Chapter 193 : What Men Want

Immediately following the demonstration in Nova Troia, the Senate passed a new decree with unprecedented speed.

"We senators must procure the materials requested by the Temple of Vesta without a single day’s delay!"

"Materials requested by the Temple of Vesta?"

"Word is they are requisitioning soil from private estates across Rome."

"Dirt? What on earth do they need that for?"

The senators who had missed the demonstration exchanged bewildered looks.

Demanding soil from private estates for the Temple of Vesta out of nowhere seemed absurd.

That was not all. Soil from around old stables and public latrines, as well as from cellar floors, was also requisitioned.

This was officially designated as a sacred offering to the Temple of Vesta.

"By the gods, what did you all witness out there?"

"Under a sacred oath of secrecy, we cannot speak of it yet. But everyone will know soon enough."

With former and current magistrates stepping forward together—and even the tribunes urging its passage—the decree passed effortlessly.

"Has the Senate ever acted this decisively since the wars against Carthage?"

"Not in my memory. And to authorize such enormous public spending on top of it..."

In a Senate perpetually plagued by endless debates, delaying tactics, and fierce opposition, reaching such an immediate consensus was practically unheard of.

Yet dirt was not the only thing the Temple of Vesta demanded.

"Demanding offerings of hair from horses’ manes and specific river stones as well?"

"What on earth could they possibly use those for?"

"Is the young Caesar brewing some kind of magical panacea now?"

While hundreds of men fanned out across Rome collecting dirt and bizarre materials, the engineers of the technical school were entirely engrossed in a crucial experiment.

***

"Didn’t we only need the soil? Why did you order us to collect all those useless materials as well?"

"Because collecting decoy materials alongside the real ingredients makes it much easier to preserve secrecy. If we collect useless materials alongside the dirt, figuring out the actual formula will be much more difficult."

Spurius surveyed his surroundings. The cluster of tents newly erected on the outskirts of Nova Troia looked nothing like the ordinary refugee camps.

Columns of smoke billowed from various workshops, and men hauled carts loaded with soil and raw materials back and forth.

Here, the refining and testing of the Powder of Vesta was now in full swing.

A timber palisade resembling the defenses of a military fort surrounded the perimeter, where guards inspected each entrant and checked their wooden passes, allowing only authorized personnel to enter.

"It seems Caesar intends to build an entire dedicated settlement here."

Caesar apparently intended to create an entirely new town dedicated solely to weapons development.

Long-term plans were already underway to build permanent housing here and relocate the engineers along with their families.

"He said we should call this place DARPA."

"DARPA? What does that even mean?"

"Decuria Armorum Rationes Probans Augensque. (Defensive Armaments Research Department)."

"Defensive armaments? But we’re developing all kinds of weapons here, not just defensive ones."

"Who knows what goes on in Young Caesar’s head?"

"Alright, let’s begin again. Everyone, stop talking and gather round!"

Spurius shouted. With the engineers gathered, the experiment commenced in a cordoned-off clearing.

"I pray it succeeds this time."

"Tell me about it. We haven’t slept properly for days, breathing in this cursed powder."

"I applied extra coats of hide glue this time, so it should withstand the heat," Spurius said, pointing to a small cylinder attached to the shaft of an arrow.

The arrow rested horizontally, aimed directly at a circular wooden target.

"One end of the cylinder is open, though?" a junior engineer who had joined the team yesterday asked.

"That is the core principle. It’s easier to show you than explain it." Spurius stepped forward and personally lit the fuse trailing from the cylinder.

"By the way,is it really all right to use up so much powder on experiments like this? Even if we’re producing more of it now..."

"Caesar explicitly ordered us to spare no powder in our tests."

Just as Spurius answered, the cylinder strapped to the arrow violently spewed out a jet of fire.

"Great Jupiter! The paper and shaft will burn to ashes!"

Yet that did not happen. The arrow shot forward, trailing a roaring tongue of flame, rocketing straight toward the target.

However, instead of striking the bullseye, the arrow began corkscrewing through the air and veering wildly off course.

"Everyone, get down!"

Spurius and the other engineers dove behind the stacked earth-filled bags.

