"There!" muttered Serge. "We've done it now!"
"My old arms and weapons! Yours, Serge! And these?--How came you to be
possessed of those, my boy?"
The new-comer pointed, frowning the while, at the boy's weapons, and
then turned his eyes upon Serge, who turned as red as the detected boy,
and made signs for him to speak; but, instead of speaking out, Marcus
signalled back for his companion to explain.
"I am waiting very patiently for one of you to give me some explanation,
though I see plainly enough that I have been disobeyed by you, my son,
as well as by my old servant, in whom I thought I could place
confidence. Marcus, my son, do not disgrace yourself further by
behaving like a coward. Speak out at once and confess."
"Yes, father," cried the boy, making a desperate effort to speak out
frankly. "I want to tell you everything, but it is so hard to do."
"Hard to speak the truth, boy?"
"No, father, I did not mean that. I--I--"
"Well, sir?"
"I've done wrong, father, and I am ashamed of it."
"Hah! Come, that is more like my boy," cried Cracis, very sternly, but
with the frown upon his brow less deeply marked. "There, go on."
"It was like this, father. One day I found Serge cleaning and
burnishing the old armour that you and he used to wear."
"Why was this, sir?" cried Cracis sternly to his old servant. "Did I
not tell you that I had given up a warrior's life for ever?"
"Yes, master."
"Did I place any tie upon you? Did I not tell you that you were free to
remain in the legion?"
"Yes, master; but how was I to leave you? You know I could not."
"Well, sir, I gave you leave to stay here with me in my country house,
but I told you to leave all traces of my former life behind."
"You did, master."
"Is this the way that you obey a master who has always been true to you
in his dealings?"
"It's all bad, master," replied the man, "and I tried hard to do my
duty, and so I brought the old armour and our swords, and something
seemed to make me keep everything clean and bright, ready if it should
be wanted."
"It never could be wanted by one who was rejected, humbled and disgraced
as I was, man. You knew all that took place, and saw me cast down from
my position."
"Yes, master, and my heart bled for you. That's why I came."
"Yes," said Cracis, more gently, "and in my heart, Serge, I thank you
for your fidelity; but my orders were that all traces of our old
position in the Roman army should be destroyed."
"Yes, master," said the man, humbly, "but they wouldn't destroy. I only
kept them, and cleaned them up now and then when no one was looking; but
you know what young Marcus is: he found me out."
"Yes, father," cried Marcus, excitedly; "don't blame Serge. I made him
talk to me about the past, and he was obliged to tell me all about you
being such a great friend of Caesar, and how, at last, you went against
him and he--There, I won't say any more, father, because I can see from
your face how it hurts you; but I got to know everything, and, when you
were busy reading and writing of an evening, I used to come and sit by
the fire in the winter's nights and make him tell me about the wars and
what a great general you were; and so, from always loving to hear about
rights, I loved to hear of the wars and conquests more and more, and--"
"Go on, my son, and keep nothing. I must hear everything now."
"Yes, father; I want to be frank. It was all my doing, for I persuaded
and then I ordered Serge to get me sword and armour, and made the
armourer alter a man's breast-plate and helmet to fit me, and--and paid
for it all by degrees; and then I made Serge teach me how to wear the
armour and use the sword and spear and shield; and it was all like that,
father."
"And he has taught you all this?" said Cracis, sternly.
"Yes, father. I made him do it; but I did it all as a thoughtless boy."
"And did this old soldier do all as a thoughtless boy," said Cracis,
bitterly, "or as my trusted servant?"
"He did it as my servant as well as yours, father," said the boy,
proudly. "I told him it was his duty to obey me, his master's son,
father, and, poor fellow, he obeyed unwillingly till to-day, when he
felt and I felt, that we had been doing very wrong, that it was all
worse than we had ever thought, and this was the last time the teaching
was to go on. Everything was to be put aside, and I was going to work
hard at my writing and reading, as you wished, and try to think no more
about the army and the wars."
