Foul Spirits ~ Murders ~ Victorious
I've given myself far too much work with this timeline, and am nowhere near finished. However, I feel like I've covered the first five years or so of the timeline to my satisfaction. So without further ado, I present: Vignettes. Too short indiviudally for multiple posts, so spoilered for easy browsing. I apologize if they aren't especially compelling, I've just written them at one in the morning.
Also- this is my first attempt at a timeline. Please bear with me.
So, dear reader, as perhaps you can tell, this is a timeline with two main points of divergence- the failure of Britannicus' assassination, and the success of Boudicca's rebellion. The timeline will mainly follow the effects of these individually, as well as how these divergences interact down the road. This is not due to a lack of interest in other parts of the world, but rather a lack of knowledge which I currently endeavor to rectify.
Also- this is my first attempt at a timeline. Please bear with me.
The party had been going for quite a while, long enough that some had left and others been removed. Still, the musicians played, and the game of politics continued beneath the surface of pleasant conversations.
“I’d like my wine heated, please.”
The servant nodded deferentially to the adolescent, taking the cup and beginning to move away. The older boy who reclined on the next couch put out a hand to halt him as he gulped the last of his wine.
“More for me, as well,” he said above the clamor of the party.
The servant took the other’s cup and continued walking. The boys talked between themselves, largely ignoring the other guests at the party. This continued for a few minutes, until the servant returned bearing both cups. As he began to hold one out toward the younger boy, the elder snatched it from his fingers and took a large swallow.
“Agh! Hot!” He spat much of it out, slamming the cup on the table. “I grabbed the wrong…”
He bent over, clutching his stomach. “Nngh!”
“What, burned your stomach?” laughed the younger. The older shook his head, then fell to the floor and threw up.
“Titus!” The boy quickly knelt by his elder friend, doing his best to help. A quick glance showed that the servant had made himself scarce. “Somebody call a healer!”
“I’d like my wine heated, please.”
The servant nodded deferentially to the adolescent, taking the cup and beginning to move away. The older boy who reclined on the next couch put out a hand to halt him as he gulped the last of his wine.
“More for me, as well,” he said above the clamor of the party.
The servant took the other’s cup and continued walking. The boys talked between themselves, largely ignoring the other guests at the party. This continued for a few minutes, until the servant returned bearing both cups. As he began to hold one out toward the younger boy, the elder snatched it from his fingers and took a large swallow.
“Agh! Hot!” He spat much of it out, slamming the cup on the table. “I grabbed the wrong…”
He bent over, clutching his stomach. “Nngh!”
“What, burned your stomach?” laughed the younger. The older shook his head, then fell to the floor and threw up.
“Titus!” The boy quickly knelt by his elder friend, doing his best to help. A quick glance showed that the servant had made himself scarce. “Somebody call a healer!”
Titus groaned and sat up in bed, putting his palms to his head. “Ugh… have I been kicked by a horse?”
“Nothing so mundane. I think Lucius tried to poison me.” Titus briefly opened his eyes in shock at his friend’s words, then winced and squeezed them shut again.
“And I drank from your cup… gods!”
“Exactly. And since then, your father has had us both under heavy guard.”
“You’re rolling your eyes, Britannicus. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Well, it’s a fine gesture. But Lucius is Princeps. He has a lot of money to work with.” Britannicus crossed his arms and leaned back. “If he truly wants me dead, he can probably manage it.”
Titus slowly opened his eyes. “That depends on whether news of this gets around.”
“What, you think the senators care about yet another poisoning?”
“Not when it succeeds and they can call it an ‘unfortunate accident’. But this attempt failed. Whether they truly care or not, they at least have to pretend to. Besides, your father had a lot of supporters that might not be happy to hear of an attempt on your life.”
“Maybe you’re right. If I can live until I turn fourteen and come of age next month, perhaps I can garner some support.”
“You work on that. I’m going back to sleep.”
“Nothing so mundane. I think Lucius tried to poison me.” Titus briefly opened his eyes in shock at his friend’s words, then winced and squeezed them shut again.
“And I drank from your cup… gods!”
“Exactly. And since then, your father has had us both under heavy guard.”
“You’re rolling your eyes, Britannicus. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Well, it’s a fine gesture. But Lucius is Princeps. He has a lot of money to work with.” Britannicus crossed his arms and leaned back. “If he truly wants me dead, he can probably manage it.”
Titus slowly opened his eyes. “That depends on whether news of this gets around.”
“What, you think the senators care about yet another poisoning?”
“Not when it succeeds and they can call it an ‘unfortunate accident’. But this attempt failed. Whether they truly care or not, they at least have to pretend to. Besides, your father had a lot of supporters that might not be happy to hear of an attempt on your life.”
“Maybe you’re right. If I can live until I turn fourteen and come of age next month, perhaps I can garner some support.”
“You work on that. I’m going back to sleep.”
