"Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!"
"Metellus! Metellus! Metellus!"
Felix exhaled a long sigh of relief as he looked down at the arena of the Circus Maximus.
A chariot drawn by two white horses was making a circuit of the track. Soon, it would leave the arena and continue its procession through the surrounding streets.
"I thought my heart was going to stop," Felix muttered.
It was shocking enough that the match had ended in a draw. But then, out of nowhere, Lucius had challenged the opposing commander to a duel.
Watching the clash unfold, Felix had squeezed his eyes shut, only to force them open again, more times than he could count.
Wooden swords or not, he could not bear the thought of Lucius getting hurt.
Felix walked through the spectator stands, taking the pulse of the crowd.
The supporters of Caesar and Metellus, who had been at each other's throats moments ago, were now chatting amicably with smiles on their faces.
A duel between two commanders, followed by a joint victory parade. It was a spectacle the citizens of Rome had never witnessed before.
"It was like watching a perfectly choreographed play."
"If only the Trojan Games were this entertaining every year."
"I doubt next year will top this."
"Still, deciding the victor through a duel... Were the officials really allowed to let that happen?"
"Permit it or not, who is going to complain now?"
"Fair point."
Felix kept moving as he listened to the chatter, heading toward the reserved seating for the senators.
Lucius's father, Gaius Julius Caesar, sat lost in thought. Around him, senators had gathered to offer their congratulations.
"You must be incredibly proud, Caesar. Your son won the match in such spectacular fashion."
"As a father, I would be lying if I said I was not," Caesar replied with a smile, though he could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
But it was not out of worry for his son.
While Lucius's challenge to young Metellus had surprised him, it had not truly shocked him.
The moment he heard the challenge, Caesar had immediately grasped his son's intentions.
What he had not anticipated, however, was the aftermath.
In Rome, the defeated could normally hope for little more than the victor's mercy—the grace of being allowed to live.
Yet Lucius had chosen to share his victory with Metellus. Rather than claim all the honor and dignitas for himself, he had granted a share of both to the rival he had just fought.
At the sight of it, Caesar experienced an emotion he had never known before.
Was this how people had felt when Alexander the Great cut through the Gordian Knot—a problem no one could solve, undone with a single stroke of the sword?
Snapping out of his thoughts, Caesar beamed as he saw Felix approaching.
"Are you all right, Master?"
"I must go to Metellus."
"Go to Metellus? What do you mean, Master?"
Caesar pointed to where the young Metellus's father was sitting. Quintus Metellus, much like Caesar, was surrounded by people offering congratulations.
"Your son fought with incredible valor. To stand toe-to-toe with Lucius Caesar... you must be exceptionally proud."
Quintus could not hide his bewilderment at the sudden shower of praise. He looked as though he could not decide whether to rejoice or fume.
Caesar strode toward him, Felix trailing close behind. Seeing him approach, the other senators flinched and parted to make way.
"Why are you going to Metellus?" Felix whispered.
Caesar shrugged.
"Even after we helped him during the banking crisis, Metellus kept scheming against us behind our backs. He even tried to make trouble during these Trojan Games."
But now, the tables had completely turned. Today's Trojan Games had practically become a victory for both Metellus and Caesar.
For a son's victory was a father's victory.
"We must seize the opportunity Lucius has handed us. I am going to bring Metellus firmly into our camp."
"But has Metellus not already betrayed us once? Even after receiving our help during the banking crisis..."
"After today, he won't be able to."
With that, Caesar stopped in front of Metellus. Metellus stood up, meeting his gaze with a tense expression.
"Senator Metellus."
"Senator Caesar."
While the surrounding senators held their breath, Caesar flashed his most charming smile and pulled Metellus into a warm embrace.
Flustered, Metellus squirmed to free himself, but Caesar held fast.
"You have raised an outstanding son."
"Y-you as well, Caesar," Metellus muttered, his face flushing red.
As the surrounding senators smiled and applauded, the "voluntary" alliance between the camps of Caesar and Metellus was sealed before everyone's eyes.
***
"Look over there!"
At Metellus's shout, I raised my telescope. The constant rattling of the chariot made it difficult to focus, but I caught sight of the stands.
Is that Father? And the man he's hugging is...
"I think that is my father!" Metellus yelled. "Why on earth are they embracing each other?"
"Honestly, I have no idea."
Through the telescope, they certainly appeared to be embracing. Unless they were trying to stab each other with hidden daggers, that is.
Ah, I see.
I had a pretty good idea of what father was up to.
If my hunch was correct, the man truly had terrifying political instincts, seizing an opportunity like that in the blink of an eye.
I smiled and patted Metellus on the back.
"It seems our families will be getting much closer from now on."
"But my father is..."
"He has likely changed his mind after witnessing today's spectacle."
Strictly speaking, his father was now in a position where refusing to change his mind was no longer an option, but there was no need to spell that out to young Metellus.