Spewing fire and hissing through the air, the wild projectile slammed with a dull thud into the wooden perimeter wall.

Gazing at the arrow embedded deep within the timber palisade, the engineers let out a collective sigh.

"Another failure."

"Still, it’s far better than the last batch. The paper casing held up against the fire this time."

"By the gods... how is this even possible? For an arrow to fly through the air and bury itself in a wall without a bow... I can hardly believe my own eyes."

"Ah, you said today was your first day, right? No wonder you’re stunned." A senior enginner explained to the junior engineer. "When ignited, the Powder of Vesta expels flame with tremendous force. By leaving one end open, the flame pushes the object forward with immense force."

"That is truly magnificent. I never would have imagined something like this was possible."

"Alright, enough chatter! Let’s prepare the next test. We need to stabilize the cylinder so it flies straight by..."

While Spurius barked out orders to the engineers, a completely different conversation was taking place not far away in the strategy room.

***

"Are you saying there is a possibility the Gauls didn’t manufacture this powder themselves?"

"Everything we’ve learned so far suggests that’s probably the case."

I tossed the paper in my hand onto the table.

Felix and I were alone in the strategy room.

The documents piled across the table contained intelligence gathered from throughout Gaul—reports from local merchants, legionary outposts, and provincial governors.

There were no reports yet of the Gauls using the powder in actual combat.

Nor had the Helvetii initiated their mass migration westward.

"There are very few regions in Gaul where sulfur occurs naturally. And what little exists is located in the far south."

"And that entire southern region is firmly controlled by Roman garrisons or pro-Roman tribes." Felix nodded. "If the Gauls had procured massive quantities of sulfur from those mines, word would have spread immediately."

"Exactly. Yet across every trade route we’re monitoring, there is no trace of raw sulfur moving in bulk. Which means it was almost certainly smuggled in from the outside."

The burning question was: who supplied the Gauls with black powder?

The answer to this mystery would not be found in Gaul alone.

"Let’s cast our web wider. We need intelligence from the Germanic tribes and from Dacia to the east of Gaul. The same goes for Greece and Asia Minor."

"I will look into it as we establish our Alexandria branch. With our expanding network of merchant partners, it should be feasible," Felix said, jotting down notes on a fresh piece of paper.

"The strategy staff will have their hands full next year as well."

"You speak as if this has nothing to do with you."

"Of course it doesn’t. I’ll be accompanying you to Gaul, Young Master. It’ll be someone else’s headache."

When I offered no reply, Felix’s expression slowly froze.

"Don’t tell me you intend to leave me behind again? During the bandit campaign last time, you already..."

"One of us must remain in Rome, Felix. You know that better than anyone," I said. The bandit campaign had already proven that.

To keep the massive corporate and administrative systems I had built running smoothly, Felix was indispensable.

While Pompeia and Brutus had taken over certain duties, neither could match Felix when it came to administration.

Before departing for Gaul, I needed to establish a clear chain of command for my businesses.

"If I don’t go, who will manage your schedule, Young Master? Who will arrange your meetings and appointments?"

"Anyone listening would think I was your slave, Felix."

I replied with a laugh. Felix could be fiercely loyal in the strangest ways.

"Your child will be born soon, too. A father shouldn’t be away marching through the forests of Gaul. Tilia will be worried sick."

"I never imagined you would stoop to using my own family to manipulate me, Young Master."

"Indeed. I am a remarkably cold-blooded man."

Felix let out a deep sigh.

Was he truly that worried about me?

"You don’t need to worry about my safety. Even if I’ve spent my time focusing on commerce rather than warfare..."

"I’m not worried about you, Young Master. I’m worried about myself," Felix said flatly.

"I would rather cross swords with Gallic barbarians in the mud than be left alone to drown in this bureaucratic nightmare."

I could only fall silent, feeling slightly guilty.

I couldn’t exactly refute that.

Just then, a staff member knocked and entered the room.

"Caesar, the guests have arrived."

"Good. Show them in."

I stood and straightened my toga.

The real work was beginning now.

Even if I was marching to Gaul next year, there was still some time left.

In the meantime, I intended to prepare as thoroughly as possible. Developing black powder and new weapons was crucial, of course, but...