Britannicus tapped his chin thoughtfully as he lay on the couch. At eighteen, he had mostly passed from adolescent scrawniness to wiry adulthood. His small following among the senators had not grown appreciably in the past year or two, but at least he had enough supporters that he’d find out about any of Lucius’ attempts on his life before they happened. He’d already discovered and discreetly dealt with two such in the last year; perhaps the lessened number of murder attempts meant Lucius was giving up. On the other hand, he could do without his stepmother’s Agrippina’s overly public endorsements and ringing praise. It wasn’t as if she actually cared for him; she simply hated her son. Seneca and Burrus’ support were much more appreciated; they were quiet about it, but they gave fairly useful advice.
Titus burst into the room, panting. “Britannicus! Agrippina’s dead!
Britannicus quickly sat up. “What? How?”
Titus slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “Drowned. A boating accident, supposedly.”
“Lucius?”
“Probably. In any case, can we afford not to suspect him?”
“Quite.” Britannicus dropped off the couch and joined his friend on the marble floor. “What’s Lucius done since?”
“About what you’d expect. Blamed the boat's craftsmen, waxed poetic, sobbed a bit. Crocodile tears, I’m sure.”
Titus burst into the room, panting. “Britannicus! Agrippina’s dead!
Britannicus quickly sat up. “What? How?”
Titus slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “Drowned. A boating accident, supposedly.”
“Lucius?”
“Probably. In any case, can we afford not to suspect him?”
“Quite.” Britannicus dropped off the couch and joined his friend on the marble floor. “What’s Lucius done since?”
“About what you’d expect. Blamed the boat's craftsmen, waxed poetic, sobbed a bit. Crocodile tears, I’m sure.”
Since Agrippina’s death, Lucius had become increasingly erratic, and more people had begun looking to Britannicus. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.
“Britannicus! Stop looking so glum! Mingle, it’s your party!”
Shaken out of his reverie, he looked over at Titus. “Must I? It’s not that I don’t enjoy these events, but…”
Titus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know, you’d rather be planning clever ways out of murder attempts. And gods forbid you get too far away from your reading. But you know this is important.”
Britannicus sighed. “Yes, I know. If I’m to keep their support I need to show my stability in contrast to Lucius. Your father has said it often enough.”
“Uh-oh.” Titus leaned toward him. “You might find stability a problem. Here comes Marcia.”
Britannicus’ eyes widened. “Marcia Furnilla, the senator’s daughter? Uh- how do I look?”
Titus grinned. “Just as much of a fool as normal, my friend.” Britannicus pushed him good-naturedly as he continued talking. “You’ll wind up being one of those couples that pretend to marry for politics so no-one catches on that you love each other, won’t you?”
“Oh, be quiet.” Britannicus gathered his courage and wove off through the crowd, giving greetings where they were due. Titus smiled faintly.
“Britannicus! Stop looking so glum! Mingle, it’s your party!”
Shaken out of his reverie, he looked over at Titus. “Must I? It’s not that I don’t enjoy these events, but…”
Titus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know, you’d rather be planning clever ways out of murder attempts. And gods forbid you get too far away from your reading. But you know this is important.”
Britannicus sighed. “Yes, I know. If I’m to keep their support I need to show my stability in contrast to Lucius. Your father has said it often enough.”
“Uh-oh.” Titus leaned toward him. “You might find stability a problem. Here comes Marcia.”
Britannicus’ eyes widened. “Marcia Furnilla, the senator’s daughter? Uh- how do I look?”
Titus grinned. “Just as much of a fool as normal, my friend.” Britannicus pushed him good-naturedly as he continued talking. “You’ll wind up being one of those couples that pretend to marry for politics so no-one catches on that you love each other, won’t you?”
“Oh, be quiet.” Britannicus gathered his courage and wove off through the crowd, giving greetings where they were due. Titus smiled faintly.
Boudicca rubbed her fists into her eyes. She and her followers had been on the move for she-wasn’t-sure-how-long. She’d already had to stop them from reveling after their victory at the Roman settlement of Londinium, and again it Verulamium. At least they got to sleep; she’d barely caught an hour here or there while planning for this next strike. She felt far older than her thirty years. But it would all pay off if they could catch up to the Romans before they had time to regroup.
***
Andraste had smiled upon them. They had outflanked the Romans, boxing them into a narrow gorge, and were perfectly positioned to starve them out. It took a week, but by the end the Romans fell to a man, and Boudicca got some much-needed rest in the meantime while her followers enjoyed themselves by throwing stones at the Romans from atop the cliffs. Or pissing on them. With a rockslide blocking one exit and the Britons the other, the Roman soldiers didn’t have many options for escape.
Now there was a single legion remaining. Boudicca and her followers had left the area of the battle and regrouped a good distance away, around a large hill. As she looked over the camp from the top of it, she saw a few figures drawing near the edge. Then more- perhaps twenty in all. Confused, she called one of the younger men toward her.
“Cunobelin, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You’re young and energetic. Run down there to see who’s arrived, would you?”
“Right away.” He took her words at face value, sprinting down the hill and toward the edge of the camp.
He did not return for about fifteen minutes. Just as Boudicca was about to get up and go find out for herself, the young man came slowly back up the hill, a stricken expression on his face.
“Cunobelin?”
“Ma’am- it- they-“
“Come on, spit it out.”
“The Romans, ma’am! They’ve destroyed the groves of Mona! Desecrated it!”