"Do you really think so?"
I chuckled, looking at Metellus, who seemed genuinely thrilled.
After today, the Metellus and Caesar camps were practically joined at the hip.
The young Metellus might not have grasped the political implications, but Quintus Metellus was now in a position where he could no longer afford to harbor any hostility toward Father and me.
"The parade is winding down. Let us head back to the stands."
After parading through the Circus Maximus and the surrounding streets, our chariot slowly came to a halt in the center of the arena. Amidst the roaring cheers of the crowd, I climbed up to the stands with Metellus.
"Caesar! Metellus! Caesar! Metellus!"
The hostile atmosphere between our respective supporters had vanished completely. Yes, this is how a game should be.
The two of us waved to our supporters and took our designated seats.
"Now we get to see Pompey's demonstration."
"I wonder what Pompey has prepared for us," Metellus said.
I nodded. Pompey seemed to have kept something from me as well.
As I was lost in thought, a trumpet blared. Simultaneously, fully armored legionaries began marching in formation toward the center of the arena.
Pompey's demonstration was one of the highlights of today's Trojan Games. It was also an opportunity to present a new future for Rome.
"Now, the real show begins."
***
"Forward—march!"
The two sides, armed with shields and wooden swords, slowly began to advance toward the center. Those playing the role of cavalry swept around the infantry formations on horseback.
As the spectators held their collective breath, the legionaries of one side suddenly halted.
"Wait, what is that?"
"They seem to be planting their shields in the ground."
"Is that a bow?"
"What kind of bow is held sideways like that? It must be some new sort of weapon."
The legionaries wearing red armbands held unfamiliar weapons in their hands.
The front rank planted their shields and began firing their crossbows at the opposing team.
Small leather pouches were attached to the tips of the crossbow bolts; due to the weight, they did not travel far and fell short.
"I've never seen such a weapon. But why are they firing bolts with leather pouches on the ends?"
"If they used real arrows, someone would end up dead. What then?"
"True enough."
Although the citizens had come to the Circus Maximus for the Trojan Games, they watched the mock battle with considerable interest.
Pompey's veterans fired their crossbows with practiced ease, passing empty weapons back for reloading and taking freshly loaded ones in return.
The entire process was synchronized like a machine.
"Incredible."
"Pompey sure knows how to train soldiers."
As murmurs rippled through the crowd, the cavalry sprang into action. The blue-armbanded cavalry fanned out in wide arcs, dodging the incoming crossbow bolts.
"They're attempting a flanking maneuver."
"That weapon is fascinating, but it looks like they'll struggle to hold off cavalry."
Just as the red-armbanded infantry were about to be encircled, something new rumbled into the arena.
Horse-drawn wagons.
The spectators rose from their seats as massive wagons rolled into the Circus Maximus.
"Wait, what in the world is that?"
***
"Did you prepare that too?" the young Metellus turned to me and asked. "It looks strange. I've never seen anything like it before."
"No idea. I've never seen it before either."
The mock battle was playing out as expected. Pompey's veterans had done an excellent job demonstrating the new shields and crossbows I had introduced to them.
It was mind-boggling that they had reached this level of proficiency in such a short span of time.
But those wagons rolling into the arena were entirely new to me.
Thick wooden planks were bolted to the outer frames of the wagons, and short spikes designed to dig into the ground were installed near the wheels.
I turned my gaze to Pompey, who stood in the center of the arena. He was looking back at me, wearing a distinctly smug expression. Did he actually prepare this behind my back?
The wagons rolled in one after another, quickly forming a tight ring around the red-armbanded legionaries.
Amidst the blare of trumpets and whistles, the soldiers swiftly unhitched the horses from the wagons.
Once the iron clasps were released, folded wooden planks swung upward, forming a makeshift breastwork.
The soldiers then strung heavy chains between the adjacent wagons.
In the blink of an eye, the separate wagons locked together to form a continuous circular defensive wall.
Wait, is that...?
"Jan Žižka."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
I shook my head when Metellus looked at me questioningly. I never imagined Pompey would come up with something like this.
The cavalry, who had been wheeling around to flank the infantry, reined in awkwardly at the sudden appearance of the wooden walls. Riding down infantry behind shields was one thing, but crashing into a wall of thick timber was another matter entirely.
The legionaries scrambled onto the wagons and raised additional wooden screens.
These panels were pierced with narrow firing slits, through which the soldiers thrust their crossbows and opened fire.
As a volley of bolts tipped with leather pouches rained down on the cavalry, I could not help but burst out laughing.
This was the very tactic made famous by the legendary early-fifteenth-century Bohemian commander.
This was no simple wagon formation. It was essentially a mobile fortress—an ancient armored personnel carrier.
I looked at Pompey, who was roaring orders across the field.
"I can't believe he kept this up his sleeve."
It seemed I had severely underestimated Magnus, Great general of Rome.