"Did you all hear the news?"
"What news?"
"Curio and Clodius have put forward a new proposal."
Citizens in the Forum passed pamphlets from hand to hand as they debated the proposal.
The pamphlets they held contained only a few short sentences.
[Why does our Republic ignore the starving plebeians? The time for action is now!]
"What exactly does this mean?"
"They're proposing that the state give free grain to the poor."
"Grain... for free?"
The words—free grain—spread through the Forum like wildfire.
Rome was already selling grain to tens of thousands of citizens at prices significantly below the market rate.
The state used funds from the treasury to purchase large quantities of wheat from merchants, then sold it to eligible citizens at a heavily subsidized price.
Thanks to this system, countless Roman citizens were able to secure their daily bread.
However, Clodius and Curio's proposal took the idea one giant step further.
"Not at a subsidized rate, but completely free? Is that even possible?"
"I pray it passes. What could possibly be better for us plebeians?"
As excitement swept through the crowd, Gaius Scribonius Curio appeared in the Forum.
"For the sake of those who lost their homes in the fire, the Republic must extend a helping hand! We must ensure that not a single citizen in Rome goes hungry ever again!"
His supporters answered with a thunderous roar of approval.
But his genuine supporters weren't the only ones cheering.
The thugs hired by Clodius had also gathered in great numbers, waving their arms and chanting in unison.
Their movements were so coordinated that, at a glance, they almost looked like soldiers in formation.
"Aren't Curio and Clodius both from prestigious families? Why on earth would they propose a law like this?"
"Why else? They're trying to drum up votes for the next election. They must be aiming for the consulship."
From pamphlets to public speeches, the controversy over free grain soon engulfed Rome.
＊＊＊
"You're telling me they've been handing out these pamphlets on the streets? Why didn't anyone at our printing house report this to us?"
Felix demanded, waving the pamphlet in his hand.
"Unless one of our own presses printed it without—"
"We didn't print this. It seems they've set up a press of their own."
Felix furrowed his brow at the report.
"I did hear rumors recently that someone had been luring away our printers and typesetters with exorbitant wages. So it was Clodius?"
"It appears so."
"If they had hired us, they could have printed these for a fraction of the cost. The fact that they went out of their way to establish their own press at enormous expense means..."
Felix muttered as a grim realization dawned on him.
"They didn't want us to know what they were printing. Where did Clodius even get that kind of coin?"
But the true mystery lay elsewhere.
Why had Clodius and Curio prepared the proposal in secret without informing Caesar?
Considering the policies Gaius Caesar had championed thus far, free grain distribution seemed like something he would wholeheartedly support.
It did not take long for their true motive to become clear.
"So, will this free distribution only be temporary until the damage in the Subura is repaired?"
When a citizen in the Forum asked him, Clodius answered with a charming smile.
"Of course not. Do our citizens not need to eat every day?"
"Then where will the funds for this come from...?"
"Our Republic already collects massive revenues from the provinces. Furthermore, haven't the temples recently begun earning enormous profits from advertisements? If we use those funds, we can easily feed every citizen in need."
The proposed sources were provincial tax revenue, funds from the state treasury, and the temples' advertising profits.
It was estimated that maintaining a free grain dole every year would consume roughly a fifth of the entire state treasury.
"Does that mean... this will consume most of the funds allocated to Caesar's One-Year Plan?"
"What the citizens of Rome truly need right now is food! Isn't it better to spend that coin on the people than pour it into perfectly good roads merely to glorify the consul?"
According to Curio and Clodius's proposal, the budget for the free grain distribution would be siphoned directly from the funds allocated for Caesar's One-Year Plan.
In other words, Rome's One-Year Plan would effectively grind to a halt.
"Gaius Caesar and his son Lucius have done magnificent work for Rome thus far. However, since the fire in the Subura, Caesar has focused only on selling more insurance,"
Curio shouted to the crowd in the Forum.
"He turned the ashes of the Subura into even more construction contracts for himself. Furthermore, he purchased grain from his merchant friends at prices far exceeding market value. Rome must no longer make policy for the benefit of one man instead of all her citizens!"