Cracis was silent for a few moments, during which he gazed searchingly
at his son.
"Is this the very truth?" he said.
"Every word of it, master!" cried Serge, excitedly. "Tell him, Marcus
boy, how it was all by chance you put on your helmet and drew your
sword. I wish now, boy, it had gone through me and made an end of me,
before I had to stand up like this and own all my fault."
"What do you mean by that--the sword gone through you, Serge?"
"Yes, father. In my eagerness I made a big thrust at him, and the point
of my sword almost entered his breast."
"Dangerously close?" asked Cracis.
"Horribly close, father, and--there, I am glad you found it all out. I
have no more to say, father, only that you must punish me, not Serge,
and I will bear everything without saying a word."
Cracis was silent for a few minutes, and his voice sounded different
when he spoke again.
"Where have these war-like implements been kept?" he said.
"In your big chest, master, made out of the planks cut from the big
chestnut that was hewn down four years ago."
"Place them back there, Serge," said Cracis, gravely. "Fasten them in,
and carry the chest and bestow it where it may stand beside my bed."
"But father--" began Marcus.
"Silence, sir!" said Cracis. "I wish to think of all this, and not
judge hastily. Take off those unseemly weapons, which are far from
suited for my student son. Let this be done at once, Serge. You,
Marcus, will follow me to my room, and be there an hour hence. I have
much to say to you, my boy, very much to say."
Cracis turned thoughtfully away, leaving his son with the old soldier,
for them to gaze sadly at one another as the slow steps of the father
and master died away.
"He'll never forgive us, Marcus, my lad."
"He will forgive us both, Serge," said Marcus quickly; "but what would I
not give if it had never been done!"
"No," said Serge, grimly, "he'll never forgive us."
"Nonsense!" cried Marcus. "You don't know my father as I do."
"Better, a lot, boy. I've fought with him, starved with him, saved his
life; and I'll be fair--he's saved mine more than once. But he's hard
as bronze, boy, and when he says a thing he'll never go back."
"And I say he's as good and forgiving as can be, and when all the armour
has been put away as he told you, he'll forget all this trouble, and we
shall be as happy again as ever."
"You say that, boy, because you don't know him. I do, and there's
nothing left for it but for me to make up my bundle and go off."
"What!" cried Marcus, laughing. "You pack up your bundle and go?"
"Yes, my lad; I can never get over this again. I have been a servant
and herdsman here all these years because I felt your father respected
me, but now he don't I feel as if I could never do another stroke of
work, and I shall go."
"No, you won't, Serge; you are only saying that because you are cross."
"Oh no," said the man, shaking his head, "not cross, boy--wounded. Cut
to the heart. I'm only a poor sort of labouring man here and servant,
but I have been a soldier, and once a soldier always a soldier at heart,
a man who thinks about his honour. Ah, you smile; and it does sound
queer for a man dressed like this and handling a herdsman's crook to
talk about his honour; but inside he's just the same man as wore the
soldier's armour and plumed helmet and marched in the ranks, erect and
proud, ready to follow his general wherever he led. You wouldn't think
it strange for a proud-looking man like that to say his honour was
touched."
"No," said Marcus, thoughtfully.
"Well, boy, I'm the same man still. I have lost your father's
confidence, and as soon as I have done putting away of our armour and
weapons, as he told me, in the big old chest, I shall pack up and go."
"Shall you take your sword and helmet with you, Serge?" asked the boy.
The man stared, and looked at him sharply, before remaining silent for
quite a minute.
"No," he cried, angrily; "I shall take nothing that will bring up the
past. I want to forget it all."
"But what do you mean to do?" said Marcus.
"I don't know yet, boy. Something will happen, I daresay; for we never
know what's going to take place to-morrow, and I shall leave all that."
The man ceased speaking, and began almost caressingly to straighten and
arrange the various pieces of military accoutrement that he had been
burnishing, while Marcus sat leaning forward with his elbows on his
knees, watching him sadly.
"I don't like it, Serge," he said at last.
