Son of Julius Caesar: Rebuilding Rome [Business/Republic building] Chapter 68 : Believer

No one in Ro knew exactly what a tower operator did.

"Don’t you just go up there and keep watch?"

"They actually pay you for that?"

"Sounds like sentry duty in the legions to ."

But Ro was full of people desperate for work.

Farming was impossible inside the city walls, so the plebeians made their living through petty trade or grueling day labor.

Caesar’s businesses and factories were already famous for treating their workers unusually well, making competition for those jobs fierce.

But after his recent announcent at the Campus Martius, the number of applicants practically exploded.

"So the richer Caesar grows, the richer we grow with him?"

"We have to get in, no matter what it takes!"

It wasn’t just individual citizens fighting for places, either. Ro was divided into various tribes, and within those tribes existed countless factions bound together by deeply entrenched patron-client ties.

"Doesn’t the Julian clan belong to the Fabian tribe?"

"He’s probably going to send all the jobs straight to the Fabians."

Desperate to get their own family mbers and clients hired, the tribal leaders fell into a vicious struggle behind the scenes.

Amidst the escalating conflict, the tribal elders finally ca to a decision.

***

"You want to hire a fixed quota of n from each tribe?"

"Yes. Right now, our tribes are at each other’s throats trying to secure these operator posts. If you assign a fixed number of places to every tribe, it will ease tensions considerably."

"I think you’re under a misconception. I have no intention of hiring n based solely on patronage."

I had wondered what these tribal elders wanted to discuss when they called a eting, but I certainly hadn’t expected this.

They wanted to set up a tribal quota for my hiring process.

I had no reason whatsoever to accept this proposal.

If I hired people just because so elder vouched for them, I’d end up with a list full of incompetent fools carried forward by family connections alone.

But rejecting them outright was risky. Roman politics revolved around the tribes, and these elders wielded enormous influence.

Politicians constantly did everything they could to win their favor during elections, lavishing banquets and favors upon them.

"If I select personnel based exclusively on your recomndations, ordinary citizens will have no chance at all," I said politely.

"Are you saying..."

"However, if you ’do’ recomnd soone, it serves as a strong assurance of their character."

Using patronage in hiring wasn’t entirely bad. When their family na was on the line, they tended to take the job much more seriously.

Plus, a tribal elder’s backing acted as a kind of built-in guarantee.

"It ans I can trust them."

As I spoke, I glanced at the elders of the Fabian tribe. They were looking at with undisguised anticipation.

It was true that they had been instruntal during my election, just as they had been for my father. It was incredibly hard to flat-out deny a request from my fellow Fabians.

Still, that didn’t an I had to accept all their demands at once.

Is there a way to let the tribal leaders save face while simultaneously running a fair, rit-based hiring process?

"I have an idea to propose."

***

Back in the United States, military academies had a rather unique nomination system.

You couldn’t just apply; you needed an official nomination from a mber of Congress before you could even be considered a candidate.

But getting a nomination didn’t guarantee admission. You still had to pass the academy’s strict tests of both mind and body, and the final acceptance required the president’s approval.

The US implented this system to prevent all the officer candidates from being drawn from only a few states.

What I was facing now was not so different.

"For the command and officer positions, I will take candidates only if they were nominated by their tribes. However, the final selection will be determined by a selection exam."

"Officers? Are they different from the regular signaln?"

"I plan to build towers all across Italy. To keep these towers running smoothly, we won’t just need operators; we’ll need superiors to command them. Just as a legion is divided into foot soldiers and centurions."

In this era, Roman military officers ca almost entirely from the patrician and equestrian classes.

My proposal would sound perfectly familiar to them.

The tribal leaders quickly grasped the aning behind my words.

"So each tribe gets a quota for nominations, but a nomination doesn’t guarantee a job."

"What exactly will this examination consist of?"

"Caesar said he’s looking for n proficient in reading, numbers, and administrative work."

"Well, we’d better start searching out the most capable n in our tribes, then."

A nomination would not guarantee selection. There was another implication to that rule.

"If we end up with fewer hired officers than the other tribes, it’ll be a great humiliation."

"We need to beat the Subura tribe, at the very least."

"Whatever happens, we cannot lose to the Scaptia, Sergia, or Pollia tribes!"

A fierce new competition erupted over how many candidates each tribe could see through to selection.

Since the pride and prestige of the tribes were now on the line, they couldn’t just nominate just any man.

They had to scour their ranks for genuinely capable talent who could pass the exam and bring glory to their tribes.

anwhile, ambitious parents did everything they could to secure nominations for their sons.

