Chapter 3 Rome, 197 BCE
The Curia Hostilia was packed with tension and the low rumble of voices that always preceded a major session. A few weeks had passed since Lucius' experiment with the new system of numerals. Scipio Africanus sat near the center of the semicircular chamber, robes perfectly folded, his expression neutral. He had made no public comment since the trial's conclusion. He didn't need to.
The trial had spoken for itself.
On the marble dais, Gaius Cornelius Cethegus started the meeting.
"Senators of Rome," he began, voice reverberating off stone walls, "today we are gathered to discuss the findings of the mathematical trials initiated by Senator Gaius Numerius Varro—results which pertain to the numeral system devised by the son of Publius Cornelius Scipio."
Gaius Numerius Varro—an aging senator with an owl-like face and the rare distinction of genuinely enjoying mathematics, quite fitting given his name—rose to his feet. He carried several scrolls, which he set down before unrolling the topmost one. His excitement was visible. He did not bother to hide it.
"Fellow senators," Varro said, eyes gleaming, "I can scarcely contain myself. What we have witnessed over the past few weeks has not merely surprised me. It has astonished me."
A few skeptical murmurs rose from the stone benches. Varro waved a hand.
"Let me explain. We tested the numeral system invented by young Lucius Scipio and found the following: in speed, clarity, and efficiency, they outperform our Roman numerals in every measurable way."
He unrolled a second scroll.
"We had scribes perform calculations of increasing complexity. With the traditional numerals, the average time to complete a set of fifty computations was one hour and twenty minutes. Using the new numerals? Thirty-five minutes. Less than half the time."
Whispers turned to startled gasps.
"But there is more. Errors. With Roman numerals, the rate of error in complex equations exceeded twenty percent. With these new numerals? Less than five."
Scipio allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
"I have here charts, logs, witnesses—all confirming these findings. I invite any of you to examine them at your leisure. But let me be plain: refusing to adopt this system on account of tradition alone would not merely be conservative. It would be madness. Keeping to tradition even when it is clearly inferior is insanity. The world changes. If we do not change with it, we shall be left behind."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then, a dry voice cut through it. "And what of Roman identity?"
All eyes turned to Marcus Porcius Cato the Elder, seated stiffly in his toga, arms crossed. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his tone was cool.
"Will we replace every tradition at the whim of a boy? A boy who has not yet seen his first beard?"
Varro did not shrink. "I would argue that this boy has done more to advance Roman recordkeeping in one season than you have in thirty years of stubbornness, Cato."
Gasps, laughter, and a few grumbles rippled across the chamber.
Cato ignored them. "And will you entrust the treasury of Rome to foreign methods?"
Varro's eyes flashed. "Foreign? There is nothing foreign about these numerals. They were invented by a pure Roman."
Another senator, Lucius Aemilius Paullus, cleared his throat. "I was present at the trials. What Varro says is true. Our scribes were dumbfounded. Several of them requested to be taught the new system immediately. Some refused to return to the old."
Even that seemed to shake a few skeptics.
A younger senator stood. "I have no great love for mathematics, but if we are saving time and reducing errors, then what argument remains?"
Varro nodded emphatically. "Indeed. I propose we authorize a gradual transition—beginning with treasury clerks and provincial tax recorders."
At that, both consuls conferred briefly at the front of the chamber. Gaius Cornelius Cethegus then turned to address the Senate once more.
"This matter being of administrative and economic significance, and given the clarity of Senator Varro's findings, we consuls are in agreement," he announced. "Let it be recorded that the Senate approves the proposal: the new numeral system will be adopted in phases, beginning with the treasury and provincial record offices."
A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the chamber as several scribes made note of the official resolution.
Cato shook his head but said no more.
Scipio remained quiet throughout. He did not need to speak. Varro had carried the banner better than he could have hoped.
But now, he rose.
"Fellow senators," he said calmly, "if I may request your attention for a moment longer. There is something else I wish to show you."
A hush returned. All eyes turned to him.
"In addition to the numeral system, my son Lucius has also devised a new form of writing material—a replacement for papyrus and clay tablets. He calls it 'rag paper,' paired with a new ink that resists smudging and fading."
He gestured, and an attendant stepped forward, presenting samples: a stack of crisp, pale sheets and a small amphora of the thick black ink. Several senators craned their necks to get a better look.
"This paper is cheaper to make," Scipio continued, holding up one of the sheets, "and the ink is produced at a fraction of the cost of the dyes we import. For the price of one scroll of papyrus, a scribe can purchase at least ten sheets of this new paper."
The murmurs returned, but now they carried a different tone: intrigue, curiosity, possibility.
Scipio smiled. "Senators, my son is not simply gifted in theory. He is a doer, an innovator. I have no doubt Minerva herself guides his hands."
A few senators chuckled, but many nodded. Others leaned forward, scrutinizing the samples now being passed around.
