Marcus: the Young Centurion

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  TOO LATE.

  It was the beginning of a tramp that lasted days.

  Rome had been soon reached, but they were too late to witness theturmoil of excitement that had preceded and accompanied the departure ofthe last division of the army which, Marcus and his companion gatheredfrom a group of invalided soldiers left behind, had been tarrying andawaiting the return of Caius Julius to assume the supreme command. He,they were told, had been away upon a mission to claim the assistance ofsome great general who was supposed to be an old friend full of wisdom;and he, they told Serge, had been brought in triumph to the city, toplace himself with Julius at the head of the waiting men.

  "You should have been here then," said one old man, "and seen thewelcome they had from our gallant boys and the women who crowded thestreets waiting to see them go. Ah, it made the tears come into my oldeyes to think that I should be left behind."

  "Then why were you left behind?" growled Serge. "You are not an olderman than I."

  "No," said the old soldier, laughing softly, "but you have two legs tomarch on. I have only one and this stick."

  Marcus glanced sharply down at the speaker, and, seeing the boy'sintention, the old fellow laughed again.

  "Oh, yes, you are thinking I lie. There's two of them, my lad, andone's as good a leg as ever stepped; but as for the other, it's yearsago now, when I was with Julius, and I got a swoop from a Gallic sword;the savage ducked down as I struck at him, and brought his blade roundto catch me just above the heel. But he never made another blow,"continued the old man, grimly. "My short, sharp sword took him in thechest, and he never hurt a Roman again."

  "But you got over your wound?" cried Marcus, eagerly.

  "It soon healed up, my lad, but he had cut through the tendon, and I wasnever fit to march again, or I shouldn't be talking to you here. Butlook here, old fellow, you were ready enough to twit me about not beingwith the army. Why are you not there?"

  "Can't you see we are too late?" growled Serge, angrily.

  "Oh yes, that's plain enough," said the old man, maliciously, as herested upon his staff, "and some great fighting men who win greatbattles with their tongues are always too late to strike a blow. How isit you are late like that?"

  "Oh, that's what you want to know, is it?" said Serge, surlily.

  "Yes," said the old man. "A man with legs like yours ought to have beenthere."

  "Well, I'll tell you," said Serge. "It was like this. My chariot hadgone to have new wheels. But perhaps I might have made the old ones do.But both my chariot horses were down with a sort of fever. Then thedriver had gone away to get married and couldn't be found, and so I hadto walk. And now you know."

  "Bah!" cried the old man. "Look at your rough hands! You have beenlike me. You never had a chariot or horses of your own. You're only aworking man. All lies."

  "Every word of it," said Serge, grinning, "'cept that it's true about meand the youngster here having to walk like our dog. But we want to getthere, brother, as soon as we can, so put us on our way to overtake thearmy, or by a short track to cut it off."

  "Do you mean it?" said the old soldier.

  "Mean it? Of course!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "The division, mind,that's led by Caius Julius."

  "Ho, ho, my young cockerel!" cried the old man. "Then nothing will dofor you but the best?"

  "Nothing," cried Marcus, eagerly. "We want to be where that greatgeneral is that Julius went to seek. Now put us on the way."

  "That's easily done," cried the old man. "There's a troop of horse thatsets off to-night to follow the rear-guard, and they'll have chariotswith them too. Go and see if you can get along with them. You've nohorses, but you might run beside the chariots, and their drivers, assoon as they see there's stuff in you and that you want to fight, willgive you a lift from time to time."

  "Run beside the chariots, eh?" said Serge, with a laugh, as he glancedat Marcus. "Running would suit you better, my lad, than it would me.I've got a deal more flesh to carry than you have, and running is notgood in armour with a big helmet on your head. You'd have something togrumble at about feeling sore, or I'm mistaken. But never mind; we wantto get there, don't we?"

  "Oh yes, we must get on," cried Marcus, "and if we can't run we canwalk."

  "What I was going to say," cried Serge, "so put us on the right way, oldcomrade," he continued, to the old cripple, "and you shan't want forsomething to pay for to-morrow; eh, Marcus, my lad?"

  "Oh no," cried the boy, thrusting his hand into his pouch; but Sergeclapped a hand upon his arm.

  "Wait a bit, boy," he said. "Don't pay for your work until it is done."

  A short time before, weary with their long tramp, the disappointment offinding that they were quite left behind had made the future look blankand dismal. But the old cripple's words seemed to bring the sun outagain, and he hobbled along by their side through street after street,chattering volubly about his old experiences with the army and hisdisappointment now in seeing the sturdy warriors march off, legion afterlegion, leaving him behind.

