Am Ende mit meinem Latein
I have always thought I would live out my life without any major surprises. You know, work on the estates of my parents, serve my time as a soldier, become a senator, a praetor, maybe a consul in time. I thought I will live the life that a Roman noble of my standing can count on.
But this was not to be. My previously simple life got suddenly very complicated. I was taken from my home, and now I have to live in a world where no one speaks Latin, no one prays to my gods, and no one knows what the heck garum is. Before, I thought I had all the answers, but now only questions remain.
Will I survive? Will I find my way back home? Will I ever be able to get the savage bastards living here to adopt the great accomplishments of Roman civilisation?
Not even the gods know the answers. One thing is for sure: should I ever get home again; I will never set a foot outside of my estate without a healthy stockpile of garum.
The cover is from Peter Paul Rubens' "The Death of Publius Decius Mus"