"Nay, boy, and I don't like it," replied the man. "I said just now we
never know what is going to take place to-morrow. Who would have
thought yesterday that things could have been like this to-day? But
here they are. Hah!" he cried passionately. "I wish I hadn't shrunk
away."
"Shrunk away!" cried Marcus. "Why, you are bigger and stouter than ever
you were."
"Pah!" ejaculated the man, angrily. "I don't mean that. I mean shrunk
away as I did just now when you made that thrust at me with the sword."
"What!" cried Marcus. "Why, I should have killed you. That sword point
is so horribly sharp. You don't know what a shudder ran through me when
I saw what I had nearly done."
"Yes, you would have killed me, boy, and that's what I wish you had
done."
"Serge, do you know what you are talking about?" cried Marcus. "Are you
going mad?"
"Oh yes, I know what I'm talking about, and perhaps I am going mad.
What else can you expect of a poor fellow who, all at once, finds
himself dishonoured and disgraced?"
"You are not. I tell you I don't believe that my father will ever say
another word when all the things are put away."
"Yes, because you don't know him, boy. There, it's no use to talk. I
have made up my mind to go."
"What nonsense!" said Marcus. "When my father as good as said he was
going to look over all the past."
"Ah, but that won't do for me, boy. I am dishonoured and disgraced, and
I can never hold up my head again."
"Oh, Serge, this comes hard on me," cried the boy, passionately.
"Nay, boy; it's all on my unfortunate head."
"It isn't, Serge," cried Marcus, "for, as I told father, it was all my
doing. It was my stupid vanity and pride. I took it into my head that
I wanted to be a soldier the same as father and you had been, and it has
brought all this down upon you. I shall never forgive myself as long as
I live."
"Nay, but you will, boy, when I'm gone and forgotten."
"Gone and forgotten!" cried Marcus, angrily. "You are not going, and
you couldn't be forgotten. I shall never forget you, Serge, as long as
I live."
"Shan't you, boy?" said the man, smiling sadly. "Well, thank ye. I
don't think you will. I like that, boy, for you never seemed like a
young master to me. I'm old and ugly, while you're young and handsome,
but somehow we have always seemed to be companions like, and whatever
you wanted me to do I always did."
"Yes, that you did, Serge," cried Marcus, laughing.
"I don't see nothing to laugh at, boy," said the old soldier, bitterly,
as he half drew Marcus' blade from its scabbard, and then thrust it
fiercely back with a sharp snap.
"No, but I do," said Marcus, "sad as all this is. It seems so droll."
"What does?" cried the man, fiercely.
"For you to talk about being old and ugly--you, such a big, strong,
manly fellow as you are. Why, you are everything that a man ought to
be."
"What!" cried the old soldier, gazing wonderingly at the boy, a puzzled
look in his eyes as if he was in doubt whether the words to which he
listened were mocking him.
"Why, look at you! Look at your arms and legs, and the way in which you
step out, and then your strength! The way in which you lift heavy
things! Do you remember that day when you took hold of me by the belt
and lifted me up, to hold me out at arm's length for ever so long when I
was in a passion and tried to hit you, and the more I raged the more you
held me out, and laughed, till I came round and thought how stupid I was
to attack such a giant as you, when I was only a poor feeble boy?"
"Nay, nay, you were never a poor feeble boy, but always a fine, sturdy
little chap, and strong for your years, from the very first. That was
partly my training, that was, and the way I made you feed. Don't you
remember how I told you that it was always a soldier's duty to be able
to fast, to eat well when he had the chance, and go without well when he
hadn't, and rest his teeth?"
"Oh, yes, I recollect you told me it was the way to grow up strong and
hearty, and that some day I should be like you."
"Well, wasn't that true enough? Only it takes time. And so you thought
I was quite a giant, did you?"
"Yes, and so I do now. Old and worn out! What stuff! Why, Serge, I
have always longed and prayed that I might grow up into a big, strong,
fine-looking man like you."
