"Good grief, Cato! Are you alright?"
"What do you mean?"
Cicero stared at Cato in sheer shock.
In just a few weeks, Cato looked as though he had aged ten years.
Deep wrinkles creased his forehead, and dark, heavy bags hung beneath his eyes.
Staring at his gaunt friend, Cicero cleared his throat.
"Are you starving yourself or something? Why on earth do you look like a walking corpse?"
"I've been rather busy lately, auditing Crassus's foundations."
"Wait, didn't you just finish auditing Lucius's foundation not too long ago?"
"Indeed, I did."
Cato muttered, taking an unsteady step forward.
The two made their way to the seats reserved for senators in the Circus Maximus.
In the center of the massive arena stood two colossal gilded statues of gods, glinting brilliantly under the morning sun.
The stadium was already packed with spectators, buzzing with excitement.
"Ever since the Senate decreed that the financial records of the foundations and banks be audited, I haven't had a single day of rest."
"You're going to destroy your health at this rate. Why don't you ask the Senate to excuse you for a few days? As it happens, I recently acquired a new villa in the countryside..."
"I am perfectly fine. If we miss this opportunity, when else will we ever be able to impose proper restraints on these foundations?"
Cato said, letting out a dry cough.
"I recall that you argued quite forcefully that the foundations should be shut down and outlawed entirely."
"I was,"
Cato muttered. To him, there was nothing more repulsive than senators buying the favor of the populace by throwing money at them.
Yet, during the recent audits, even he had found his perspective shifting on certain matters.
"Far too many citizens have already borrowed coin from these foundations. If we shut them all down and call in their loans, the citizens will be forced to repay their debts all at once."
Cato continued.
"If that happens, all of Rome will descend into chaos. Vultures like Catiline will immediately emerge from the shadows again."
"We must avoid such a catastrophe at all costs."
Cicero nodded in agreement.
Catiline had once attempted to incite a rebellion by dangling the sweet temptation of total debt cancellation before the desperate populace.
Cicero and Cato had been among the key figures who thwarted his plot.
"But we cannot allow the foundations to run wild, either. The Senate must impose strict limits on how much these institutions may lend and cap the interest rates they may charge."
With that, Cato let out another raspy cough. Cicero watched him with a worried expression.
"Then why don't you dine at my house later? I can have some moray eel prepared for you..."
"Moray eel?!"
Cato's eyes went wide, his entire frame trembling violently.
"No... no moray eel. I will gladly accept anything else, but absolutely no moray eel..."
"Are you truly alright, Cato?"
While Cicero let out a heavy sigh, the crowd streaming into the Circus Maximus continued to grow larger by the minute.
***
"Mother, I want one of those too!"
"They said they'll distribute more through a lottery later, so be patient. Make sure you don't lose your entry token."
"But I want it right now! Marcus already got one!"
"His father has been waiting at the arena since dawn."
"Why didn't father wait for me? I hate you!"
"You little brat, keep talking like that and see what happens!"
The colossal arena was crowded with men and women, young and old alike.
Countless children clutched miniature wooden horses while their parents searched for seats.
Outside the arena, beneath the single-story colonnade, merchants had set up stalls selling refreshments and souvenirs.
Children ran about clutching the free wooden horses they had received, while others dragged newly purchased wheeled toys behind them on strings.
These horse-shaped toys had small wheels underneath, allowing children to pull them along the stone-paved ground.
"I want that one too! I won't move until you buy it for me!"
Some merchants sold their usual pottery and oil lamps painted with chariot-racing scenes, alongside new dolls decorated in the colors of the competing factions.
Astrologers, prostitutes, and seat touts had also set up shop at every corner, calling out to the passing crowds.
"Seats for sale! Prime seats with a perfect view of the arena! Watch the games in comfort!"
In truth, such frantic hustle and bustle was a common sight at the Circus Maximus.
But this was surely the first Troy Game to draw a crowd on the scale of a major chariot race.
"Lucius Caesar against Metellus. There could hardly be a more thrilling contest."
