It all started with a single letter.
On an otherwise ordinary morning, the citizens of Rome received an unexpected letter.
"Is this some kind of a joke?"
"Caesar sent a letter? To our house? That Caesar?"
"I'm telling you, it's true. The next-door neighbors got one too."
Since the postal service had begun, no larger batch of mail had ever circulated through Rome—tens of thousands of letters in all. Mail carriers were already hurrying through the streets before dawn broke.
And the sender of those letters was none other than Lucius Caesar.
"So what does it actually say?"
"You know how to read, don't you? Read it out loud already."
"Notice to Marcus. You are eligible to enter a special drawing for the right to purchase a home in the new residential district across the Tiber... For information on opening a housing subscription savings account, please visit the Caesar Insurance insula."
"Housing subscription account? What in the world is that?"
"Does this mean Lucius Caesar is planning to build insulae across the Tiber?"
Every recipient was a citizen who owned no home or property in Rome. They all looked puzzled at the unfamiliar term, 'housing subscription account.'
"What does this even mean?"
"We open an account, deposit a small amount every month, and that gives us the right to enter a drawing? And if we win the drawing, we get to buy a home at a low price?"
"Look at this. It says if we win, Caesar will even provide a low-interest loan."
"No, this can't be right. We must have misread it. Let's read it over carefully one more time."
"Why don't we just go there and ask directly?"
As the recipients poured out into the streets en masse, the roads ground to a complete standstill. Some shopkeepers even closed their stores so they could be among the first to arrive.
Just as they had on the day Caesar Insurance first opened, a massive crowd gathered around the insurance insula.
And among the clerks welcoming them were a few rather peculiar faces.
"Wait, isn't that man... a patrician?"
"Why is a patrician working the reception desk?"
The young patricians who had committed the street assaults were sitting behind the reception counters. They offered awkward smiles and greeted the incoming mob.
"Welcome. How may I assist you today?"
"U-Um, well..."
A few citizens who recognized them hesitated, but the rest didn't care in the slightest.
They crowded around the counter and unleashed a barrage of questions.
"Did Caesar really send this letter?! This is not some kind of fraud?"
"Yes, it is entirely genuine. If you have any further questions..."
"What do I need to do to open that account right now?!"
The crowd that had formed that morning had not dispersed even by late evening. In fact, the crowd kept swelling, leading many people to camp out in front of the building overnight.
"When do those patricians get to leave?"
"I don't know. I heard they volunteered to work here until the whole project is finished."
"Volunteered to work for free? Doing this?"
The insurance employees whispered among themselves as they watched the young nobles working late into the night.
"They looked full of energy when they first got here. Now they look half-dead."
Even as the clerks whispered, the patrician youths stamped documents with lifeless, hollow eyes.
***
The plan was simple: citizens without homes or property would open special savings accounts, make regular deposits, and enter a drawing for affordable housing.
It took several days for both the public and the Senate to grasp the full implications of the plan.
The senators had been stuck in a state of indecision.
While publicly condemning Caesar and Crassus, they had been quietly probing to uncover what scheme the two men were plotting.
And now, Caesar had laid that grand design bare before the whole of Rome.
"He is not simply handing out free homes; he is selling them through a lottery. Why would Lucius and Crassus announce something like this?"
"I don't understand it either. They could have earned far more by selling them at market value. Isn't fixing the price beforehand a massive loss?"
"There must be a political motive behind it. How many citizens without homes or property do you suppose live in Rome?"
"..."
Even the Optimates could hardly hide their astonishment.
They had predicted Caesar and Crassus were plotting some sort of development across the Tiber, but no one had anticipated a project of this magnitude.
"Separate commercial and residential districts, along with thousands of insulae to house ordinary citizens..."
"I cannot even imagine how much the value of our land will rise."
"Isn't this wonderful news for those of us who own land over there?"