"Thank you, my lad," said the man, sadly, and with the beaming smile
that had come upon his face dying out, to leave it cold and dull. "Then
you won't forget me, boy, when--" He stopped short, with a suggestion of
moisture softening his fierce, dark eyes.
"Forget you! You know I shan't. But what do you mean by `when'?"
"When my well-picked, dry bones are lying out somewhere up the mountain
side, scattered here and there."
"What!" cried Marcus, laughing merrily. "Who's going to pick them and
scatter them to dry up in the mountains?"
"The wolves, boy, the wolves," said the man, bitterly, "for I suppose I
shall come to that. You asked me what I was going to do. I'll tell
you. I shall wander away somewhere right up among the mountains, for my
soldiering days are over, and I can never serve another master now, and
at last I shall lie down to die! The wolves will come, and," he added,
with a sigh, "you know what will happen then."
"Oh yes," said Marcus, with mock seriousness. "The poor wolves! I
shall be sorry for them. I know what will happen then. At the first
bite you will jump up in a rage, catch them one at a time by the tail,
give them one swing round, and knock their brains out against the
stones. You wouldn't give them much chance to bite again."
A grim smile gradually dawned once more upon the old soldier's
countenance, and, slowly raising one of his hands, he began to scratch
the side of his thickly-grizzled head, his brow wrinkling up more deeply
the while, as he gazed into the merry, mocking eyes that looked back so
frankly into his.
"You are laughing at me, boy," he said, at last.
"Of course I am, Serge. Oh my! You are down in the dumps! I say, how
many wolves do you think you could kill like that? But, oh nonsense!
You wouldn't be alone. If old Lupe saw you going off with your bundle
he'd spring at you, get it in his teeth, and follow you carrying it
wherever you went."
"Hah! Good old Lupe!" said the man, thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten him.
Yes, he'd be sure to follow me. You'd have to shut him up in the
wine-press."
"And hear him howl to get out?" cried Marcus. "No, I shouldn't, because
I shouldn't be there."
"Why, where would you be?" said Serge, wonderingly.
"Along with you, of course."
"Along o' me?"
"Yes. If you left home and went away for what was all my fault, do you
think I should be such a miserable cur as to stop behind? No; I should
go with you, Serge, and take my sword, and you and Lupe and I could
pretty well tackle as many wolves as would be likely to come up at us on
the mountain side."
"Ah," cried the man, "you are talking like a boy."
"And so are you, Serge, when you say such things as you did just now.
Now, look here; you are going to do as father said, pack up all the
armour in the old chest, and then you are going to speak out and tell
him that you are sorry that you listened to me, and then it will be all
over and we shall go on again just the same as before. You and I will
think out something that we can learn or do, and talk of something else
besides fighting. There, let's have no more talking about going away.
Look sharp and get it over. I shan't be happy till I see you and father
shaking hands again. Now promise me you will go and get it done."
"'Tis done, boy; I did speak and made myself humble, just as you want;
but he wouldn't take it right, and you know what he said. I can't never
forget it now. He wouldn't listen to me, and no words now, no shaking
hands, will put it straight. I shall have to go."
"Oh!" cried Marcus. "What an obstinate old bull it is! Yes, I mean it,
Serge; you are just like a human bull. Now, look here; do as I tell
you. You have got to go and speak to father as I say."
"Nay, boy," said the man, solemnly, "not a word. I am going to do my
bit of work, the last job I shall ever do here, and then it will be
good-bye."
Marcus sprang up in a passion.
"I can't bring you to your senses," he said. "You are too stubborn and
blunt. If you won't promise me you will go and speak to father, I shall
go myself and tell him all you say."
"Do, boy; that's right! I like to hear you turn like that. Hit me and
kick me if you will. It will all make it easier for me to go away."
Marcus stood up before him, looking at him fiercely, and he was about to
flash out a torrent of angry words, but, feeling that he would say
something of which he might afterwards repent, he dashed out of the room
and made for his father's study.