You know, before spending a week in Nero's company, I would have freaked out over two of Rome's greatest enemies commanding Roman legions. Now, though? I just felt dead inside.
"It is good to see you as well, Nero!" Boudica calls back cheerfully. "Why, I was beginning to wonder why, exactly, I was fighting for you, but the sight of you reminds of it all the more. Come on into camp, and don't mind the bodies. I had to have the troops decimated five times for being too Roman, and we can't spare enough manpower for the mass graves anymore."
Nero, for once her life,
actually pays attention to something someone says. Does she only have ears for redheads? In which case, I suppose I can chalk Nero-wrangling up on the list of 'Things My Sister Would Do Better Than Me.' Her brow furrows, and she turns to me. "Praetor?"
"Yes?" Oh, I know where this is going.
"It seems that somebody needs to explain to General Boudica that you're supposed to kill your
enemies' troops, and not your own. I'd do it myself, but I have a concert. Be a dear and talk to her about it?"
"Yes, My Emperor." I agree with a sigh. Well, I had wanted the chance to question her myself, why look a gift horse in the mouth?
---
"Queen Boudica? May I enter?" I call, standing outside the tent of the Iceni's queen. Normally, there would be a guard on duty, but all of the soldiers stationed here had been dragged off for Nero's concert. Honestly, it was a small miracle that I managed to persuade her to leave a few to stand watch as sentries.
"You may." The woman inside the tent calls back. I pull back the tent flap and step inside. She sits at her desk, staring down at the missives strewn across it. She's changed out of the breastplate she wore before, into simple riding leathers. Her cloak has been haphazardly tossed over the bed. When she sees me, her face hardens. "Nero's praetor. To what do I owe this visit?"
"Please don't call me that. I'm not even a Roman citizen. She hired me as a mercenary, and then decided I was her praetor without any regard to her people's traditions." I sigh. "Honestly, just hearing the word makes me wince. She only calls for me when she wants her stupidity fixed."
Boudica's face softens a bit. "Well, then. Come and grab a seat."
I comply, and then turn to face her. "Anything interesting?" I gesture at the missives on the desk.
"No idea. I don't know how to read, and Nero dragged my scribe off to that concert of hers."
"Hm." Well, time for a leap of faith. "Are you aware that you're a Servant?"
She freezes. "Yes. I do know that." She turns and looks at me with suspicion. "The question is, how do you?"
"Well, as for how I know about Servants, I'm the Master of Chaldea." I pause. "um, you do know-"
"I do know about Chaldea. And the Singularities. I was summoned by the World with that knowledge." She informs me, crossing her arms. "I also got a description of what you look like, although I'm afraid I didn't recognize you in that armor."
"It's costume armor, actually. Nero insisted I dress the part, and when I tried on the actual armor I could barely walk. So, she hit up her personal theater's costume department."
Boudica snorts. "So, you're working with Nero. Makes sense, she's perfect, after all." She says it in the same formulaic way as every one of Nero's sycophants did, and suddenly, I come to realize
exactly how Nero got the fiery queen and rebellious gladiator to work for her.
"Ah, yes. About that. I was wondering why
you were working for her." I offer, redirecting the conversation. It's a risk, but, well, I actually like her. Letting her stay obliviously brainwashed just rubs me the wrong way.
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? She's perfect, so working for her means I can kill more Romans than I ever could otherwise." her face falls as she seems to process what she just said. "Wait... No, I-" A slack-jawed expression of utter horror sweeps over her face, swiftly followed by blinding, all-consuming
rage. "THAT BITCH! I'LL KILL HER!"
"And end Rome's suffering?" I ask in English. I don't think there are any observers about, but it never hurts to take precautions.
"What are you talking about?" she snaps, switching over to English as well.
"Well, first, I should ask just
what it is you want, Queen Boudica. Do you wish to merely kill Romans? Or do you wish to make them
suffer?" I emphasize the last word, drawing out every syllable with a vicious, malefic glee.
"I-"
"Because you want them to suffer, you'll let Nero live." Right, she's already bought my argument's hook. Now, all that remains is to reel her in.
"Really?" she scoffs. "They
love Nero."
"Like you did?" She freezes as she processes the implication. "They are no more immune to her presence than you were. That dawning horror you just felt? They experience that every waking day, bound to her by chains they cannot break, loathing her even as they crave her, at once violating everything they hold to be good and right, and at the same time longing for more. For Nero to live, is for Rome to suffer."
"But-"
"And that forced adulation? She
doesn't even know she's doing it. She goes blissfully about her day, completely unaware that all the love and praise she has been granted is hollow and forced. She thinks she's a genius!" I laugh. "Boudica, I can assure you, speaking as one of the many people she delegates the responsibility of cleaning up her messes to, that is most certainly not the case. She'll run Rome into the ground with not a single person even able to so much as complain about it."
Boudica pauses, face slightly flushed. "But, even still, how can Rome be destroyed by a Roman? What ruin can Nero truly bring?"
"I call myself a Chaldean, do I not? But poor oracle, I, that I should deliver no prophecy!" I boom, my voice rising as I go through my lines with gusto. Honestly, even when persuading a woman who could kill me with a sneeze not to screw up my mission, I can't help but ham things up. "I think I'll fix that oversight now. In four years, Rome will
burn." Boudica seems almost hypnotized at the thought. "Its shops and streets will smolder, its buildings burn, and district after district shall be consumed in the ever-growing inferno. Father, mother, and child will perish alike. Patrician and plebeian will be devoured without distinction. Ancient tomes and priceless reminders of times long gone will be no more, a past consumed by flame. And when the deadly crackle of the flames is done, once Romans have died in agony, their flesh melting off in giblets from their cooked bones, leaving nothing but charred corpses behind, the roar of the fire will be eclipsed by the wails of the bereaved." Boudica is practically panting, for some reason, her face flushed. "And do you want to know what Nero will do?"
"Tell me." she practically moans.
"She'll build a palace called the Domus Aurea on the charred land left bare by the fire, and tell all who can hear, 'Now, I may live as a human being!'" Boudica smiles, still panting a bit. "And then, oh, then they'll turn against her, as she taxes the very skin off their backs. And she will grow ever more paranoid, killing everyone she loves, one by one, until, at last, she dies, a whimpering, sniveling, coward to the end." Boudica certainly seems to be enjoying the description of Nero's fall. "Nero is not Rome's savior. She is its doom, a sweetness concealing poison, thrust into the Empire's heart. She is the death knell of the Empire, a punishment for its' sins."
"Tell me more," she demands, looking me in the eyes as she does so.
"The Empire will continue to decline, the wolves of Rome turned rabid, and feasting upon one another," I continue, keeping up the tone. "Emperor after emperor, tearing the empire apart one piece at a time, always losing
more and more land, the Romans too busy tearing at each other's throats to realize their decline." I grin viciously. "And then, as Goths and Visigoths storm the streets of Rome, as the proud purple togas of the Senators are dyed red with their blood, as Rome burns, the dying screams of its people the death knell of the Empire, they will realize what they've lost. And then, and only then, will they know
despair." Boudica gasps, and shudders, before subsiding into a panting, sweaty mess.
After a few minutes of that, she collects herself. "Very well. I will consider what you have said." She gives me a '
this-never-happened' look. "You may go."
I comply, whistling as I leave. Ally: Secured.
