Free Web NovelChapter 123: Chapter 123 : Gridiron
"I simply can’t agree with this," Pompeia said. She accepted the cup of wine Cornelia offered her and continued.
"No matter what his reasons are, teaching the opposing team and training with them is just..."
"A nonsensical decision, yes. I am well aware," Cornelia replied with a faint smile.
"But it is a choice Lucius made himself. That boy has never cared much for his own dignitas."
"That may be his most defining trait."
Pompeia fell silent for a moment. She had known Lucius well even before their marriage.
There was something peculiar about him, something entirely unlike other Roman nobles.
It was hard to describe, but Lucius had always carried that distinct aura.
"But Lucius’s own honor isn’t the only thing at stake in this game. Where there is a winner, there must also be a loser," Pompeia said.
"The young patricians of the Trojan faction were the ones who sought Lucius’s help first. If the Greek faction wins because Lucius helped them, how do you think the Trojans will react?"
"I understand what you’re trying to say, Pompeia. And to be frank, I share your concerns to some extent."
Cornelia let out a sigh and chuckled quietly.
"Lucius always takes the road no one else would. While it has mostly led to good results, someone may try to exploit that trait."
"I want to prevent that from happening."
Pompeia rose from her chair as she spoke. She gazed at the marble statue of Caesar standing in the atrium.
The brightly painted marble statue was beautiful, its features far more idealized than Caesar’s actual appearance. This was the Lucius his supporters chose to see.
And then there was the Lucius Pompeia herself saw.
Which of them was the real one?
"I wonder what Lucius is thinking now."
***
"You think something is wrong?"
"I’m not entirely certain yet, but that is my impression," Felix said as he came up beside my horse.
Training was underway as usual.
Regardless of their faction, the young nobles were training on horseback.
"Move, move! Hurry up!"
"How can you still not master the basic maneuvers?!"
But Felix was right. Something was off. Unlike when we first started, everyone seemed to be repeating the same drills without any real enthusiasm.
"It seems you’re not the only one noticing this,"
I had sensed it myself over the past few days.
"Frankly, it’s only natural. They’ve been doing the exact same drills for weeks. Isn’t the Troy Game supposed to be a competition?" Felix continued.
"While training together fosters cooperation, the lack of rivalry might be dampening their spirits."
"No rivalry means no competitive fire."
It was no longer a game. It had become military drill. Few things were more tedious than repeating the exact same routine day after day.
In a way, this kind of boredom was inevitable.
"Well then. That’s easy enough to fix."
"Easy enough to fix?"
"Few problems are easier to solve."
A chuckle escaped my lips. In this era of Rome, there was only one way for a group of young men to gather, have a good time, compete, and satisfy their competitive urges.
"Let’s introduce a game."
But one problem remained: which sport?
***
"A team sport?"
Metellus asked, and I nodded.
"Yes. After all, doing the exact same drills every day gets tedious."
"I’ve already seen a few groups playing in their downtime. A team sport sounds like a great idea."
"It will foster cooperation within the teams while letting them compete against each other. Don’t you think?"
I asked with a smile. Without any competition, things would get dull.
Having the Trojan and Greek factions face off in a sport would channel their competitive drive in a healthy way. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
"Then harpastum should do,"
Metellus said.
"Trigon or paganica would be difficult to play with this many people."
"Harpastum, huh..."
I nodded. Trigon was a game where three people stood in a triangle, tossing a ball rapidly back and forth.
It was essentially like playing catch, making it difficult to adapt into a team sport. The same went for paganica.
The only viable option was harpastum, a game in which two teams threw and passed a ball toward a target zone.
"Let’s start with that."
The young nobles cheered at the mention of playing harpastum.
"Perfect timing. We were just getting bored."
"Are we just playing harpastum today, then?"
Even without any direct orders, the young nobles naturally grouped up according to their factions.
Anyone watching would have thought they had been waiting for this exact moment.
Someone brought over a ball, and everything was ready in moments.
"Let the game begin!"
I watched as the men began passing the ball back and forth.
Harpastum was a sport frequently played by legionaries.
In military camps, soldiers and instructors would split into teams to play, and on festival days, special matches were held with cash prizes for the winning team.
However, I rarely had the chance to watch a match myself.
To begin with, the only public spectacles held inside Rome were gladiatorial games and chariot races.
I usually came to the Campus Martius for sword training, not casual exercise.
I had tried introducing soccer or baseball to my close friends before, but none of them found it very appealing.
"Pass it here!"
"Charge! Push forward!"
Players from both factions screamed at the top of their lungs as they surged toward the goal line, while the defenders fought to block their advance.
The rules were hardly refined, so the game involved a considerable amount of grappling.
Wait, this looks awfully familiar...
I had seen something remarkably similar to this somewhere before.
Not in this era of Rome, but back in the 21st century—my original time.
A sport where players split into teams, carried a ball, and ran toward the opponent’s territory while the defending team tried to stop them.
Rugby—or rather, the sport that had evolved from it.
Maybe this one will be more to the Romans’ taste than Rugby.
