Marcus leaned over the wooden board, his eyes narrowed as he traced the charcoal lines with the tip of a calloused finger. The silence in the carpentry shop was absolute, broken only by the distant sound of the city preparing for the night. The carpenter examined the technical drawing with the attention of someone appraising a rare jewel, observing the weight distribution, the single axle, and the support handles.

  It was unprecedented. He had seen two-wheeled and four-wheeled carts, litters, drag sleds, but never something that defied balance in that manner. It looked, in fact, like a cart cut in half, yet designed with a purpose that made it complete in itself.

  "By Hercules..." Marcus murmured, finally raising his gaze to Lucius. Disbelief warred with admiration on his face. "What is this, exactly? It looks like a one-wheeled cart, but... the construction logic is solid."

  Lucius approached the drawing, pointing to the central wheel.

  "It is an individual cargo vehicle," he explained, keeping his voice calm and didactic. "Look, Marcus. On the stretchers we use, the weight of the stone is supported entirely by the arms of two men. Here, the load's weight rests on the wheel. The man holding these handles in the back doesn't need to lift the weight, only push it and maintain balance. The wheel does the heavy lifting against the ground."

  Marcus looked back at the drawing, visualizing the physics of the thing.

  "The force works in the man's favor, not against him," the carpenter concluded, running a hand through his beard. "It is truly impressive. Simple, yet ingenious. I've never seen anything like it in all the works of Rome." He looked at Lucius with a new light in his eyes. "I'm surprised, Lucius. Truly. I didn't know your mind worked with such sharpness for mechanics, like the Greeks."

  Flavio, who had been watching in silence until then, let out a low laugh and shook his head.

  "I thought the same thing," the giant said, taking a sip of his wine. "The man barely knew how to tie his sandals yesterday, and today he draws like the Emperor's architect. Perhaps the plague takes the health of some and brings wisdom to others."

  Lucius ignored the comment, focused on business. He knew the idea was good, but ideas without execution were worth nothing, especially in that world.

  "How much would you charge to make this, Marcus?" Lucius asked directly.

  The carpenter crossed his arms, leaning against the workbench. He looked at the wooden planks stacked in the corner, making mental calculations of material and time.

  "This would be a first model, a test run," Marcus said, pondering. "But it looks promising. Very promising." He paused, his merchant's instinct taking control. "I'll do the following: I will build this vehicle. I'll use my wood and my time. If it works, if the wheel doesn't break under the weight during tests, I will go to the quarry myself and sell the idea to the administrator."

  Lucius sensed the opening but knew he needed to guarantee the success of the demonstration. A carpenter selling a strange tool might be ignored; workers using it efficiently would be living proof.

  "I have a better proposal to add," Lucius said. "You build it. But instead of you trying to sell it with words, let Flavio and me take it to the quarry. We will use it during the shift. When the supervisor sees us carrying double the stones in half the time, and without the fatigue of the other men, he won't just be interested. He'll beg to buy it."

  Marcus smiled, a slow smile that deepened the wrinkles around his eyes. He liked the audacity.

  "It's a good plan," the carpenter agreed. "Seeing is believing."

  "And for how much would you sell each unit?" Lucius inquired.

  Marcus scratched his chin, calculating.

  "A simple cart costs a lot, but this takes less wood and less iron... actually, no iron, as you specified. But it requires precise labor for the wheel and axle," Marcus murmured. "I'd say twenty denarii is a fair price. It's expensive enough to be worth my work, but cheap enough for the quarry owner to buy ten of them without blinking, considering he'll save on dead or injured slaves."

  Twenty denarii. Lucius did the quick conversion in his mind. It was a considerable sum for a common worker, but bread money for a quarry owner.

  "Right," Lucius said, fixing his eyes on Marcus's. "Then we have an agreement. But with one condition. The idea is mine. The design is mine."

  He took a deep breath before launching his final demand.

  "For every cart you sell for twenty denarii, four denarii are mine."

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  The workshop fell silent for a moment. Flavio widened his eyes, surprised by his friend's boldness in negotiating that way. Marcus, however, didn't seem offended. He looked at the drawing, then at Lucius, assessing the man standing before him. Four denarii commission. Twenty percent. It was a fair slice for the innovation that could bring plenty of work to his stagnant carpentry shop.

  "Four denarii for you, sixteen for me," Marcus repeated, extending his calloused hand over the table. "If this thing works, Lucius, we have a deal."

  ---

  Night had fallen heavily over Rome, muffling the noises of the eternal city under a mantle of uneasy silence. In the small room of the insula, Lucius lay with his eyes fixed on the dark, irregular beams of the ceiling. Beside him, the rhythmic and soft sound of Selena's breathing filled the space. A bit further away, on the straw mat, his daughter slept deeply, oblivious to the misery and uncertainties of the world.