"You say it's made locally?" asked one.
"Entirely," Scipio said, carefully avoiding specifics. "All materials are sourced and processed within Italia. We depend on no foreign markets for it."
"And the ink?"
"Also made locally," Scipio replied smoothly. "But I must decline to speak further on its composition. It is a method still under refinement, and one I would prefer to remain within my household."
Another senator asked, "Is it durable? Will it last in our archives?"
"It resists tearing and humidity better than papyrus. My scribes have used it for over a month now, and the results speak for themselves."
The chamber buzzed as more questions followed, senators now passing the paper back and forth, examining the ink strokes closely.
One senator near the front stood and addressed the room. "If this paper and ink are as practical and cost-effective as claimed, we must consider a trial of its use in state recordkeeping. The savings alone would be immense."
Another voice, this time from a cautious older senator: "But without knowing its long-term durability, how can we risk switching our archives to it outright?"
Scipio nodded politely. "Which is why I propose no sweeping change today. Let the Senate authorize a limited trial—led by treasury scribes and a selection of magistrate offices—to determine longevity, adaptability, and overall performance."
Cethegus conferred quietly with his fellow consul before speaking. "The proposal is sound. Let it be added to the record: the Senate authorizes a six-month trial of the new writing material and ink within select administrative offices. Results shall be reviewed at the conclusion of that period."
There were no objections.
Scipio gave a slight bow. "I thank you all for your time and wisdom. And on behalf of my son, I hope his work proves worthy of Rome."
Murmurs of assent followed. Even a few of Scipio's usual rivals said nothing. After a moment of silence, Cethegus raised his hand again.
"We shall now proceed to other matters before the Senate. The consulship is burdened with several pressing issues. Let us first address the situation in Macedonia."
A rustle swept the chamber. The Second Macedonian War was entering a critical stage. News had reached Rome that Titus Quinctius Flamininus, newly appointed as commander, was preparing to confront Philip V of Macedon. Several senators leaned forward.
"We have received reports from the east," Cethegus continued. "Flamininus requests reinforcements. The Aetolian League has grown uneasy. Illyrian allies are wavering."
One of the elder senators stood. "It would be unwise to allow Philip to regroup. Rome must show strength in Greece if we are to preserve the stability of the region and deter further interference from the Seleucid court."
Another senator interjected, "And yet, our legions are stretched thin. With the ongoing campaigns in Hispania, can we afford another front?"
"We cannot afford not to," came a sharp reply from a senator seated near the center. "If we fail to break Macedon's power now, we may face a coalition of eastern kings before long."
The debate continued, branching into logistics, the supply of grain, and the reorganization of the fleet at Brundisium.
Cethegus raised a hand, bringing order back to the chamber. "The Republic cannot ignore the eastern theatre. Macedon grows bolder, and Philip V has not forgotten his ambitions. Nor have the Greeks forgotten that Macedonian kings rarely stop at their borders."
Thermus leaned forward. "Then let us be practical. Flamininus has already been granted imperium. If we commit reinforcements, they must be drawn from new levies. The veterans in Hispania cannot be spared. Nor can we strip Italia bare."
A voice called out from the side benches—Lucius Manlius Acidinus. "Then conscription must be immediate. Let a fresh consular army be raised for Greece. Two legions, and our allies must match them in number."
Several heads nodded at that—balanced, cautious, but not passive.
Cethegus turned to one of the scribes. "Record it. The Senate authorizes the levy of two legions to support operations in Macedonia under Titus Quinctius Flamininus. The allies shall supply a proportional number of troops."
He glanced again across the rows. "Now… Cisalpine Gaul."
A senator—Marcus Claudius Marcellus—rose. "The settlers demand land, and rightly so. We promised them plots beyond the Apennines. If we hesitate, we invite rebellion—not from enemies, but from our own citizens."
"But not at the cost of Roman lives," another senator replied.
"Then let us secure the region first," Marcellus countered. "A new campaign must be authorized against the Ligurians and the Boii. Small expeditions will not suffice. They test our patience because we respond piecemeal."
Thermus nodded. "One legion, with allied support. It will march north after the spring planting, once the conscription for the Macedonian campaign is complete. Until then, no new settlements are to be authorized."
Cethegus raised his hand. "Let it be so. One legion to pacify the northern tribes. The land cannot be opened until the roads are safe."
A murmur of agreement passed through the chamber.
"Anything further?"
One senator rose to briefly raise concern over grain shipments from Sicily—piracy had disrupted the last two deliveries. The matter was noted and delegated to the praetor responsible for provisioning.
With that, Cethegus brought the session to a close.
"The Senate has spoken. New levies will be raised for Macedonia. Cisalpine Gaul will be secured before further settlement. Let Rome act with strength, and with prudence."
The curia slowly emptied as senators filed out, voices low with debate, their sandals tapping against the worn stone floor.