That day was one Locusta would never forget.
The green-haired girl, shunned for her unstable mind and forced to live in the forest, heard that a new kind of religion had sprung up in the city. They said that if you joined, you'd be given food—real food, not just mushrooms.
To her, the city was a place full of angry people and empty bellies. Honestly, Locusta hated going into town.
When she was seven, her parents said something strange and then sent her off with a stranger. They said, "Go with them, and you'll bring in money."
So she went—because their angry faces were terrifying. But oddly enough, as she left, they seemed to be smiling.
In the end, she'd been sold off. But within days, she ran away, only to return to an empty home.
With nowhere else to go, she wandered down the road. When hungry, she ate food others had thrown away—or sometimes just grass or mushrooms. When thirsty, she drank from whatever stream or puddle she found.
In summer, she walked barefoot on burning roads; in winter, she shivered in rags, passing through long corridors of cold and silence.
She'd told herself that as long as she could earn money, nothing else mattered. But city people always looked angry and sneered at her only skill—making mushroom soup.
They called her a lunatic. Said she stank. That she was disgusting. So she avoided the city whenever she could.
Yet somehow, before she even realized it, her feet had carried her into town. The same scornful stares surrounded her again, forcing her to bow her head in shame—barefoot and filthy, her body and spirit naked to the cold.
Then an old man sitting at the front of a church spoke:
"Friends," he said, "I know what makes you avert your eyes. But when you stray, when you fall, you must still strive to be righteous. As Lord Novia has said, we must do everything we can for the suffering. For where hearts are consumed by darkness, sin will take root."
"But she's a madwoman! You can't reason with someone like that!"
"Maybe it is God's will that I become her shepherd."
"She might kill you!"
"To kill an old man? What profit is in that? And besides, 'might' is no excuse to speak baseless fear as if it were truth." The old man continued, "I am, like a physician, someone with patients. Some are ill in the body. Others, in misfortune. And so, the church doors should remain open. Always."
With grave yet gentle eyes, the Christian elder tapped Locusta lightly on the shoulder and said:
"Come in, child. Warm yourself by the fire. We'll have supper soon, and once you've eaten, your bed will be waiting."
Compelled by the kindness in his voice, Locusta stepped inside the church and waited quietly. After a while, night fell and the old man returned.
"Would you like to wash up?"
"..." Locusta looked up timidly. "If I disobey, will I be punished?"
Grief caught in the old man's throat. He simply sighed and gently patted her head.
"I'm not some mad, filthy thing... I'm not that disgusting…"
The words spilled out on their own, and then she wept—loudly, not silently. She cried as she once did as a child, from the bottom of her soul.
"...Uu... uu... ah... ah..."
"You're hurting, aren't you? Hungry and thirsty. Then stay here in peace."
The old man sat beside her, gently holding her hand.
From that day on, Locusta lived with the old man and the other children he had taken in.
There was a garden behind the church, where the children grew vegetables. Locusta tended her mushrooms and cooked with them.
The old man often wandered the countryside or city streets, blessing the poor and being blessed in return.
Everyone knew where his home was and pointed the way to those in need.
His clothes were worn from years of use, but he never let others notice. Even in the scorching summer, he wrapped himself in his cotton robe.
His days passed like any other—one January much like another.
But for Locusta, those days were the best she'd ever known.
Years passed peacefully. Until one day—
"May I come in?"
There was a knock on the church door.
"Come in."
The old man looked calmly at the man who stepped inside.
"Greetings, Lord Luke. I am Narbareck, under orders from Lord Novia. I've come to escort Locusta to Rome."
Narbareck was impeccably polite, for in his eyes, the old man before him was a true saint.
Luke, once a physician by trade, was a humble man who never flaunted his learning or sought fame. Though he could have lived a prosperous life, he chose instead to use his talents to spread the Word.
Luke furrowed his brows and replied, "But there is no one named Locusta here."
"...That's... me..."
Locusta raised her hand, gathering all her courage. Everyone here had always spoken of Lord Novia with reverence. He must be a good person—so there was no reason to hide anymore.