Amidst this cutthroat atmosphere, the first selection test was held at the Campus Martius.

***

Crowds sward the Campus Martius before dawn.

The applicants for the ordinary operator posts lined up in the massive open field, while the officer candidates were gathered under a separate canopy.

n sponsored by their tribes were carrying the weight of their clans’ expectations, and there were desperate plebeians who had co seeking a way to feed their families.

Their attire and attitudes were completely different, but today, every single one of them was holding the sa wax tablet.

"Silence!"

At the examiner’s shout, the chaotic chatter died down.

"Officer candidates will be tested on geotry, arithtic, accuracy in copying texts, and judgnt in difficult situations! Operators will be tested on visual acuity, signal identification, reaction ti, and morization! Step forward when your na is called!"

"Geotry?" soone muttered, as though the air had left his lungs.

A chorus of dismayed groans rippled through the officer tent. The faces of those who had arrogantly assud the job was theirs just because they had a tribal nomination went stiff.

A few young n dressed in pristine, expensive tunics exchanged panicked glances, praying they had misheard the examiner.

The re ntion of geotry drew groans from all sides.

Countless patrician and equestrian sons were tutored in the subject, but that certainly didn’t an they enjoyed it.

"Are we not going to be tested on oratory, philosophy, or rhetoric?" one of them asked desperately.

"We will have oral questioning for certain subjects. But we are starting with geotry."

As a collective sigh echoed under the canopy, another young man raised his hand.

"I heard Caesar’s n use completely different nurals. Will we be tested using those strange things?"

"No, this exam will be conducted using traditional nurals."

A wave of relief washed over the officer candidates.

anwhile, over in the operator field, an entirely different kind of tension hung in the air.

On a makeshift auxiliary tower erected on a nearby hill, vividly colored flags were raised in sequence. Red, white, and black.

Even when the colors were the sa, the heights and sequences varied.

The examiners ordered the applicants to accurately record the sequence and number of tis each was shown.

At first, the applicants looked relaxed.

But as the second and third sequences appeared in rapid succession, their confident expressions visibly crumbled.

"Wait, what was that? Was white first?"

"No, wasn’t it black twice...?"

"Damn it, it’s too fast."

A young man in the front line frantically scratched at his wax tablet before cursing loudly.

The applicant next to him had completely lost track and was just staring blankly at the hill.

But one man standing a few paces away was completely different.

He was wearing a frayed tunic and worn-out sandals. His hands were calloused from years of hard labor, and gri was permanently embedded under his fingernails.

When they first lined up, a few of the other applicants had snickered at his shabby appearance.

But Marcus didn’t spare them a single glance, his eyes fixed on the tower, his grip tight on his stylus.

While the others fumbled to write down the signals only after the sequence ended, Marcus’s hand moved as soon as the first flag was raised.

He wasn’t particularly fast, but his calm, steady rhythm made him incredibly accurate.

One of the examiner raised an eyebrow as he watched him.

"That man over there. What’s his na?"

An assistant beside him flipped through the ledger. "Marcus... from the Subura district."

"No patron listed."

"No, sir."

The examiner gave a short nod. Without a word, he made a small mark next to Marcus’s na.

The next test was even harder.

Signals went up from two separate auxiliary towers at almost the exact sa ti.

One carried the real ssage, the other a deliberately scrambled imitation.

The examiner ordered them to identify the true ssage.

Even the applicants who had managed to stay composed until now panicked at the unexpected change.

"It’s the left one!"

"No, I think it’s the right."

"Wait, that one didn’t send the confirmation sequence!"

Chaotic shouts rang out.

A few scribbled down their answers with confident expressions, while others simply froze.

Marcus waited until the very end.

Holding his breath, his eyes darted back and forth between the two towers before he slowly etched his answer into the wax.

The examiner suddenly stepped up beside him.

"Why did you choose the left?"

Marcus swallowed hard. "The tower on the right moved first. But it did not show the confirming flag. The left tower was slower to start, but it used the proper procedure."

The examiner stared at him silently for a mont. "I see."

Marcus didn’t dare respond, terrified that saying anything else would get him disqualified.

But the examiner didn’t ask any more questions. He simply made another mark next to Marcus’s na.

And there were two n watching this entire process unfold from a distance.

***

"I’ve never seen such a elaborate selection process. I honestly thought you were just going to hire whichever favorites the tribal elders shoved in front of you. Regardless..." Pompey said, his eyes glued to the bustling field. "Even with the lavish profits you promised your workers, I never expected this many applicants to show up."

"Neither did I."

