What exactly were Caesar and Crassus plotting on the far side of the Tiber?
When Consul Caesar offered no meaningful response to the Senate's accusations, public curiosity only intensified.
At the same time, supporters of the Optimate faction sprang into action.
"If Caesar truly is buying up the land across the Tiber for his own personal gain, we must act!"
However, not everyone agreed with these allegations.
"Have you forgotten how much good Gaius and Lucius Caesar have done for us so far? These accusations are just absurd."
"Exactly. Lucius even publicly exposed the corruption within his own business. What have the Optimates and the other senators ever done for us?"
The citizens' curiosity peaked when the flyers criticizing Caesar began circulating.
"Who on earth printed these ridiculous flyers?"
"It says here Hortensius and his allies commissioned the printing. And the place that printed them is... Lucius's printing house?"
"Lucius produced flyers attacking himself and his own father? What in the world is going on?"
"I have no idea. Is Lucius fighting with his father? Or is he trying to pin the blame entirely on his father..."
"If that were the case, why would the flyer include criticisms directed at Lucius himself?"
In Rome, it was common practice for politicians to publish books to boast of their achievements.
Men with military achievements wrote memoirs of their campaigns, while men like Cicero, who worked primarily in the courts, published collections of their speeches.
But for a politician to print flyers tearing himself down? Even if they were commissioned by the Optimate faction, it defied all logic.
"He could have just refused to print them."
"I swear, both Gaius and Lucius Caesar are completely incomprehensible."
However, the most bewildered of all were the very Optimate senators who had launched the attack.
"For Caesar to accept such criticism so readily..."
He had actually printed flyers filled with accusations against himself. On top of that, he was having his criers deliver the Optimates' arguments directly to the public.
There was only one possible interpretation.
"We walked right into a trap!"
The problem was figuring out what kind of trap they had walked into.
***
"You are well aware that I have always supported you."
"Of course, Senator."
I watched as my father conversed with several senators. Several of them were aligned with the Optimates.
They were the very men who had spearheaded the accusations against us. There was only one reason they would secretly visit my father like this.
"It seems they are already frightened."
"They finally realized the situation is spiraling out of their control. They came to learn my true intentions." Father remarked, watching the senators' retreating figures as they exited the main gates.
Father was right. It was easy to discern what the Optimates' plan had been.
First, they would commission flyers attacking my father and me. When we inevitably refused, they would use that refusal as a pretext for their next attack. It was a simple, logical strategy.
The problem, however, was that neither my father nor I were ordinary men.
Still, the current situation wasn't entirely in our favor.
"We needed to provoke more opposition and suspicion."
There were far fewer doubters than I had anticipated. We needed louder, more widespread opposition before we revealed the truth.
"Perhaps we should ask Cato for a favor."
"Cato? That might not be a bad idea."
Come to think of it, what was Cato even doing these days?
Ever since completing the massive audit of Rome's charitable foundations, Cato had maintained a remarkably low profile. By strictly auditing every foundation regardless of political affiliation, he had incurred the wrath of countless senators.
In original history, Cato was a man who would launch into a blistering tirade if Caesar so much as blew his nose. For him to sit out on such a golden opportunity was highly uncharacteristic.
"I should pay him a visit when I have the time."
Just then, someone strode through the entrance and into the atrium. The startled servants tried to block his path, but I waved them off.
My father addressed him.
"Antony. You are always welcome here, but surely knocking first is not beyond you."
"It isn't difficult at all, but the matter is quite urgent, sir," Antony replied, offering a faint smile as he looked between my father and me. "My apologies for barging in like this, Lucius."
"An urgent matter? What exactly is it?"
I figured Antony would be buried under a pile of women by now. Or men, knowing him.
"Something that could severely damage your reputation. I have a few taverns I visit regularly, you see, and I have been hearing the same rumor everywhere lately. To be precise..."
As Antony relayed his story, my father and I both frowned.
"You are telling me there are young patricians roaming the streets, assaulting citizens in my name?"
***
News of Gaius and Lucius Caesar buying land across the Tiber had naturally drawn intense public interest. At the same time, others sought to exploit the situation.
Young patricians aligned with the Populares—loyal supporters of Caesar—operated mainly under cover of night.
"Hey, you. Do you believe the rumors that Caesar is buying land across the Tiber for personal gain?"
"What are you talking about?"
Citizens out on the streets at night stared in bewilderment at the young men blocking their path. Since Lucius had installed streetlights, far more people now moved through the city after dark.
But even with streetlights, the streets were still dangerous.
"Why aren't you answering? I asked if you doubt Caesar."
