Chapter 163 : The Name
"We’re going to die at this rate."
"I think I’d rather die. I even dreamed that I was drafting building plans last night."
"Well, if you finish them in your dreams, doesn’t that mean you have less work waiting for you when you wake up?"
"If we finish one job, won’t they just dump another one on us anyway?"
"..."
The teachers and students of the technical school chatted gloomily while shoveling pasta into their mouths.
They were the ones responsible for Nova Troia’s architectural designs.
Under Vitruvius’s strict tutelage, they had designed every single structure in Nova Troia, from the theater and insulae to its arenas and temples.
Recently, yet another mountain of work had landed on their desks.
And that new burden was nothing less than the redevelopment of the Subura.
"Now we have to design a bathhouse, a school, and a hospital from scratch. We won’t have a moment to breathe for at least a few years."
"You honestly think all this construction will be over in just a few years?"
Not everyone was complaining so bitterly.
Quite a few arrived at work beaming from ear to ear.
"Where else could we spend every day designing an entire city?"
"Right? I hate having to leave when evening comes."
Vitruvius, the architect behind the Subura redevelopment plan, was one of them.
"Now then, which building are we reviewing today?"
***
"A colossal public bathhouse where you can enjoy art exhibitions, shopping, and performances all at once. So, it’s essentially a shopping mall."
"A shopping mall... What is that?"
"Something Rome has never had before," Lucius replied, scratching his head as he looked at their puzzled faces.
"A bathhouse where you can enjoy every kind of entertainment imaginable. Merchants would jump at the chance to set up shop there."
The redevelopment plan now included a school, a hospital, and an enormous public bathhouse.
The landowners in the Subura welcomed the redevelopment plan with open arms.
But Vitruvius believed there was a far more pressing issue than the bathhouse.
"We can’t connect the aqueducts to every single insula in the Subura right now. We can run the main water lines through the district, but providing running water to every individual dwelling would require far too much time and money."
"Why do you make it sound like a problem?"
"The buildings weren’t the only things destroyed in the fire. Many public latrines were destroyed as well."
"Then we’ll need new latrines, too."
"Yes. If tens of thousands of citizens start dumping their waste wherever they please, the streets of Rome will be overflowing with shit in no time."
For many Romans, public latrines were the only toilets available.
They sat on long, unpartitioned benches and casually chatted with the person beside them, whether patrician or plebeian.
Water flowed continuously beneath the benches, washing the waste straight into the connected sewer system.
"Then let’s take this opportunity to improve the latrines while we rebuild them."
"Improve them? In what way?"
"Right now, people wipe themselves with a sponge on a stick, don’t they?" Lucius asked.
"Afterward, they rinse the sponge in a bucket of water mixed with vinegar. And then the next person uses the same sponge."
"Is that a problem?"
"As many of you already know, human waste can spread disease from one person to another. Sharing the same sponge is almost certain to spread illness. We need something new."
Lucius and Vitruvius put their heads together.
"Ideally, everyone would use a fresh piece of paper each time, but we simply don’t produce enough paper yet for that to be viable."
"And Roman citizens certainly won’t pay for a clean sheet of paper every time they relieve themselves."
After days of deliberation, the two finally came up with a solution.
They would use something Rome possessed in abundance: water.
"I’ve adapted one of the ideas you proposed. First, we build a clean-water tank above the latrine."
Vitruvius explained, adjusting the parts of a small model.
"Then, we run bronze pipes from the tank to each seat. We install a lever or pedal beside each seat, and when someone presses it, a bronze valve opens. This will release an upward stream of water. The nozzles should be detachable so they can be easily cleaned."
"We can easily fill the tank from the aqueducts. We would need clear rules for cleaning and maintenance, but the design seems workable."
Fountains were already common in Rome’s wealthiest homes and public squares.
But using water to clean oneself after using the latrine was an entirely unfamiliar idea.
"After that, you could dry yourself with a few scraps of cheap paper."
"I’ll consult with the men who maintain Rome’s other public latrines. After building a few prototypes, we should have a working model."
