"If necessary, contact Ostia as well to find more artisans. They're already connected to us via the signal towers, after all," Pompeia said.
"Is there anything else we need to discuss?"
She had taken charge of commissioning artisans across Rome and overseeing the production of the small wooden horses commemorating the Troy Game.
Miniature horse-shaped souvenirs made of clay, wood, and other materials were being crafted throughout Rome and the nearby towns and cities.
"There is a possibility that some workshops might deliberately churn out low-quality goods just to pocket the gold."
"Then we'll handle them exactly as Lucius did."
After Lucius had entrusted her with the task, secretaries and assistants had been assigned to work under her.
While most of them were men, there were a few women as well.
Not only slaves and commoners, but even the daughters of several prestigious noble houses had stepped forward to assist her.
For a woman of noble birth to work for wages was unthinkable, but volunteer work was an entirely different matter.
And volunteering for Caesar carried considerable advantages of its own.
"Reject any low-quality goods upon delivery, and publicly announce the names of the makers and the locations of their workshops."
"If we do that, they'll have a very hard time securing any future commissions."
"That's exactly what I want. Are there any other matters we need to review?"
Not everything proceeded without a hitch. There were always those looking to cheat them out of gold or secure Caesar's favor through lies.
"Which tribe does the man who tried to defraud us belong to?"
The employees all swallowed hard as Pompeia continued.
"Inform the leaders of that tribe. Tell them that if they do not punish him appropriately, their tribe will be placed at a disadvantage when we next recruit workers. I will personally oversee this matter until it is resolved."
Once she stepped out of the meeting room, the remaining employees let out a collective sigh of relief.
"Lady Pompeia... might actually be even more terrifying than Caesar, don't you think?"
"I was just thinking the exact same thing."
Caesar, who churned out new projects one after another, paired with Pompeia, who meticulously inspected every detail and allowed no room for error—the combination was terrifying.
"The marriage of those two... truly feels like the work of Fortuna herself."
"Well, you know about Mala Fortuna, right?"
Fortuna did not represent good fortune alone.
She represented both the good and ill fortune of human affairs.
That was why the Romans even had a separate altar for Mala Fortuna, who represented ill fortune.
"Fortuna or Mala Fortuna... either would make sense, frankly."
***
As the Troy Game drew nearer, countless miniature wooden horses and commemorative postage stamps were produced.
Yet this excitement was not confined to the artisans' workshops.
As more and more citizens took an interest in the Troy Game, talk of it spread through the streets.
"Normally, no one except the nobles gives a damn about the Troy Game. But this year, the atmosphere feels unusually heated."
"I heard they're doing some kind of training on the Campus Martius every day."
"Apparently, they're not just doing equestrian drills. They're also doing some sort of infantry formation training."
"Formation training?"
"They say they're fighting fiercely over a single ball. A relative of mine watched it and said it was incredibly entertaining."
"I really should go and check it out myself."
Most of the chatter revolved around the Troy Game and the various rumors surrounding it.
However, it was not just idle talk that filled the streets. Amid the excitement, something entirely new was slowly taking shape.
In other words, fandom had arrived in Rome.
"Did everyone bring what we prepared?"
"Yeah, let's paste them up before anyone sees us."
A few men moved quietly through the dim light of the streetlamps.
Under cover of darkness, they pulled out sheets of paper and pasted them onto the walls of Rome.
The same words were printed on every sheet.
[The only victor in this Troy Game shall be Caesar!]
[Defeat awaits the ungrateful Metellus and his cohorts!]
***
"Please accept my sincerest apologies," I said, staring at the paper in my hand. I had no idea who had printed them, but the quality was absolutely atrocious.
The design and text looked as though they had been stamped with a crudely carved block.
The paper featured the crest of House Julii alongside a declaration that I would be the sole victor of the upcoming game.
"I had nothing to do with this, of course, but the very existence of this poster is outrageous."