Clodius and Curio played entirely different roles.
The young Curio acted as the public face of the free-grain bill, delivering passionate speeches in the streets, while Clodius operated in the shadows, rallying the urban poor and various collegia for marches through the streets
Soon afterward, they made their boldest move yet to win over the citizens of Rome.
It was the same tactic the Metellus family had employed during the previous election to the vigintisexvirate.
They purchased grain with their own money and began handing it out to the citizens for free.
"We have decided to distribute wheat to eligible Roman citizens free of charge for the next two days!"
At daybreak, countless citizens began swarming the temporary distribution centers.
The streets were packed so tightly that there was barely room to move, as citizens pushed and shoved their way toward the front.
"I was here first! He cut in front of me!"
"You lying bastard! I saw you get your share this morning with my own two eyes!"
"Then how do you know I was here this morning unless you were here too?!"
"..."
The sacks of grain they received bore a simple but powerful message.
[The grain of Rome belongs to the citizens of Rome!]
Every citizen who received their ration cheered wildly.
"Hail Curio! Hail Clodius! True patriots of the Republic!"
＊＊＊
"So, are you saying those two are trying to exact revenge on you?"
"Revenge is merely a secondary objective. Their primary goal is to build their own prestige and influence by forcing this bill through," Caesar replied, looking at Cornelia.
Curio and Clodius.
Both Curio and Clodius had more than enough motive to seek revenge against him.
Curio had been publicly humiliated and forced to apologize to the plebeians he had assaulted, while Clodius's request to be adopted into a plebeian family had been rejected.
"But Clodius failed to become a plebeian. That's why he couldn't run for tribune of the plebs," Cornelia noted.
"If even a single tribune vetoes the bill, it can be stopped."
"And that is precisely why they are spending a fortune to distribute free grain to the citizens," Caesar replied, gazing out the window.
There was only one reason the two men would spend their private fortunes to hand out free grain.
They intend to rally the urban poor to their side until no tribune dares veto the bill. Once the citizens receive free grain, they will demand that it continue. Who would dare veto the bill in front of thousands of citizens clamoring for free grain?"
"...Then why don't we seize the initiative and introduce our own free-grain bill?"
"With any other policy, we might have been able to seize the initiative. But a permanent grain dole would place an enormous burden on the treasury. It would drain the Republic's treasury year after year."
The grain subsidy introduced by the Gracchi nearly sixty years earlier had allowed Roman citizens to obtain grain at a relatively stable price, even when grain was scarce.
It was the bare minimum needed to keep Rome's urban population fed.
But distributing grain for free was an entirely different matter.
"Once a law like that is enacted, it can never be repealed. The citizens would never allow it. And with so much of the state budget tied up in it, we would be unable to pursue any other vital reforms."
"But if we do nothing, those two will eventually force the bill through."
Cornelia sighed.
"If this battle must be fought, would it not be better for us to strike first?"
"..."
Caesar remained silent.
What was the best way to prevent the bill from passing?
He could personally step into the Forum and voice his opposition.
But that was exactly the scenario Clodius and Curio were praying for.
No matter how sound his arguments were, he could hardly expect a fair hearing from an enraged crowd convinced that he wanted to take away their food.
That was precisely why Roman politicians were so determined to fill the streets with their supporters.
"You need not worry too much, my love. Lucius has already taken action."
"Taken action? What do you mean?"
"Are there not individuals in Rome who would oppose a bill like this more fiercely than anyone else? We merely need to put their opposition to good use."
Caesar said with a confident smile.
"The Senate. Specifically, the Optimates."
＊＊＊
"What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Having finished my explanation, I looked from Cicero to Cato.
Both men looked utterly bewildered.
"So, what you're saying is..." Cicero began slowly. "You need Cato and me to help you oppose this bill?"
"Shouldn't the senators of this Republic have the same opportunity to present their arguments as Clodius and Curio?"
And right now, there was no one in Rome who would oppose the free-grain bill more vehemently than Cicero and Cato.