"Well, I'm not sure what you're..."
"Look at this, boys. This friend can't seem to give a straight answer. Shouldn't we be polite and teach him the correct answer?"
"Indeed. Let's give him a very thorough lesson."
These patrician youths would corner passersby and ruthlessly beat anyone who failed to provide a satisfactory answer.
It was practically impossible for one or two ordinary citizens to fend off a gang of patricians. They did not kill anyone, but they beat their victims badly before leaving them in the gutter.
"Watch your mouth from now on!"
And when word of these incidents reached his ears, no one was more furious than Caesar himself.
***
"To pull a stunt like this now! Anyone who sees it will assume I ordered it!" my father snapped, his face red with anger. "Why did no one report this to me sooner..."
"They were likely too terrified to speak up," Antony replied, scratching his head. "They probably assumed you were the one secretly backing those youths, Consul."
"They kept their mouths shut out of fear of retaliation. And the culprits carrying out the assaults undoubtedly knew that," I added.
Claiming to support my father and me was merely a convenient pretext.
In Rome, it was practically a tradition for gangs of patrician youths to roam the streets at night and assault commoners.
Throughout history, countless patrician scions had indulged in similar acts of thuggery. Even under the Empire, Nero was said to disguise himself as a commoner and start brawls in taverns.
His Praetorian Guards would wait nearby and intervene only if the Emperor started losing. One senator, failing to recognize Nero and beating him in self-defense, was later forced to commit suicide.
"And they continued these antics even after the streetlights were installed? They are certainly bold."
"This could severely derail the One-Year Plan. The Optimates will never let an opportunity like this slip by."
"I will personally track them down. I'll mobilize all the collegia."
I immediately sent orders through Felix and Pompeia. Within two days, we had identified the suspects.
To my shock, they were several of the young patricians who had fought on my team during the Trojan Games. I recognized every one of their faces.
"We... we had too much to drink and made a terrible mistake. We swear we never intended to harm your reputation, Caesar!"
"You violently assaulted citizens using the name of the sitting Consul, yet you claim you had no intention of harming my reputation? Do you actually expect me to believe that?" Father demanded, glaring down at the youths.
Summoned to the estate, the young patricians crouched low, desperately pleading for mercy.
"According to the reports from the local collegia, these assaults occurred repeatedly over several nights, and there are over a dozen confirmed victims. Does that sound like a mere 'mistake' to you?"
"It will never happen again! We swear it!"
"Our families have always been your most steadfast supporters!"
Sensing the gravity of the situation, the youths hastily piled on the excuses.
"What must we do to make amends?"
"What do you suppose will happen if you are convicted in court for assaulting your fellow citizens? Your political careers will be completely obliterated."
At my father's words, the youths' faces drained of all color.
However, I realized that my father was not entirely serious. If he actually sent them to court, the families supporting him would harbor deep-seated grudges.
Yet, since they had brutally beaten innocent citizens, a mere slap on the wrist was out of the question.
Watching my father's conflicted expression, I finally spoke up.
"May I offer a proposal, Father?"
"Speak freely."
When my father granted me permission, relief flooded the youths' faces. They probably assumed I was about to defend them.
Unfortunately for them, I had no such intention.
"Since they have already confessed to their crimes, there is no need to drag this to court. They will issue a public apology, personally visit the victims to beg forgiveness, and pay appropriate compensation. Will that not suffice?"
At my words, the youths' faces turned ghostly pale once again. Publicly admitting to a crime was just as devastating a blow as receiving a guilty verdict.
"Of course, the victims must agree to the compensation. But if they offer three or four times the standard settlement, I am certain they will all accept."
"But if we have to do that, going to court might actually be better..."
"Did you not claim this was merely a drunken mistake? If so, paying compensation should not be an issue."
The youth who had tried to object immediately lowered his head at my retort.
Just then, father stepped close to me and whispered.
"They certainly committed a grave wrong, but if we push them too hard, we risk turning the families that support us into our enemies."
"I am simply offering them a chance to seek forgiveness from their victims. Besides, there is a way for them to restore the honor they have lost through this incident."
"A way to restore their honor?"
"Since they terrorized ordinary citizens, why not make them serve those citizens in return?"
As the youths watched us with anxiety, I whispered my plan to my father.
"Even so, isn't that a bit too cruel...?"
Hearing my proposal, my father flashed a wicked smile.
"I absolutely love it."
***
A few days later.
Castus and his companions walked down the streets of the Subura. Along one side of the street, children were playing a game of marbles with walnut shells. Castus quickened his pace to avoid the shells rolling into his path.
