Cannabis was by no means an unfamiliar plant in Rome.
For centuries, it had been grown for its fibers, which were used to make rope, cordage, and fishing nets.
However, the custom of burning its flowers or resin to inhale the smoke—that is, smoking it recreationally—did not exist.
To most Roman growers, the stalks and seeds were the plant's most valued parts; few would have seen much use in the flowering tops.
"So, are you planning to use cannabis as medicine, sir?"
"In a manner of speaking. But first, we need to run several experiments. We have to identify the right strain."
Cannabis contains cannabinoids such as THC and CBD, and CBD was what I was after: an anticonvulsant compound known to help treat certain forms of epilepsy.
'It sure would be nice to have advanced medical equipment to analyze the chemical composition right about now.'
Sadly, I did not have such a luxury.
But through long-term breeding and experimentation, it might be possible to select and cultivate plants with more desirable properties.
Whether I could produce a useful CBD-rich extract—and whether it would truly help Father—was still uncertain.
But it was certainly better than sitting idly by.
From what I knew, seizures could grow more severe over time.
"I do not think it will be difficult to acquire cannabis in large quantities and prepare it for medical use."
Vitruvius remarked after listening to my explanation.
"If you merely need to extract the oil from the seeds, a standard wine press should do the job perfectly."
"I wish it were that simple, but there's a bit more to it than that."
CBD oil wasn't something you could just squeeze out like grape juice.
"To begin with, I do not need the seeds. I need the flowering parts of the female plants. Simply pressing them will not be enough; we need a way to extract and refine the compounds within them."
"Extract and refine?"
The staff exchanged puzzled looks at the unfamiliar terms.
Well, I suppose I couldn't blame them for being confused.
It would be centuries before methods for producing strong distilled alcohol became widespread and reliable.
To refine and extract the necessary compounds from cannabis, I needed strong alcohol.
To obtain strong alcohol, I would need wine and a distillation apparatus. By concentrating the alcohol already present in wine, I could create the solvent I needed for the experiment.
Making cannabis oil and distilled spirits for my father.
"I need to tread incredibly carefully with this."
I muttered under my breath. In Rome, Bacchus was the god of grapes, wine, fertility, and ecstasy. To the Greeks, he was Dionysus.
Cannabis and distilled liquor.
If I was not careful, the devotees of Bacchus would hear of it and descend on me like vultures.
I really didn't want to go down in history as the man who corrupted Rome with vice.
The staff watched my shifting expressions in utter confusion.
"Sir?"
"It's nothing."
I said with a dismissive wave.
"Let's focus on the preparations first."
***
The first structures erected in Nova Troia, Rome's newly incorporated district, were quarters for the laborers.
Completed in only a few days, the large complex gave workers a place to sleep, rest, and spend time with their fellow laborers.
"Is everyone ready for today?"
"Of course! We are definitely winning this football game."
Not everyone spent their free time at the camp.
Some workers spent their days off in the city, while others commuted from their homes in Rome each morning.
There were also those who had brought their entire families to live in the camp with them.
"So, what are we building next?"
The laborers then began work on the first cluster of insulae, which would serve as their main housing throughout the project.
But even before the housing came the roads.
"Move it, move it! Pick up the pace!"
"Hey, you over there! Don't just dump it in a pile! Spread it out as wide as you can!"
"If you do not want to work, take your things and go home!"
Workers scurried about, pushing wheelbarrows fully loaded with bricks and stones.
Long roads began to take shape across plains that had once been nothing but grass, trees, and rolling hills.
Surveyors carefully marked out the routes for major thoroughfares and a broad network of connecting streets.
"Why are we building roads first when there's absolutely nothing around?"
"Right? Does a city really need this many paved streets?"
Despite the workers' grumbling and confusion, construction progressed at a blistering pace.
They dug deep trenches on both sides of the planned route, piling the excavated dirt into the center to create a rounded embankment—the agger.
They laid down large chunks of stone on top of it, filling the gaps with gravel to create a solid road surface.
The completed roads stretching across the barren fields resembled a vast spiderweb.
"To think an entire city is going to be built here. It's still hard to believe."
"If we keep building one structure after another, the city will eventually be finished, will it not?"
Most of the workers were unaware, but these new roads weren't being built using conventional techniques alone.
Lucius had combined traditional Roman road-building methods with the macadam system devised by the Scottish engineer John Loudon McAdam in the nineteenth century.
Giving the road a slight crown so that rainwater would run into the side ditches was standard practice, but the real difference lay in the graded stone layers.