The announcement itself wasn't the only thing that baffled the Senate. The fact that Lucius had mailed letters directly to tens of thousands of citizens was equally shocking.
Caesar was already publishing Senate records in the Forum and conveying daily news through his town criers. Now, direct mail had been added to his formidable political arsenal.
Even those who had previously dismissed the postal service as a mere novelty were forced to change their minds.
"To identify citizens without homes beforehand and contact each of them directly like this... It is extraordinary."
"Does this mean that whenever they introduce a new policy, they can contact the people it is meant to affect directly?"
Until then, politicians had only two ways to persuade the public: speeches in the Forum and notices posted around the city. Mass-printing letters and mailing them directly to individual citizens was an entirely unprecedented strategy.
One man, however, immediately understood what this change could mean. The staunchest and most uncompromising defender of Rome's mos maiorum.
Cato.
"Cato sent us a printing order like this?"
"Yes, we just received the request. Take a look for yourself."
Pompeia skimmed the paper the clerk handed her. Before she could even finish reading the text, her eyes went wide.
"This is..."
"How should we proceed, my lady?"
Pompeia rose from her seat, looking at the flustered clerk.
"I will take this to Caesar myself."
***
"Cato commissioned something like this?"
I looked down at the paper in my hand. To think Cato of all people would place an order with my printing house.
"You have cultivated a public image of delivering the news impartially." Pompeia said. "Even when the news itself is hostile to us. You've held to that principle so far, but this is a different issue."
"It certainly is."
Cato had commissioned thousands of printed letters and street flyers.
Even with a printing press instead of scribes copying everything by hand, a print run of this size would cost a substantial amount of money.
Cato was clearly fully committed to this offensive.
The content of the commissioned text was simple.
[Never in the history of the Republic has a private individual undertaken to build a city! Furthermore, the expansion of Rome must be approached with the utmost caution. It must never be left in the hands of a few men!]
It was the very argument Hortensius, Cicero, and the other Optimates had been making until only recently.
I waved the paper. "If we print and distribute these flyers and letters, the Optimate senators will not remain quiet."
"Why not? Cato is simply repeating the arguments they have been making. Wouldn't they welcome it?"
"The situation has changed," I replied with a smile.
The city expansion and new development plan Crassus and I announced had vastly exceeded the Optimates' expectations. A significant number of senators owned undeveloped plots of land and villas across the Tiber.
"We officially announced the new city-development plan two days ago. How many Optimate senators have publicly condemned us since then?"
"None," Pompeia answered. "But just because they've stayed quiet doesn't mean they changed their minds..."
"If the new city plan is canceled now, they stand to lose potentially enormous profits. From their perspective, the project must go forward."
Of course, they might attempt to seize leadership over the development. But ultimately, Crassus and I were the project's primary financiers. If the two of us pulled our capital, the plan was essentially dead in the water.
"Could the Senate not simply seize your housing-savings business and use its funds as capital? That would provide the necessary capital."
"My father and I used our own wealth to support the banks during the recent banking crisis. If the Senate seizes my bank now..."
"The citizens would immediately riot."
"Precisely. They would have no political legitimacy to do so." I shrugged.
But Cato was not a man who cared about the Optimates' agenda. In fact, the quieter everyone else became, the more momentum his voice gained.
"Then accepting this printing order would amount to stirring up a pointless controversy." Pompeia noted. "The citizens and the senators will simply ignore whatever Cato says."
I nodded. The very Optimate senators who had been attacking my father and me until recently would now be forced to clash with Cato.
It was a delicious irony.
"Cato has no chance of winning regardless of how this plays out. Is there any reason for us to deliberately stir up trouble?"
"..."
I stared at the paper, lost in thought. Pompeia was right. The public and the Senate were already solidly behind the development plan.
Ignoring Cato's request wouldn't damage my public image.
However, an amusing idea flashed through my mind.
"How about this?" I whispered, stepping closer to Pompeia. "We accept Cato's commission. No—we print even more flyers and letters than he requested."
