"Marcus, boy!" came back the next instant, as the old soldier dashed
down his shield and his sword upon it with a clattering noise, before
catching his deliverer in his arms and holding him to his breast.
"Well done!" he cried. "Well done, boy! Well done! Hah! Hurrah!
Think of it! Six on 'em! And you set 'em running. Hah!" he panted,
breathlessly, as he freed the boy, took a couple of steps backward,
planted his great fists upon his hips, gazed at him proudly, and then
gave a sweeping look round as if addressing a circle of lookers-on
instead of blocks of stone and trees; "Hah!" he exclaimed. "I taught
him to fight like that!"
"Yes, Serge, you did--you did!" cried Marcus. "But you are covered with
blood, and you are badly hurt. Those wretches must have stabbed you
with their knives."
"Eh?" growled the old soldier, beginning to feel himself all over.
"Yes, how nasty! All over my breast. It's a long time since I have
been in a mess like this. I felt a dig in the front, and another in my
back, and another--" Serge ceased speaking as his hands were busy
feeling for his wounds, and then he exclaimed: "Yes, it's blood, sure
enough, but 'tain't mine, boy. Their knives didn't go through. I am
all right, only out of breath. But you? Did you get touched?"
"Oh no," cried Marcus. "I escaped."
"But you made your marks on them, boy. My marks, I call 'em."
"Pick up your sword and shield, Serge," cried Marcus, excitedly.
"They'll be coming back directly perhaps."
"Well, yes, it would be wise, boy," said the old soldier, taking his
advice. "Look yonder; that's the fellow I cut down," and he pointed
with his sword to the man who had been bathing his wound and, after
crossing the rivulet, was also in full retreat. "No, he's had enough of
it, and if the others came back it wouldn't be six to one, but five to
two--two well-armed warriors, you and me," said the old man, proudly, as
he made Marcus' shield clatter loudly as he tapped it with his sword.
"You and me, boy," he repeated. "Tchah! They won't come on again.
Why, back to back, you and me--why, we are ready for a dozen of them if
they came. Here, I had my wash, but I must go now and have another
while you keep guard over me. Think of it!--While you keep guard over
me, boy! No, I won't call you boy no more, for I have made you a
fighting man, and here's been the proof of it this morning. There's
only one thing wanted to make all this complete. Boy! Tchah! I can't
call you a boy: you are a young Roman warrior."
"Oh, nonsense, Serge!" cried the boy, flushing.
"Nonsense, eh? Look at you and the way you handled that spear. Why,
you are better with your sword, if you have to draw it, as I well know.
Do you remember how you nearly did for me?"
"Oh yes, I remember," replied Marcus.
"Yes, I had to jump that time; and lucky I did, or I shouldn't have been
here for you to fight like this. But, as I was saying, it only wanted
one thing, and that was for your father, who has come to his senses at
last, to have been here to see, and--"
The old soldier stopped short, his big, massive jaw dropped, and he
stood staring as he took off his heavy helmet and wiped his brow with
the back of his hand.
"But I say," he cried, at last, staring at the boy with the puzzled
expression upon his features growing more and more intense, "what are
you doing here?"
Marcus' sun-browned face turned scarlet, and he stood silent, staring in
reply, beginning almost to cower--he, the brave, young, growing
warrior--before the old servant's stern eyes, and ready to shiver at the
pricking of the conscience that was now hard at work.
"Look here," cried Serge, extending his shield and raising his short
broadsword to punctuate his words with the taps he gave upon this armour
of defence, "your father said that you were not to use that armour any
more, and I left it, being busy getting his for him to go off to the
war, lying upon his bed. It wasn't yours any longer. It was his'n.
You have been in and stole it; that's what you have done. Do you hear
me?" continued the old soldier, fiercely. "You've been and stole it and
put it on, when he said you warn't to. That's what you've done."
"Yes, Serge," said the boy, meekly.
"Hah!" cried the old soldier, gathering strength.
"And your father said you were to stop at home and take care of his
house and servants, and the swine and cattle, and his lands, and, as
soon as he's gone, you begin kicking up your heels and playing your
wicked young pranks. That's what you've done, and been pretty quick
about it too. Now then, out with it. Let's have the truth--the truth,
and no excuses. Let's have the truth."
It was no longer punctuation, but a series of heavy musical bangs upon
the shield, and once more, very meekly indeed, Marcus said, almost
beneath his breath:
"Yes, Serge; that's quite right. Everything is as you say."
"Ah, well," growled the old soldier, a little mollified by his young
master's frankness, "that don't make it quite so bad. Now then, just
you answer right out. Where were you a-going to go?"
