"Gaius, do not cry. From this moment on, you are the head of this house. If you falter, the whole household will crumble. You must be strong."
"But father..."
Gaius reached out and gripped his father's hand. The room reeked of pus and blood, but he hardly noticed the stench.
"You are destined for greatness. You will accomplish greater things than I ever did."
Gaius shook his head. He didn't want to hear these words.
More accurately, he refused to accept the reality staring him in the face.
"Please, stop saying such things. You'll be back on your feet in no time."
"Cornelia is a kind and brilliant girl. Treat her well."
Gaius nodded instead of answering.
He watched his father's lips move with agonizing effort.
"Gaius, you will be the greatest man in all of Rome. I know this for a fact. My only regret is that I will not be there to witness it. I'm so sorry."
With those final words, his father closed his eyes and let out his last breath.
Gaius, still clutching that hand, finally broke down in tears.
That was the last time he ever wept.
Decades later, he slowly drifted from that dream back into reality.
When his eyes opened, the first thing he saw was the canvas of the tent above him.
The sun had already set, and the world outside the tent was swallowed by darkness.
A single lamp flickered, casting dim shadows across the interior. Turning his head, Gaius found someone sitting beside him.
It was his son, Lucius.
The boy had fallen asleep in a chair next to the bed.
He watched his son in silence.
Lucius had been unusually mature ever since he was a toddler. He always put his family and his father first, never once demanding anything for himself.
Yet, hidden beneath that composure was always a faint, lingering sense of fear.
It was the same fear Gaius had once known.
It was a constant fear that everything he had could vanish in an instant.
After watching him for a long moment, Gaius finally spoke.
"Lucius."
"Father? You're awake?" Lucius asked, his eyes flying open.
"It seems I've caused you needless worry."
"I'll fetch some water."
Gaius watched intently as his son made to leave the tent.
"Lucius. You will be the greatest man in all of Rome."
Lucius paused, then looked back with a sigh.
"Only if you don't claim that title for yourself first, Father. I'll be back with the water."
***
"How long was I out?"
"About half a day."
I watched my father as he raised the cup I had brought him and drank.
I had been genuinely terrified earlier. One moment we were talking, and the next, he was seizing on the ground.
It took the combined effort of his personal guards to get him back to the camp.
The sight of their Imperator collapsing had unsettled the legionaries.
But it wasn't like I could have just left him lying in the brush.
"When did it first start?"
"It started shortly after I arrived in Hispania. It happens once every two or three months."
"I see."
There were records left by several historians—accounts stating that Caesar occasionally suffered seizures in public.
Whether it was epilepsy or a series of mini-strokes was a topic of heated debate.
Even in the 21st century, epilepsy was a nightmare to diagnose and treat.
You could run CT scans, MRIs, and EEGs, and still come up empty-handed.
Finding the root cause was hard; curing it with medication was even harder.
However, historical records of Caesar's seizures were relatively sparse, and I had never seen him have one back home.
Not even Cicero or other contemporary scholars had mentioned it in their writings. I had begun to think it was merely a tale invented by later historians.
"Why didn't you tell me in your letters?"
"So you could worry even more?" father asked, setting the cup down with a faint chuckle. "I'm fine, Lucius."
"...I'll find some way to lessen the attacks. There must be a way."
Whether it was epilepsy or strokes, I couldn't 'cure' a condition that baffled 21st-century doctors.
But I could certainly find ways to manage the triggers. I'd have to search the library in my dreams the next time I go there.
Father burst into laughter. "Find a way, you say? Are you planning to receive another divine revelation from the gods?"
Suddenly, his expression turned serious.
"Divine revelation... actually, that might be exactly what we need."
"What do you mean?"
"My legionaries saw me fall, didn't they?"
"It was unavoidable. I couldn't exactly leave you lying in the dirt," I replied.
The rumors of the Imperator's collapse were already out.
The moment the guards saw it, keeping it a secret was almost impossible.
"No, this may actually work in our favor," father said, moving to get out of bed. I tried to stop him, but he waved me off.
"This gives me the perfect opportunity to reject Crassus's proposal."
"An opportunity? You don't mean..."
Oh, surely he's not going where I think he's going.
In the 21st century, a seizure was a medical symptom. There was a scientific explanation behind it.
But in this era? It was entirely different.
Epilepsy was often intertwined with the divine.
Seers and oracles were believed to commune with the gods while in a trance or during a seizure.
It wasn't seen as a mere infirmity; it was a sacred disease, a sign of divine favor or a medium of communication with the heavens.
Alexander the Great, Hannibal, and even Napoleon had all been linked, in one way or another, to the same kind of sacred affliction.
"Father, surely you, the Pontifex Maximus, aren't about to commit blasphemy?"
"Blasphemy? Me?"
Father looked at me and winked.
"I am merely the messenger of the gods. Therefore, whatever I say is, by definition, the will of the Olympus. Just like you receiving Vesta's blessing to create Palmolive."
I watched him stride out of the tent with renewed vigor, and I couldn't help but laugh.
He was turning even his own illness into a political advantage.
"I still have much to learn."
***
"Is it true the Imperator collapsed?"
