Mark Paren

Petronus is an ass and Marcus is alone and vulnerable.

Marcus is a typical horny sixteen year old with an impressive older man offering him attention. He's only human. We’ve all been there.

Word reached the camp, the way word always seemed to travel faster than the men it concerned. Marcus heard it from Vitalis first, in the training yard, delivered with the particular dryness Vitalis reserved for anything he found more interesting than he was willing to admit. "Your Cherusci is coming in today. With the cousin, and half a dozen riders, if the gate watch is to be believed." He did not look up from the strap he was fixing on his own kit, though something in his voice suggested

He was a national hero in Germany up until the end of World War II. He’s still recognized as an important historical figure. I portray him with nuance (I hope) in this story. i know Augustus wasn’t a fan at the time.

Arminius was a complicated historical character. Depending upon your opinion on the Battle of Teutonburg Forest he is either a villain or a hero. I love history.

All except one of the key elements are in placethe story should start moving more quickly from here. Thanks for the insightful comment.

He needs to grow up quickly. Things are beginning to happen.

The stag never heard him. That was the mercy in it, if there was one, a clean shot needed no permission from the thing it took. It went down without a sound of its own, only the heavy fall of it into the bracken, and Ingomar crossed the distance unhurried, the way his father had taught him, and put a hand flat against its throat before the last of the warmth left it. Not sorrow. Only the accounting a man owed a thing he'd ended. The column would eat well tonight for it, and that was reason

The emperor never forgot or forgave him. Thanks for sticking with the story.

Thank you for noticing Marcus’s growth. There are challenges ahead.

Thank you for the encouragement.

The Romans are facing significant uncertainty, though most of them are unaware of it yet.

Sometimes I feel the same about today.

The knock came before the sky had properly decided what color it meant to be, three soft raps against the tent pole in the particular rhythm Titus had settled on those first mornings at Vetera, quiet enough not to wake the camp, insistent enough that Marcus had learned to answer it without fully surfacing from sleep. “Master Marcus.” Titus slipped inside with the tunic already folded over one arm, the boots in the other hand, moving with none of the bright, tumbling energy that had carried

“reflect the harsher environment of frontier life.” I’m going to try. Thanks for commenting.