Chapter 181 : Curiosity Kills the Wolf

Everything started with a single apple.

The three goddesses of Olympus—Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite—argued over who deserved the golden apple.

Unable to reach a conclusion, they ultimately left the choice to a mortal.

The Prince of Troy, Paris.

Paris handed the golden apple to Aphrodite, and the goddess of love rewarded him with the most beautiful woman in the world.

Helen, the wife of Menelaus, King of Sparta.

After Helen was taken from him, Menelaus called upon his brother Agamemnon and the other Greek kings, and together they sailed for Troy.

Year after year passed, but the walls of Troy remained impregnable.

It was then that Odysseus, considered the most cunning of men, devised a scheme.

"Let us build a massive wooden horse and pretend to retreat. The Trojans will undoubtedly tear down their own gates to bring the horse inside the city."

Just as Odysseus had predicted, the Trojans discovered the wooden horse and brought it inside the city to celebrate their victory.

"We must never bring that wooden horse into Troy! This is all a wicked ploy!"

Some objected, but in the end, the wooden horse remained inside Troy.

And that very night, Troy fell.

Watching the destruction, Aphrodite shed tears.

She used all her power to help her son, Aeneas, escape the burning city.

Leading the survivors of Troy through endless hardships, Aeneas finally arrived in the land of Latium.

Carrying with him the prophecy that his descendants would one day conquer the world.

And now, hundreds of years later, another wooden horse was now making its appearance in Rome.

"Get out of the horse!"

Greek-armored soldiers slowly emerged from the wooden horse.

Men playing Trojan soldiers surrounded them.

"This feels a bit different from the story I know," I said with a laugh to Pompeia, who was sitting next to me.

I never imagined they’d perform a play like this as the opening event for the gridiron matches.

No, rather than a simple play, should I call it a mock battle?

Before long, the Greek and Trojan soldiers were engaged in a fierce fight.

Well, the Romans always did love mock battles like this.

Romans had always loved staging mock battles and reenactments of famous victories.

But for the Trojans to see through the Greek scheme, drag the soldiers out of the wooden horse, and kill them?

I suppose this was Rome’s own version of alternate-history fiction.

"This is the play that won the literary contest," Pompeia whispered beside me. "The story is that the newly built Troy—Rome—will no longer fall for the enemy’s deceptions."

"It seems a bit too violent to call it just a play."

I watched as the warriors engaged in a realistic sword fight.

I couldn’t imagine how much practice had gone into the performance.

"Quite a few gladiators applied. Gladiator bouts haven’t been drawing the crowds they used to, now that gridiron has become so popular."

Pompeia let out a soft chuckle.

"It’s quite the spectacle, don’t you think?"

"I certainly hadn’t expected anything like this when we announced the literary contest."

The literary contest to commemorate the construction of Nova Troia.

When we first launched it, I never imagined it would attract so much attention across Italy.

The post offices were temporarily paralyzed by the sheer volume of submissions flooding in.

We only managed to stay on schedule by deploying additional staff.

In the end, five winners were selected, one each in poetry, prose, drama, painting, and song.

And surprisingly, two of the winning entries had been submitted by women.

And they weren’t just ordinary women, either.

The winner of the poetry category was Cicero’s daughter, Tullia.

The moment the winner was announced, a fierce public outcry erupted, demanding that her victory be revoked.

For an upper-class woman to enter a public literary competition and receive an award was almost unheard of.

However, no one defended her more fiercely than Cicero himself.

Father and Cicero really were hopelessly doting fathers, I thought.

"It would have been nice if the poem Julia wrote had won."

"Julia is still young. And this was her first attempt."

"I guess you’re right. She’ll have plenty of opportunities in the future."

"And I think Julia got something else out of writing that poem."

"What do you mean?"

"It’s surprising that you, of all people, haven’t noticed it yet, Lucius. But you’ll find out soon enough."

I tilted my head as Pompeia smiled brightly at me.

Something else, huh?

What on earth did that mean?

Right then, the play came to an end, and the gladiators playing the Trojan soldiers raised their swords and shields to the sky.

At once, a thunderous roar swept through the arena.

"Troy! Troy! Troy!"

Watching the spectacle, I slowly stood up from my seat.

"Is it starting now?" Pompeia asked.

"It’s starting." I nodded. "Father’s announcement is about to begin."

***

"Troy! Troy!"

As the crowd’s chants echoed through the arena, Brutus stared at the piece of paper in his hand.