Rather than relying on large fitted paving stones for the surface, these roads used carefully graded layers of broken stone.
"But if we only use these tiny crushed stones, won't the road be terribly bumpy?"
"That is why we need something heavy to compact the surface again and again, so that the broken stones lock together. We could run heavy wagons back and forth, but a roller would be far more efficient."
The laborers could only stare as oxen dragged massive cylindrical stone rollers back and forth over the newly laid roadbeds.
"Who on earth builds a road like this?"
But the new roads weren't the only thing that caught them off guard.
***
"How many patients do we have today?"
"Roughly eight, sir. Three suffered minor injuries during construction, while the others have mild diarrhea or stomach pains."
"If the number of cases rises suddenly, report to me at once. And keep a close watch on sanitation throughout the camp."
"Yes, understood."
I turned away from the physician and surveyed the surroundings.
The tent, set up near the workers' quarters, looked very much like a field hospital.
Cots were lined up neatly on both sides, with physicians constantly moving between them to check on the patients' conditions.
The most obvious difference from a future field hospital was the absence of female nurses.
"I don't think I've ever seen a tent this immaculate."
"That only shows how strongly I insist on cleanliness."
I smiled at Father's bewildered expression.
"I have kept to this standard ever since I served as vigintisexviri during those campaigns against bandits."
By twenty-first-century standards, it was merely common sense to keep the ward as clean as possible and to change or sterilize bandages, clothing, and bedding regularly.
"Many of the physicians objected at first, but almost all of them have accepted the practice by now."
"I recall that the number of legionaries falling ill dropped drastically after we began using Palmolive in Hispania."
Father nodded in agreement.
"No one can argue with numbers. Even the Senate had no choice but to acknowledge it when they read my reports."
"Because numbers don't lie."
That reminded me of Florence Nightingale, the British nurse who had transformed military nursing during the Crimean War.
She heavily emphasized the previously neglected concept of hygiene, backing up her arguments with hard statistical data.
At Scutari hospital, the mortality rate among wounded soldiers reached almost 40 percent. After major sanitary reforms began by Nightingale, it fell to nearly 2 percent.
In other words, even without dramatic changes in medical skill, rigorous sanitation could greatly improve survival rates.
As Father said, no one could argue with numbers.
"Many of the physicians I hired during those campaigns still work for me. We are developing new treatments together as well."
In truth, it mostly involved me dropping careful hints from the future.
As we stepped out of the tent, Father spoke up.
"I also heard you've been gathering cannabis recently. You're planning to use it for my treatment?"
"It will be at least a year or two before we can use it. First, we need to run a series of experiments and refine the treatment."
"Everyone's time comes eventually."
Father said, his tone unusually serious.
"When my time comes, I only hope that I will have earned my place in Elysium. There is no need for you to waste so much time on my account."
"There's still plenty of time before that day arrives."
I replied with a laugh. Even in the original timeline, Caesar didn't die from an illness.
The direct cause of his death had been a flurry of daggers in the back, with Brutus among the chief conspirators.
"You mentioned you saw hallucinations during your last seizure."
"I saw a glimpse of the past: the day my father—your grandfather—passed away."
Father nodded solemnly. As we exited the tent, the lictors quickly fell into step around us.
"It would have been wonderful if he were still alive to see you as you are now."
"..."
I remained silent. In the histories I remembered, very little was written about Caesar's father. Perhaps Caesar's burning ambition for greater power had been inherited from him?
"If my experiments succeed, I may be able to significantly reduce the frequency and severity of your seizures. Other citizens suffering from the same affliction may benefit from them as well. In fact, there is also a new diet I would like you to try."
"A new diet? That sounds rather ominous coming from you."
Father laughed.
Well, a ketogenic diet could also help reduce seizures. I had already told Father's cooks about it, but perhaps it was time to introduce a properly structured dietary regimen.
"And one day, every Roman citizen may be able to receive care at your 'hospital'—a place where patients can be diagnosed, treated, and cared for throughout their recovery, all under one roof."
"It will be vastly superior to this simple tent."
Escorted by the lictors, the two of us strolled along the newly paved road.
The clean, level surface beneath my feet felt strangely refreshing.
In Rome itself, you could barely walk a block without catching the stink of refuse.
Would this place eventually reek like that, too?
"The judging of the literary competition will begin shortly. Countless writers and poets are already flocking to Rome."
Father remarked.
"It's going to be quite an entertaining few weeks."
