Gaius stared at Lucius, the dagger forgotten in his hand.
For a fleeting moment, the veteran tribune searched the nineteen-year-old’s face for any sign of aristocratic mockery or youthful delusion.
He found none.
What he saw instead was the unyielding certainty of a man who possessed a fundamental understanding of the universe that far surpassed the boundaries of the 3rd century.
"You speak of severing standard Roman chainmail as if you are discussing the cutting of a woolen tunic," Gaius said. "Such a metal is the stuff of myth, boy. Even the famed Seric iron imported from the far East at exorbitant prices chips against a solid bronze shield. Are you claiming your family’s new mine produces a magical ore?"
"I have spent the last several years pouring over theoretical texts from the East, studying the molecular composition of metals and the thermal dynamics of the forging process. The ore my family extracts is indeed exceptionally pure hematite, but the true revolution lies in the processing." Lucius replied.
Lucius took a step forward. "The blacksmith guilds you despise so much utilize archaic bloomery forges," Lucius explained. "They heat the iron just enough to create a spongy, slag-filled mass, which they must then beat by hand for hours to remove the impurities. The resulting metal is soft, and brittle. I, however, am constructing a forge on my estate... a furnace designed with a pressurized air blast that will achieve temperatures this province has never witnessed."
He paused. "And because I control the raw materials, the smelting process, and the forging upon my own lands, my overhead costs will be nonexistent. I will begin forging these weapons myself, and I will sell them to the legion for a much lower price than the 35 denarii your corrupt guilds demand. Better steel, at a fraction of the cost."
Gaius leaned back against the padded cushions of his couch, a laugh erupting from his chest.
"By Jupiter’s wrath, you have a silver tongue, Lucius!" Gaius exclaimed, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "Talking is easy, boy. Drawing diagrams on expensive parchment is easy. What you speak of requires a labor force, mountains of charcoal, and the hardened muscles of men who have spent their entire lives striking an anvil."
Gaius gestured toward Lucius’s hands. "You are an equestrian youth with no practical experience in the heat of a smithy. It is an honorable ambition, but you are underestimating the sheer physical toll of industrial labor."
Lucius expected this skepticism... to a Roman, the strict division of labor meant that a patrician mind could never interface with plebeian labor.
They could not fathom the concept of automated water-wheel trip hammers, mechanized bellows, and standardized casting molds.
"Words are indeed wind." Lucius conceded. "I do not ask for a contract today. I do not ask for imperial silver. I only ask for a single week."
Gaius raised an eyebrow, his laughter subsiding. "A week?"
"Seven days," Lucius confirmed. "In one week, my furnace will be fully operational, and the first batch of steel will be cast and tempered. I will personally send you a sample of my first weapons. You may test them yourself."
Gaius slammed his heavy fist onto the table. He turned his gaze toward his nephew, who had been sitting in silence throughout the entire exchange.
"Quintus!" Gaius barked. "Get your father here immediately, or better yet, relay this message to him yourself. Tell my bureaucratic coward of a brother that I am dropping the legal dispute over the agricultural lands. I do not want anything from him. Let him keep the dirt."
Quintus’s jaw unhinged in shock. "Uncle... truly? You are dropping the suit?"
"For now," Gaius grunted, pushing himself off the dining couch and standing to his full height.
He looked at Lucius. "I am returning to my pesonal estate outside the city to prepare my household guard."
Gaius pointed a finger at Lucius’s chest. "One week, boy. You send those weapons to my estate in exactly seven days. If they perform as you claim, I will drag the Legate to your forge and secure you a military contract that will make your father the wealthiest equestrian in Gaul."
"You will have your steel, Gaius," Lucius promised. "However, there is one more thing. While drafting the blueprints for the standard gladius, I began conceptualizing a new weapon. A radical redesign of the infantry polearm, optimized for both armor-piercing impact and defensive line formation."
Lucius paused. "It is a design foreign to Roman tactics, but I believe it will render the traditional Germanic shield wall useless. I will forge a prototype and send it along with the swords, just to see your opinion on its battlefield viability."
Gaius’s eyes widened.
A weapon that could break a Germanic shield wall? It was the holy grail of the northern frontier.
"I will be waiting, Lucius," Gaius growled. "Do not disappoint me."
As the veteran Tribune began shouting orders to his guards to prepare his departure, Lucius turned and exited the pavilion, Quintus trailing closely behind him.
Once they were a safe distance from the command tents, Quintus let out a sigh of relief.
"By the gods, Lucius, I cannot believe what just happened!" Quintus cheered. "You distracted him so thoroughly with your metallurgical fantasies that he forgot about his hatred for my father. I can go home right now and tell my father that I convinced my uncle to drop the lawsuit and leave without demanding a single denarius!"
Lucius smiled at his friend, offering a pat on the shoulder. "I am glad I could be of assistance, Quintus."
He allowed the pampered quartermaster’s son to revel in his unearned victory. After all, he had eyes for nothing but the weapons.