"More than he requested?" Pompeia asked, looking at me as if I were insane. "If you are doing this simply to prove your impartiality, you have already..."
"That's not why." I shook my head.
Of course, it would reinforce that reputation, but there was a far greater profit to be made.
"If Cato makes this argument publicly, the Optimate senators will attack him. How do you think they will answer his arguments?"
"Well, through letters and flyers, just like Cato..." Pompeia's eyes went wide. She had caught onto my intentions. "They will print rebuttals."
"Exactly. And every single one of them will place print orders with our printing house."
The era of shaping public opinion solely through street-corner speeches was fading away.
I had opened the door to a new era. Paper and the printing press had become the most powerful tools for shaping public opinion.
I had seen the same thing happen centuries later, when a priest named Martin Luther began using the printing press.
With the printing press as his chief weapon, Luther was able to stand against the might of the Roman Catholic Church itself.
Even the Catholic Church had to turn to the printing press to answer his arguments.
The printing industry went into high gear because of that conflict.
"Cato will continue to attack the development plan, and the others will keep printing replies to his arguments. Our printing presses will run non-stop."
"All while maintaining your sterling reputation as an impartial man willing to print attacks on himself." Pompeia let out a dry laugh. "While simultaneously raking in massive profits from printing fees. You are a natural-born swindler, Lucius."
"Swindler? I am merely giving everyone exactly what they desire." I shrugged.
The more money one had, the more places one found to spend it.
"We gain both a stronger reputation and a profit. And there is one more benefit."
"Let me guess. Cato's goodwill?"
"Cato is not the sort of man to like someone for something like this."
I couldn't help but laugh. Did Cato even like anyone outside his own family?
He didn't seem to like anyone on earth except Brutus.
"By accepting his commission, we fulfill Cato's demand."
Pompeia simply crossed her arms and looked at me silently.
"What is it, Pompeia?"
"I figured that quietly listening to you would be faster than trying to predict what you were going to say next. I have no intention of merely playing along like Felix does."
"I quite like that reaction as well."
I stepped closer and placed a light kiss on her cheek.
"It's simple. Cato argued that this development plan is far too important to be led by a select few," I continued. "But if countless people share their opinions, answer one another's arguments, and engage in public debate like this... would that not fulfill Cato's very demand?"
The more I thought about it, the more brilliant the conclusion seemed.
"Now, every single Roman citizen can truly participate in the new city plan."
***
Cato's pamphlet sparked widespread controversy the moment it reached the streets.
"Seriously, does Cato ever do anything besides object?"
"He just can't stand seeing us plebeians finally get our own homes."
"Are the senators opposing this plan simply because they own so much property in Rome?"
"Exactly. If Rome expands across the Tiber, the value of their properties within the city will fall."
As citizens without homes voiced their anger, the Senate was thrown into chaos.
"It benefits us for the development plan to proceed. That is the only way the value of our properties across the river will rise."
"Why did Cato have to be so tactless and write something like this..."
However, there were also those who agreed with Cato's arguments.
"We do not necessarily doubt Caesar, but there must be at least some oversight."
As ideologies and private interests clashed, divisions emerged within both the Optimate and Populares factions.
Senators scrambled to learn where their peers stood on the issue, and their clients had to learn where their own patrons stood as well.
As clients, they were expected to support the political positions of the patrons on whom they depended.
Traditionally, clients visited their patrons' homes each morning to pay their respects and receive instructions, but the situation had grown far too convoluted for that.
Even senators changed their positions from day to day.
"At this rate, we will spend the entire day receiving morning callers and get no real work done. Isn't there a better way?"
Eventually, they found a novel solution.
Instead of having their clients trudge to their estates every morning, the senators began sending them letters.
The mail allowed them to communicate their current political positions quickly and easily.
Thus, what amounted to Rome's first newsletters began to circulate.
"Has today's letter arrived yet?"