These were the two allies Father and I needed most
As the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
"But until now, you and your father have challenged the Senate more aggressively than anyone else. Even now, you're constantly clashing with the optimates in the Senate."
"Father and I have never opposed the Senate itself. If anything, we have allowed the Senate to share in both the responsibility and the credit."
And that was a fact.
The One-Year Plan and the hundreds of measures that followed had not been carried out by Father alone.
Countless senators, including many aligned with the optimates, had played an active role in those measures.
From the development of Nova Troia to the response to the Subura fire, Father and I had consistently cooperated with the Senate to resolve every crisis.
That cooperation was what had given me this opening.
"What exactly do you believe the Optimates are, Senator Cicero?"
Cicero hesitated for a moment before answering.
"I would not define the optimates by birth or wealth. Anyone who strives to protect the law, Rome's religious traditions, the authority of the Senate, and the safety of her citizens can be called an Optimate."
"So the optimates are essentially the helmsmen of the Republic."
I nodded.
"If that is the case, do Father and I not have every right to call ourselves optimates?"
"..."
As silence stretched on, Cato finally broke it.
"You have a silver tongue. But aren't you just trying to use the two of us as your shields?"
Cato continued, fixing me with a piercing stare.
"Dealing with Curio and Clodius directly is too politically damaging for you, so you want the Senate and the optimates to take the blow in your place."
"That may be true. But are the optimates not supposed to serve as the Republic's shield?"
I countered smoothly.
"Then stand as that shield. I'm certain neither of you wants this free-grain bill to pass and cripple the Republic's treasury."
And the danger did not end with the treasury.
"Curio and Clodius will not stop here. If this bill passes, they will propose even more radical policies. They will keep pushing until they have consolidated all power in their own hands."
"We must prevent such a scenario at all costs."
Cicero nodded grimly and turned to Cato.
"Don't you agree?"
"..."
Instead of answering, Cato fixed his gaze on me.
"What exactly are you proposing we do?"
"This bill can be stopped if even a single Tribune vetoes it."
"But Clodius has already gathered an enormous crowd of supporters by handing out free grain. If they pack the voting grounds, no tribune will dare exercise his veto."
"That is exactly why we must persuade the citizens directly."
"The citizens cannot be persuaded as easily as you make it sound. Especially when they've been blinded by the promise of free grain."
"That was true in the past," I said. Until now, very few citizens had taken an active part in politics.
Most of them had been too busy struggling to put food on the table.
Whether a law passed in the assembly was often determined entirely by how many supporters a politician could mobilize on the day of the vote.
But things were different now.
"Now we can reach citizens throughout Rome by letter. Even senators now send political newsletters to their clients each day."
They were the closest thing this age had to television and the internet.
"I will make your voices heard throughout Rome."
Rome was a Republic.
In the history I remembered, the Republic had been torn apart by street violence and political bloodshed.
But the Republic still possessed the power to change course without shedding blood.
"Isn't that the very Rome the two of you have always fought for?"
"What exactly are you suggesting we do?" Cato demanded.
"Are you saying we should host a debate in the Forum?"
"That would make a fine spectacle, but only a limited number of citizens could attend a debate in the Forum."
I shook my head.
I had a much better method in mind.
"We are going to turn all of Rome into a forum for debate."
＊＊＊
"Is everything ready?"
"Yes. Everything has been printed. All that remains is to distribute the pamphlets."
"Then we begin."
Pompeia looked at the visibly tense Brutus.
The two stood outside a printing house, the busy sounds of printers at work echoing from within.
On one side, stacks of paper from the mills were piled high; on the other, freshly printed pamphlets were being loaded onto wheelbarrows.
The wheelbarrows Lucius had recently introduced for the construction of Nova Troia were already being utilized all across Rome.
"Clodius and Curio won't just sit idly by. They will undoubtedly launch a counterattack."
Pompeia remained silent for a moment after hearing Brutus's warning.
"That is exactly what we want."
Pompeia gave a slight nod, her voice perfectly calm.
"A war."
And so began Rome's first pamphlet war.