  Lucius turned his head slightly, observing the profile of the woman fate had imposed on him as a wife. He knew, deep down, that he didn't feel the burning love of a husband or the instinctive devotion of a father for them. They were strangers, figures from a remote time he knew only from history books. Yet, seeing them there, vulnerable and dependent on him, a strange sense of duty had settled in his chest. He cared. He didn't want to see them suffer; he didn't want them to go hungry. It was a human empathy, a solidarity that transcended the barriers of time.

  His mind, however, wandered to darker terrains. He looked at his own hands, dimly lit by the moonlight entering through the window crack. They were the hands of the real Lucius. Where was he? Would the consciousness of that simple man, that manual laborer, have been erased? Or was it asleep, trapped in some dark corner of that brain, screaming in silence while he, an intruder from the future, piloted his body?

  A shiver ran down his spine. The idea of being a usurper, a thief of lives, was disturbing.

  "Stop," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes tightly.

  Thinking about that wouldn't bring answers, only madness. The real Lucius could be dead, or maybe their souls had merged. It didn't matter. The reality was the now: the smell of mold, the hardness of the mattress, and the urgent need to survive. He was there, and if fate, or some capricious god, had given him this second chance, he wouldn't waste it lamenting the metaphysical. He had knowledge. He had the science of two millennia in the future. He might not be an emperor or a general, but he would use every ounce of his engineering to pull this family out of the mud. He would improve his life, even if it meant inventing one wheel at a time.

  Five days dragged on, slow and painful, filled by brutal work at the quarry. With every stone lifted with the stretcher, Lucius gritted his teeth, reminding himself that salvation was being built in Marcus's workshop.

  When the fifth day finally came to an end, the expectation was almost palpable. Lucius and Flavio walked hurriedly through the streets of Rome, dodging passersby with renewed agility. Arriving at the carpentry shop, the scene was different from the previous visit. The door was wide open, and inside, Marcus awaited them not with the melancholy of grief, but with a feverish gleam in his eyes.

  "Lucius! Flavio!" exclaimed the carpenter upon seeing them, wiping his hands and walking toward them with long strides. "Come in, come in quickly!"

  Flavio frowned, surprised by the warm reception.

  "By the gods, Marcus. What happened? Looks like you got a kiss from the Emperor."

  "Better," said Marcus, slapping Lucius's shoulder hard. He looked at the engineer with undisguised admiration. "You are a genius, my friend. A true genius."

  Lucius felt an immense relief. It had worked.

  "So... did it work?" asked Lucius, containing his anxiety.

  "Did it work? See with your own eyes," replied Marcus, turning to the back of the shop. "Caius! Bring it here!"

  A young assistant, thin and covered in sawdust, emerged from the shadows pushing the invention.

  It wasn't just a drawing on wood; it was real, solid, and functional. The wheelbarrow was a piece of utilitarian art. Made entirely of sturdy oak, the structure possessed a deep cargo box, with slanted sides to accommodate irregular stones. The central wheel, robust and wide, spun smoothly on a hardwood axle, shining with the animal fat used as lubricant. There was no iron, only precise wooden joints and masterfully locked pins.

  The assistant stopped the vehicle in the center of the workshop. Inside the box, Marcus had placed several heavy wooden stumps and sandbags to simulate the weight.

  "Go ahead, Caius. Show them," ordered Marcus.

  The boy held the two long handles extending backward. With a fluid movement, he slightly lifted the handles. The load's weight transferred almost magically to the front wheel. The boy began to walk, pushing the cart and making turns between the workshop benches with disconcerting ease. What would require two men sweating and cursing to carry on a stretcher, the boy moved alone.

  The wooden wheel emitted a deep, continuous sound against the stone floor, thump-thump-thump, a sound of progress.

  Marcus crossed his arms, a proud smile on his lips.

  "Perfect, isn't it?"

  Flavio was open-mouthed, his eyes following the assistant's back and forth.

  "By Jupiter..." muttered the giant. "It's fantastic. I can barely wait to get my hands on this and see the faces of those idiots at the quarry."

  Lucius approached the invention, running his hand over the smooth wood of the handles. The ergonomics were correct. The balance was perfect. It was applied physics in its purest and most saving form.

  "It came out better than I imagined, Marcus," admitted Lucius. "You are a master craftsman."

  "I just followed your drawing," retorted Marcus, though visibly satisfied with the praise. "And, speaking of which, I took the liberty of naming the creation. We can't just call it 'wood thing'."

  He pointed to the side of the cart, where he had carved a small inscription.

  "I called it Currus Lucii," announced Marcus solemnly. "Lucius's Chariot."

  Lucius felt a lump in his throat. Seeing his name—or that body's name—associated with something that would change the lives of so many workers filled him with a pride he hadn't expected to feel.

  "Thank you, Marcus. It's an honor," he said, sincere.

  "The honor will be mine when the denarii start coming in," laughed Marcus, rubbing his hands together. "Get ready. Tomorrow morning, I will personally go with you to the quarry. Let's test this in practice, right before the supervisor's eyes. We're going to sell this idea to him and, who knows, to every construction owner in Rome."