[Thank you for helping me with my poem, Brutus. Even though I didn’t win, I have no regrets. If I ever get another chance...]

Before continuing to read the letter, he stole a glance at his mother sitting next to him.

Fortunately, Servilia seemed completely unaware, engrossed in a conversation with another senator.

He whispered to the slave who had brought the letter.

"Take this to my room so I can read it later. Don’t say a word to anyone."

"Understood, Young Master."

Brutus let out a sigh of relief as he watched his slave disappear into the crowd.

"Why must Venus torment my heart so?"

He had always wondered why Paris, prince of Troy, had given the golden apple to Venus.

But now, he felt like he finally understood why.

***

As the Nova Troia festival began in earnest, countless Roman citizens crossed the Tiber River.

When the three existing bridges proved insufficient to handle the crowds, several boats ferried people back and forth across the river.

"Did you see today’s gridiron match?"

"Looks like the Ostia team is going to win. I heard they’re backed by the Temple of Vulcan."

"Do you two only ever talk about gridiron? Have some culture, you heathens. Read a book, would you? A book."

The publication of the winning entries also gave pamphlet sales a boost.

But something else captured even more attention.

It was the announcement made by Gaius Julius Caesar, the consul and pontifex maximus.

"I know many of you have harbored grievances regarding the temple reforms we have pursued over the past few months. Therefore, today I wish to put forward a new proposal. This festival, where delegations and priests from cities throughout Italy have gathered, is the perfect opportunity to convene a Council, and..."

Caesar’s announcement stunned much of the crowd.

"A Religious Council. What on earth is that?"

"It sounds like they’re going to establish common rules governing temple administration, religious rites, and priestly authority."

"Has a council like that ever been held before?"

Most shocked of all were the priests from the Italian cities who had come for the festival.

"The Pontifex Maximus must have invited us to this festival with this plan in mind from the very beginning!"

Their original plan was to formally accuse Caesar before the Senate of abusing the authority of the Pontifex Maximus.

Then,the optimates in the Senate were supposed to rally behind them, but now that Caesar had struck first, that opportunity was gone.

"Public opinion has already swung in Caesar’s favor thanks to those bizarre contraptions floating in the sky. If we refuse to participate in the council now, even the citizens of our own cities won’t tolerate it."

"Even at this very moment, more citizens are flocking to Rome to attend the festival."

On the surface, the council Caesar proposed appeared to show that Caesar was willing to hear out the Italian cities.

But considering the fact that Caesar was the one proposing it, it was undeniably a trap.

"A council, he says. It’s obvious this is just a ploy to consolidate his own authority."

"Yes, he’s probably planning to use this opportunity to expand his power even further."

The priests debated how to respond.

"We must not falter! We cannot let Rome interfere with the temples in our cities."

"What if we create a pretext of our own?"

"A pretext?"

"We make it look as though Roman citizens attacked us and turn the people back home against Rome. It would serve as a perfect excuse to boycott the council as well."

"That’s far too dangerous. What if Rome decides to respond with force as Rome did during the Social War."

"Then what do you suggest we do?!"

"I have a plan."

Just then, an elderly priest cleared his throat and spoke up.

"How about we participate in Caesar’s council—for now?"

"But if we do that..."

"We participate first, and then we make demands that Caesar could never possibly accept. We demand that he recognize the full authority of our cities over their own temples, and even ask him to provide us with funding."

"Caesar will never accept that. And even if he does, the Roman citizens won’t tolerate it."

"Exactly! If Caesar rejects our demands, the council ends without an agreement. If he accepts them, it’s a win for us, isn’t it?"

"That makes sense. Then it’ll be the Roman citizens who erupt in protest instead."

Their conversations continued late into the night at the inns.

Unbeknownst to them, slaves were listening from concealed spaces in the adjoining rooms.

***

"Then how did you find out about that, Senator?"

"I always have my ways."

Crassus shrugged. At his gesture, slaves brought fruit and goblets of wine.

"Where do you think they are staying right now?"

"Don’t tell me you are eavesdropping on them in your inns?"

At my question, Crassus merely offered a faint smile. This man really was terrifying.

He operated more inns than anyone else in Rome—and he was using that network to gather intelligence.

Was he having his slaves secretly listen in on their conversations?

So he was making money and gathering intelligence at the same time. I never imagined he would use his inns like that.

"I merely thought I should share the information, as a friend of yours—and your father’s."

"I see."

