Papyrus was one of Egypt's oldest and most important exports.
The papyrus reed grew exclusively along the banks of the Nile, and the Egyptians had been harvesting it to make their famous writing material since ancient times.
Egypt used it to record taxes, manage storehouses, conduct censuses, and transcribe religious and legal documents.
The tough fibers were even woven into ship sails and ropes.
Once they began exporting it across the Mediterranean, papyrus quickly established itself as a cornerstone of the Egyptian economy.
"It is selling faster than ever in Rome right now. Shouldn't we take this opportunity to raise the prices?"
"The Pharaoh will certainly be pleased to collect the extra tax revenue."
"Word is that some Roman named Caesar is running several huge enterprises. His people are ordering whole shiploads of papyrus."
With the sudden surge in demand from Rome, a small group of Egyptian merchants had been reaping immense profits.
But men in trade are always hungry for more.
To increase their profits, these merchants decided to work together.
By holding back supply on purpose, they could drive the price of papyrus even higher.
"If the demand remains the same, they'll have no choice but to buy it at a premium, won't they?"
"After all, papyrus is only produced here in Egypt."
Over the past few centuries, countless outsiders had attempted to replicate papyrus, and every single one had failed.
It was a crop blessed by Egyptian gods which could only be cultivated along the Nile.
No one else in the world could manufacture it.
"We just need to sit back and watch the gold roll in."
However, the situation in Rome was about to unfold in a way that utterly defied their arrogant expectations.
***
"You intend to use the watermills to make this new papyrus?"
"We just bought up a number of new mills. Might as well put them to good use, right?"
I gazed out at the row of watermills stationed along the banks of the Tiber River.
When the Palmolive boom first started, countless Publicani had eagerly rushed into the Palmolive business, commissioning my technical school to build watermills for them.
It was an absolute bubble which led to a glut of newly built mills.
But as competition grew fiercer, the weak naturally fell away.
When the market price of Palmolive dropped, their profit margins vanished.
Unable to sustain the cost of running business, many of them sold their factories back to me at dirt-cheap prices.
Crassus had tried to snap them up too, but my construction contracts conveniently included a clause giving me the first right to buy them back.
"Watermills aren't just for making Palmolive, you know."
Was there any invention more versatile than the watermill?
The watermill, which later transformed the medieval industry, was essentially an ancient power plant.
With a few mechanical changes, it could be used to mill grain, pound hemp to make ropes or cloth, and even drive massive trip hammers for forging metal.
From pressing oil and processing sugarcane to tanning leather, drawing wire, minting coins, operating blast furnace bellows, and sawing timber...
Almost every industry could harness the power of water.
"But to make papyrus, you need papyrus reeds, do you not?" Vitruvius asked, tilting his head. "Did you secretly import seeds from Egypt?"
"Who says we need to use expensive papyrus reeds?"
I replied.
Most people think of paper as something made from wood.
From a 21st-century perspective, that was absolutely correct.
But the earliest forms of paper were made from materials that were far cheaper and abundant.
Materials that were incredibly easy to process, and—most importantly—plentiful in a city like Rome.
"For now, let's start by collecting waste."
"Waste?"
***
Rome was the largest city in the known world, boasting a population approaching one million.
To feed this insatiable beast, massive fleets of grain ships arrived from Egypt every year, alongside endless shipments of olive oil from Hispania and wine from across Italy.
But Rome didn't just consume; it also produced something in staggering quantities.
Tailors produced mountains of scrap fabric while making clothes. Rope workshops discarded heaps of frayed hemp fibers.
The bustling warehouses produced a never-ending supply of torn sacks and ruined canvas bags.
These worthless scraps were usually sold for almost nothing or simply dumped into the huge dumping grounds outside the city walls.
But recently, a strange new group of buyers had appeared, gathering up this waste by the cartload.
"Wait, you actually want to buy this garbage?"
"Not just a single purchase, either. We want to establish regular delivery agreements. You're just going to throw it away anyway; wouldn't you rather make a few coins off it?"
"Well, sure, but... why in the gods' names does young Caesar want this junk?"
Caesar's employees swept through every textile shop, rope maker's yard, and tailor's workshop in Rome.
Their targets were old rags, worn-out cloth, and fibrous waste.
The workshop owners happily agreed to the absurd proposal to regularly supply their trash.
"Hey, if we can get paid for the junk we normally toss out, I'm not complaining."
"Saves us the time of hauling it to the dump, and we make a profit. Everybody profits."
The massive heaps of collected trash were sorted by material and sent directly to the watermill factories along the Tiber River.
But Rome wasn't the only place Caesar's people were gathering garbage.
***
[R, de O : Discarded rope now being gathered at Ostia.]
[de C : Good. Good. Good. Collect discarded fishing nets too.]
[de O : P. The citizens of Ostia have responded very favorably. Already gathered what we need ahead of schedule.]