  "Ah," he said, "it's lucky to be you, able to go, and luckier still foryou to have met me who can lead you to the place where the last partyare camping."

  "Where's that?" said Marcus, sharply, for the man seemed to be takingthem a very devious course.

  "Just outside the gate, over yonder. There, you can see the wall, andin a few minutes we shall be there."

  The old soldier's words proved to be quite true, as, at the end of a fewminutes, he led them to the little camp, all astir with the soldierypreparing to start--horsemen, chariots, baggage, horses and campfollowers, all were there, with the leaders fuming and fretting aboutmaking the last preparations, and eager to make the start.

  The old soldier gave his new friends a nudge of the elbow and a veryknowing look.

  "I know what to do," he said. "You leave it to me. I wasn't in amarching army for years without learning something. Yonder is a bigcaptain, there by that standard. Nothing like going to the top at once.Come along."

  The old cripple drew himself up as well as he could, and, thumping hisstick heavily down, led the way to the fierce-looking captain, whoseface looked scarlet with anger and excitement.

  "Here, captain," cried the old man.

  The officer turned upon him angrily.

  "Who are you, and what do you want?" he roared.

  The old man pointed to Marcus and Serge.

  "Two brave fighting men," he cried; "volunteers, well-armed and trained,who want to join."

  "Oh, I've all I want," cried the captain, roughly, "and--" He stoppedshort, for, as he spoke, he ran his eyes over the two strangers, restingthem longest upon Serge, and he hesitated.

  "Here, you," he said, as he noted the way in which Marcus' companion wascaparisoned, "you've been in the army before?"

  "Years, captain," cried Serge, with military promptness. "I served withCracis and Julius in the old war."

  "Hah! You'll do," cried the captain. "But I don't want boys."

  Marcus' spirits had been rising to the highest point, but thecontemptuous tone in which these words were uttered dashed his hopes tothe ground, and he listened despairingly as in imagination he sawhimself rudely separated from his companion and left behind.

  The thoughts were instantaneous, and he was consoling himself with thereflection that Serge would not forsake him, and anticipating the oldsoldier's words, as Serge turned sharply upon his new commander.

  "Boys grow into men, captain," he said, sharply, "and I've trained thisone myself. He can handle a sword and spear better than I."

  "Hah!" cried the captain, as he looked critically at Marcus, examininghim from top to toe, whilst, as if for no reason whatever, he slowlydrew his sword, while Marcus, who stood spear in hand and shield beforehim, in the attitude he had been taught by Serge, quivered beneath thecaptain's searching eye.

  "Trained him yourself, have you?"

  "Yes, captain--well."
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  "He can use his weapons?"

  "Yes, captain."

  To the astonishment of both Serge and Marcus, and as if without theslightest reason, the big, burly, war-like captain made one step forwardand with it like lightning he struck a blow with his sword right at thecomb of Marcus' helmet, such a one as would have, had it been intended,brought the boy to his knees.

  But Serge had spoken truth when he said that he trained Marcus well,for, quicker in his action than the deliverer of the blow, Marcus hadthrown up his shield-bearing left arm, there was a loud clang upon itsmetal guards as he received the sword blow, and, the next moment, thecaptain drew back as sharply as he had advanced, to avoid the boy'sshort spear, directed at his throat.

  "Good!" he cried. "Well done, boy!" And he began to sheath his sword."Your teacher, an old hand, no doubt, could not have done better. Why,boy," he continued, "you are a soldier, every inch," and he grasped thelad by both arms. "But this won't do; you must lay on muscle here, andthicken and deepen in the chest. That helmet's too heavy for you too.Yes, you are quite a boy--a brave one, no doubt, and well-trained; butyou are too young and slight to stand the hardships of a rough campaign.I should like to take you, but I want men--strong men like yourcompanion here--and I should be wronging your parents if I took you.Whose son are you, boy?"

  "My father is Cracis, sir, a friend of Caius Julius, and he is at thefront."

  "Ha!" cried the officer, looking at him searchingly. "Then why are youat the rear?"

  Marcus' spirits had been rising again, and his eyes were sparkling, litup as they were by hope; but at that question down they went directly tothe lowest point.

  He tried hard to look firmly in the captain's face, but his eyes wouldblench. He tried to speak, but he could not answer, and he stoodquivering in every nerve, shamefaced and humbled, while his troubleincreased and he turned his eyes upon Serge, looking appealingly at himfor help, as the big officer suddenly exclaimed, as he caught him by theshoulder:

  "Why, you young dog, it's all written in your face! You've run away!Ha-ha! I don't mean from the fight, but to it. Let me see. Am Iright? You being a trained young soldier, wanted to go with your fatherto the war, and he told you to stay at home. You've run away to followhim. Am I right?"