"I am looking forward to it as well. Still, I did not expect both you and Cicero to withdraw from serving as judges at the same time."
"There are probably no fathers in all of Rome with a softer spot for their daughters than the two of us."
We both burst into hearty laughter.
As we strolled along the road, chatting idly, the sun slowly began its descent.
The sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting the fields in a brilliant twilight glow.
How I missed peaceful moments like this with my family.
"Look at the time. We should probably head back to Rome."
"Yes, let us head back. Pompeia is likely waiting for me."
"Ah, yes. How are things between the two of you lately? I hear you share the same bed every single night. Are you really that deeply in love?"
Father asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Most fathers wouldn't ask their sons such intimate questions."
"Well, I am hardly an ordinary fath—"
Just then, something caught our eye beyond the dark silhouette of Rome's walls.
At first, it was just a tiny speck of light.
Small enough to be mistaken for an ordinary cooking fire.
But the orange glow quickly swelled, illuminating the sky above the city walls.
Soon, a faint clamor reached us: bells ringing amid the frantic screams of people.
"What in the world..."
Father and I both muttered, staring at the inferno.
"I need to go right now."
"I'm coming with you."
I sprinted after Father toward the bridge.
Just as we were about to cross, a familiar face came tearing toward us.
"Felix! What's happening?!"
"A massive fire has broken out in the Subura!"
Felix shouted, gasping for air.
"Dozens of insulae are already burning, and the flames are spreading rapidly!"
"A fire in the Subura? What about our family?!"
Father and I yelled almost simultaneously.
A great fire. And in the Subura, of all places.
Felix hesitated for a moment, his face grim.
"The insulae along the road to the estate are completely engulfed. I could not get through. I do not know what is happening inside, but Crassus's fire crews should already be fighting the blaze."
"I have to see it myself. Right this inst—"
As Father took a step forward, he suddenly stumbled.
Acting on pure instinct, I shot my hand out and caught him before he hit the ground.
"M-Master?!"
"Felix, help me!"
I carefully lowered Father to the ground.
His eyelids were fluttering wildly, his eyes unfocused.
"It is a seizure. Of all possible times..."
Was it because of the sudden shock?
I rolled Father onto his side and tightly gripped his hand.
"Felix, I need to assess the situation myself. I am leaving Father in your care. The seizure should pass soon."
"But..."
Felix looked at me, his face pale with panic.
"Please, Felix. I am begging you."
"U-Understood."
I cast one last worried glance at Father before breaking into a sprint toward the city walls.
"Just what the hell is happening?"
***
"How far has the fire spread?!"
"It appears to have begun at several points across the Subura at once."
"I need to get there."
Upon hearing the news of the fire, Pompeia burst out of her bedroom.
"Where is Lucius?"
"He's likely on his way back from across the Tiber. It's far too dangerous to go out there right now. You must stay here..."
Ignoring the frantic pleas of the servants, Pompeia threw a thin cloak over her shoulders and rushed out into the street.
Even from a distance, the sky over the Subura glowed a furious orange.
"What is going on?"
"Look! There is a fire in the Subura!"
"Hurry up and bring the water buckets!"
The first to throw themselves into the fight were Crassus's fire crews, composed largely of enslaved men.
Wielding massive hammers, some smashed down nearby structures to create firebreaks, while others pumped water from water carts onto the flames.
"Stop the fire from spreading first! Clear everyone from the surrounding streets!"
Citizens forced from their homes stood in the streets, staring at the roaring inferno in despair.
"We need to rally the nearby citizens and get them to help fight the fire."
"But no one's going to volunteer to fight a fire if it's not their own house burning."
"If this fire keeps spreading, hundreds more insulae will burn to the ground. I'm not asking them to run into burning buildings to save people. Asking them to carry water from a safe distance is not too much to ask."
Pompeia marched into the street, urgently urging the displaced citizens to carry water.
She herself grabbed a bucket, leading by example and encouraging the volunteers.
However, the winds picked up, fanning the embers and accelerating the fire's advance.
"We don't have enough people!"
"We have to find more hands somehow..."
Pompeia muttered, biting down hard on her lip.
Just then.
Hundreds of men marched toward the blaze.
"We heard there was a fire in the Subura! Are you all right, my lady?"
"You're all..."
Pompeia stared at the men. Every one of them was one of Caesar's clerks or employees, men who had been working late in the nearby offices.
They gathered around her.
"Just give us the word. What do you need us to do?"