Chapter 124: Chapter 124 : One Does Not Simply Walk Into Troy
"Remember! The attacking side must advance three paces—tres pedes—within four attempts!"
The official’s shout echoed across the Campus Martius. He circled the perimeter of the field on horseback.
Antony took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. Unlike some of the men on the front line, he carried no shield.
Even without a shield, clad in armor and a helmet, he looked every bit like a warrior on the battlefield. The morning sun glinted off the metallic surfaces of the players’ armor and shields.
"Is everyone ready?"
"Yes, sir!"
The front line of the Trojan faction roared behind their shields. Across from them stood the defensive line of the Greek faction, braced and ready.
"Turn the hourglass!"
At the referee’s signal, Antony dropped back. As the centurion, he had three choices.
He could run with the ball himself, hand it off to the decurion beside him or throw it downfield to a scout breaking past the enemy’s defense.
"Go!"
The moment the attempt began, the decurion dashed in front of Antony. Antony extended his arm, ball in hand.
"He’s handing it off!"
But it was a feint. Feigning the handoff, Antony pulled the ball back and hurled it downfield with all his might.
Watching the ball spiral toward the scoring line, Antony roared, "Don’t stop! Keep running!"
***
"I came to see what all the fuss on the Campus Martius was about, Lucius. I should have known I would find you at the center of it."
"I didn’t think it would get this big either, Father."
Father and I looked out over the field and burst into laughter. No matter how many times I looked at it, it was an incredibly bizarre sight.
The young nobles of Rome were playing American football in full armor, shields in hand.
The linemen all carried scuta, while the quarterback and running back, though unshielded, were still outfitted in armor and helmets.
It seemed they had taken to calling the man in the quarterback’s role the ’centurion,’ the running back the ’decurion,’ and the receivers ’scouts.’
I had only briefly explained the rules, but the young nobles of both the Trojan and Greek factions had fallen head over heels for football.
On the very first day I introduced it, they played deep into the night without even going home.
As a result, we had to postpone the next day’s equestrian drills.
Now they were throwing themselves into the actual drills just so they could finish early and play football.
It felt like the tail was wagging the dog.
And the young nobles weren’t the only ones obsessed with football.
At first, only passersby stopped to watch, but word spread like wildfire, and soon crowds of spectators swarmed around the field just to catch a glimpse of the game.
"I’m not sure if this is entirely appropriate."
"Appropriate?"
Father asked.
"I mean, the sons of the nobility competing like this in front of a crowd of plebians."
"It’s certainly enough to make a few senators of the old guard scowl. I understand your concern, Lucius."
I nodded silently in response. Greeks, after all, relished showcasing physical prowess and athletic skill in public.
There was a reason the Olympic Games were held every four years, after all.
Rome, however, was different. While Romans highly valued martial skill and physical prowess, they looked down on making a public spectacle of those talents in games or athletic contests.
They considered it beneath the dignity of the nobility. And yet, despite that prejudice, there were more than a few young nobles—and even some senators—who secretly stepped into the arena to fight as gladiators.
Historically, laws were eventually passed specifically to ban senators and members of their families from participating in gladiatorial combat.
Even after those bans, numerous politicians and even emperors would go on to fight as gladiators anyway.
"Still, it is preferable to them taking up real swords and hacking one another to pieces in the arena,"
Father chuckled.
"And above all, it carries the distinct flavor of actual warfare. I’m amazed you managed to come up with such a sport."
Actual warfare. He was not entirely wrong.
Even its terminology was full of military language, from ’blitz’ to ’bombs’ and ’formations.’
Come to think of it, hadn’t both rugby and American football developed in elite schools and universities?
In a way, it was the perfect fit for the Roman nobility of this era.
While we talked, the match raged on.
The game reached a fever pitch as one of the Trojan scouts caught a long pass thrown by Antony.
Clutching the ball, the young scout ducked his head and sprinted toward the enemy line.
As two Greek defenders blocked his path, the Trojan linemen drove forward behind their scuta, clearing a lane. The dull, heavy thud of armor crashing against shield rims echoed across the field,
"Antony! Antony!"
I scanned the crowd roaring from the sidelines. There were plenty of men, along with a surprising number of women.
"It seems Antony has become rather popular," Father noted, watching the spectacle.
"To think common citizens would come all the way out to the Campus Martius just to catch a glimpse of him."
"His following has been steadily growing ever since the Floralia festival."
His dazzling display of horsemanship during the Floralia had been the catalyst. Antony’s following had been growing ever since.
The same was true for me, of course. Then again, considering this was an era where citizens chased after and swooned over their favorite gladiators, Antony’s sudden popularity was hardly surprising.
"And what of your supporters, Lucius?"
"My supporters? I haven’t heard much from them lately."
"I happened to run into a few of your supporters over the past few days, and they seemed convinced you would claim something akin to the spolia opima in the upcoming game."
"The spolia opima...?"
That’s something I didn’t expect.
Literally meaning ’rich spoils,’ it was the single most prestigious military achievement and ritual honor any Roman could ever obtain.
"If I recall correctly, only three men in the entire history of Rome have ever claimed that honor."
The requirements for claiming the spolia opima were deceptively simple.
A Roman commander had to engage the enemy’s commander in single combat, slay him, and strip him of his armor.
It had to be the commander of the opposing army, and even if you won and killed him, you couldn’t claim the honor if the enemy commander wore no armor to take.
"To expect something like that from a simple Troy Game..."