"Who do you think will win?"
"Are you already planning to place a wager?"
Just then, the clamorous crowd outside the stadium went silent all at once.
Caesar and Metellus. Their cavalrymen, bearing crimson and blue banners respectively, rode into the arena.
***
"The crowd is far more excited than I anticipated."
"It's not every day the citizens get to see an armed cavalry column riding through the city,"
Brutus remarked beside me.
"Unless one counts the civil wars of Marius and Sulla, of course."
"As long as I am here, such a tragedy will never happen again."
There was nothing more devastating to Rome than a civil war.
If I could expand my influence through a triumvirate and control the Senate, the bloody civil wars of the original timeline could be avoided entirely.
"By the way, what do you plan to do about the victory parade today?"
Brutus whispered.
Pompey's veterans were moving into position.
They were scheduled to stage a mock battle Pompey had prepared.
Behind the veterans, several canvas-covered wagons had been drawn up.
Pompey hadn't breathed a word to anyone about what kind of equipment was hidden inside those carriages.
Even when I asked him directly, he merely smirked and told me to wait and see. Did he prepare something behind my back?
"If you win today's game, you will ride the chariot and parade through the arena. If you lose, Metellus will take the attention and fame instead."
"I'm still weighing my options, but..."
I cast my gaze over the spectator stands. Not only the senators but also the judges officiating today's game were seated near the front.
Letting the victor ride a chariot in a parade through the Circus Maximus and the nearby streets—they had certainly come up with a highly creative trap.
"If I win, one option is to publicly decline the honor."
It wasn't as if they could physically force me onto the chariot.
But what if I lost?
I highly doubted Metellus would willingly mount the chariot and expose himself to the same criticism.
While I was deep in thought, the blast of a horn echoed through the arena. At the signal, the cavalrymen began maneuvering into formation.
It was time for me to move as well.
"The game is officially underway."
As horns blared throughout the arena, slaves scrambled across the field, erecting strange-looking wooden contraptions at regular intervals.
Each consisted of a revolving wooden pole, with a broad shield on one end and a heavy sandbag on the other.
They were revolving cavalry targets, commonly known as quintains.
Historically, the quintain was a training device used by medieval knights.
A knight would ride at full gallop, striking the shield with his lance. The impact would cause the pole to spin rapidly, swinging the heavy sandbag on the opposite end around.
The rider had to duck quickly or race past before the sandbag struck him in the back.
It was a brand-new event added to the Troy Game at my suggestion.
In addition to the quintains, small metal rings had been hung from ropes at various heights.
The objective was to thread the tip of a lance cleanly through each tiny ring.
While similar contests had existed in the past, the stirrup I had introduced now allowed riders far greater stability and precision in the saddle.
These events were perfect for showcasing that leap in technology.
However, they weren't the first order of business today.
"Into formation!"
As the cavalrymen fell into formation exactly as they had drilled, I took my place at the very front of the column.
Since we had trained so intensely, we might as well put on a spectacular show.
The horns sounded once more, and I extended my arm, pointing my wooden sword forward.
I had been waiting for a chance to say this again.
"Charge!"
***
The first phase of the Troy Game was a grand display of cavalry maneuvers.
The cavalrymen of the Trojan and Greek factions charged forward in ordered ranks, repeatedly dispersing and regrouping on command.
"I've never seen such a grand cavalry display in my entire life."
"It looks like an actual battle."
"It isn't a real battle, though. I hear every maneuver was planned in advance. It's more like a grand performance."
"Wait, if that's the case, how do they judge who performed better?"
"Look over there. If a rider falls out of formation or fails to execute a turn correctly, points are deducted."
"Ah, I see."
While the citizens watched the grand display with feverish excitement, some rose to their feet and bellowed at the top of their lungs.
"Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!"
"Metellus! You might as well surrender now!"
The booming chants of Caesar's supporters quickly reverberated throughout the colossal arena.
While a few of the more conservative spectators furrowed their brows, the vast majority of the crowd nodded in agreement.
