"Where did you want to spend the donations again?"
"To spread literacy among the citizens of Rome! What better opportunity could there possibly be?" Brutus exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement.
I listened to his impassioned plea with my arms crossed. I certainly hadn't expected him to barge in and make such a proposal.
"No collegium in Rome has collected more donations than ours. But simply amassing a large sum is not enough. How we use those funds is far more important, is it not?"
"I agree with you on that point."
It still felt surreal. Ever since the temples began competing with their charitable programs, the collegia had thrown themselves into a massive fundraising war. It was a contest to see who could promise the largest donations and the most public service.
Of course, collegia had donated money for temple construction and aided destitute plebeians in the past, but never on a scale like this.
And the collegium that had pledged the highest sum of all was none other than my fan club. Well, it was certainly better than squandering money on erecting more statues or painting more murals of me. If my fan club started doing charity work, it would only boost my public image.
The real dilemma was how to spend those funds. Brutus's answer was education. Teaching the citizens of Rome how to read and write.
"Ever since you established the postal service, many people have been eager to learn how to read. If they cannot read, they have no choice but to rely on others to write or read their letters for them."
"We hired dedicated clerks at the postal stations for precisely that reason," I said with a nod.
We had stationed clerks specifically to write letters for illiterate citizens and read letters aloud to them.
As I pondered the idea, Felix, standing beside me, chimed in.
"I believe it is an excellent idea, Young Master. The more people who can read and write, the greater the profits for the post office."
"It goes far beyond that. Literacy could transform Rome itself," Brutus insisted.
"The ability to read and write is not merely a practical skill."
Brutus was right .It was the power to acquire new information and spread one's knowledge and arguments to the masses. That was precisely why rulers across Europe and Asia had long treated books and writing as instruments of power, tightly controlling them at the state level.
But in the Rome of this era, no such hurdles existed. There was no king to censor or ban whatever books, pamphlets, or public notices someone chose to print.
Everything was already in place. The more Roman citizens learned to read, the larger the audience I could persuade.
"The problem is how to actually do it," I said. "No matter how large the donations were, it is not nearly enough to provide free schooling to all of Rome's citizens."
Rome's population was already close to one million. Even excluding the slaves, there were hundreds of thousands of free inhabitants. Attempting to teach all of them to read would require an enormous amount of capital.
"However, the teachers' collegium have promised us their support. They have agreed to teach at a reduced rate," Brutus countered. "After all, squeezing a few coins out of children is hardly enough for them to make a decent living."
"That is certainly true."
Teachers in this era were poorly paid. Their work mostly consisted of teaching reading, writing, and basic arithmetic to children in the streets or empty lots for a pittance.
"Even with their discount, the costs would still be exorbitant."
"Then what if we involve the temples?" Felix whispered. "Since this concerns literacy and education, the goddess Minerva would be the most fitting patron. The Temple of Minerva could oversee the education of the citizens."
"Turning the Temple of Minerva into a public school..."
That wasn't a bad idea. If we pooled the collegia's donations with the funds of the Temple of Minerva, it might actually be feasible.
Lost in thought for a moment, I eventually shook my head.
"Even so, the sheer cost would be overwhelming."
"Then are you saying it cannot be done?"
"Think about it. No one forced the temples to make their pledges," I said.
Well, technically, I had provoked them with the leaderboard, but... at least I hadn't explicitly threatened them.
"And the collegia voluntarily announced their donations as well."
If that was the case, wouldn't the same logic apply to the Roman citizens?
What if, instead of forcing them to learn, we simply created an environment where they could learn on their own?
I looked at the puzzled expressions of Brutus and Felix and added, "Both of you, follow me for a moment."
***
I led them to a new workshop near the paper mills, a printing house designed to print postage stamps with wooden blocks.
"This is..." Brutus muttered, staring at the towering stacks of paper. "I knew the stamps were selling well, but not this well."