"I am well aware that you would never do such a thing, Caesar," the younger Metellus replied with a smile.
"If you were the type of man to put up posters like this, you would never have shared the stirrup with us or invited us to train alongside you in the first place."
I nodded silently in response.
"I wonder if my father arranged this," Metellus muttered. "Perhaps he meant to drive a wedge between us."
"That is highly unlikely. We've already tracked down the culprits."
As soon as I learned of the posters, I sent Felix to investigate the collegia.
The culprits confessed far more easily than expected. Every single one of them was a member of the collegium formed by my most fanatical supporters.
"They were foolishly under the impression that I would be pleased by these posters. I warned them that if anything like this happened again, the entire collegium would be excluded from any future support."
They seemed thoroughly flustered by my harsh response, but such a severe warning was necessary.
Putting up such posters without considering the damage they might do to my political position was insane.
Anyone else reading them would assume I had grown arrogant enough to openly insult the Greek faction.
Just then, Father's words flashed through my mind.
He had said supporters were like fire.
Properly handled, they could clear any obstacle. Mishandled, they could burn down the very house they were meant to protect.
I needed to tighten my grip on the reins to ensure nothing like this ever happened again.
"To be honest, I do have some concerns,"
Metellus said with a light cough.
"You've gone to such extraordinary lengths to assist us, but if we end up winning... wouldn't that feel like betraying the man who helped us?"
"I believe I already told you. What I desire is fair competition," I replied with a smile.
However, I wasn't entirely without worry.
If my fanatical supporters rioted over the outcome of the game, the blame would fall squarely on my shoulders.
I needed to preemptively shut that down.
I would have to personally visit the collegia and deliver a stern warning.
Since countless collegia were currently being brought together under my leadership, threatening to expel them from the network would give me more than enough leverage.
"And there's another reason you don't need to worry."
I added with a playful shrug,
"I have no intention of losing. So I'm not particularly worried."
"Is that so?"
Metellus burst into laughter along with me.
"Then you had best prepare yourself to be thoroughly surprised, Caesar."
***
At last, on the day of the Troy Game, we began our procession outside the walls of Rome.
"Forward!"
Cavalrymen bearing crimson banners rode through the city gate one by one.
The rhythmic metallic clatter of newly shod hooves echoed off the stone walls.
Crowds had already packed the streets, erupting into cheers as they watched our mounted column parade past.
"I just ran into Antony. He said the Greek faction should arrive right on time as well."
"That's a relief."
I rode shoulder to shoulder with Brutus.
Now that the day of the game had finally arrived, a wave of nervous excitement washed over me.
The Trojan and Greek factions had departed from opposite sides of the city, and we were scheduled to rendezvous in front of the Circus Maximus.
The stadium was undoubtedly packed to the brim with spectators already.
They should be distributing the miniature wooden horses and postage stamps right about now.
We waved to the cheering citizens as we made our way toward the Circus Maximus.
"I doubt a Troy Game has ever drawn this level of public attention before."
"Well, up until now, it was just a boring old custom."
But this time, everything was different. It was not merely because I was participating as a commander; we had introduced entirely new contests, new rules, and new equipment.
And we had spent weeks training rigorously on the Campus Martius.
"Regardless of the outcome, it's bound to be an entertaining day."
"I couldn't agree more."
"Anyone watching us would think we were about to fight some grand battle today."
"A grand battle?"
"I mean actually fighting each other with swords and shields."
Come to think of it, today's event was rather similar to a medieval European tournament.
The tournament contests known as mêlées had also been fought as mass battles, with the participants engaging one another directly.
Fortunately, the Troy Game involved very little actual fighting.
"Even so, I imagine you'd do quite well. I've sparred with you several times, and not once have I ever thought you weak."
"I've hardly ever managed to properly defeat my father in a sparring match."
I answered with a laugh.
That had remained true even after Father returned from Hispania.
"Your father? Then isn't it simply that your standard is far too high to begin with?"