"Still, I think we got off rather lightly, don't you?"
"I agree. I was certain we would receive a far harsher punishment," Castus replied with a sigh of relief.
A few days ago, he and his companions had been summoned by Caesar. They had been thoroughly interrogated regarding their little 'games' on the night streets.
Following Caesar's orders, they had personally visited their victims to apologize and pay compensation. It had cost them a considerable sum, but it was an acceptable outcome.
However, Caesar had demanded one more thing of them.
"Let's just get this over with quickly."
They soon stopped in front of an insula—the very building where Lucius Caesar had first launched his insurance business.
As they lingered by the main entrance, an employee stepped out to greet them.
"We have been waiting for you. Please, right this way."
Castus and his companions followed the employee inside.
"It's drearier than I expected."
"Still, it's quite clean, isn't it?"
They chatted and laughed casually.
Aside from the compensation, Caesar's additional demand had been remarkably simple. They were to perform unpaid public service for an upcoming project. In other words, they were expected to work as ordinary clerks.
Working alongside ordinary plebeians was humiliating for patrician scions, but if it appeased Caesar's wrath, it was an acceptable compromise. After all, how difficult could clerical work for commoners possibly be?
"Right this way, please. Once the reception office begins operating, you will be assigned there. For now, your work is in the back."
The employee led them deep into the building. As they progressed further inside, Castus and his companions' jaws dropped in utter shock.
"That is an unbelievable amount of paperwork."
"Are we supposed to organize and file all of this?"
The entire floor of the insula was crammed wall-to-wall with documents. Employees darted between the stacks, furiously organizing the files.
"What you see here is merely a tiny fraction. The original records are copied by hand and stored in separate archives."
"So our job is to organize these documents?"
"That is one of your duties, yes," the employee replied with a faint smirk.
Seeing that smirk, Castus suddenly got a very bad feeling.
"Very soon, we will be dispatching tens of thousands of letters. Your primary duty is to make sure the names and addresses on the letters match our records exactly."
"Verifying names and addresses. That doesn't sound too difficult."
"I am glad you think so."
The employee gestured, and several others wheeled out large carts. Wooden crates filled with envelopes were stacked on the carts.
Castus and his companions stared at the towering stacks of crates in horror.
"What in the world..."
"From this moment on, you will live in this building until you have completed your assigned work. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be served in the dining hall. You will have three rest periods each day. The water clock over there will mark the time."
"W-Wait, what..."
Ignoring their horrified expressions, the employee continued his explanation.
"You will be granted one day of rest every ten days. At all other times, you are expected to work here. Caesar informed us that you have all agreed to these terms."
"We did agree to Caesar's proposal, but these conditions are entirely too harsh..."
"If you wish, you are free to return home right now. Caesar explicitly stated he has no intention of forcing you to work."
Castus and his companions swallowed hard.
They were expected to remain confined to this building, working until this mountainous workload was finished. Wasn't that practically the life of a slave?
But they couldn't just turn around and go home either. Doing so would bring Caesar's full wrath down upon them.
"Should we just try it for now?"
"It has to end eventually, right?"
The employee cleared his throat, looking at them.
"Once you finish this task, you will move on to the reception desk."
"The reception desk? You expect us to serve the plebs directly?"
"As I said, if you do not wish to do this, you are free to return home at any time."
Castus stared at the wooden crates in utter despair. An innumerable number of letters. And after all this, the reception desk.
"What exactly is Caesar planning to do with all this?"
"It is confidential, but I suppose I can tell you. You will be here for quite some time, after all. Caesar will be dispatching letters to tens of thousands of Roman citizens. And you will be assisting in that endeavor."
"Dispatching letters to tens of thousands of citizens? Why on earth would he do such a thing?"
The employee looked at their still-bewildered faces and replied.
"You will find out soon enough."
True to the employee's words, they were soon buried alive under a mountain of letters and envelopes.
"Is this actually something a human being can do?"
"It's only been one day. How is this any different from being a slave?"
"My eyes are burning. I have never read this many words in my entire life..."
"We eat our meals in the building, and we only get three short breaks a day..."
That evening, the young patricians collapsed onto the hard wooden beds in the sleeping quarters. After spending the day checking and correcting letters, their fingers cramped and their eyes ached.
But this had only been the first day. As they lay in their beds, they all thought of the same story: Sisyphus, the man condemned by the gods to push a massive boulder up a mountain for all eternity.
No matter how often he reached the summit, the boulder rolled back down again.
A torment without end.
"Should we just flee Rome altogether?"