June 1, Northern Frontier, Gallia.
Lucius sat behind his desk, a piece of charcoal in his hand, sketching out the new transit lanes and workflow diagrams.
He possessed all the theoretical knowledge of a modern mechanical engineer, and thanks to his father’s Lex Fundi Ferrati, they had the perfect legal smokescreen.
But as he stared at the wax tablets, a stark realization washed over him.
What he severely lacked was the practical experience of managing a workforce in a time before labor laws existed.
Knock. Knock.
"Enter," Lucius called out, setting the charcoal down.
Valerius, the Security Chief, pushed the cedar doors open. He was fully armored, his hand resting on the pommel of his spatha.
"Dominus, the Directorate is gathered in the primary triclinium. We are ready to begin the summit."
Lucius stood, wiping the charcoal dust from his fingers. He gave a firm nod and followed the veteran legionary down the corridor.
The main dining hall of the villa had been repurposed. The lavish reclining couches had been pushed to the walls, replaced by a table hauled up from the carpenter’s shed.
Lucius stepped into the hall. Instantly, every man in the room... from the patrician Cassius to the soot-stained freedman Titus, all the way down to the newly elevated Germanic slaves Wulfric and Hrorek scrambled to their feet to offer their respect.
"Gentlemen," Lucius began, his voice calm. "I must start this summit by offering you my deepest apologies."
Lucius lowered his head in a brief bow.
Cassius’s face turned a shade of purple. "Lucius! Have you lost your mind?" the patriarch hissed. "You do not bow your head to freedmen and slaves! Have you forgotten your blood?"
Lucius waved a hand and sternly signaled for everyone to sit back down. "I made a severe miscalculation, and I apologize for it."
The speech left the room paralyzed. In the history of the Roman Empire, a master did not apologize to his tools. It simply did not happen.
Wulfric, the Germanic war-chief, exchanged a bewildered glance with Hrorek.
In their tribes, a leader who showed such vulnerability would be challenged and killed.
"Moving forward, to prevent the chaos I witnessed on the forge floor this morning, I will need your cooperation to refine my systems," Lucius continued.
"By the anvil of Vulcan, we are yours to command, Dominus," Decimus, the Master Blacksmith, declared. "Whatever you need to fix the forge, we will execute it."
Lucius offered a small smile. He turned to his Security Chief. "Valerius, what is the current status of recruiting loyal enforcers for the factory floor? I need men to direct traffic and maintain order between the shifts."
Valerius frowned, leaning against the wall. "I can hire thugs from the city markets easily enough, but men who can keep their mouths shut about our shadow economy? Men who won’t take bribes from the local magistrates? I have found fewer than a dozen worth trusting."
Lucius nodded slowly.
"Titus. Out of our current workforce, how many men do we have who are over the age of forty, or who possess lingering injuries that slow them down on the heavy lifting?"
Titus scratched his bearded chin. "Counting the new barbarian captives and the local freedmen? I would say roughly fifty men, Dominus. Their joints are stiff from the dampness of the mine, or they lack the raw stamina for the twelve-hour furnace rotations."
Lucius locked eyes with the overseer, and his next words made the room flinch.
"All fifty of those men are to be permanently removed from labor by nightfall."
"What?!" Decimus gasped, his eyes wide.
Cassius slammed a fist onto the table. "Absolutely not! Are you mad, Lucius? We spent a fortune feeding those men. If they cannot swing a hammer or haul hematite, we sell them to the gladiatorial schools or we abandon them in the city. I will not harbor fifty useless mouths on this estate!"
Decimus jumped in right behind the patriarch. "Dominus, I beg you to reconsider. Even if they are slow, we need every pair of hands to maintain the charcoal kilns. If you pull fifty men off the floor, production will collapse."
Lucius held up a single hand. "I know exactly what you are all terrified of," Lucius said, his eyes sweeping over the men. "You are concerned about lost production and wasted capital. You think I am turning them into idle pensioners."
Cassius crossed his arms, his jaw set in a hard line. "Are you not?"