I had a feeling there was more to it than that.

When I didn’t say anything, Crassus burst into laughter.

"I’ve made nearly seven million sesterces in net profit from this festival alone. It’s the most profitable venture I’ve ever had—second only to lending you money."

"That’s because so many Italians have come to Rome. But I still don’t see what that has to do with helping me."

"Isn’t it obvious? Because I’m a friend of yours and your father’s." Crassus said. "And this Religious Council is an opportunity for me to make even more money."

An opportunity to make money.

Was he thinking what I thought he was?

"If my father’s proposed council succeeds, even more people will visit Rome in the future. Not merely as visitors, but as pilgrims." I said. "You’re planning to turn the Ager Vaticanus into a holy site."

I debated for a moment whether I should laugh or shake my head. In truth, there was no business as lucrative as religion.

Especially during the Middle Ages.

As Christianity became established and pilgrimage grew, an entire economy developed around pilgrims coming to Rome.

Lodging, food, religious souvenirs, hospitals, transportation—the pilgrims created demand for all of it.

The souvenir business even became a major source of income for religious institutions.

After Pope Boniface VIII declared the Jubilee in 1300, Rome reaped enormous economic benefits.

Crassus had somehow arrived at a business model centuries ahead of his time.

"I’m in the lodging business, after all. The more people come to Rome, the better it is for me."

I only nodded.

The news he brought was simple.

The local priests would participate in the council, but they planned to deliberately make impossible demands to sabotage the council itself.

"Actually, my father and I had anticipated something like that."

"So you aren’t worried?" Crassus asked, leaning forward. "If you ignore the demands of the local priests, the Italian communities will turn against you. Conversely, if you accept all their demands, the Roman citizens will revolt."

"Rome and the rest of Italy. The relationship between the two had always been complicated."

"But that doesn’t mean there is no way around it. Is that what you’re saying?"

An awkward silence fell before Crassus let out a soft chuckle.

"Are you planning to do what you did with the Senate—make the council’s proceedings public and force the priests to negotiate under public scrutiny?"

"That trick worked on the Senate."

Just as Crassus said, Senate proceedings were now being made public.

Ever since that policy was introduced, the Senate had been forced to tread carefully, knowing the public was watching.

"But I won’t do that this time. I’ll do the exact opposite."

"The opposite? What do you mean?"

"Everything discussed in the council will be kept strictly secret. Nothing will be disclosed to the public until a final agreement is reached."

"What?"

Crassus’s eyes went wide.

"Are you being serious?"

"And we will allow them to overturn resolutions based on votes. Even after a resolution passes, if a single city objects, the matter will be debated and put to a vote again."

"..."

An awkward silence fell over the room.

Eventually, Crassus glared at me and asked.

"Is your father deliberately trying to make this council fail?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"If a single city can force a resolution to be reopened for debate, practically nothing will ever pass."

"Yes, exactly. And it won’t just be the delegations from the allied cities. Rome’s Senate and tribunes of the plebs, along with the civic assemblies of the participating cities will also participate in the final decision-making process. They will all be allowed to submit their views and take part in the final ratification."

Crassus scoffed.

"There is no way a council like that will ever succeed. Are you going to conduct public opinion polls all across Italy or something?"

"We will use public opinion polls as well. But the contents of the council itself will remain a secret. And it’ll be the very key to this council’s success."

One impulse in human nature had never changed, even across thousands of years.

The very impulse that had driven Pandora to open the forbidden jar.

"Nothing stirs human curiosity quite like a secret."

***

Rome’s optimates and populares, along with delegations, local nobles, and priests from across Italy, all agonized over how to respond to the consul’s sudden announcement of the Religious Council.

"It seems the other city delegations are planning to participate for now."

"Shouldn’t we at least attend the council and hear what is being discussed? We can’t be the only ones left out."

As it became clear that everyone was going to attend the council for now, some began to see new possibilities.

Their original goal had been to pressure Caesar and halt the temple reforms, but that had changed.

The man presiding over the council was Gaius Julius Caesar, the Pontifex Maximus.

Depending on which side he supported, it could tip the balance decisively.

"If we get Caesar on our side, we can steer the council in a direction that favors our city!"

As more delegations reached the same conclusion, a quiet war of espionage erupted behind the scenes.

While the Nova Troia festival raged on outside, agents from rival delegations slipped into one another’s lodgings, stole documents, and planted spies.

Yet one question remained unanswered.

"What on earth does Caesar want from this?"