[de C : Confirmed.]
The towers connecting Ostia and Rome were shifting their wooden arms, rapidly exchanging signals.
The tower line, originally proposed as an early-warning system, had already been fully opened to commerce.
True to his word, Caesar had opened the towers to the public, allowing any Roman citizen to send messages for a reasonable fee.
The merchants of Rome rejoiced louder than anyone.
Being able to know exactly which ships had docked in Ostia and what cargo they were unloading—hours before their competitors—was a goldmine.
The Ostia towers were much faster and more practical than sending couriers on horseback.
Initially the towers used a single line for both transmitting and receiving, but as time passed, dedicated commercial lines were established.
Using these new towers, a few shrewd merchants were now auctioning off cargo in the Forum the moment a ship dropped anchor.
None of this would have been possible without the towers.
However, the person making the best use of the towers was its creator: Caesar himself.
Following his orders, massive quantities of discarded fishing nets and frayed maritime ropes were collected at the port of Ostia and shipped straight to Rome.
It was just ordinary trash that littered any working harbor.
"This is all you gathered in just seven days?"
"The sheer volume is staggering,"
Felix sighed, staring up at a literal mountain of waste.
"When the citizens of Ostia heard that you needed this, Young Master, they were eager to volunteer to gather it. But... can we actually use any of this?"
"Would I have told you to gather it if we couldn't?"
I laughed, picking up a few scraps of cloth.
They were threadbare, filthy, and completely devoid of any market value.
But this was the raw material for paper.
Turning refuse into a revolutionary new product.
In a way, I was making a fortune out of waste.
Of course, I had to implement many measures to reduce wastewater and odor.
"First, we need to shred these fibers into tiny pieces and soak them in water for a long time. Then we beat them into a pulp, dissolve that pulp in water, and lift it with a fine mesh screen."
"Soak the fibers and beat them into a pulp. I can follow that," Felix said, taking notes on his wax tablet. "But why scoop it up with a screen?"
"So we can spread it out into a thin, even layer," I answered.
Honestly, the papermaking process was quite labor-intensive and time-consuming.
The process for making Egyptian papyrus was similarly tedious, but the greatest advantage of this paper was that it used extremely cheap scrap fibers instead of expensive, geographically limited reeds.
Combine that with the automated pounding power of my watermills, and the cost of production would fall dramatically.
"Once you've scooped the pulp layer onto the screen, you press it to squeeze out the water, leave it to dry in the sun, and then rub the surface with a smooth stone to give it a clean finish."
"..."
Felix slowly lifted his head from his wax tablet and stared at me.
"And you expect me to believe you discovered such a specific and complex process... by accident? While playing around with some old rags?"
"Let's just say the gods gave me a divine revelation," I replied with a smirk.
It sounded simple when you already knew the answer, but developing this process from scratch would normally take years of grueling trial and error.
Even the ancient Chinese had taken centuries to perfect the art of papermaking.
The technology they invented didn't reach Europe via the Arab world until the mid-12th century.
I was fast-forwarding history by well over a millennium.
"The 'divine revelation' excuse is wearing a bit thin, Young Master."
"Well, considering everything I touch turns to gold, people will probably believe it anyway."
Felix let out a long, heavy sigh.
"That means even more work for me."
"It'll take time for Vitruvius to set up a proper production line. And we still need writing material to keep everything going in the meantime, so..."
I tossed the scrap of cloth back onto the mountain of trash.
"Let's go with Pompeia's plan. Leak the rumor that we're developing a revolutionary new alternative to papyrus. We need to shake the market."
"If we set off a panic, the merchants hoarding their Egyptian papyrus will desperately rush to sell what they have before prices collapse," Felix nodded.
"But how do you plan to announce this 'new papyrus'? It won't have much of an impact if we aren't actually selling it yet."
"We can't mass-produce it right now, but we can easily make a small test batch."
Through our early experiments, we could probably produce a few hundred high-quality sheets.
What would be the best way to use them?
"Aside from us, who are the biggest consumers of papyrus in Rome right now?"
No, simply asking who used it the most was the wrong approach.
"Let me rephrase that. Who would understand the value of this 'new papyrus' and loudly spread the rumor for us?"
There was one profession in Rome that fit that description perfectly.
Actually, it was a profession that does some of the most paperwork even in the 21st century.
Seeing Felix tilt his head in confusion, I gave him the answer.
"Lawyers. They are the ones suffering the most from the papyrus prices."
***
"If there is anyone who believes that a young man should be entirely forbidden from romance or indulgence, he is an excessively harsh judge."
Cicero's voice rang out clearly as he paced across the courtroom floor.
Dressed in a pristine toga, he locked eyes with the presiding judge and then the jury.
"The frivolity of youth can certainly be criticized. But to condemn past indiscretions and attempt to connect them to the charges before us today is an entirely different matter."
