Chapter 3: Chapter 2 – Meeting & Proposal

Accompanied by Mel, Raviel reached the palace of the Emperor of Massallia early, barely out of breath from climbing the numerous steps. The sun was already high in the sky, and the heat was beginning to be felt. Rays of light caressed his milky skin and sprinkled it with golden sparkles, but a gentle breeze still managed to cool him. He arrived early enough to avoid the crowd of patricians who would soon throng the palace. He hoped that would be sufficient not to make another unpleasant encounter. The one from the day before with Rufus had been enough for him.

He immediately chased this memory from his mind and looked back at the palace in front of him. Even after all his visits, he never got tired of the view offered by this site. The place was amazing. Built on the side of a hill in the heart of the city, it seemed to dominate most of the metropolis. From his location, Raviel could perfectly see the Grand Amphitheater, the Library, or even the multitude of temples. All were grandiose, but none reached the disproportionate size of the palace, whose pale stone shimmered in the sun. The many columns supporting the edifice loomed large and imposing and towered over anyone who ventured there. Moreover, they had a large triangular pediment on which was spread a fresco representing scenes of the glory of the emperors.

Raviel advanced toward the public part of the palace and entered. The air was more refreshing. There was no doubt that the stone would retain this freshness for several more hours. A slave approached immediately, but Raviel waved to him that he didn't need help. He had been coming for years, so he knew the place perfectly. Without hesitation, he headed for the large audience hall, ignoring the soldiers guarding the place in his path. There, another slave saluted him respectfully.

"Can you wait for me here?" Raviel asked Mel.

She nodded and leaned slightly to the side. The slave opened the wide door, and Raviel was able to enter the audience hall. Like the rest of the palace, it was huge. The impressive ceiling peaked about thirty meters above the ground. A circular opening pierced the top and poured all the light of day into the room.

Along the walls stood columns between which one could see niches housing black basalt statues, which represented the busts of the emperors of the past. The contrast with the pale stone was striking and even seemed to extend to the floor, where the white flagstones were sometimes flecked with darker veins. The columns led to the raised apse at the back of the hall, where Emperor Valens sat. He looked benevolently at Raviel.

“Raviel, it’s nice to see you.”

His voice echoed softly against the walls. They were alone. Raviel descended the few steps that allowed access to the Emperor’s seat, and the young man watched him gratefully. The Emperor was much more intimidating when he dominated the whole room.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he greeted respectfully.

Valens was one of the few people Raviel liked. Perhaps because he was one of the few who treated him kindly. Also because Raviel considered him a fair ruler, more moderate than his predecessors, and more concerned with the general population, including slaves. Unfortunately, the Senate mostly made up of large patrician families, continued to oppose his reform projects.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

"Why did you ask to see me?"

Valens's voice held no aggression, only a slight curiosity. It was not in the habit of Raviel to ask him for an audience. When he needed to see him for an urgent matter, he didn't bother with conveniences. The Emperor then received him immediately. He knew that Raviel never came without a good reason, just as he knew that the young man's visions always turned out to be right. He had saved his life twice that way.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

Valens's brown eyes took on a frankly puzzled look. The young man had never asked him for a favor, and it was not for lack of insisting on it for a long time. It was also one of the reasons why the Emperor greatly appreciated Raviel. Unlike most patricians, he did not act out of self-interest.

“I was looking forward to hearing that one day. What do you want?”

Raviel seemed to hesitate for a moment, before finally formulating his request.

“I wish I could speak with the gladiator who won the last battle yesterday, and if he wishes, I'd like to offer his master to buy him.”

Valens frowned, and his robe creased slightly as he moved closer to Raviel. Only a few steps now separated them.

"You know that's out of my power, don't you? I can't force a master to sell his slave.”

Raviel's strange silver gaze fell on the Emperor. He wasn't duped by the ruler’s words. It was certainly not in his power to force the transaction, but his blessing represented a crucial asset, especially in the case of Raviel. Valens smirked.

“You do not do things by halves, you have to admit that much. I don't think I've ever seen anyone try to redeem a gladiator at the start of the games. May I know the reason?”

Raviel seemed to hesitate for a moment, before finally giving an honest answer.

“I'm not sure, but I think I saw him in a vision. I would like to understand why.”

The young man's visions… They seemed to have no fixed rules. They could arise at any time, day or night, and revealed to him specific scenes from the future, and more rarely from the past, or just indistinct bits. Raviel had never known how this was possible, but he had never been wrong, so he chose to trust it.

“I guess you won't be giving that reason to people.”

“Indeed. It will not surprise anyone that I buy a slave who can defend me if necessary.”

“Your move might get you in trouble. Redeeming a gladiator who streaks victories during games will not please others.” Valens warned him, nonetheless.