Alongside the hospital, school, and enormous bathhouse, Rome’s first public bidet system was slowly taking shape.
That meant the students of the technical school now had a whole new series of experiments to conduct.
"Find the ideal water pressure for cleaning someone’s backside. How on earth are we supposed to figure that out?"
"Let’s start by spraying water onto clay tablets and measuring how much dirt it removes."
"And after that?"
"After that, we’ll have to recruit some volunteers."
"..."
And so began some of the strangest experiments in Roman history.
***
"Thank the gods we managed to settle the insurance payouts so smoothly," Father said as he rocked from side to side, struggling out of his toga.
No matter how many times I saw it, I could never get used to the way he took off his toga.
Father always looked solemn and dignified in the Senate, but the moment he got home, he shimmied out of his toga as though he were dancing.
Once the toga fell away, leaving him in his tunic, Father stretched lazily.
"The tenants who lost their homes get to stay in Nova Troia, and the landlords reap the benefits of the redevelopment."
"We narrowly avoided the grain crisis, too."
I nodded. It had been an incredibly chaotic few weeks.
The planned literary contest had been postponed, but it was now scheduled to begin shortly.
"Every opportunity contains the seed of a crisis, just as every crisis contains an opportunity," Father remarked.
"For the time being, we should be able to focus on the temple reforms."
"Honestly, I didn’t expect things to go this smoothly," I admitted. In truth, there was one outcome I had been especially afraid of.
In the original timeline, the Great Fire of Rome occurred in 64 CE.
At the time, Rome was ruled by the infamous emperor Nero.
The fire reduced entire districts to ashes, and looting ran rampant in the ensuing chaos.
Many Romans came to believe that Nero had deliberately started the fire.
The tale of Nero playing the lyre and reciting poetry while Rome burned remained famous even in the twenty-first century.
The truth, however, was that Nero had not even been in Rome when the fire began.
In fact, his response to the disaster was remarkably sensible.
Upon hearing about the fire, he immediately cut short his stay outside the city and hurried back.
He then opened public buildings to shelter the displaced and used state funds to stabilize grain prices.
His response was not so different from the measures Father and I had taken after the Subura fire.
And yet, the rumors that Nero had started the fire continued to spread like a plague.
As a result, Nero made the Christians—a small religious minority at the time—scapegoats for the fire.
"I had taken charge of redeveloping the Subura. I had feared that once word of that spread, the people of Rome would surely..."
"You thought people would accuse you of setting the fire for personal gain?" Father asked with a laugh.
"If it had been anyone else, perhaps the citizens would have believed such rumors. But you have consistently shown everyone exactly who you are through your actions. You established the Veterans’ Fund, eradicated the bandits, brought streetlights to Rome... and accomplished countless other things."
Father looked at me, adding,
"The Senate likes to think the citizens are fools," Father added, looking at me, "but the people remember far more than the Senate gives them credit for."
I nodded silently.
He had a point.
Nero’s past conduct had already destroyed any trust the citizens might otherwise have placed in him.
He had roamed the streets at night with his guards, assaulting random citizens for amusement, and had frequently ordered senators to commit suicide for no greater offense than displeasing him.
Once an image was cemented in people’s minds, it wasn’t easily erased.
So what did the name ’Caesar’ mean to the Roman people now?
"Then I’ll have to keep earning that trust."
"I suppose I should work just as hard. Usually, sons are the ones who struggle to live up to their fathers’ reputations."
Father smiled warmly.
"But few fathers find themselves struggling to keep pace with their own sons as I do."
"I’m always happy to offer advice," I replied with a laugh.
Ah, speaking of which, I almost forgot.
"Actually, I’ve prepared something special for you today, Father."
"For me?"
"I prepared it in the hope that it might reduce your seizures."
I nodded. We were not yet capable of extracting CBD from hemp.
But even without hemp, there was something else that could help keep his seizures under control.
I went to the kitchen and brought out the platter I had prepared earlier.
"Lightly grilled fish with olive oil, goat cheese, fresh olives, nuts, and vegetables."