"Word is the guards had to carry him to his tent. The centurions aren't saying anything, which usually means it's true."
"Hey! Quit your yapping and get back to work!"
"Yes, sir!"
The legionaries who had served under Caesar in Hispania were making ready to be dismissed from service.
Camped on the banks of the Rubicon, they were waiting for their Imperator's final orders.
Under normal circumstances, they would disband, head home, and regroup later for the official Triumph.
But the news that Caesar had collapsed after meeting his son had cast a shadow of unease over the camp.
"If the Imperator doesn't pull through... what happens to us?"
"The Triumph could be canceled. I wonder if we'll even get our promised wages."
"Don't worry too much. If anything happens, his son Lucius will probably step in and set things right."
Even as their term of service wound down, their daily routine continued.
The men practiced their swordwork, marched, and maintained their night watches.
They checked their gear and the camp fortifications. But beneath the routine, the only topic of conversation was their Imperator.
Finally, Caesar himself made an appearance.
"My dear comrades!"
His voice thundered across the center of the camp where the men had assembled.
"I am sure you have all heard that I fell ill."
Silence fell over the camp as his voice echoed through the ranks.
"Just yesterday, I received a sign sent by the Great Gods themselves!"
As the soldiers began to murmur in confusion, Caesar spoke again, his voice growing stronger.
"And I have decided that you, my comrades, shall be the first to know their divine will!"
***
"Please, step forward, Senator Crassus."
"I appreciate the gesture, but I'm fine where I am."
The other senators couldn't hide their anxious glances despite Crassus's polite refusal. They whispered among themselves, stealing looks at the wealthiest man in Rome.
"This is an insult to you, Father," Publius muttered, his brow furrowed in anger. "Making you stand outside the camp gates like common petitioners. After all the money you've loaned that man over the years."
"And what would you have me do? Storm into the camp and demand an audience with a man who reportedly collapsed yesterday?" Crassus whispered back.
He stood before the legionary camp on the banks of the Rubicon, flanked by fellow senators and wealthy equestrians.
"Quite a crowd has gathered, though," Crassus noted, surveying the area. It wasn't just Caesar's debtors; many of the Senate's most influential men was here.
"Caesar is making us wait outside on purpose," Publius added, irritably adjusting his toga. "He wants to show us that he's the one in control now."
"Regardless, we are the ones who came to him. The thirsty man is the one who must dig the well.," Crassus replied calmly.
Still, his son had a point. Before Caesar left for his governorship in Hispania, he had been deferential to Crassus.
He came whenever called and was quick to do favors.
But now, that same Caesar was treating Crassus as a peer.
"But Caesar needs me. Especially now. The Senate will do everything in its power to block him from having both a Triumph and a Consular candidacy."
Crassus turned his gaze back toward the camp.
A Triumph was the ultimate honor for a Roman magistrate—a grand parade through Rome where the general was treated as a god-king for a single day.
Every Roman politician dreamed of it, but only a few could attain it.
After crushing the tribes in Hispania, Caesar had certainly earned it.
But it was also common knowledge that he was aiming for the consulship.
To register as a candidate, he had to enter Rome in person, which would mean laying down his command and forfeiting the Triumph.
However, there was a loophole.
If the Senate or the Assembly granted an exemption, he could theoretically have both.
"We have the power to ensure he gets both," Crassus mused.
If he offered that leverage, Caesar would have no choice but to accept the marriage alliance. And Lucius certainly wouldn't dare defy his father's wishes.
Crassus approached a group of Senators standing nearby.
"Is Lucius Caesar still inside the camp?"
"Ah, I heard Lucius left for Rome early this morning. Apparently, he wanted to make preparations for his father's arrival."
"I see."
Crassus nodded and returned to his son's side.
"He's planning something. Sending Lucius ahead to Rome without so much as a word to us..."
Suddenly, the heavy gates groaned open, and a man clad in armor stepped out with measured confidence.
"My apologies, fellow senators. I'm afraid my conversation with the soldiers took longer than anticipated."
Caesar offered a bright smile to his guests. His gaze lingered briefly on Crassus and his son.
"I thank you all for traveling this far to meet me. Please, come inside."
Crassus stepped forward to meet him. "I heard you had a fall yesterday. It's good to see you looking so well."
"A minor incident, fortunately. It seems the gods wished to grant me a brief revelation."
"A revelation?" Crassus asked.
What game is Caesar playing now?
"What kind of revelation?"
"Senator Crassus, you have been a great friend to me over the years. I hear you took excellent care of Lucius while I was away," Caesar said, deftly turning the conversation. "No amount of gratitude would be sufficient."
"Nonsense. I've gained much from my association with you and Lucius as well," Crassus replied in the same measured tone. "It is a glorious day. You've earned your Triumph. Once the Senate grants the necessary exemption, you'll be able to celebrate your victory and go straight into the elections."
"Ah, I almost forgot to mention," Caesar smiled briefly. "After receiving that revelation yesterday, I made a decision."
The words that followed hit Crassus like a blow.
"I am forfeiting my Triumph."
"You're... what?"
Crassus muttered in a low, stunned voice.
"You're giving up your Triumph?"