"Soon, we will also be selling special wax tablets."
"Special wax tablets?"
"Tablets designed for storing and displaying collected stamps," I replied with a smile.
If he knew just how much money the stamps were bringing in, he would probably faint.
But that wasn't the main point today.
"Look at this."
I guided Brutus deeper into the printing house.
"Until now, we have used large carved woodblocks to produce our notices. However, these woodblocks wear out quickly, and the ink often comes out unevenly."
"Are you saying..."
"This is the next step beyond those woodblocks."
With that, I picked up a small metal letter. I had recreated the method pioneered by Gutenberg.
Manufacturing movable metal type required four distinct steps.
First, a reverse image of a letter was carved onto the end of an iron or bronze rod. This was the punch.
Second, that punch was struck into a softer metal, such as copper or brass, to create a recessed impression of the letter. This was called the matrix.
Third, the matrix was secured inside an adjustable mold, and a molten alloy of lead and tin was poured into it to cast identical pieces of type.
Fourth, the cast pieces were arranged to compose an entire page of text.
It sounded simple in theory, but at first, the number of failures had been horrendous. Sometimes the letters weren't fully formed, the heights did not match, some pieces were cast backward, or the letters were crooked.
"Using this, even without carving an entirely new wooden block every time..."
"You can print an entire page of a book simply by arranging these tiny metal stamps," Brutus muttered, holding a piece of metal type. He wore a dazed expression, as if he were dreaming. "Incredible. How do you even come up with such things..."
He looked at me and let out a soft chuckle.
"Never mind. There is no point in asking you that. How many of these metal letters can you produce in a single day?"
"Once the mold is properly set up, a skilled artisan can cast hundreds in a day. With a proper division of labor, producing thousands is entirely possible."
"Which means... with a few men, you could cast tens of thousands?"
"As long as we have sufficient raw materials." I nodded with a smile.
The pieces of type were consumables, after all. Even though they were made of metal, they inevitably wore down with repeated use. However, the sheer volume we could produce would more than make up for the wear and tear.
While printing the stamps, I had been simultaneously preparing the movable metal type. I also had to build the printing presses from scratch and develop the special ink the process required.
"This is one of the projects the Young Master has devoted the most effort to recently," Felix sighed from beside me. "But how does a printing press connect to educating the citizens?"
"Even if we do not hire an army of teachers, the Roman citizens will make the effort to learn how to read on their own." I said.
The conditions were already perfect. First the postal service, and now the collegia.
"All we need to do is connect the collegia with the teachers. If the collegia hire the teachers directly with their own funds..."
"The citizens can learn to read at a much lower cost," Felix finished.
"Exactly. But we can take it a step further."
Latin, to put it mildly, was not an easy written language to master. There was a reason it would be infamous for its difficulty in the future.
First and foremost, the grammar was agonizingly complex. Just counting the active voice—excluding imperatives, infinitives, participles, gerunds, and supines—there were over sixty different verb forms.
Verbs seemed to change form endlessly according to person, number, tense, and voice, while nouns constantly altered their endings based on their role in the sentence.
To make matters worse, this era lacked the kind of consistent spacing and punctuation I was used to.
At the very least, we needed to introduce several new features to make it easier to read and establish a standardized way of teaching grammar.
To do that, we needed one specific tool.
"We will compile and distribute textbooks."
"Textbooks?"
"We will compile and distribute books so that teachers can use the same standardized grammar in their lessons. We will do it using these pieces of metal type and the printing presses."
That would put an end to the chaos of every teacher using his own rules. And the citizens would be able to learn the written language far more easily than before.
"So you are saying we do not need to rely on the Temple of Minerva," Brutus said.
"No, the Temple of Minerva can still play a crucial role," I countered. "Instead of teaching the citizens directly, the Temple of Minerva can be in charge of the examinations."
"Examinations...?"