The most vital task of all was studying the enemy.

In warfare, the most fatal mistake was fighting an enemy you knew nothing about. Especially since I lacked firsthand experience in warfare.

The doors opened, and men dressed in tunics filed in one after another. They were the leading merchants and commercial representatives involved in trade between Rome and Gaul.

"Welcome, everyone."

I greeted them with a broad smile.

"We have a great deal to discuss today."

***

All of Gaul is divided into three parts.

One of which the Belgae inhabit, the Aquitani another, and those who in their own language are called Celts, in ours Gauls, the third.

All these differ from each other in language, customs, and laws.

These were the famous opening words of Father’s Commentarii de Bello Gallico(Commentaries on the Gallic War).

Through his writings in the history I knew, I already understood the general political landscape of Gaul.

Which tribes supported Rome, and which tribes were hostile to Rome.

Father had already helped me enormously without even knowing it.

However, his accounts were written entirely from a Roman perspective.

There were bound to be inaccuracies, exaggerations, and strategic omissions.

The fundamental problem was that the Gauls themselves left almost no written records.

Some Gallic tribes did use Greek letters, depending on the region, but their surviving written material was a mere drop in the ocean compared with Rome’s vast written record.

The Druids, in particular, strictly forbade committing their sacred doctrines to writing, preserving their knowledge entirely through memorization and oral transmission.

Consequently, acquiring detailed information even from my dream library was extremely difficult.

And then there were the countless butterfly effects my own actions had already triggered.

The solution was simple: rely on those with the deepest practical knowledge of the land—the merchants.

"I never imagined Young Caesar would be so knowledgeable about affairs in Gaul."

"There is still a vast amount I have yet to learn," I replied, lifting my wine cup. The initially stiff atmosphere had completely melted away over fine food and fine wine.

The merchants were laughing and sharing their personal experiences from the frontier. They were all Roman citizens who made substantial profits from trade in Gaul.

"The Gauls simply can’t resist wine. In the old days, there was a running joke that you could trade a single amphora of wine for an able-bodied slave."

"Ah, the good old days. There are so many wine merchants now that there’s hardly any profit left in it."

"Massilia produces wine of its own as well."

The other merchants nodded in agreement.

"What about Palmolive soap?"

"The Gauls use something called sapo, made from animal fat and plant ash. We tried selling Palmolive among them a few times, but they showed little interest."

As expected, none of the merchants seemed to know anything about sulfur or black powder.

"The Gauls primarily export grain, timber, livestock, and raw hides. Slaves are a major part of the trade as well. They constantly raid neighboring tribes to take captives.Gallic slaves are remarkably robust. They can endure heavy labor without complaint. So they fetch a good price."

The merchants discussed slaves as casually as if they were evaluating the quality of grain or timber.

I listened quietly, nodding occasionally.

Wine and slaves. In short, Rome exported manufactured luxury goods, and Gaul provided raw materials and slaves in return.

"Nowadays, many Gauls have settled in permanent towns. Their fortified settlements—their oppida—resemble Italian towns in many ways. Some even feature large public plazas resembling our Forum."

"Ah, speaking of which, there is another trade that has been booming lately—one that owes its success entirely to you, Caesar."

"A business that flourished thanks to me?"

Had I created something that had become a hit in Gaul? Aside from Palmolive, nothing immediately came to mind.

"Did the Gauls construct watermills or something?"

"No, not that."

A sudden silence fell over the table. The merchants who had been laughing moments ago began exchanging awkward glances.

Amidst the strange, hesitant atmosphere, one merchant finally cleared his throat.

"They’re... woodblock prints."

"Prints... you say?"

The Gauls were buying Roman woodblock prints? That was completely unexpected.

I had never imagined the Gauls would be interested in Roman art.

"What kind of prints are the Gauls purchasing?"

"Well..."

The merchant hesitated before speaking in a low voice.

"Prints featuring... highly sensual depictions of the female form."

I choked, nearly spraying a mouthful of fine wine across the table.

The Gauls were snapping up Roman erotic art—pornographic woodblock prints?

"I believe," I managed to say, wiping my mouth, "I am going to need a much more detailed explanation."