Somewhere in Cisalpine Gaul,
"It seems the young master has sneaked out to play with his friends again."
"Sneaking out without permission like this... What on earth is that boy thinking?"
Magia Polla muttered with a long sigh.
She smoothed the folds of her stola and ordered her slave,
"Go out and find him this instant."
"Yes, my lady."
"Boys his age naturally spend their time running around the streets,"
Her husband remarked, popping a grape into his mouth.
"He spends all day buried in his reading, anyway. Isn't it fine if he goes out and plays with his friends every now and then?"
"Playing with friends would be fine. But he has gone off to see his tutor again so that the man can teach him how to write. We should have hired someone more suitable."
Polla replied. She still vividly remembered the dream she had while carrying her son: a laurel tree growing wildly, its branches spreading in every direction.
In Rome, a wreath woven from laurel leaves was the ultimate symbol of victory and honor, placed upon the heads of triumphant generals.
To her, it was proof beyond doubt that her son was destined for greatness.
"And yet, he wastes his days reading useless books..."
"You are probably the only parent in the world who worries because their child actually likes to read."
Her husband chuckled.
"I heard Caesar is holding a literary competition centered on the tales of Troy. Perhaps our boy heard about it."
"No matter how talented our boy may be, he could never surpass a man like Cicero."
"I heard Cicero is hoping to serve as one of the judges, though word has it that Consul Caesar is as well..."
Just then, a slave came sprinting toward them, panting heavily.
"M-Master!"
"What is it?"
"A letter arrived from Rome!"
"A letter? From whom?"
"From Consul Caesar."
"Consul Caesar... sent a letter to us?"
Polla and her husband exchanged bewildered glances.
To think that the consul of Rome would personally write to an equestrian family of no great distinction.
"Do we have any relatives who are connected to the Julii?"
"Not that I know of."
Her husband muttered as he accepted the letter.
Polla leaned in close to read it alongside him.
"It is an invitation for our family to visit Rome. It specifically asks that we bring our son, if possible."
The couple exchanged baffled glances.
Inviting them to Rome—and specifically asking that they bring their son.
"Why on earth does Caesar want to see our Virgil?"
＊＊＊
"They decided to name the newly expanding district Nova Troia?"
"That is what the citizens are already calling it. Apparently, Crassus and Caesar are not eager to name it after themselves, either."
"I heard they're hosting some sort of competition to celebrate the expansion."
The announcement of a literary competition centered on Troy drew enormous attention throughout Italy.
"Did you hear how much the prize money is?"
"It sounds like quite a fortune."
"It's not just about the money. Can you imagine the sheer fame you'd earn by winning a contest like this?"
"You said it. With the signal towers and the postal service, your name could become known throughout Italy in a matter of days."
Poets and writers from every corner of Italy hurried to compose poems and prose tales about Troy.
"Remembering always the names of the fallen,
Those burdened by the gods shall found a new city.
So long as the Tiber flows,
The spirit of Ilium shall endure."
But the real question was how to actually submit their finished works.
"We cannot all make the journey to Rome. We can send our work by post."
"That works perfectly."
The major cities of Italy were already fully connected via Caesar's postal network.
A flood of letters poured into Rome.
However, as more and more contestants began submitting their work by post, an unexpected controversy arose.
Women had begun submitting their work as well.
＊＊＊
In Rome, it wasn't particularly strange for a woman to know how to read and write.
Some girls from prosperous plebeian families learned basic letters alongside boys, while daughters of elite households could receive broader instruction in literature and Greek.
Many patrician women were familiar with the Greek language and with Greek literature, especially Homer and the tragedians.
"But why is it a problem for women to participate in a literature contest?"
"Many people believe that a woman should be educated only enough to become a proper, cultured wife and mother. That is the problem."
Mother replied with a bitter smile.
"I don't think ill of Julia's interest in literature. As a mother, I'm actually quite proud of her. But for an unmarried girl to seek public attention in that way..."
"You think it might cause problems when it comes time for her to marry?"
"Cicero once praised the letters of Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, and said that her sons had been shaped by the elegance and purity of her language."
Mother nodded.
"But that praise was based on letters she had written privately. If she had authored a book or publicly published her poetry, the reaction would have been the exact opposite."
"The Forum, the courts, the assemblies, the Senate, and formal public speaking are overwhelmingly male spheres."
I nodded in agreement. Formal politics was overwhelmingly male spheres in Rome. Women could still wield influence through wealth, family ties, patronage, religious roles, and private negotiation.
I couldn't change that reality overnight.
But the winds of change were already blowing in Rome.
"One major reason women have rarely been able to make a living as authors is simple: publishing and circulating a book has been far more difficult for them."
Until now, getting a book into circulation in Rome had been an arduous and complicated process.
You had to have scribes copy your manuscript, circulate it among friends, and give public readings in order to build a reputation.
Only then could you persuade a bookseller to take on your work for publication.
In other words, even male authors had to rely on a vast network of friends, acquaintances, and patrons to distribute their work.
For most women, gaining access to such a network was far more difficult.
"But who do you think is the biggest publisher in Rome right now?"
"Are you saying..."
Mother propped her chin on her hand, a knowing smile spreading across her face.
"You intend to bring about the change yourself."
"Yes. The book market is only going to keep expanding. And the number of women readers will grow rapidly."