I let out a deep sigh.

I knew the turnout would be good, but this was utter madness.

Slapping a single piece of papyrus on a wall in the Forum had brought half the city running. Word of mouth in Ro was might as well have been faster than the internet.

"Because the tribal leaders are competing against each other, the officer exams have attracted so very sharp minds," I noted.

"It’s only natural. They’re treating it as a contest between the tribes. With this process in place, the elders wouldn’t dare put forward an incompetent fool."

"They ’could’ sponsor them. But they’d have to suffer the public humiliation."

"Hah! Brilliant. You gave them the sense that they held control, but forced them to examine carefully their own candidates just to save face." Pompey barked a laugh.

"Next ti I raise a legion, I ought to try your thod. Let the elders nominate their boys, and then sort them out with tests."

"The competition for that would be just as fierce. There’s no shortage of n who would kill to serve under Pompey the Magnus."

"Officers chosen through tribal nomination, and ordinary operators recruited from the general public... I’ve never seen anything organized in this way," Pompey mused.

"All I care about is securing capable n. This thod keeps the tribes happy while giving the manpower I need."

To even be considered for an officer role, a candidate needed an elder’s blessing.

That inherently increased the tribes’ standing. It was a win-win situation for them.

"I plan to make the final selections through questioning them personally," I said. "I would be honored if you joined , sir Pompey."

"?"

"You’re the one who’s going to be commanding these towers. Who else would I ask?"

"I said I would help you get your towers off the ground. I never promised to run the damn things for you," Pompey replied, a playful glint in his eye.

"Felix told you’ve been keeping him tied up in etings until the dead of night. He’s a newlywed, you know. Couldn’t you show him a little rcy?"

"The man is highly competent. I finally understand why you drag him around everywhere."

Poor Felix. First he was worked to the bone by my father, and now Pompey was tornting him.

"The towers are only going to keep expanding. At a certain point, Ro’s own people will not be enough to maintain it," I noted.

"And a Roman citizen certainly won’t want to be stationed all the way out in Cisalpine Gaul," Pompey agreed. "You’re planning to carry this thod of recruitnt throughout Italy. Aren’t you?"

"Assuming I have enough capital, yes."

Ostia had already shown : patronage was not limited to individuals alone.

It was entirely possible to beco the political patron of an entire city.

The more towers we built, the more cities we connected, and the more local citizens we hired.

And once that happened...

"Both you and I will gain powerful allies."

"That’s true. But I doubt that is the only thing you have in mind, Lucius."

I nodded instead of answering.

There was sothing even more important beneath it all. As these towers spread across Italy, so would my intelligence network.

"Sir Pompey, I believe you have many informants in Africa, Asia, and Hispania."

Like any great general, Pompey had spies and informants of his own. Gathering intelligence was the bedrock of military operations. He must have had dozens, perhaps hundreds, of spies scattered across every land he had conquered.

That was why he, more than anyone else, would recognize the towers’ true worth at once.

"If you have your people positioned there, you can receive word faster than anyone else. And if you send it through these towers..." Pompey muttered, his gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the Campus Martius. "I can hardly imagine how quickly news could be gathered from all across Italy. Are you saying you would place that kind of power in my hands?"

"I think "sharing" is the more fitting word."

When I thought about it, the future emperors of Ro would use a very similar thod. The couriers who carried ssages across the Empire reported directly to the imperial household and served as gatherers of intelligence as well.

I was simply replacing horses with sothing far better: an optical telegraph.

"And what do you intend to do with all this power?" Pompey asked, turning his head to look at . "Are you trying to help your father raise the Julii to the rank of Primus Inter Pares, first among equals?"

"I am building an ark."

"An ark?" Pompey furrowed his brow at my answer.

Primus Inter Pares, first among equals. That title carried many anings.

It could an a hero who saved the Republic, like Scipio Africanus, or a ruler who stood above the Republic itself, as Augustus later would.

"I cannot say I fully understand what you an by an ark, but... I cannot imagine what sort of flood you are preparing for.," Pompey said with a dry chuckle. "Tell , is there a seat for on this ark of yours?"

"If you asked my father, he would probably say that the more hands aboard, the better. However..."

What was the greatest weapon of my father, Gaius Julius Caesar?

His military genius was undeniable, but his true, absolute power was clentia—his limitless rcy. It was so powerful that even his bitterest enemies could beco his allies.

But in the end, it was that very rcy that led to his assassination.

I had absolutely no intention of going down that sa bloody path. I needed to forge my own way.

"When the flood cos, the only ones who survive are those who trust the ark enough to board first."