She stared. She knew the Romans were barbarians, no matter how civilized they made themselves out to be; but this was low even for them. Even as she grappled with the fact, wailing and shouts of anger rose from the camp below. She closed her eyes, grimaced, and then opened them again.
“Cunobelin. There will be time for mourning. But first, tell me who those new arrivals were.”
Cunobelin nodded quickly. “They are Brigantes. They say there are others coming. Uh… all of them, actually.”
Boudicca raised an eyebrow. “Cartimandua finally grew a spine?”
“Uh, no. She isn’t coming. The Brigantes came to join you.”
“I see.” Boudicca stood and clapped the young man on the shoulder. “Thank you for your help.” She had a lot of plans to reconsider.
***
Andraste had smiled upon them. They had outflanked the Romans, boxing them into a narrow gorge, and were perfectly positioned to starve them out. It took a week, but by the end the Romans fell to a man, and Boudicca got some much-needed rest in the meantime while her followers enjoyed themselves by throwing stones at the Romans from atop the cliffs. Or pissing on them. With a rockslide blocking one exit and the Britons the other, the Roman soldiers didn’t have many options for escape.
Now there was a single legion remaining. Boudicca and her followers had left the area of the battle and regrouped a good distance away, around a large hill. As she looked over the camp from the top of it, she saw a few figures drawing near the edge. Then more- perhaps twenty in all. Confused, she called one of the younger men toward her.
“Cunobelin, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You’re young and energetic. Run down there to see who’s arrived, would you?”
“Right away.” He took her words at face value, sprinting down the hill and toward the edge of the camp.
He did not return for about fifteen minutes. Just as Boudicca was about to get up and go find out for herself, the young man came slowly back up the hill, a stricken expression on his face.
“Cunobelin?”
“Ma’am- it- they-“
“Come on, spit it out.”
“The Romans, ma’am! They’ve destroyed the groves of Mona! Desecrated it!”
She stared. She knew the Romans were barbarians, no matter how civilized they made themselves out to be; but this was low even for them. Even as she grappled with the fact, wailing and shouts of anger rose from the camp below. She closed her eyes, grimaced, and then opened them again.
“Cunobelin. There will be time for mourning. But first, tell me who those new arrivals were.”
Cunobelin nodded quickly. “They are Brigantes. They say there are others coming. Uh… all of them, actually.”
Boudicca raised an eyebrow. “Cartimandua finally grew a spine?”
“Uh, no. She isn’t coming. The Brigantes came to join you.”
“I see.” Boudicca stood and clapped the young man on the shoulder. “Thank you for your help.” She had a lot of plans to reconsider.
Nero had not had a good day. Ever since he’d made the decision to withdraw the remaining Roman troops in Britain and not attempt to retake it, far too many people had been ridiculing him. Everyone was talking about Britannicus behind his back, he was sure of it. His stepbrother refused to fall victim to any of his plots- he avoided poison somehow, and he kept slipping out of political snares. And the damn man had the nerve to bring up Agrippina as the two of them passed each other earlier. Nero had had her killed, of course, but that didn’t mean Britannicus had any right to say so. No, not say- imply. That was much worse.
He’d decided to go back to the palace and play his lyre. Then the strings broke on the instrument, damn it too. So was it any wonder that he’d slapped Claudia when she asked how his day had gone? No, of course not. It was Britannicus’ fault entirely. If he had just died before he came of age, all this would have been avoided, Nero was sure of it. That man’s sister Claudia deserved that kick, those punches.
She’d said nothing afterward, and little this morning. Never raising her voice, not her.
“Here you are, dear.”
Nero looked up from his couch with a fading sneer. Claudia, always the subservient one. Dear Claudia, bringing him wine even when he’d beaten her the night before. He took the cup she offered and drank it, long and slow. His sneer returned.
“Woman, have you ever stood up for yourself? Ever showed the slightest backbone?”
Claudia smiled. “I'll tell you when you wake up, dear.”
He never did.
He’d decided to go back to the palace and play his lyre. Then the strings broke on the instrument, damn it too. So was it any wonder that he’d slapped Claudia when she asked how his day had gone? No, of course not. It was Britannicus’ fault entirely. If he had just died before he came of age, all this would have been avoided, Nero was sure of it. That man’s sister Claudia deserved that kick, those punches.
She’d said nothing afterward, and little this morning. Never raising her voice, not her.
“Here you are, dear.”
Nero looked up from his couch with a fading sneer. Claudia, always the subservient one. Dear Claudia, bringing him wine even when he’d beaten her the night before. He took the cup she offered and drank it, long and slow. His sneer returned.
“Woman, have you ever stood up for yourself? Ever showed the slightest backbone?”
Claudia smiled. “I'll tell you when you wake up, dear.”
He never did.
So, dear reader, as perhaps you can tell, this is a timeline with two main points of divergence- the failure of Britannicus' assassination, and the success of Boudicca's rebellion. The timeline will mainly follow the effects of these individually, as well as how these divergences interact down the road. This is not due to a lack of interest in other parts of the world, but rather a lack of knowledge which I currently endeavor to rectify.
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