I, Britannicus (With Apologies to Robert Graves)

Excellent! I am a huge fan of I, Claudius and always thought that Britannicus got the short end all around from his Father. I often wondered how he might have fared against Nero had he been given a real chance. I will be watching very closely and with great interest. Thank You so much for this story.
 
And here we go! Enjoy. :closedeyesmile:

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But the madness of Caligula had stirred up the sentiments of republicanism, and indeed Cassius Chaerea would have announced the republic restored had it not been for his avaricious Praetorians, who simply substituted my father for his dead nephew, for with no Emperor there would be no Praetorian Guard. My father had drawn lessons from this episode only very late in his life, and when he had done so, he realised that every year in which he had capably handled the Empire’s affairs was one in which such sentiments died a slow death.

Ahenobarbus hence represented his chance to give the Empire another insane emperor, a “viper in the bosom of Rome”, to quote the impression of Tiberius to his heir Caligula, and it was to be me, secreted away to the edges of the world, to put to the sword the poisons which would leak out of the mud once Old King Log was dead and rotted, and restore the republic. [1]

There was only one problem. I refused, for in truth perhaps the last of the liberators had died with Cassius Chaerea when he was executed by Claudius himself. A full generation had gone by since, and there were almost certainly none alive who could remember a time before that of the divine Augustus ruling in isolation.

Yes, the divine Julius had been slain by the tyrannicides Brutus and Cassius amongst others for fear that the word “king” would become commonplace amongst the masses once again, but the Republic which his heir Augustus – then called Octavius – ended was truly in its death-throes by then. Would having just two consuls instead of one emperor above them really have weeded out the corruption of the aristocracy and the administration?

Nonetheless, I confess that none of these mature arguments were those which first came to mind. I was a mere child of thirteen years when he proposed his daring plan and in those times, much like any other youth I considered myself invincible, as ready to put the world to rights as Hercules had in his twelve tasks. I finally forgave him for now I saw his purpose, but I could not agree to his scheme. I would, I said, stand on my own two feet and take on Ahenobarbus, and I would show to the world that our clan, that of the Claudians, could produce more good fruit than rotten and not vice versa, as had been so often claimed.

Respecting my decision, he let me do so, and amended his will – so nefariously suppressed by Agrippinilla – to state that both Ahenobarbus and I would rule after he died; Ahenobarbus immediately, and me once I came of age. Thus, my fourteenth birthday, the day marking my freedom to take up the toga virilis and to become a man, would be the first day of the emperorship of Britannicus.

What a fool I was! He had said that it had been foreseen that Ahenobarbus would succeed him, and he must have thought it was to my death that I went when I walked away, through the doors of his bedroom. Indeed, it was only the selfless act of my childhood friend Titus – dear, sweet Titus, far too noble to meet such an ignoble fate – which saved my life on the eve of my coming of age. Titus (I shall call him thus, for although there are a great many Romans with this praenomen, including my son whom I named after my friend in tribute, there shall only ever be one Titus to me) was the son of the general Vespasian, consul in the years past but driven into obscurity by the machinations of Agrippinilla, [2] who saw him as a threat, and quite right she was to, and was one of my playmates in our youth. He had become a man before me, for he was born in the same year as Octavia, and he was eager for me to join him in this season. It is the cruellest of fates that he had to give up his life to see this fulfilled.

This is how it happened. My father died in the thirteenth year of his reign, after eating poisoned mushrooms from the plate of Agrippinilla, which he accepted as steadily as any man accepts his foretold fate – likewise, at the harbour at Misenum, I threw all caution to the wind and stood upon the bow of the flagship of the rescue fleet even as it plunged deep into the smoky clouds billowing forth from Vesuvius, which had smothered the populace of Pompeii and threatened every crewman aboard equally, despite the pleadings of Plinius Secundus, for it had been predicted that my divine father would slay me with fire, but more on this later – and gave up the ghost that very night. Narcissus remonstrated with me to fulfil the plan of Claudius and hide amongst the Britons, but again I rebuffed him, stating that I would succeed in avoiding deadly intrigues where my father had failed.

“Failed?” Narcissus interjected, “Why, he did pretty well in the end, did he not?”

And it was true that I had spoken too hastily, for it was true that my father had survived the death of his father Nero Drusus and that of his brother Nero in the reign of Augustus, and those of his nephews Nero and Drusus in the reign of Tiberius, and the insanities of the reign of his nephew Caligula, all through his wit and his cunning in exaggerating his disabilities, and had come out on top, albeit not by choice, and had ruled without great strife barring that of the conspiracy which my mother allegedly had hatched.

Oh, how I was so inadequate in comparison! My survival was mostly due to the indignity in which he had left me, but in the times after his death and the ascension of Ahenobarbus to imperial glory, Agrippinilla found her son increasingly uncontrollable, and so turned to me. I have heard that she had threatened to denounce herself and confess to the murder of my father just to bring her son down – the way events have gone, this confession clearly was twisted over time.

In so doing she may well have signed my death-warrant, albeit unintentionally. I learned that I had in fact, due purely to the strength of my constitution, once barely managed to overcome a poison of Ahenobarbus, but this did not deter him, as he simply claimed it was the falling sickness and then whipped the poisoner which he had employed, threatening to kill her if she did not produce something more substantial. But this incident had already aroused his mother’s suspicions, and his next plot was as devious as that of his mother’s mushrooms.