At present, the young Caesar was far more famous and popular in Rome than the younger Metellus.
It was only natural for the crowd to want the man they supported to win.
At last, the tactical demonstration concluded, and the scores were calculated.
"The victor is the Trojan faction!"
At the committee's announcement, the citizens erupted into thunderous cheers and whistles.
But the cheers soon gave way to fresh excitement as the next events began.
"Wait, what are those contraptions? They've set up some sort of scarecrow contraptions."
"It seems they have to strike the shield on the contraption and then dodge the swinging sandbag."
"I never dreamed a cavalry contest could be this entertaining."
"It would be even more exciting if they actually fought one another."
"But the risk of serious injury would be far too high. Who in their right mind would dare do such a thing?"
For a long time, cavalry had not been considered a particularly prestigious branch of Rome's military.
The core of the Roman legions had always been the infantry, while the cavalry was primarily supplied by the allied cities.
Yet at that moment, the spectators were roaring with excitement at the sight of the young nobles on horseback.
"Faster! Go faster!"
Whenever a rider failed to dodge the sandbag in time and was violently knocked from his horse, gasps and cheers erupted simultaneously across the stands.
And slowly, a brand-new chant began to echo from different corners of the stadium.
They were the voices of those backing Metellus.
"Metellus! Metellus!"
"Fight to the end! Don't give up!"
"Caesar! Caesar!"
As the cheers for the opposing teams swelled, the massive stadium filled with a roar so deafening that it felt as though the earth itself were trembling.
***
"Why has the crowd cheering for Metellus suddenly grown so much?"
Antony grumbled, drenched in sweat.
He took off his helmet and stood before me, scowling up at the spectator stands.
"A moment ago, they were only cheering for our side."
"There will always be people who root for the underdog."
"The underdog? What does that even mean?"
At Antony's question, I nodded. An underdog was the challenger struggling against an overwhelmingly favored champion.
In the first phase of the tactical demonstration, our Trojan faction had won by an overwhelming margin.
It was only natural, given our far greater experience.
No matter how quickly they had adapted to the stirrups and trained alongside us, Metellus's side still lacked anything close to our level of experience.
Yet, they had not given up. I turned my head to look at the riders of the Greek faction.
Despite having endured the deafening cheers for me throughout the opening event, they continued to compete without showing the slightest discouragement.
Unlike the tactical maneuvers, the quintain and lance-ring contests depended far more heavily on individual skill and dexterity.
Even if they were not fully accustomed to the stirrups, these were events in which they could still put up a fight.
As if to prove the point, the riders of the Greek faction were competing on equal footing with us.
And the crowd backing Metellus was steadily growing as the game progressed.
"This is actually a very good thing for us," I said, putting my helmet back on.
After all, a match was only entertaining if there was some tension.
If the stadium had been filled solely with my most overzealous supporters, it undoubtedly would have alienated the rest of the citizens.
There was no surer way to invite resentment than to act like a showboating professional wrestler humiliating a hopelessly outmatched opponent.
What I needed was simple: a worthy opponent who could make this game truly spectacular.
Helping Metellus had clearly paid off.
"The Romans have always loved a victor who triumphs over a worthy opponent, after all."
"True, gladiatorial matches are only entertaining when both sides are evenly matched. But those bastards are doing a bit too well, don't you think?"
Antony said, mounting his horse beside me.
"At this rate, we might actually lose."
"But I thought you were confident in the next event."
I looked at Antony with a grin.
I had prepared something specifically tailored for Antony's unique talents.
"Though you seem to have neglected your training lately in favor of playing football, are you going to be all right?"
"I'll be perfectly fine."
Antony wiped the sweat from his brow and flashed a broad smile.
"Whether it's a beast or something else, I've always known how to stay on top."
The next event would test how long a rider could remain mounted on a bucking horse.
In other words, it was a rodeo.
To think the day would come when I would hold a rodeo in ancient Rome.
"Then display your skill before the people of Rome."