The printing business was a relatively recent addition to Caesar's numerous ventures.
Yet, orders kept pouring in to the point where the printing presses had to run late into the night.
The workload became so overwhelming that the printing house had to hire workers for a night shift just to keep up.
Typesetters spent all day arranging metal type to fit within the dimensions of each printing frame, carefully inserting the newly introduced punctuation and other symbols.
"The Temple of Minerva just ordered a batch of textbooks featuring the new grammar rules!"
"First grammar books, then stamps, and now personal letters? How much more work are they going to pile on us?"
"Not to mention the endless line of people wanting to publish their own books. We will have to make do until the new printworks across the Tiber are finished."
As orders multiplied, Caesar did what he usually did: he helped several employees establish independent print shops of their own.
He provided the initial capital in exchange for a share of ownership, then left the new print shops in their hands.
However, the vast majority of stamps, books, pamphlets, posters, and letters printed in Rome still passed through Lucius Caesar's presses.
And Felix was no longer the one running the printing operation.
"How about this one?"
"It still needs a little more refinement. I'll consult with Iaia directly."
"Yes, my lady."
Pompeia was gradually taking over the operations of the printing business.
She cared about more than just productivity; she cared about design and beauty.
This was something Felix and the other printers and typesetters had largely overlooked.
"What if we use woodblocks to decorate the stationery?"
"Decorate the stationery?"
"Leave the center blank for writing, and adorn the borders with beautiful patterns or illustrations. We don't even have to stick to black ink. Romans love roses, so how about a rose-patterned border in red ink?"
"But wouldn't that make the text harder to read?"
"We would print the decoration faintly in the background or along the edges so that it would not interfere with whatever was written in the center. Vitruvius once said that a yellow-and-red border around black lettering was especially pleasing to the eye."
Pompeia explained. Every day, she brainstormed new designs in consultation with Iaia and other artists.
"Let's create a variety of patterns and see what sells best. Patricians will probably favor eagles and laurel wreaths, while roses and doves will sell especially well among lovers."
"But that will increase our costs."
"How many people in Rome right now do you think want to stand out from the crowd?"
Pompeia smiled at the employee's concern.
"If other senators begin using luxurious stationery, they will not want to be seen using cheap parchment. Once the competition starts, they'll gladly pay a premium. How is the limestone press coming along?"
"We have completed the tests and begun making the parts in earnest. It should be ready for service soon."
"Excellent. Keep me updated."
Pompeia flinched as a realization struck her.
At some point, she had started thinking exactly like Lucius.
Always chasing something new, always taking on the next challenge...
"I guess this is why they say couples start to resemble each other."
The employees cast nervous glances at her as she giggled to herself.
"She is not thinking up another mad idea, is she?"
＊＊＊
"Order! Order in the chamber!"
The Senate chamber was always a rowdy place, but the atmosphere that day was entirely different.
Both the Optimates and the Populares had united to focus their attacks on a single man.
"Senator Cato! What were you thinking, distributing letters and pamphlets slandering your fellow senators?! Explain yourself to the Senate this instant!"
"To brand us as greedy extortionists! No matter how famous you are for your integrity, such claims are..."
Cato had argued that the Senate was failing to keep Caesar in check purely out of self-interest, and, to be fair, he was partly right.
Caught off guard by this unexpected attack, the senators immediately cornered him.
"Senator Cato is merely trying to raise his political standing by painting himself as the only incorruptible man in Rome!"
Unlike the Optimates, the Populares senators took issue with Cato's opposition to the new city project.
"Developing the land beyond the Tiber is essential for the citizens of Rome and the stability of the Republic! Why do you insist on opposing it at every turn?!"
Despite the barrage of criticism from all sides, Cato didn't shrink back in the slightest. He refuted them point by point.
"Selling homes through a lottery tied to these housing savings accounts is no different from operating a public lottery. The Senate already oversees public lotteries, so why should this scheme be exempt from our oversight?"
Boos rained down on him every time he opened his mouth. Ironically, the only man ensuring that Cato was allowed to be heard was Consul Caesar himself.
The very person pushing the new city project.
"Consul, are you going to let him continue spouting this nonsense?"
"Senator Cato has the right to express his views. That is the way of our Republic."
Caesar replied, rejecting several senators' demands to strip Cato of his right to speak.