I had already seen a historical precedent for it in the publishing market of eighteenth-century England.
Even in eighteenth-century England, universities, learned societies, political office, and much of the newspaper trade were overwhelmingly dominated by men.
Yet women writers were highly visible in the market for novels.
"If more women become readers, will we not need women writers to give them books they want to read?"
"Sometimes I truly wonder whether you are Crassus's son rather than your father's and mine."
Mother laughed.
"But even if you intervene, many people will still look down on women who write for profit."
"Then they can publish under pen names to avoid controversy."
That's when a rather fun idea struck me.
"Actually, we could run the entire literary competition anonymously."
"Anonymously?"
"We conceal every author's name and judge the entries solely on their merit. That way, personal connections and gender cannot influence the decision."
"But if you do that, a woman's entry might win—and once her identity is revealed, I doubt the judges will be pleased."
"If a woman's work actually wins..."
I replied with a smirk.
"Wouldn't that alone prove that women are more than capable of writing masterpieces?"
＊＊＊
As far as Lucius knew, no public collegium in Rome was governed entirely by women. Some associations had female patrons, but formal membership and officeholding were overwhelmingly male.
But women still formed private circles of their own.
Though they did not operate as public associations, elite women gathered privately to exchange news, cultivate alliances, and observe religious rites.
And the household of Gaius Julius Caesar was no exception.
"Just as my brother said, we want to do something as well. Not merely sit at home and write, but serve the people of Rome in our own way. Would that not earn us respect?"
A circle of young patrician women—most of them unmarried—began to gather around Julia.
They had formed something very close to a collegium and given their group a clear purpose.
Their purpose was charitable on the surface, yet deeply political in its implications.
"We shall serve the people of Rome in our own way."
There was one sure way for them to build an unassailable reputation without compromising their dignity: by using their own talents to help others.
"You want to do what?"
At her father's incredulous question, Julia simply beamed.
"I want to invite girls from the Subura who cannot afford lessons into our home and teach them myself."
"Teach young girls to read... for no payment?"
"Well, the daughter of a consul can hardly demand payment from her pupils like a common schoolmaster, can she?"
"But still, teaching children their letters is work for tutors. For a noblewoman of your standing to do such work..."
"My friends and I are not merely acting as tutors. We are giving poor girls an opportunity to learn. Who could possibly look down on us for teaching poor girls without payment?"
"..."
Faced with his daughter's carefully reasoned argument, Caesar could only chuckle.
"I thought I only had to worry about your brother. I never expected the other wolf in this house to bare her fangs so soon."
And so began one of Rome's first organized literacy programs for poor girls.
Not just Julia, but women from other prestigious families eagerly volunteered for the cause.
"Today, we are going to learn how to write our own names. Is there anyone here who already knows how to write theirs?"
Before long, Julia and her companions began to make their mark as teachers.
But Gaius Caesar's headaches were far from over.
"You want me to step down as a judge? Why on earth should I?"
"Wasn't Julia planning to submit an entry to the competition? If you serve as a judge, Father, people will accuse you of favoritism."
Caesar scowled at his son's blunt response.
"But if the entries are judged anonymously, solely on their merits..."
"Julia could tell you about her work at home beforehand. And even if she did not, people would still assume that she had."
"..."
Caesar let out a long, heavy sigh.
"As you well know, no one in Rome has a greater passion for literature than I do. To think I have to give up an opportunity like this... Cicero is going to dance in the streets when he hears."
"If you truly want the post, you can always try to persuade Julia to withdraw from the competition."
"As if that were possible,"
Caesar replied with a wry smile.
"Fine. I concede. I'll step down this time."
＊＊＊
Rome's first-ever literature contest.
As submissions poured in from across Italy, rumors about the judges grew wilder by the day.
Who would have the honor of choosing the winner?
Countless names were tossed around in gossip circles, but everyone agreed on one point.
"Cicero is definitely going to be a judge."
"Of course. There's no way he'd miss an opportunity like this."
Just as the citizens predicted, Cicero was all but guaranteed the role of chief judge.
"So Caesar has finally withdrawn. Thank the gods that arrogant fool gave up."
"Congratulations, Master."
Upon hearing that Caesar had withdrawn from the judges' panel for his daughter's sake, Cicero cheered in delighted triumph.
But Caesar wasn't the only doting father in Rome.
"Tullia! I had no idea you were coming! You should have sent word!"
Cicero rushed out barefoot to greet his daughter, practically stumbling over himself.
He wrapped Tullia in a tight, affectionate embrace.
"If I had known you were coming, I would have ordered the cook to prepare those oysters you love so much. How is Piso doing?"
"He is always busy these days,"
Tullia replied with a warm smile.
"I actually came because there's something I want to discuss with you, Father."
"Discuss something with me? Is everything alright at your house?"
"Oh, it's nothing like that. It's just..."
Tullia hesitated for a moment before finally speaking up.
"I want to enter the upcoming literary competition. I have written a few short poems, and I was hoping you would read them."
"You want to participate in the contest...?"
Cicero stood frozen for a moment. He frowned, began to smile, frowned again.
At last, he let out a helpless sigh, then gave a quiet laugh.
"Why, of course you can. You have my blood running through your veins; I have no doubt your poems are magnificent."
Behind him, his slave Tiro shook his head in silent disbelief as Cicero added,
"Come, come inside. I'll have the cook prepare those oysters right away."