After sending a letter to Felix, I set out for the next city.
"Riding through Italy like this isn't bad at all."
Marching alongside the cavalry of the allied cities was more enjoyable than I had expected.
Even with Roman roads cutting through it, Italy's unspoiled landscape was breathtaking.
That is, if one ignored the massive cross at the head of the column.
"Urrgh..."
Seleucus, the bandit boss who had led the gangs in the Aurunci Mountains, groaned weakly from where he hung nailed to the cross.
After hanging there for over a week, he seemed to have lost even the strength to writhe in pain.
I'd heard most men died within a few days.
It was remarkable that he's lasted this long.
I stared at the cross from atop my horse.
Brutus and Antony, who were forever at each other's throats, had agreed on exactly one thing throughout the whole campaign.
They both insisted that the other bandits could be sold off, Seleucus absolutely had to be crucified to set a grim example.
And so, we had been parading through the allied cities with the cross and its crucified burden displayed at the head of the column.
To me, it was undeniably barbaric, but I couldn't argue with the results.
Any bandit who witnessed this gruesome spectacle—or even heard the rumors—would immediately rethink their career choices.
Still, nailing a man to a wooden cross and leaving him to slowly die... It just felt unnecessarily cruel.
On top of that, the soldiers gave him water every morning so he wouldn't die of thirst.
As I was lost in thought, Brutus trotted his horse up alongside mine.
"Even the allied cities we haven't visited yet are already expressing their gratitude. I hear the citizens of Rome are hearing of our achievements day after day as well."
"That would be thanks to you and Pompeia, then." I replied.
Pompeia was busy turning my letters into political pamphlets, while Brutus was turning the record of our campaign into a published account.
The political instincts of Romans in this age were extraordinary.
Maybe it was because the Republic and the Senate had survived for so many centuries, but their political instincts were frighteningly keen.
Even far from Rome, I was still able to strengthen my political position thanks to them.
"What did I really do? I merely put your deeds into words.," Brutus said, clearing his throat.
"The roads haven't been this safe in the entire history of Rome. And you accomplished it in a mere matter of weeks. That is a feat worthy of the highest praise, is it not?"
"It's not over yet."
I turned my gaze forward.
It seemed the scouts had already grown accustomed to their new equipment. Far ahead in the distance, a signal kite flew high, indicating that the road was clear.
"You can't wipe out banditry entirely with a single campaign"
"So, what's your plan then?"
"We need to establish a permanent structure which allied cities can immediately dispatch cavalry through the signal towers. And to make that official, we're going to need the Senate's approval."
The allied cities carrying out their own operations against local bandits was fine.
But a coordinated network of dispatching cavalry along the roads of Italy? The Senate would absolutely see that as dangerous.
"You're planning to pass a new law, then?" Brutus asked.
"There's no shortage of men in the Senate who are bitterly envious over your recent success."
"I'm sure there are. But this isn't just my success," I said with a smile.
Years of office politics in my past life had taught me one thing: Sharing glory and credit does not lessen what is yours.
More often than not, it only increases it.
"Besides, the Senate was the one who dispatched me here in the first place."
Reaching out, I pointed at the open road ahead.
"So isn't it only natural that the Senate receives its share of the praise?"
A man who stands out too far invites attack.
A man who claims all the glory for himself makes enemies everywhere.
But who in their right mind would attack the man who was publicly giving them the credit?
***
"Did you hear the news?"
The senaculum, where senators gathered before official sessions, was bustling with voices as usual.
But today, the atmosphere was noticeably different.
"Word is Lucius stopped by Larinum a few days ago."
"He's moving at a terrifying pace."
"Well, he's only traveling with cavalry. What did you expect?"
"I heard he made a fortune selling the captured bandits to the slave merchants. Makes you wonder how much money he's making, doesn't it?"
When Lucius Caesar first left Rome on his so-called road inspection assignment, hardly any Senators had paid him much attention.
Even with his impressive track record in business, roads were still only roads.
Unless Lucius was building new roads himself, there didn't seem to be much he could actually accomplish out there.
However, contrary to their expectations, news of his campaign kept arriving in Rome day after day.
As pamphlets detailing his campaign began circulating through the city, the citizens of Rome quickly became captivated the story.
"Damn it, who could have predicted that little brat would pull off something this massive?"
"We have no choice but to acknowledge it now," Hortensius muttered.
He stood in the center of the Senaculum, flanked by Metellus and their allied senators.
When they first orchestrated the young Caesar's exile from Rome, they thought they had won a complete victory.
They had successfully achieved their primary goal: preventing the boy from joining forces with his father.
But they had failed to predict a single move Lucius Caesar made afterward.
He had won the goodwill of the allied cities with promises of major investment, rallying their cavalry, all but wiping out banditry on the roads of Italy in a matter of weeks.
And to top it all off, rescuing hundreds of captive Roman citizens.
"With every new dispatch that arrives, popular support for the Caesars grows stronger."
"We tried to get rid of the problem and only made it grow," Metellus sighed heavily.
"And the worst part is, we were the ones who granted him the imperium and sent him out there. Which leaves us with no justification to criticize him. If we attack him now, we'll essentially be spitting in our own faces."
"So, what do we do?"
"First, we drag out the administrative procedures to ensure he's bogged down in the allied cities for as long as possible..." Hortensius started to say.
It was then that a slave sprinted toward them, gasping for breath.
"M-Master!"
"What is it?"
"Lucius Caesar has sent an official letter to the Senate!"
"A letter?" Hortensius scowled. "What kind of letter?"
"A letter condemning us, obviously," Metellus scoffed. "He's probably bragging about everything he's achieved and whining that the Senate offered him no support. He's going to use this opportunity to use the support of the allied cities and attack us."