"If someone offers criticism, should he not be given a fair chance to make his case? I'm sure the rest of Rome's citizens would agree."
With those words, Caesar pointed toward a scribe sitting on one side of the chamber.
Ever since Caesar decreed that the Senate's proceedings would be made public, scribes had been stationed in the chamber to record each day's session.
Even at that very moment, two scribes were hurriedly recording the exchange.
At Caesar's remark, the senators exchanged uneasy glances.
Cato was opposing the new city development, the Senate was fighting back against Cato, and yet Caesar—the target of Cato's opposition—was defending him.
The Republic had hundreds of years of history, but it had never seen a situation quite as bizarre as this.
"Then we shall conclude today's session here."
Once the session adjourned, Cato left the Senate chamber alone.
As people muttered and stared at him, he descended the stone steps barefoot, as was his habit.
As he reached the foot of the steps, his supporters and clients approached him.
"It would be best to take the back route today, Senator."
"The back route? Why?"
"Some citizens are... waiting for you."
At his supporter's warning, Cato looked ahead.
An angry mob was marching toward him.
"Because you continue to oppose the new city project..."
"Ah. They are angry with me. Still, I do not fear them."
Cato replied with a stoic expression.
"I am simply doing what I believe is right. Why should I run away like a criminal?"
"But..."
Ignoring his supporters' pleas, Cato took confident strides forward.
"There's Cato!"
"Let's teach him a lesson! A few rotten eggs will make him regret this!"
As the gap closed, the citizens began hurling rotten eggs and fruit.
As the eggs began to splatter against the ground, a man stepped between Cato and the crowd.
The man was none other than Lucius Caesar.
Though he had taken an egg straight to the head, he smiled and turned to Cato.
"Well, that's certainly a refreshing way to wash your hair. Don't you think, Senator?"
Cato hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or lose his temper. In the end, he chose irritation over laughter.
"I would rather face that mob than deal with you."
＊＊＊
"That's harsh. I've always respected you, Senator."
I said with a laugh. Come to think of it, I had said the exact same thing when I first met Cato.
I had mockingly praised him as the noblest man in Rome.
But that was true to some extent.
Was there anyone in Rome right now more incorruptible than Cato?
Cato was terrible at weighing political advantage.
Actually, he was someone who simply didn't care about such things in the first place.
"Why did you seek me out?"
"Do I need a reason to visit someone I respect?"
I fell into step beside him. Cato rolled his eyes but didn't push me away.
He just picked up his pace.
Just then, the citizens came running toward me, shouting.
"W-We're so sorry, Caesar! We never intended to hit you...!"
"I'm fine."
I said, still wiping sticky egg yolk and white from my face.
The very same people who had been hurling insults at Cato moments ago were now begging for my forgiveness in utter panic.
"They say egg yolk is good for the skin, after all. But I would like to ask why you were throwing eggs at the esteemed Senator Cato, a man I deeply respect."
"Well, that's..."
"There's no need to waste food like this. If you think someone is wrong, you can challenge their arguments through writing or debate."
I told them.
"My father has emphasized this point countless times. Did you not hear him in the Forum?"
"Uh, well..."
The crowd scattered quickly, slipping away one by one.
"What scheme are you plotting?"
Cato asked.
"If you're trying to prove that you're a fair and just man by shielding your enemy..."
"Which part of the word 'respect' are you struggling to understand?"
I shrugged, keeping pace with him.
"Fine. Then abandon your new city project and hand it over to the Senate."
"It didn't look like the Senate wanted that."
"The Senate only pretends not to want control of the project because they fear you will withdraw your funding if they take it over. Without your funding, the value of their precious landholdings would plummet."
"You should definitely put that in your next pamphlet."
I said.
"In truth, I agree with several of your points. For instance, we must prevent the money deposited in the housing savings accounts from being diverted to other purposes. My bank will require regular audits."
"..."
Cato stopped in his tracks and glared at me.
"I know exactly what you're trying to do."
"Pardon?"
"Don't play dumb. You're obviously going to create an oversight committee for this development and dump it on my lap. Just like you did with the funds' financial audit last time."
"That's a brilliant idea. If you are willing to accept the role, I will personally convince my father to make it happen."
I added.
"But what I actually wanted to ask of you is something else entirely."
"As I already said, I have no intention of dancing to your tune anymore."
Cato scoffed.