  Marcus looked at him firmly now. There was no shrinking in his eyes,for he was uttering the truth.

  "Yes, sir," he said, huskily; "quite right."

  "Well, but I say, captain," growled Serge, "that's all true enough,every word. But the boy aren't a bit worse than me. The master said Iwas to stop at home and mind him and the swine and things about thefarm; but I couldn't do it with the smell of battle in the air, being anold soldier, don't you see, and the master gone to lead. I felt likethe boy did, ashamed to stop and let one's armour rust when Rome'senemies were waiting to be beaten. I felt obliged to come, and so didyoung Marcus here. A brave boy, captain, so don't be hard."

  "Hah!" cried the captain, frowning severely. "A nice pair, both of you!It isn't likely, but how could I meet Cracis or Julius by and by if Itook you into my following?"

  "Oh, we'd keep out of sight, captain," growled Serge.

  The captain pointed mockingly at Marcus.

  "He doesn't look much like a boy who'd keep out of sight, old warrior,"he said. "Far more likely to thrust himself into the front with all theunbalanced rashness of a boy. A nice pair indeed! But I should like tohave a thousand of you, all the same. No, I don't think I ought to takeyou, boy," he continued, slowly, with a very severe frown gathering onhis forehead. "But look here; I don't like to stand in the light of oneof Rome's brave sons, however young, at a time when our country needstheir help. But tell me, boy; if I say to you, go back home and wait ayear or two till you have grown more of a man, you will go back at once,will you not?"

  "Shall you tell Serge to go back too?" replied Marcus, sharply.

  "Most certainly not," said the captain, laughing. "He has offered hisservices, and I have taken him. You will have to go home alone. Tellme, will you obey my orders?"

  "No," said Marcus, firmly. "I am not going to forsake old Serge."

  "You are a pretty fellow for a volunteer," cried the captain, merrily."Ask me to take you into my following, and, at the first command I giveyou, tell me flat to my nose that you won't obey!"

  "I'll do anything else you tell me, captain, but that," cried Marcus,quickly.

  "Well, boy," said the captain. "But stop. What shall you do now?"

  "Find my way to the army alone," said Marcus, quickly.

  "You'd never do that, boy. The country ahead is in a state of war, andswarms with ruffians hanging about the heels of the army like wolvesfollowing a drove of sheep--worse, these, than the enemy. Boy, beforemany days had passed you'd be stripped of all your bravery, robbed forthe sake of your weapons, and left dead or dying somewhere in theforest."

  "I can fight, sir," said Marcus, proudly, "and my sword and spear aresharp."

  "Yes, boy, and I should be sorry for the one or two who tried to stopyour way. But wolves hunt in packs, and can pull the bravest down. Areyou heeding what I say?"

  Marcus nodded. He could not speak, but stood gazing at Serge, who hadtaken off his helmet and with a face full of perplexity was vigorouslyscratching at his grizzled head.

  "Well, boy," continued the captain, "I have thought it over and I mustdo my duty, which is to send you back."

  "Oh!" cried Marcus, and throwing his spear sharply into his left hand heheld out his right to Serge.

  "But if I do that duty," continued the captain, "it will be to exposeyou to greater risks amongst the marauders gathering everywhere now thanif I take you with me."

  "And you will let me come?" cried Marcus.

  "I am obliged to, boy," said the captain, smiling, "for I can't helpfeeling that Cracis, if we meet, would blame me more for doing my dutythan for letting you come. Here, old man, you shall not tramp after ourhorse to come in weary and distressed at every halt. I'll put the boy,as he is Cracis' son, in one of the chariots, one of the light onesdrawn by Thracian horses. There are several with their drivers yonderthat I have not yet manned. You as his spearman may accompany him, ofcourse. There, boy, no thanks," continued the captain, sternly. "Ihave no time for more. Off with you to your place. One of my officerswill see that all is right. What is that man? Away with you!" heshouted to the old crippled soldier, who had heard all and now hobbledforward to speak. But a couple of soldiers placed their spear shaftsbefore him and drove him back.

  But Marcus had seen, and sprang after him, dived under the spears andpressed a few coins into his hand before he was hurried away, babblinghis thanks.

  "I'd about given it up, Marcus, boy," said Serge just then. "Here, comealong; here's a young captain waiting to show us where to go, and myword, talk about a piece of luck! I thought I was going to be takenaway, never to see you again, and here we are. A chariot and pair withour own driver, and me to sit behind you and do nothing but tell you howto fight. Here, come along. Talk about a piece of luck! How old areyou? Eighteen. Why, you'll be a general at the end of another week!"