Raviel nodded. It wouldn't change much anyway. He had thought about it for a long time before coming but had decided to trust the bits of vision that he had perceived.

“I am aware of it.”

“If that's what you want, I offer my support in this case. But be careful.”

Raviel tilted his head.

“Thank you.”

Valens eyed him affectionately. At the height of his twenty years, Raviel was old enough to be his son. The latter was only a few years older than the young man. But Raviel exuded a calm, gentleness, and maturity that Severus did not possess. Valens only regretted that flash of sadness that rarely left Raviel’s eyes.

"I won't bother you any longer," the young man announced.

The Emperor did not hold him back.

“Do not hesitate to visit me from time to time. I always appreciate chatting with you.”

Raviel smiled before taking a few steps back. Valens, however, made a sign to him to wait, before clapping his hands. A slave immediately ran up. The Emperor whispered something to him, and the slave disappeared, only to return moments later with a purse. He handed it to Raviel, his head humbly bowed, and the young man looked at Valens in surprise.

“Do not make that face. You will need a certain sum if you hope to be able to buy back a gladiator. Consider it a present.”

“Isn't it…”

Valens sighed.

"Stop being so stubborn," he cut him off.

“Accept what I give you for once. If the idea of ​​a present bothers you, think of it more as a payment in exchange for the services you render to me.”

Raviel pouted slightly but finally accepted the purse. It seemed very heavy to him.

"Your father hasn't returned yet, so I suppose I'll see you in the Grand Amphitheater in the next few days."

Raviel barely suppressed a grimace and just nodded, unexcited by the prospect. Then, after respectfully saluting the Emperor, he turned around and headed for the audience hall exit. Valens watched him disappear with a heartbroken expression. He was aware of the rejection and violence that the young man suffered from the other patricians. And if the relationship he maintained with him protected him from certain affronts, many dangers still lurked in the shadows.

When Raviel walked through the door, Mel immediately turned to him. He gave her a thin smile, a sign that the conversation had gone well.

"Where would you like to go now?" she then asked happily.

“At the gladiator school.”

***

Aster gave another angry thrust forward, but it was stopped by his opponent's broad shield. His muscles burned him, almost as much as the sun that kept climbing in the sky. They had been training for several hours under the watchful eye of Mordax and fatigue was beginning to be felt.

Mordax clapped his hands in annoyance.

"I would appreciate more vigor! The first to descend into the arena would be slaughtered like a pig!”

Aster clenched his teeth in a sudden fit of anger and landed a blow so hard that his opponent fell to the ground.

“Good, Ferox! Maybe you'll last a little longer than the others.”

Aster glared at him. In addition to sending him contemptuous stings and giving him this ridiculous nickname, Mordax was going to end up putting a target on his back. Rivalries were great within the school. He didn't have the chance to answer. A slave ran up to the owner and whispered something Aster couldn't hear. Mordax looked annoyed.

“Continue training; I have to leave for a moment. If any of you relaxes your efforts, you'll be out of luck tonight.” He threatened them.

He followed the slave and disappeared into the meanders of the school. Immediately, the gladiators stopped fighting with relief. Several walked to the fountains that stood at the four corners of the vast courtyard. Aster’s opponent stood up and shouted at him aggressively:

"Always trying to curry favor with Mordax!"

Aster gave him a cold look and simply ignored him, before heading toward one of the fountains. His opponent took off his helmet, and it fell loudly to the ground.

“I'm talking to you!”

He grabbed his shoulder violently, and Aster turned around abruptly.

"Nothing forces me to listen to you," he hissed.

The other gladiators had ceased all activity, and a small circle was slowly forming around them.

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“Stop looking down on us all!”

A few murmurs of assent echoed, while others simply watched the scene curiously.

“I do not look down on anyone. I only do what I am asked!”

“Oh, so you behave like a dog attentive to the commands of his master?”

Aster's brown eyes seemed to darken further with anger.

"You are going too far!" He snapped.

His opponent adopted a threatening posture, and Aster was about to imitate him when Mordax's voice slammed into the courtyard with force:

"Ferox, follow me!"

The crowd dispersed immediately, and the gladiators pretended to resume their training. Aster exchanged a last look filled with hatred with his adversary but resigned himself to obeying Mordax, sensing the man wasn’t happy. He joined him in a few strides, ignoring the annoyed look the owner gave him.

"And it will be hard bread for everyone tonight!"

He turned around with Aster following him. The latter expected to be reprimanded, but Mordax remained strangely silent. He led him through several corridors, to a room Aster had never set foot in. It seemed to him that it was here where the owner welcomed his guests. Before opening the door, the man warned the gladiator.

“I don't know how you managed to get a patrician's attention, but you better not hurt me.”

Aster's eyes widened, but Mordax didn't give him time to understand. He jerked the door open and grabbed his arm, pushing him inside with force. The gladiator stumbled and almost fell over as the door closed behind him.