"No matter what tricks you pull, I will not participate in this project. I have no intention of empowering you. You act as though you are showing me mercy. That makes you look magnanimous while reducing me to a jester who performs only at your pleasure."
Well, I figured Cato would react this way.
He wasn't a fool, after all.
"That might be true. But if you aren't there, who will stop us when we go astray?"
Any community that loses its dissenting and skeptical voices is bound to drift toward ruin.
There was no one better suited for the job than Cato—a man entirely unswayed by petty personal desires.
Though he would have to be handled carefully, of course.
"I was planning to print a certain book, and I wanted to ask for your permission."
"A book?"
Cato asked, raising an eyebrow.
"What kind of book? If it's a grammar book, Cicero is already secretly helping you with that, isn't he."
"It is not a grammar book. It is a book about you, Senator."
"A book about me?"
"I want to publish a book detailing all the great deeds you've done for Rome. Your campaign against corruption as quaestor, and everything you achieved as tribune of the plebs..."
Beyond those, Cato had a long list of achievements.
"I would like to print a short booklet—perhaps eight to ten pages long—so that ordinary citizens can read it easily."
"What's the catch this time?"
"I simply want to let the citizens of Rome know what an outstanding man you are. Wouldn't that help prevent incidents like today?"
At that time, Roman politics was dominated by two main factions: the Optimates and the Populares.
They were not rigidly divided like the political parties of future, and people frequently shifted between them.
Cato could serve as the perfect counterweight to keep both sides in check.
The Optimates, the Populares, and Cato.
So where did the Caesars fit into all this?
My father and I.
The Caesars would become the scales themselves.
Of course, making that happen would require the right plans and actions.
"If I refuse to give you permission, will you abandon the publication?"
"I suppose I would have to. But please, give it some serious thought. I've already commissioned a member of your family to write it."
"My family? Then, by any chance... Brutus?"
Cato muttered.
"Yes, who else respects you as deeply and has such a remarkable talent for writing? This will not just elevate your reputation; it will boost Brutus's reputation as well."
"Are you trying to manipulate me by dragging Brutus into this now?"
"Or perhaps Brutus manipulated me into helping you. Isn't it my turn to suspect you now?"
While the surrounding citizens murmured and watched us, I continued walking alongside Cato.
It was partly a theatrical display meant for the public, but to be completely honest, sparring with Cato was quite enjoyable.
"Since we are already discussing the matter, why not hold a public debate in the Forum?"
＊＊＊
As the new city development—the grand expansion of Rome—began in earnest, a single question arose among the citizens.
How exactly were they going to develop such a vast, untamed expanse of land?
"It will require an unimaginable amount of manpower."
"Crassus owns legions of slaves, so wouldn't he be able to pull it off?"
"That makes sense."
However, an announcement followed that no one saw coming.
Just as letters had been sent to citizens who did not own homes, another enormous batch of letters was dispatched.
But this time, they weren't sent solely under Caesar's name.
The letters bore the seals of Caesar, Crassus, Pompey, the Veterans' Fund, and numerous other collegia.
[New Rome needs you!]
The recipients were all veterans who had once served in the legions.
Warriors who had battled pirates at sea and bled for Rome in far-off Hispania, Africa, and the East.
But fighting wasn't the only thing they did.
There was another arena, outside the battlefield, where Roman soldiers had forged their legendary reputation.
They were the very men who built bridges across raging rivers, paved roads through deserts, and constructed countless fortresses, walls, and siege engines.
Right now, there was no group in Rome more experienced in civil engineering than the veterans.
The veterans living in Rome who had once served under Caesar, Pompey, or Crassus numbered well into the tens of thousands.
"Form up! Are you ready?"
"Yes!"
"Are you ready?!"
"Yes!!"
"ARE YOU READY?!!"
"YES!!!"
Led by a foreman serving as their centurion, lines of men wearing protective work helmets marched across the bridge.
"Maintain your spacing!"
The leader's roar echoed all the way to the rear of the formation. Before long, a marching song rippled through the ranks.
"Who drank all our wine?"
"The centurion's mule drank it!"
"Who ate all our bread?"
"The centurion's mule ate it!"
"By Jupiter, I hope that mule knows how to hold a spear and fight instead of us!"
Laughter erupted up and down the formation.
And just like that, the first day of Rome's great expansion began.