"They will hold literacy tests and issue official certificates to those who pass, proving their proficiency."
In other words, it would create an official proof of literacy. If such a system existed, even more citizens would strive to learn.
Passing the exam would serve as objective proof of their ability, making it far easier for them to secure better positions.
"And with the printing presses, we can mass-produce the test papers as well."
Seeing Felix's dumbfounded expression, I couldn't help but burst into laughter.
To think the very first things I would produce with a printing press were textbooks and test papers.
I couldn't even fathom how many Roman children would curse my name in the future.
***
As Gaius Julius Caesar's One-Year Plan moved into full swing, one particular senator came to the Regia every day.
Clad in a pristine toga, the senator would stand alone outside the Regia in protest after the Senate adjourned—or from the early morning on days when it wasn't in session.
"Caesar! You commit blasphemy by bending the sacred temples to your will! If you do not withdraw this plan and repent at once, a terrible calamity will befall the Republic!"
The citizens watched the man with amused interest.
"Cicero is at it early again today."
"He seems to be out here almost every single day lately."
"Doesn't he get tired of coming here every day?"
Ignoring the stares of the citizens, Cicero continued his solitary protest. As the guards at the Regia exchanged uneasy glances, the Pontifex Maximus finally stepped outside.
"Good morning, Senator Cicero."
"How can it possibly be a good morning?!" Cicero replied sharply, despite Caesar's polite greeting.
Even this exchange had become part of their daily routine.
After trading a few barbed remarks, Caesar sighed as if he had no choice and escorted Cicero inside.
"What sin have you come to accuse me of today?"
"I will never stop until you cease your transgressions!" Cicero shouted loudly, ensuring the people nearby could hear him. Even as he stepped inside the Regia, he continued to vent his grievances without pausing for breath. "I have come to speak not only of my own unease, but of the profound anxiety felt by my fellow senators! You, as the consul..."
Once they had gone deep enough into the Regia, Cicero abruptly stopped talking. An awkward silence fell as the two men walked down the corridor and entered Caesar's private office.
Inside the office, stacks of paper lay piled across several tables. The sheets were covered in dense Latin writing, written not only in Caesar's hand, but in Cicero's as well.
"Shall we resume our discussion from yesterday, then?"
"I thought about this all night, but I cannot concede this point," Cicero declared, his voice rising with genuine passion. "Latin is not merely a vessel for meaning. It is the very spirit of the Roman people! Any attempt to alter it must be made with the utmost reverence. A sentence must have a natural flow, and the reader must follow that flow to grasp its meaning. But you are trying to carve that flow into lifeless fragments!"
"By separating words and adding clear breaks between them, even beginners can read far more quickly. Children, soldiers, market vendors—they will all benefit. Lucius and I do not intend to turn every citizen into a master orator. We simply want them to be able to read the laws that protect them and the records that bear their names."
"A noble sentiment. But if you oversimplify the written word in such a manner, people will read a fraction of a text and delude themselves into believing they understand the entirety of it. They will read a single legal clause and mock the jurists; they will read a single page of an oration and arrogantly assume they have mastered rhetoric!"
Despite Cicero's fierce opposition, Caesar simply offered a warm smile.
To think Cicero would trudge all the way to the Regia every day, stage a fake protest outside, and then engage in passionate debates over grammar the moment he stepped inside.
There was no doubt that Cicero cared more deeply about this issue than anyone else.
The reason for his passion was simple.
Cicero had virtually no military accomplishments; he had built his entire career and reputation as an advocate and orator. In Rome, that kind of reputation was generally regarded as far inferior to military glory.
If Roman citizens became literate en masse, who stood to gain the most?
"That is exactly why I need your assistance, Senator. I wish to make Rome greater than it has ever been," Caesar said. "And in a great nation, the written word must wield a power greater than the sword. Rome may conquer nations with the sword. However..." He added, his gaze piercing. "It is the written word that will bind those nations to Rome."