As letters poured into Rome from all across Italy, the postal couriers let out silent, agonizing screams.
"I mean, it's great that there are fewer bandits on the roads these days, but why on earth is there so much mail?"
"Rome is holding some sort of literary competition right now. Apparently, anyone who can hold a quill is sending in an entry by post."
"And thanks to that, we're the ones dying of overwork."
While the couriers drove their carriages day and night, the mail they carried consisted of more than contest entries.
A large share of the incoming mail was addressed to the same man.
[Recipient: Lucius Julius Caesar]
Since the postal service had been established, no one had received more letters than the young Caesar.
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[May Fortune favor Lucius Caesar as he reads this letter. The reason I write today is...]
The letters were astonishingly varied, ranging from wishes for his well-being and letters of gratitude to requests for favors and personal inquiries.
At first, Lucius tried to reply to every letter personally, but eventually he had no choice but to give up.
"My wrist is going to snap at this rate! I need to hire a dedicated team to handle this."
Once the postal system had been formalized, patrons and clients began exchanging staggering amounts of mail.
In the past, clients had to physically visit their patron's estate every morning just to show their faces. Now, both sides overwhelmingly preferred the convenience of letters.
From the patron's perspective, it was much easier to summon clients only when they were actually needed.
Roman politicians even commissioned Caesar's print shop to distribute daily newsletters detailing their activities and political positions to their clients.
Because of this, the number of employees and slaves dedicated solely to sending and receiving mail was rising across Rome.
Many of these positions were filled by scribes who had lost their livelihoods to the printing press.
"You never needed to write back to every single one in the first place, Young Master. Why not just reply to the important ones?"
"But they are letters from my fans—my supporters, I mean. I cannot simply ignore them."
"Fans, you say?"
"Ardent supporters—or fautores, if you prefer. Anyway, supporters like them are deeply moved by even the smallest gestures of sincerity. I don't necessarily have to write every reply myself, but... there has to be another way."
And so, a brand-new office was established.
Its official name was the Correspondence Office, though the staff jokingly called it 'Mercury's Workshop.'
Their sole purpose was to sort through the mountains of letters that arrived each day, single out the important ones, and pass them on to Lucius.
They assigned priorities to the remaining correspondence and drafted replies themselves.
But soon, even they reached their limit.
The reason was simple. As soon as people began receiving replies from Lucius, the volume of letters multiplied.
"Anyone would think you were using all this to sell more paper and stamps."
"Yes, and at this rate, I will have to hire hundreds more staff members just to keep up."
"I'm sure you can come up with something, Young Master."
And the solution Lucius proposed was remarkably simple.
"Why don't we organize the supporters in each region into official groups? Then we won't have to suffer like this."
"Groups? You mean like collegia?"
"Exactly. We already have collegia operating like that in Rome. We could ask Brutus for some advice on how to run them. If the supporters have a place to gather, they can share information among themselves instead of sending me a letter every single time."
Thus, new collegia were established all across Italy.
Composed entirely of Lucius Caesar's supporters, these groups received exclusive monthly newsletters and other updates.
Furthermore, each regional collegium was granted a special privilege: it could send one official letter each month, and Lucius would answer it personally.
"Well, I can easily manage writing this many letters a month."
Supporters who had previously been scattered and isolated now had a community of their own and a direct channel to Lucius.
Simultaneously, something entirely unexpected occurred.
As these regional branches formed of their own accord and gained official recognition, competition began to take root among them.
"Did you hear the news? The Ostia branch has just begun a new charitable project."
"Shouldn't we be doing something too?"
Just as temples, collegia, and commercial houses competed for prestige, these groups began clamoring to undertake public works in Lucius's name.
It was the birth of something entirely new—a system that transcended the traditional patron-client relationships that had dominated Rome for centuries.
Other politicians hurried to imitate Lucius but achieved little success.
"Lucius hasn't given these people any coin, nor has he granted them any direct favors. So why does he have so many fiercely loyal supporters?"
"Think about everything that boy has done so far. Of Romans, by Romans, for Romans. These supporters are rallying behind his ideals, not just trying to repay a personal favor."
"Huh..."
It was a phenomenon that traditional politicians simply couldn't comprehend.
Was not Roman politics built on mutual favors and reciprocity?
Do ut des.
I give, so that you may give.
To win a citizen's vote, you either bought them off with coin or proposed policies that directly benefited their purses.