Brutus and I exchanged a few lighthearted remarks.
As we finally arrived in front of the Circus Maximus, an even larger crowd welcomed us.
Distinguished senators and patricians mingled with common plebeians, men and women, children and elders alike, in a vibrant, chaotic mass.
Many of them clutched small wooden horses and commemorative postage stamps.
"You're telling me the Jews made these?"
"I heard they funded the entire project with their own money."
"To think those stingy bastards would actually spend money on us. Wonders never cease."
"By the way, is it true that if we keep this tiny scrap of paper, we can send letters for free?"
"I heard Lucius Caesar is starting something called a postal service soon."
"A free postal service? Don't be absurd."
Listening to the murmurs of the crowd, I slowly halted at the entrance of the Circus Maximus.
The tension was entirely different from what I had felt when we fought the bandits.
Yet, a strange excitement bubbled up within me as well. Until now, Rome had sorely lacked entertainment of this kind.
Taking part in a spectacle like this was bound to be thrilling.
Just then, a burly, well-built man pushed through the crowd and approached me.
"Lucius," Father said, stepping closer.
"I need a word with you."
"What is it, Father?"
His expression was unusually tense.
Dismounting from my horse, I leaned closer as Father spoke in a hushed tone.
"The Game Committee has prepared a chariot inside the Circus Maximus."
"A chariot? There aren't supposed to be any chariots in the Troy Game," I replied with a furrowed brow.
The Troy Game was strictly an equestrian event. There was no need for a chariot.
"Apparently, they plan to let the victor ride the chariot in a parade. Not through the entire city, to be precise, but around the stadium and its immediate vicinity."
"What?!"
I raised my voice without even realizing it.
Sensing the tense atmosphere, Brutus quickly stepped up to us.
"Allowing the victor to ride a chariot in a parade? There was no mention of such a thing before."
"I was left in the dark as well. Apparently, it was decided just this morning. It seems the committee prepared this behind our backs."
"But isn't that a good thing?" Brutus interjected, tilting his head.
"A parade in a chariot, like a general celebrating a triumph? It sounds like an immense honor."
Brutus's gaze locked onto me.
"Are you perhaps concerned that you may be defeated in the game?"
"Of course not."
I had a completely different concern.
And Father was likely of the same mind.
"The Troy Game is not an achievement worthy of a triumph. Such an honor would be far beyond what the contest deserves."
"I agree entirely," Father said with a nod.
"If you stage something resembling a triumph over a mere victory in the Troy Game, it will undoubtedly invite fierce criticism."
"Many people will consider it an act of arrogance." It was a perfectly natural reaction.
But the fallout wouldn't stop there.
"My fanatical supporters would only grow more frenzied, and that could easily provoke resentment among the rest of the citizenry."
The Romans loved their heroes, but excessive showmanship often invited a severe backlash.
Countless politicians had been abandoned by the populace on the mere suspicion of harboring ambitions for kingship.
"We can't be entirely sure about that," Brutus interjected once more.
"Besides, there is a chance Metellus might win. If so, wouldn't all these concerns be for nothing?"
"If that happens, my supporters might erupt in anger instead. Though nothing is certain..."
If Metellus defeated me and then celebrated with a chariot parade, that could be just as dangerous. Either way, the situation could easily turn ugly.
"Do you think the elder Metellus orchestrated this? But this would hardly benefit his son either."
"Perhaps he did it to teach his son a harsh lesson," father said, his expression rigid.
"There is still a way out. Even if you win, you can simply refuse to mount the chariot."
"I suppose so."
I nodded. To think they had prepared such an unexpected surprise. Rome never failed to catch me off guard.
After pondering for a brief moment, I swung myself back into the saddle.
"Whatever happens, it's too late to turn back now. We must play the game first."
"What are you planning to do?"
"What I always do."
Gazing at Father's still-anxious expression, I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms.
It's about time I warmed up.
"The die is already in my hand. Now all that remains is to cast it."