He smoothly recited the argument he had committed to memory.
For a Roman advocate, simply reciting legal arguments wasn't enough.
One had to command the room—infusing their voice with unyielding authority one moment, and gentle persuasion the next. It required a masterful blend of flawless logic and emotional appeal.
These were the arts of rhetoric he had mastered during his studies in Greece.
"Is it a crime that he is young? Is his lavish spending proof of poisoning? Does the fact that he earned someone's enmity prove a grand conspiracy?"
As his defense continued, the prosecutor's face turned ashen.
A few minutes later, having delivered his conclusion, Cicero confidently returned to his seat.
"A magnificent defense, Master."
"Yes, my voice sounded particularly resonant today. Though I think the closing remark needs a slight revision before we publish."
"How would you like me to amend it, sir?" Tiro, Cicero's trusted slave and secretary, asked with a nod.
In Tiro's hands was a wax tablet covered in bizarre, jagged symbols and lines that no ordinary Roman could read.
It was a shorthand system—the Tironian notes—that he had specifically invented to record Cicero's rapid speeches and legal arguments on the spot.
Using these unique symbols, Tiro could perfectly transcribe every single word his master spoke without missing a word.
"I will dictate the changes to you when we return home."
The trial concluded shortly after, and the jury soon returned a verdict : Not Guilty.
The young poet who had hired Cicero rushed over, practically weeping with gratitude.
"I cannot thank you enough, Senator Cicero! Your brilliant defense has cleared my name of these vile, unjust charges..."
"There is no need for such excessive gratitude. Is it not the solemn duty of an advocate to fight for the innocent?"
Cicero smiled benevolently, patting the young poet on the back.
"If you ever find yourself in trouble again, you have but to tell me."
Returning to his estate, Cicero immediately threw himself into his next great task, the publication of his speeches.
He was preparing to edit Tiro's shorthand transcripts and publish his courtroom speeches as published books.
From Cato the Elder to Hortensius, every great prosecutor and defender in Rome published their legal victories.
It was one of the most effective ways to display one's intellectual superiority to the Roman public and build tremendous political dignitas.
For a man like Cicero, who had little military glory compared to Pompey, publishing was his primary weapon for political survival.
While he was deeply engrossed in his editing, Tiro quietly approached his desk.
"Master."
"What is it? Did I not explicitly order you not to disturb me while I am working?"
"My apologies, Master. But young Lucius Caesar has sent you a gift. I believe you need to see this immediately."
"A gift?"
Cicero clicked his tongue in annoyance and stood up.
There was nothing more irritating than having his flow of thought interrupted.
But a gift from Lucius Caesar was not something he could simply ignore.
"What exactly did the boy send me that is so urgent?"
"This, Master."
"Is this not just papyrus?"
Cicero took the sheets Tiro handed him.
However, he instantly noticed something strange.
"It feels... thinner than regular papyrus. And softer too."
Cicero folded and bent the sheet in his hands.
The color was much lighter than the yellowish-brown of Egyptian papyrus, and the texture against his fingertips was remarkably smooth.
"The messenger said it was a new kind of papyrus that Caesar had invented."
"He invented the new papyrus?" Cicero furrowed his brow, looking up at Tiro.
"You mean to tell me this was manufactured here in Rome, not Egypt?"
"I do not know the exact details, Master... but it arrived with this letter."
Cicero carefully read the scroll Tiro handed him.
It was a personal letter, seemingly penned by Caesar himself.
"He wishes to gift me several hundred sheets of this 'new papyrus' before anyone else in Rome..." Cicero muttered.
Lately, the price of Egyptian papyrus had been badly hampering his publishing efforts.
Hiring scribes to copy his books was already a massive expense, but the increasing costs of papyrus and parchment were draining his finances.
As his costs rose, he had been forced to drastically reduce the number of books he published.
But now, Lucius Caesar was suddenly promising to supply him with this 'new papyrus' entirely for free.
"According to the rumor, he sent the same gift to several other prominent senators," Tiro added.
"Mainly those who are famous for their work as advocates and prosecutors. And he promised to continue supplying them with it."
"Why would Caesar send us something so valuable?"
If he had really created this new kind of 'papyrus', the smartest move would have been to sell it, not give it away for free.
Cicero murmured, absently rubbing the sheet with his fingers.
It was not hard to guess the young Caesar's true intention.
If the boy had truly created a new writing material, then he had knowingly placed it in the hands of Rome's most influential lawyers and politicians, trusting them to spread word of it.
It was a carefully calculated way to let news of it spread among the elite.
"If that boy thinks he can win over a former consul of Rome with a mere handful of sheets..."
Cicero's voice gradually faded.
He turned the white sheet over and ran his fingertips across its flawless surface before muttering under his breath.
"Gods above... this is remarkably smooth."