A quiet chuckle escaped my lips. It seemed my supporters held ridiculously high expectations for me.
"How you present yourself in this game will be crucial,"
Father said, his expression turning serious.
"You don’t need to constantly cater to your supporters’ every whim, but you must never disappoint them completely."
"I understand exactly what you mean, father."
No one was better at managing clients and supporters than my father.
After all, one of the primary reasons my father would eventually defeat Pompey in the civil war was his incredibly loyal network of supporters.
It stretched across the cities of Italy, Hispania, Africa, Greece, and even into Jewish communities.
Caesar masterfully wove a vast network of clients to serve his political interests.
Even in death, he would bequeath a portion of his personal wealth to every Roman citizen in his will.
Octavian would later use that very inheritance to cement his own political foundation.
In essence, Caesar would continue to rally supporters even from beyond the grave.
"But I have never shaped my actions merely to curry favor with my supporters."
If I had, Rome’s Jewish community would have faced a horrific massacre by now.
To manipulate one’s supporters, or to be manipulated by them—I had no intention of choosing either path.
"I will act solely according to my own conviction. And my supporters are entirely free to choose whether they wish to keep backing me, or change their minds."
"And that is precisely why you managed to amass such a loyal following, Lucius."
Father clapped me on the back with a mischievous grin.
"I trust you will handle this splendidly, as always."
Just then, the whistle blew, ending the match with a victory for the Greek faction.
"We had them! Damn it!"
Antony spat, his face flushed crimson.
Frankly, he had been insisting on a playbook that was far too risky from the very beginning.
So the Greek faction won after all.
Well, it wasn’t as if there was anything major at stake in a casual game of football.
Just as I was about to walk over to Antony, a new group of men entered the field. They, too, wore helmets and armor and carried shields.
"What in the world..."
"Aren’t those... Pompey’s veterans?"
Father and I stared at the scene in utter bewilderment. Pompey stood there in a sweeping general’s cloak, barking orders at his men.
"Form ranks, men! Remember the playbook I drew up for you!"
"Yes, imperator!"
The men bellowed back in unison. Did he seriously bring his veterans here to play football?
I stared at Pompey, torn between laughing out loud and pinching the bridge of my nose.
Seriously, what is this man trying to pull now?
Pompey called out with an incredibly bright, eager grin.
"We want to join the game too!"
***
"Why on earth is Lucius Caesar refusing our donation?"
"He says the upcoming Troy Game is not a festival, so they have no need for sponsorships. Apparently, there are no current plans that require funding either,"
Eleazar said with a heavy sigh. He and the other Jewish scholars fell into deep thought.
The source of their great concern was none other than Lucius Julius Caesar, the man who had swiftly resolved the recent assassination plot against Pompey and protected the Jewish community from a bloodbath.
Yet he was stubbornly refusing to grant their simple request.
"A Roman politician refusing a gift of gratitude? Has such a thing ever happened in the history of this city?"
"No, at least not in my memory. I don’t understand why he’s refusing our offerings. We simply wish to show our gratitude."
Roman politics revolved around two axes: patronage and clientship. A patron protected his clients, and the clients were expected to reciprocate.
Lucius Caesar had mobilized his own employees to safeguard the Jewish community, meaning Eleazar and the other Jews felt obligated to repay his protection.
It was only natural for them to bring a massive chest of coins to his doorstep.
Felix, well known as Lucius Caesar’s right-hand man, greeted them.
"Caesar will call upon you when he truly requires your assistance. Until then, there is no need to worry about repayment. You don’t need to bring chests of coins like this."
"We brought this only as a token of our sincere appreciation. Please accept it."
"How many times must I repeat that we cannot accept it?"
Eleazar visited the Strategy Office several times after that to meet with Felix. Yet, Felix’s answer was always the same.
"Then consider it a sponsorship for the upcoming Troy Game."
"The Troy Game is strictly a contest for nobles, not a public festival. It doesn’t require merchant advertisements or massive funding."
Clients desperately begging to hand over money, and a Roman politician stubbornly refusing it—such a sight was rare in Rome.
"But we must find some way to assist with the Troy Game."
"Caesar already deeply appreciates your sentiment."
In the end, Eleazar was forced to pack up the chest of coins and jewelry and return without having achieved anything.
"Do you think Caesar is trying to distance himself from us now?"
"I don’t think that’s it. But if he accepts our gold right now, wouldn’t other Roman citizens assume Caesar had been bribed to protect us? He is likely trying to prevent such malicious rumors."
Eleazar and the other leaders of the Jewish community held an urgent meeting.
How could they possibly repay Caesar by some means other than gold?
"Then let us examine this Troy Game more closely."
For the Jewish scholars of Rome, taking such a direct interest in a Roman ritual outside their own tradition was highly unusual.
They invited Roman priests, scholars, and antiquarians to consult with them.
And finally, after an exhaustive debate, they managed to reach a unanimous conclusion.
"If the Troy Game has no need for merchant advertisements, then we shall construct something else for them instead."
"Yes, I am certain Caesar will accept this gift."
"Are you all truly serious about this? You want to use our community’s pooled funds to build something so pagan?"
"If we succeed, we can prove to the citizens of Rome that we are not like the fanatics who plotted to assassinate Pompey."
Their goal was simple: to craft an object that perfectly befitted the upcoming Troy Game.
And when one spoke of the ancient kingdom of Troy, there was one object that instantly sprang to everyone’s mind. Ironically, it was the very instrument that had brought about Troy’s destruction.
The Trojan Horse.