It was a ketogenic diet: very few carbohydrates, plenty of fat, and a moderate amount of protein.
When followed consistently, it could significantly reduce seizures in some patients with epilepsy.
Fortunately, all the ingredients needed for the diet were readily available in Rome.
"I made this myself today. I’ve already instructed the cooks, so I want you to base your meals on foods like these from now on. We’ll check your weight and digestion every month, and if there are any adverse effects, we’ll stop immediately."
"You mean... you made this yourself, Lucius?"
Father eyed the platter with deep suspicion.
"Don’t worry. The dish is so simple that even I couldn’t possibly ruin it."
Wait. Since I had made it myself, did that technically make it a Caesar salad?
A great many things in this world were destined to bear the name Caesar.
Father fidgeted with his fork for a moment before finally picking up a piece of grilled fish covered in my homemade sauce.
After chewing slowly for a moment, he let out a sudden cough and said,
"Mmm, it’s truly delicious. But I’m actually not very hungry right now, so I’ll finish it a bit la—"
"I am not leaving until I see you finish the whole plate."
"..."
At that, Father stared at the plate with utter despair.
Was my cooking really that terrible?
I had only grilled some fish and added my own sauce.
Perhaps my Caesar salad was destined to become famous for all the wrong reasons.
"Ah, speaking of which, Lucius, there was something I wanted your opinion on," Father said, reluctantly forcing a mouthful of vegetables into his mouth.
"Recently, a young patrician came to me with a rather amusing request. He said he wanted to be adopted into a plebeian family."
"A patrician voluntarily giving up his status to become a plebeian..."
I froze for a moment.
That sounded incredibly familiar.
A patrician voluntarily relinquishing their status to become a plebeian.
In all of Roman history, only one man came to mind who had done anything so absurd.
"Don’t tell me..."
I leaned forward.
"Was it Publius Clodius Pulcher?"
***
The Claudii Pulchri were one of the most ancient and prestigious patrician families in Rome.
But they were equally notorious for their arrogance, self-righteousness, and open contempt for the plebeians.
But Publius Clodius Pulcher would become infamous for reasons of his own.
In the final decades of the Republic, he became infamous for organizing the urban poor and street thugs into a private militia and unleashing a campaign of political violence throughout Rome.
Clodius and Milo each mobilized mobs and gladiators, turning Rome’s streets into battlegrounds of violence and intimidation.
"A man from one of Rome’s most prestigious patrician families wants to be adopted by a plebeian. There can be only one reason for that." I said.
"He’s aiming for the tribunate."
"Exactly. What’s more, the man chosen to adopt him is younger than he is," Father replied with a scoff.
"Even if no law explicitly forbids it, the arrangement is unprecedented in Roman custom."
"..."
I remained silent.
In the original history, Clodius maintained a cooperative relationship with Caesar, but their interests had never fully aligned.
"In exchange, Clodius promised that if he won the tribunate, he would support every policy I put forward."
"He’s lying. There’s no doubt about it."
I answered without a second’s hesitation. History had already proved that beyond doubt.
"You sound as though you know him very well."
"I know enough about him. I have informants of my own throughout Rome, after all."
Clodius had goals of his own: to seize the power and prestige he believed befitted the name of the Claudii.
"If Clodius wins the tribunate, he will pursue his own agenda. That alone wouldn’t be a problem, but..."
The issue was his methods.
Clodius would not hesitate to use violence or pursue the most extreme forms of populism to achieve his goals.
If that happened, Rome would descend into chaos.
Once both factions began resorting to violence, bloodshed would quickly spread throughout the streets.
"So you believe I should reject his proposal."
"Requesting to be adopted by a plebeian man younger than himself is highly irregular. Even if you reject it, there won’t be much controversy."
I nodded.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this would not be the end of the matter.
The optimates and the populares. Their struggle had fueled the political upheavals that hastened the Republic’s downfall.
Was the ark I had been building sturdy enough to survive the coming flood?
There was only one way to find out.
"Make whatever choice you wish, Father. No matter what happens, I will stand by your side," I said.
Perhaps it was time for me to prepare as well.