thoughtfully. "If your theory is correct, our mysterious gladiator possesses strategic capabilities significantly beyond the ordinary."
"And that's not all," continued Caius. "Antonia informed me that a specialist has arrived — sent by Tribune Cornelius specifically to train Lucius."
"Name?"
"Gaius Metilius."
Septimus's reaction was almost imperceptible — just a slight momentary stiffening, but for someone trained to observe details like Caius, it revealed much.
"You know him," concluded Caius.
Septimus remained silent for several moments, clearly pondering how much to reveal. "Not personally," he finally replied. "But the name is known in certain circles. If he's who I think, his presence here is... deeply significant."
"Elaborate."
"Metilius is supposedly associated with an ancient order — the Custodians." Septimus kept his voice so low that Caius had to lean in to hear. "They've operated in the empire's shadows for centuries, officially preserving esoteric knowledge considered dangerous."
"And unofficially?" pressed Caius.
"They identify and neutralize anomalies — people or phenomena they consider threats to what they call 'natural balance'." Septimus ran his hand through graying hair, a rare gesture of unease. "If the Custodians sent a representative to observe your friend Lucius, the implications are... disturbing."
Caius absorbed this information in silence, pieces reorganizing in his mind. "So it's not just the Silent Watch interested in him. The Custodians also suspect he might be... something beyond ordinary."
"The confluence of interests from multiple secret organizations is rarely coincidence," confirmed Septimus. "The question remains: who — or what — is Lucius Mordus really?"
The two men fell into contemplative silence, each absorbed in their own reflections. Outside, stars shone indifferently over the ludus, while within its walls, invisible networks of power and intrigue wove ever more tightly around the enigmatic gladiator.