"W-Well, actually..." the slave stammered, glancing nervously between the two men.
"He proposed a series of measures to prevent banditry in the future... and he said he wished to name the newly constructed signal tower in Larinum after you, Master."
"After... me?" Hortensius murmured.
He and Metellus exchanged stunned looks.
"He publicly announced that it is a token of his deepest gratitude toward you, for providing him with the opportunity to eradicate the bandit threat."
"..."
While the rest of the Senaculum buzzed with heated debate, an awkward silence hung heavy between Metellus and Hortensius.
***
"He's a truly unusual boy," Cicero muttered, tapping his quill against the parchment.
His slave and secretary, Tiro, set down a cup of wine and asked, "Who are you referring to, Master?"
"The young Caesar. Did you see how he publicly expressed his gratitude to Hortensius? He even went so far as to name a tower after him."
"Was he not merely mocking him?" Tiro suggested.
"Or perhaps he's deliberately placing Hortensius in a position where he can't oppose him. Hortensius was the one who pushed for Caesar to take this assignment. How could he possibly criticize him now?"
"Yes, that's undoubtedly part of his calculus," Cicero nodded.
"But anyone else would have used this massive victory solely to increase his own glory. Pompey certainly would have."
Cicero let out a dry chuckle.
From the legendary Scipio Africanus down to Marius, Sulla, and Pompey.
It was the nature of Roman politicians to hoard prestige and authority for themselves.
Everyone outside of one's family and kin was a potential rival.
Who in their right mind would deliberately polish an enemy's reputation?
Yet, that was exactly what Lucius Caesar was doing.
"If Pompey had pulled this off, he'd be strutting around the Forum boasting that he single-handedly saved Italy, wouldn't he?"
"He certainly did when he crushed the pirates," Tiro shrugged.
"But isn't Lucius Caesar also promoting his own achievements through books and pamphlets?"
"Yes, but he explicitly upheld the honor of Hortensius and the Senate while doing so. That is the difference."
Cicero finally set his quill down.
Marius had marched his army into Rome and brutally slaughtered his political opponents.
Sulla had retaliated with purges and massacres on a far more horrifying scale.
Countless Romans still remembered the grisly sight of severed heads displayed on the Rostra.
Political failure meant death. Thus every Roman politician was fixated on expanding his own faction while annihilating their enemies.
But the young Caesar's actions ran contrary to that brutal logic.
He fought a vicious battle against Metellus for a post among the vigintisexviri, yet he never sought retribution afterward.
He was thanking Hortensius—the very man who had exiled him from Rome.
He had even proposed naming some towers after numerous senators, asking nothing in return.
"Peculiar is the only word for it, wouldn't you agree?"
"When you put it that way, Master, it does seem strange..." Tiro scratched his head. "But at the end of the day, isn't he just doing whatever best serves his own success?"
"Obviously, he's fighting for his own success!" Cicero burst into hearty laughter.
"My point is that his methods are different."
It was right at that moment.
A great uproar rose from outside his domus.
"Caesar has returned! Caesar has returned!"
The cries of men rippled through the streets, growing louder by the second.
"What in Jupiter's name..."
Cicero shot up from his seat and hurried toward the front gates.
Throwing the doors open before Tiro could stop him, he stared out at the street outside.
Several men were sprinting down the street, crying out at the top of their voices.
"Caesar is back!"
"Caesar has returned!"
Citizens leaned out of their windows, and the people on the streets stopped in their tracks to listen.
Tiro approached Cicero, who was standing motionless in the doorway.
"Did Lucius Caesar return early? I heard he only just arrived in Larinum."
"It's not Lucius," Cicero said.
"Pardon?"
"It's impossible for Lucius to be here now. Even riding as hard as possible, Larinum is several days away," Cicero muttered.
If the shouts echoing through the streets were true, it could only mean one thing.
"Gaius Julius Caesar has returned."
***
Caesar has returned!
The news spread rapidly through Rome and across Italy.
The Imperator who had served as a remarkably successful governor in Hispania, subduing the local tribes that had resisted Roman rule for decades and forcing them into submission.
No governor in Roman history had ever achieved so many victories in such a short tenure.
Naturally, his return seized the attention of the entire Republic.
But it wasn't just because of his own legendary reputation.
"Isn't Lucius Caesar still out there hunting down bandits?"
"Like father, like son. The blood of the great houses truly is different."
"There will be a triumph soon, surely. Aren't you excited?"
Father and son.
Gaius and Lucius.
They were the two fastest-rising men in Roman politics.
While the citizens' anticipation reached a fever pitch, the news of Caesar's arrival finally reached Lucius's camp.
"What did you say?"
"Gaius Julius Caesar has sent word. He wishes to see you, Imperator."
"I heard that part. I meant the location," I said.
The officer looked slightly flustered as he replied.
"The Rubicon, sir."
"The Rubicon river..."
I muttered the name.
My father, Caesar, was waiting for me at the Rubicon.
Why did that sentence fill me with such an ominous feeling?
"Imperator? Is there a problem?"
"No," I replied with a smile.
"Inform the men immediately. As soon as we break camp, we ride for the Rubicon."
"But sir, we still have several allied cities left to visit—"
"Brutus and Antony will complete the rest of the tour in my stead."
Leaving the command tent, I swung myself onto my horse.
Hortensius and his conservative friends had gone to all this trouble to exile me from Rome, just to ensure I couldn't join my father.
But now that I've effectively cleared the roads of Italy of bandits, no one would dare tell me where I may or may not go.
I had more than earned the right.
Not even the Senate could publicly reprimand me now.
I looked down at the confused officer.
"We ride for the Rubicon."