“Is everything all right?”

He sat up in a bad mood to answer the one in front of him.

"Yes," he replied in a harsh voice.

The gladiator froze slightly. Before him stood the young patrician he had seen the day before in the Grand Amphitheater. The one whose amazing silver hair had caught his eye. He stared at him in surprise. A few sparkling locks fell on his forehead and brushed his eyebrows which sported the same tint. He lingered for a moment on the unfathomable irises, animated by a strange radiance, and on the oval of the face. With his fine features and fair skin, Aster could almost have taken him for one of those marble statues that the Massallians were so fond of.

Raviel frowned slightly. He was too often stared at because of his atypical physique and didn’t appreciate the scrutiny to which the gladiator subjected him.

"Good," he answered coldly to cut the observation short.

“What do you want from me?” Aster asked.

His voice overflowed with aggression. Probably because that was how he had learned to react when he felt trapped. Perhaps also because he couldn't stand the patricians and their certain tendency to think of themselves as superior. Fortunately, Mordax was absent; otherwise, Aster would have had the right to several lashes for his flagrant lack of respect. He wouldn't escape the punishment if the patrician decided to complain about his behavior.

“To talk with you.”

Aster raised an eyebrow. Was the patrician making fun of him?

“I do not know you. I have nothing to tell you.”

If the patrician was upset by his attitude, he didn't show it. His face retained its impassiveness. He exchanged only a brief glance with the young woman who was standing a few steps behind him. She was so discreet the gladiator hadn't paid her any attention since he entered the room.

“Good. In that case, I'm guessing that the deal I was thinking of offering you isn't of interest to you either…”

“What are you talking about?” Aster asked abruptly.

He held back a grimace. He couldn't help but be aggressive again. The patrician's words intrigued him, and he almost came to regret his hostile attitude. His interlocutor took a few steps forward and looked at Aster with his silver eyes. The gladiator noted with a point of pleasure that he was taller than the young man by several centimeters.

“I would like to redeem you from your master.”

For the second time in a short time, Aster's eyes widened in amazement.

"What have I got to gain from it? I have to fight again tomorrow. I have no time to waste on your futile desires!” He hissed, overcome by cold anger.

The patrician did not blink.

"In exchange, I'll give you your freedom when I no longer need your services."

Aster froze. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.

“I don't understand. Anyway, you don't need my permission, do you? I am just a slave.”

“I do not want to force your hand. I leave the choice up to you.”

Aster hesitated for a moment before answering. The patrician's offer seemed tempting. He offered to free him when he no longer needed him and left him the freedom to make this decision, which would be decisive for his future. But it all seemed too good to be true.

"And when will you no longer need my services?"

The patrician hesitated a few moments before answering.

“I do not know. I hope it will be soon.”

Aster gritted his teeth.

"How could I believe you? I have no guarantee that you will keep your word.”

“You're right. I can give you nothing more than my word. But I assure you that you will always be treated well.”

Not convinced, the gladiator was about to reply when the young woman suddenly intervened in a soft voice.

“He is telling the truth.”

Aster turned his head towards her. Her chestnut hair was gathered in a thick braid that caressed her back and her hazel eyes shone with a warm glow. She gazed affectionately at the patrician, and Aster suppressed a contemptuous scowl. Admittedly, she seemed sincere and in perfect health, but nothing told him that this was not a masquerade.

“Why me?”

“From what I could see yesterday, you are an excellent fighter. I need someone like you who can defend me.”

Aster crossed his arms over his chest. The little patrician must have had enemies and didn't want to get his hands dirty. No doubt he thought a gladiator was in the best position to resolve his trouble.

"And Mordax agrees with that?"

The young man gave him an indefinable glance.

“Let's say I have connections in high places.”

The gladiator stared at him for a long moment, but the patrician held his piercing gaze without fail. This deal offered him a way out that he never thought he would have. It was nice to chain the victories, but he knew nothing was immutable. Luck could change at any moment, and his talent would no longer suffice. Too few gladiators made it to the top, and death remained the most likely outcome. And there was no need to think of escaping. The school was a well-guarded prison.

Accepting this patrician's offer would grant him a much greater maneuvering step. And nothing compelled him to wait for the young man to set him free - if he did. It would be much easier to flee from a patrician's dwelling.

“Very well. I accept your proposal.”

A slight smile appeared on the young man's lips.

“My name is Raviel.”

Aster was surprised for a moment. It was not a Massallian name.

“And you?”

“Ferox.”

Raviel frowned slightly.

"I was asking for your real name.”

The gladiator wanted to answer, but no sound crossed his mouth. He cursed this sudden weakness. It had been ages since anyone had demanded his name.

“Aster. My name is Aster.”

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