"Do you have any idea how worried I was when I heard the news? You said you were going to inspect the roads, and then suddenly announced that you were launching a campaign against the bandits!"
"It was a bit impulsive, I'll admit. Still, everything worked out in the end, didn't it?"
Felix crossed his arms, looking completely unimpressed.
"And what if those bandits had actually managed to wound you? What then?"
"Felix, you're starting to sound like my mother."
I shrugged and kept walking. Felix had been the one to track me down at Pompey's domus, and he had all but dragged me out of there by force.
"It wasn't just me. Do you know how much Lady Cornelia worried? Not to mention Lady Julia. Both of them have been on edge for weeks—"
"I get it, Felix. I really do."
With my father in Hispania and me out there fighting bandits, it was only natural for the family to be worried.
"Is the master alright?" Felix asked with a heavy sigh. "The rumors have already spread through the city. Everyone's saying he collapsed right in front of the legionaries."
"He's fine. For now, anyway."
The real question was how often the seizures would return. He seemed okay for the moment, but...
"I'll have to find a way to manage it."
"So, what happens with the Triumph?" Felix whispered, sticking close to my side.
A crowd of citizens was already watching me; some had even followed me all the way from Pompey's estate.
"Between the triumph and the consular candidacy, he has to pick one, doesn't he?"
"Father is going to register for the consulship."
"As I thought," Felix nodded. "The master has always valued practical gain over fleeting glory. I expected as much."
"However, he does not intend to give up the triumph either."
"..."
Felix narrowed his eyes. "Is he going to ask the Senate for a special exemption to do both?"
I shook my head.
We were already almost home.
It had been far too long since I'd last seen Mother and Julia. I hadn't realized how much I'd miss them until I left.
"If he asked for a favor, men like Cato would find a way to block it. But you're forgetting something, Felix. My father is the Pontifex Maximus."
It was a fact people often overlooked, but the office of the Pontifex Maximus held immense weight.
He was the highest-ranking priest in Rome, the religious head of the Republic.
"The Pontifex Maximus is returning to Rome. Surely that's cause for a grand celebration, isn't it?"
I spotted our house in the distance.
My mother and Julia were standing at the gates with the rest of the household.
"We aren't going to hold a Triumph. Instead..." I waved to my family. "We're going to do something much bigger."
"Please tell me you are not speaking of that again."
"That?"
"That 'postal service' idea. Delivering letters for citizens all across Rome and Italy? My staff and I were nearly beside ourselves when you brought that 'joke' up."
"That wasn't a joke, Felix."
I shrugged. Well, a proper courier system would come in time.
"But for now, I have something else in mind."
***
"How many times must I tell you, Cato? We should just grant Caesar the triumph," Cicero said, waving his hand dismissively.
He was seated in the Senate, engaged in a quiet debate with Cato.
"Gaius crushed the uprisings in Hispania, and Lucius has spent weeks clearing our roads of bandits. They've earned this."
"And your point is?" Cato asked, finally looking up from the papyrus he was reading. "Caesar is perfectly entitled to his Triumph. If he wants it, he can have it. No one is stopping him, including me."
"But then he can't register for the consulship."
"That is a choice for Caesar to make. Are you suggesting we should change the traditions of Rome for the sake of one man?"
"If we force him to choose between his triumph and his candidacy, the public backlash will be catastrophic," Cicero sighed.
Cato was always like this. His stubborn obsession with tradition often made a bad situation worse. Compared to him, Cato's political instincts were almost nonexistent.
"The Senate's standing with the public will sink to its lowest point. They'll say we're just petty, jealous old men obstructing a hero."
"I am not moved by personal feelings, Cicero. I simply see no reason to grant Caesar a special privilege."
"..."
Cicero pressed his palm to his forehead. It was hopeless. Once the session formally began, Cato would stand up and launch into a speech that would last until sundown.
He would talk until any proposal died on the floor.
"Let's try to be reasonable and discuss this—"
Just then, a fellow Senator approached the two of them.
"What on earth are you two still talking about?"
"Caesar's triumph, of course."
"The triumph?" The Senator tilted his head. "Haven't you heard the news?"
"What news?"
"Caesar has officially forfeited his triumph. Word is he received a divine revelation from the gods and decided to give it up."
"What?!" Cicero stammered.
Even Cato, though he remained silent, couldn't help but arch an eyebrow in surprise.
"He just gave it up voluntarily?" Cicero stood up. "Why on earth would he do that?"
***
"The Senate would have blocked a request anyway. Better to give up the triumph first and claim the righteous position."
"And by announcing it publicly, he wins the hearts of the people. A clever strategy," my mother said, settling into her chair. "Few men in Roman history have voluntarily walked away from a Triumph. Pompey certainly chose the triumph when he stood in the same position."
"And besides, we have a much better opportunity ahead of us than a single parade."
I looked over at Julia, who had cried herself to sleep beside me.
She'd burst into tears the moment she saw me. Between me fighting bandits and the news of my father's collapse, it seemed the poor girl had been beside herself.