Agrippinilla had fired my taster and hired a slave utterly loyal to herself for the next dinner, which occurred on the eve of my manhood ceremony, but even then Ahenobarbus found a way around this, a conclusion I have reached through some induction. For the taster had partaken of some wine which I wished to drink and was still standing, although he excessively licked his tongue thereafter, which was because it was too hot to comfortably sip. I then ordered it be cooled with some ice-water. [3]

It must have been the water which was poisoned – O cunning Ahenobarbus! – for the next to drink from the chalice was Titus, who reclined beside me that night, regaling me of schoolyard tales and eagerly commenting on his imminent military service. Upon taking a single sip, he gagged and coughed, and then, as readily as my father had met his fate, he finished the entire cup in a single long draw. In some of my dreams, he locks his gaze with me as he does so, and yet still in others, he drinks with one hand, grasping my wrist with the other, telling me, “Britannicus, in the years to come, even unto your old age, never forget this moment. Let it forever be etched in your memory,” and grasps it like a vice, almost to the point of breaking, as he finishes the deadly mixture. [4]

He fell instantly dead, rolling off the recliner, choking on his own froth and his legs kicking and flailing like those of a freshly slaughtered fowl. It was a terrible sight, and silence reigned in those final few moments of his. I could only lie there, struck dumb by the grim tableau. Agrippinilla shot up like a bolt, staring Ahenobarbus in the eye with accusation, and Ahenobarbus called for a doctor, stating that some allergic reaction must have happened. The party dispersed rapidly, and I was conducted to my room under armed guard.

I had not uttered a single word since poor Titus had taken his deadly drink, and I may have spent the rest of the night in total silence had it not been for the intrusion of Agrippinilla. She stood framed in the open doorway, her long shadow cast into the room by the torches of her Germanic guards standing behind her. She turned to them and told them to leave us, and entered the room, now lit only by the moonlight outside. I glanced up, and my mouth, dry from my silence, stumbled over its words much in the manner of my father’s stutter.

“W-W-What do you want?” I asked, “Here to finish your son’s work?”

“And they still doubt if you’re your f-f-father’s son,” she said, mocking my momentary stammer. “Don’t be obtuse, Britannicus. Your life is in danger.”

“And my friend’s is gone, no thanks to your plotting,” I spat.

“Not mine. My son Nero –”

And here I opened my mouth to correct her, but she persisted, “My son, regardless of what you call him, clearly cares no more for discretion. If we don’t work together we’ll find ourselves as dead as your friend Titus, bodies strewn on the steps of the palace, or worse!”

I was bewildered. “You propose an alliance?!”

“Nero will stop at nothing – nothing – to be free of me. And he’ll take down anybody in his way, you mark my words.”


I replied, full of nothing but contempt, “And so you would trade one slave for another, and choose for me to be your puppet instead of him?”

“Listen, you fool! Even now he will know I have come to meet you. He is out of control!”

“Are you not his mother, you witch? Or have you been unable to convince him to bend to your whims, either as that or as his lover?!” I retorted in harsh whisper. [5]

Her eyes burned hot as cinders, as though about to launch into some tirade, but through massive effort she composed herself, and said, “Now is not the time for this. Consider my proposal. I’ll see to it that you become a man tomorrow. That much I can promise you, but the rest – the rest will be up to you. Refuse, and I’ll see you dead just as soon.”

And with that she stood and turned to leave. But I muttered one final Parthian shot.

“Very well, Agrippinilla,” I said, “We are united purely by mutual enmity for your whelp of a son. But I will never forget what you did to my father, or him unto Titus.”

She exited, and I was left to fitful dreams. I remember little of the next day, except that of course I put on my toga virilis, and wandered through the motions of the ceremony, as numb to everything around me as Old King Log. Everywhere around me there were Agrippinilla’s Germanic guards, and Ahenobarbus was nowhere to be seen – I later learned that he had been locked in by the remainder of her own guard and prevented from interfering with any of the day’s events, including my presentation to the Senate, where they unanimously voted to give me tribunician power, and to recognise Caesar as my imperial title; [6] Augustus was yet to come.

Rome was now ruled by two emperors for the very first time, as had been planned with Postumus Agrippa, the son of Agrippa and grandson of Augustus through his exiled daughter Julia, who was murdered by Livia, the mother of the other emperor Tiberius, and Tiberius Gemellus the grandson of Tiberius, who was murdered by Caligula, his other emperor. Surely the same fate would have awaited me had it not been for the intercession of the father of the deceased Titus, whose funeral I could not attend for I was occupied by my coming of age and my proclamation, the general and ex-consul Vespasian, who once had been left Rome by the accusations of Agrippinilla, but who now would let nothing stop him from returning to mourn his beloved son.

And verily I say to you, where Vespasian treads, let the entire world tremble.

[1] I, Claudius, Episode 12, "Old King Log"
[2] More or less OTL, given his disappearance from politics late in Claudius' reign.
[3] Suetonius, "Life of Nero"
[4] POD. Suetonius' "Life of Titus" claims that Titus did actually take a sip, causing a debilitating illness, but here he nobly takes the proverbial bullet.
[5] In keeping with the more sensationalist aspects of the history this TL uses.
[6] I know this was already part of his name, but this is the codification of Caesar as a title and not just a cognomen.


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Next update will be next month, exactly when depending on how much I've written by then. Weber's Germany will take precedence over this, however.
 
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