Yet Lucius commanded a vast body of supporters without offering them any direct material reward.
"We need to find a way to emulate this."
Thus, a new form of political reputation-building began to take shape in a Rome linked by letters and signal towers.
Yet most politicians quickly ran into the same obstacle.
"But how exactly are we supposed to do it?"
"They say 'just copy Lucius,' but... is that even possible?"
Among them was an ancient and prestigious family that felt a burning rivalry toward Lucius Caesar.
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"Are you still working on that book? There are plenty of other things you could be doing, Brutus."
Servilia let out a long sigh.
She walked over to her son, who was seated at his desk, and gently stroked his hair.
"A book about your dreadfully boring uncle, of all people. Could you not write about anyone else?"
"Lucius asked me personally to do it. Consul Caesar asked me as well."
Brutus replied, clearing his throat. It was an open secret in Rome that his mother and his uncle absolutely despised each other.
"Besides, Uncle Cato would never allow anyone but me to write a book about him. Why do you dislike him so much? He's your younger brother after all."
"Half-brother, to be exact."
Servilia corrected, her face twisting in disgust.
"Cato seems to possess nothing but stupidity. I will never understand why Caesar insists on associating with such a fool..."
Servilia sighed heavily before turning her soft gaze back to her son.
"By the way, I heard you've been visiting Caesar's estate quite frequently these days."
"There are details about the book that I need to discuss."
"And that requires you to visit his home practically every single day?"
Despite Servilia's pointed question, Brutus merely shrugged.
"Yes."
"I see. I was beginning to think you had fallen for someone in the Julian household."
"..."
Brutus kept his eyes on the page and said nothing.
"Rumor has it you've grown particularly close to Julia..."
"Mother!"
Brutus's sudden shout made Servilia flinch and step back.
It was rare for her son to raise his voice at her like this.
Brutus muttered, his face burning red.
"Surely you don't believe such baseless gossip, Mother."
"Of course not. Though it is rather a pity."
Servilia offered a faint, calculating smile.
"Until now, Lucius has completely overshadowed you. But if you were to marry Julia, our family would be bound to both the current consul and future consul."
She continued,
"Even the stray dogs in the street know that Lucius will someday be elected consul. When that day comes, opportunities will open up for you as well."
She paused for a moment, her eyes glinting.
"Though Lucius may aim for something far higher than the consulship itself."
"Please, Mother, do not say such things. What if people begin spreading dangerous rumors because of this?"
"I'm merely thinking out loud."
Servilia shrugged nonchalantly.
"Julia's dowry would be quite substantial as well, you know."
"...I do not look at Julia in that manner—as though I were evaluating a pig or a cow at the market."
Brutus stood up from his chair, his tone sharp.
"The reason Lucius is so popular right now is that he is not swayed by petty personal interests."
"And you think that's why your uncle is so 'great' too? Because he isn't swayed by personal interests?"
Servilia burst into laughter.
"There are very few young men in Rome as terribly naive as you. Lucius acts entirely for his own benefit, from beginning to end. Just because a wolf hides its fangs well does not make it a sheep."
She added, her voice dripping with venom.
"And your idiotic uncle built his reputation on 'incorruptibility' only because he has no powerful connections to rely on. How much sincerity do you honestly think there is in that?"
"Not everyone in the world is as cynical as you, Mother."
Brutus replied, his voice ringing with absolute certainty.
"I am certain that even now, Lucius is planning something grand—something entirely for the sake of the Roman people."
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"...You want cannabis?"
"Yes. I want to collect as many different varieties as possible from all over Italy and cultivate them."
I looked at the thoroughly bewildered faces of my staff and nodded.
"I have already written to herbalists throughout Italy, so we should hear from them soon."
"But cannabis? Are you planning to start a rope-making business?"
"Cannabis can certainly be used to make rope and sackcloth. It is also excellent for making paper. But my true goal lies elsewhere."
I cleared my throat before continuing.
"I need it for my father."
The staff exchanged baffled looks. The idea of a son gathering cannabis for his father was bizarre enough on its own.
No matter how I looked at it, the situation was bizarre.
If this ever made its way into the history books, what would future generations think?
"You are cultivating cannabis for Consul Caesar, sir? Could you explain a little further?"
"Of course."
I added, with sincerity,
"Strictly speaking, this isn't just for my father, but for all the citizens of Rome."
And, as always, not a word of it was false.
Rome needed cannabis.