She'd always been a worrier.
Julia wouldn't truly be at ease until Father was back in the house.
"A better opportunity?" Mother asked.
"Rome is a city of festivals, isn't it?"
There were so many that it was hard to keep track.
Major religious holidays took up about sixty days of the year. And once you added the Ludi—the public games and theatrical festivals—the number rose to over a hundred days of festivities each year.
Every single one of those events was religious in nature, held to honor a specific deity.
And at the center of all Roman religion stood the Pontifex Maximus.
My father.
"We are not holding a triumph. We are holding a grand homecoming for the Pontifex Maximus."
"A triumph in all but name," Mother mused. "But there's a limit to that. Roman citizens love seeing the legions march and receiving their share of the spoils. You'll have to show them something that surpasses that. And that will cost a fortune."
"I'm aware."
The nearest major event before the deadline for the consular registration was the Floralia—the festival of Flora, the goddess of flowers.
It was a time of theater, mimes, gladiatorial bouts, and chariot races.
Usually, the aediles were responsible for funding these games from their own pockets.
But to make this Floralia grand enough to overshadow a Triumph, we needed a budget far beyond what any aedile could afford.
"Are you planning to use your own money? If you're going to accept Crassus's proposal—"
"No, that's not it." I shook my head. Ten million sesterces would certainly fund a hell of a party, but I didn't need to spend my own money.
"I have more than enough people willing to pay for it on my behalf."
Since I'd introduced trademark laws to Rome, a new force had emerged in the city: corporations and brands.
And when you combine the two, you get a revolutionary new concept.
Sponsorship.
***
The news that Gaius Julius Caesar had given up his triumph spread rapidly through Rome.
"Is it true? He gave up the Triumph because of a divine sign?"
"I heard it from the merchants. Caesar collapsed right in front of his troops and didn't wake up until the next day."
"A bad omen, then?"
"Who knows? Only he knows what the gods told him."
"Giving up a Triumph... gods, you live long enough and you see everything."
The initial reaction from the citizens was one of disappointment.
A Triumph was a rare spectacle for citizens to enjoy.
"When Crassus put down Spartacus, he only got an Ovatio, which is hardly comparable to a true triumph."
But the news didn't stop there. Caesar announced that, based on the omens he received, he would celebrate his return during the Floralia.
"Wait, how many chariot races are they planning?"
"Twice as many as last year, from what I hear."
"The cost must be astronomical!"
The city was buzzing. The proposed scale of the festival was at least double the usual size.
From food and floral decorations to gladiatorial combat and chariot races, they would form a multi-day series of spectacles for Roman citizens.
Naturally, the people most offended by this announcement were the aediles.
"Are you insane?! Have you lost your mind?!"
"I don't care if the Pontifex Maximus himself is organizing this! We cannot accept it! We're the ones who have to bear the cost!"
The aediles were practically screaming at me.
"Unless you're planning to pay for this out of your own pocket, the answer is an absolute no!" one man shouted, and the others nodded in furious agreement.
The aediles were responsible for public works and grain supply, but their most visible duty was organizing festivals.
It was one of the most costly offices in Roman politics.
But it was also a way to spread your name among the citizens if you put on a good festival, as my father once did.
"We supported you while you were building your towers and traveling across Italy. And this is how you repay us?!"
I stood before the table and listened to their tirade in silence. Once they finally ran out of breath, I spoke calmly.
"Are you finished?"
"..."
In the ensuing silence, I pulled a parchment from my tunic and spread it across the table.
"What is this?"
"The sum you will need to put into this festival is actually quite modest. It will be the same as last year—perhaps even less," I said. "Take a look."
The aediles frowned as they leaned over the drawings. The drawings of the streets and the arena were covered with strange objects they had never seen before.
"What are these things?"
"They're called billboards. And these are the plans for promoting businesses during the chariot races and other events."
"Advertising? At the chariot races?" one of the Aediles asked, tilting his head.
"Yes. In exchange for a fee, we will allow businesses to display their trademarks throughout the arena and the festival grounds. We'll also grant them the right to paint their emblems on gladiatorial armor and the sides of the chariots."
"You want to paint trademarks... on a chariot?" an aedile asked with a scoff. "What kind of idiot would pay for that?"
"I'll make you an offer. You invest the same amount you did last year. If the festival ends in loss, I will cover the losses with my own personal funds. However, if there is a surplus..."
I smiled at them.
"I keep the profit. Do we have a deal?"
The aediles exchanged stunned glances.
"If you're willing to put your own coin on the line... I suppose we have no reason to refuse."
"Excellent. Then let's get this meeting started properly."
"What do you mean, for real?"
I clapped my hands, and a small army of my staff flooded into the room. Within seconds, the table was buried under stacks of documents.
"This is the list of all officially registered trademarks and private enterprises currently doing business in Rome."
The aediles recoiled slightly at the mountain of paperwork.
"Are you all ready to start?"