"Oh, Tasculo? So your name was just reversed."
After joining the church, she'd impulsively changed her name, flipping it backward out of sheer ignorance.
"Very well," Luke said. "It's late. Stay the night and set off in the morning. By the way, Lord Narbareck, may I ask—Paul of Antioch, is he in Rome? He sent me a letter not long ago."
"Yes. Lord Paul, Saint Martha, and the Eleven Apostles are all in Rome by Lord Novia's invitation, compiling the new covenant."
"I see..." Luke's lips moved solemnly, as if in prayer or meditation. Then he pulled two worn books from his satchel and handed them to Narbareck. "Paul asked me to give these to him. Since you're here, would you take them?"
"Gladly."
Narbareck received the tattered volumes with reverence. Clearly, they had taken over a decade to write. As a devout believer, he understood why Luke had not traveled to Rome himself—his heart remained with his flock and the children in his church.
At dawn the next day, Narbareck departed with Locusta and Luke's two books in hand, returning to Rome.
Upon learning about Locusta's past, Novia also became curious about Luke.
In real history, Luke was the author of the Gospel of Luke and Acts of the Apostles, venerated as the patron saint of physicians and hospitals, and—thanks to legends of him painting the Virgin Mary—of artists as well.
He had traveled far to trace Jesus' lineage in Jerusalem. Much of what is known about Christ's life and teachings appears only in Luke's Gospel—82 unique episodes and many parables not found elsewhere.
Perhaps he learned of John the Baptist's birth from Elizabeth, or of Jesus' nativity from Mary herself. Maybe it was Peter, James, or John who told him about the miracle of the fish.
But in this revised timeline, perhaps due to Novia's influence, Luke didn't accompany Paul. Instead, he founded a small church in Gaul—and happened to take in a young girl who was fated in history to become Emperor Claudius's poisoner under Agrippina.
"Hello, Locusta. I came to ask a favor."
Novia spoke gently, without pretense. To him, though a bit unstable, this girl was kind at heart.
"O-okay... I'll do my best. It's the least I can do..."
She had feared being punished for entering the church just for food. But after hearing Novia's kind request, she looked up, a bit timid but determined.
"This is a poison formula. Do you think you can create an antidote?"
He handed her a formula—one Agrippina had given him.
"Poison...? Let me see..."
Locusta blinked in surprise but relaxed a little when she realized he meant to cure someone.
Lord Novia must be trying to save someone, she thought.
But the more she read the formula, the more terrified she became.
The poison was colorless, tasteless, and slow-acting. Drinking more of it could temporarily suppress symptoms—but it made the long-term effects worse.
Still, complicated as it was, Locusta—once self-taught and later guided by Luke—was confident she could handle it.
"My lord, I think... about six months. I'll need that much time."
"Six months? Actually, Locusta... the person I'm trying to save has been drinking this poison for over ten years."
Her eyes went wide.
Ten years?
That meant it had seeped into the very marrow... What a poor soul. Who would do such a thing?
"T-then... three years! I'll need three."
After a moment, she collected herself. It was just a poison with cumulative effects. If she took her time, researched carefully, and ensured no further exposure—she could manage it.
"Then I'm counting on you, Locusta."
Having earned her trust, and in response to her plea to be of further use, Novia appointed her head of palace food safety. After all, she was an expert.
To Novia, everything was proceeding according to plan. Christianity had spread irreversibly through the Roman Empire. Only two steps remained: seizing control of the Praetorian Guard and having the emperor declare Christianity the empire's official religion—then formally founding the Church.
As for getting old Emperor Claudius to make the declaration, Novia had little hope. He would wait for Nero instead.
Time passed. By October of 54 AD, despite Novia's precautions, the emperor's health suddenly collapsed. He was dying.
Poison or not, Claudius's death during this time was apparently fated.
And on October 12th, the gravely ill emperor—perhaps in one last moment of lucidity—summoned Novia to the palace to discuss what came next.
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