I approached Metellus, who was watching the match.
"May I have a word?"
"What is it?"
"I have a proposal."
I glanced at the players as they ran and grappled across the field.
"How about we try something new?"
"Something new? You mean like a new sport?"
"Yes. I have something I want to try. We’ll divide into teams of eleven. One side carries the ball and advances, while the other side blocks them. If the ball carrier crosses a designated line, his side scores. If the ball carrier is brought to the ground, play stops right there."
I called over the ones who weren’t playing and began drawing lines in the dirt.
On one side of the Campus Martius, we marked out a long rectangular field with a few wooden stakes.
White ropes marked both ends, and the field was marked at regular intervals in between.
"On the battlefield, the most crucial task is maintaining your formation and breaking through the enemy line."
The young nobles, including Metellus, Antony, and Brutus, listened to me with great attention.
"This game is a miniature version of that. Each end of the field is one side’s territory, and if the person holding the ball reaches the far end of the opponent’s territory, his team scores."
"So the defenders just have to stop the ball carrier?"
"To keep it simple, yes."
Technically, we needed goalposts, but making those would take time.
Several young nobles’ faces lit up at the explanation.
"That actually sounds fun."
"I’ve heard Sparta has a similar game. Episkyros, was it?"
"Episkyros is common among the Greeks."
"True, but I heard the Spartans play a much rougher version."
As the young nobles eagerly debated, I raised my hand to continue my explanation.
"However, biting, eye-gouging, and kicking are strictly forbidden. You can tackle or push opponents down, but you can’t punch them."
I couldn’t risk having a bunch of injured patricians on my hands.
What I was describing was, of course, a popular 21st-century sport.
More precisely, one wildly popular in North America.
Gridiron football—or simply American football.
"It requires strategic thinking and cooperation, not just brute force."
I arranged several small blocks of wood on the ground to demonstrate.
"For instance, the attacking side pretends to run to the right. The defense will naturally shift in that direction. But the ball is actually passed to the left. Or the ball carrier makes it look as if he will push straight through the center, only to pass the ball to someone following behind him."
"It’s quite similar to a feigned retreat by cavalry,"
Antony remarked.
"Then shouldn’t we just give the ball to the biggest brute among us and have the rest block a path for him?"
"You might think so at first, but if everyone anticipates it, you’ll be stopped before you get anywhere."
I smiled at Antony.
"You can pretend to hand it to the strongest player, then pass it to the fastest one instead. Or, while everyone is chasing the fast runner, the stronger player can push forward and seize a little ground."
"So this isn’t just a game of running with a ball; it’s a battle to seize ground before your chances run out."
"Exactly."
I nodded. Everyone seemed far more intrigued than I had anticipated.
"After all, war is ultimately about seizing ground, too."
Come to think of it, American football had everything Romans loved.
Both sides clashed at close quarters while maintaining their formations. One side tried to break through, the other fought to hold the line. It was practically a miniature battle.
"With this much physical contact, injuries are inevitable. Let’s wear armor and helmets."
I wasn’t sure if the young nobles would like the idea, but it was certainly worth a try.
At first, the game was a clumsy affair.
"Hey, what did I tell you! No punching!"
No one understood the rules, so they kept trying to run even after being tackled and refused to accept that the ball had to change hands.
But as time passed and we played a few rounds, the field quickly came alive.
"Throw it here! No, over there!"
"Break through!"
"Stop him!"
After a few touchdowns, Antony walked up to me, completely drenched in sweat.
"Hey, Lucius. This is incredibly fun, but it’s missing one crucial element."
"Missing something?"
"We’re forming ranks and fighting over the line, but the most important thing is missing."
Antony smirked.
"Shields. How about we allow a few players to carry a scutum?"
"Shields..."
I hesitated for a moment, torn between laughing and frowning.
Football in Roman armor and helmets—and now shields?
Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.
"Very well. Let’s try it with shields. But using them to strike anyone is strictly forbidden."
With that, the modified football match resumed.
I planned to find a suitable moment to steer them back to their equestrian drills, but the excitement was getting out of hand.
It felt as though a riot might break out if I tried to end the game now.
Well, spending a day relaxing like this shouldn’t hurt.
This should keep them from getting bored.
But my optimistic assumption was proven wrong before long.
***
"That’s enough for today! The sun has already set, so..."
"Just one more game! We’re tied right now! We have to decide the winner!"
"He’s right!"
Metellus, Antony, and even Brutus shouted with alarming enthusiasm.
Seriously, the sun was already down. Why the hell were they still playing?
"Once it gets dark, it will be difficult for everyone to return home. It will be dangerous as well, so..."
"We’re perfectly fine. We’ve already had our slaves bring tents, so we can just camp out here tonight."
"There are enough of us here. What place in Rome could be safer than the Campus Martius right now? If you’re tired, Caesar, feel free to head back first."
"..."
I stared at the young patricians continuing their match under the flickering torchlight they had set up around the field.
I had a terrible feeling I had just unleashed a monster upon Rome.