"To join father at the war."
"Hah! I thought as much," cried the old soldier, triumphantly, and
looking as though he credited himself with a grand discovery. "And now
you see what comes of not doing what you are told. I've just catched
you on the hop, and it's lucky for you it's me and not the master
himself. So, now then, it's clear enough what I've got to do."
"To do?" cried Marcus, quickly. "What do you mean, Serge?"
"What do I mean? Why, to make you take off that coat of armour on the
spot. Well, no, I can't do that, because you aren't got nothing else to
wear. Well, never mind; you must go as you are."
"Oh yes, Serge, never mind about the armour; I'll go as I am. But
gather your things together--that bundle of yours."
"How did you know I'd got a bundle?" said the old soldier, suspiciously.
"I have seen you carrying it day after day."
"What! You've seen me day after day?"
"Oh yes. I don't know how long it's been, but I have often seen you
right in front."
"Worse and worse!" cried the old soldier, angrily. "That shows what a
bad heart you've got, boy. You've come sneaking along after me to find
the way, and never dared to show your face."
"I did dare!" cried the boy, indignantly. "But I only saw your back. I
didn't know it was you."
"Oh, you didn't know it was me?" growled Serge. "Well, that don't make
it quite so bad. But you knew it was me that you came to help?"
"No."
"Oh! Then I might have been a stranger?"
"Yes, of course. I saw six men attacking one, and--"
"Oh, come, he ain't got such a bad heart as I thought," said the old
soldier. "And you did behave very well. I did feel a bit proud of you.
But never mind that; we have got something else to talk about," said
Serge, as he rearranged his armour and picked up his wallet and spear.
"Now then, let's get back at once, and mind this, if you attempt to give
me the slip--"
"Give you the slip! Get back!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "What do you
mean by get back at once?"
"Why, get back home to your books and that there wax scratcher to do as
your father said. This is a pretty game, upon my word!"
"But I am not going back, Serge," cried the boy, firmly. "I am going to
join my father."
"You are not going to join your father," said the old soldier, sturdily.
"You've run away like one of them village ragged-jacks, and I am
ashamed of you, that's what I am. But 'shamed or no 'shamed, I've
catched you and I am going to take you back."
"No!" cried Marcus, fiercely.
"Nay, boy, it's yes, so make no more bones about it."
"I am going to join my father, sir, and answer to him, not to his
servant."
"You are going back home to your books and to take care of your father's
house."
"And suppose I refuse?" cried Marcus.
"Won't make a bit of difference, boy, for I shall make you."
"Indeed!" cried Marcus.
"Now then, none of that! None of your ruffling up like a young cockerel
and sticking your hackles out because you think your spurs have grown,
when you are not much more than fledged, because that won't do with me.
I tell you this: you come easy and it will be all the better for you,
for if you behave well perhaps I won't tell the master, after all. So
make up your mind to be a good boy at once."
"A good boy!" cried Marcus, scornfully. "Why, you called me a brave
young warrior just now."
"Yes, I am rather an old fool sometimes," growled Serge; "but you
needn't pitch that in my teeth. Now then, no more words, and let's
waste no more time. I want to get back."
"But Serge--" cried the boy.
"That'll do. You know what your father said, and you've got to obey
him, or I shall make you. Aren't you sorry for doing wrong?"
"Yes--no," cried Marcus.
"Yes--no? What do you mean by that, sir?"
"I don't know," cried Marcus, desperately. "Look here, Serge: it is too
late now. I've taken this step, and I must go on and join my father
now."
"Taken this step? Yes, of course you have," cried the old soldier,
sarcastically, "and a nice step it is! What's it led to? Your having
to take a lot more steps back again. I know; but you didn't, being such
a young callow bit of a fellow. Soon as you do anything wrong you have
to do a lot more bad things to cover it up. Lucky for you I catched
you; so now then, come on."
"But Serge," cried Marcus, passionately, "you can't understand how I
felt--how it seemed as if I must go after my father, to be with him in
case he wanted help. He might be wounded, you know."
"Well, if he is there'll be plenty to help him. Soldiers are always
comrades, and help one another. If he is wounded he won't want a boy
like you, so stop all that. I'm not going to stand here and let you
argue me into a rage. You've got to come back and obey your father's
commands, instead of breaking his orders. I wonder at you, boy, that I
do. Did this come out of your reading and writing?"
"Serge!" cried the boy. "I did try hard--so hard, you don't know; but I
couldn't stay. I was obliged to come."
"Won't do, boy," growled the old soldier, frowning. "Orders are orders,
and one has to obey them whether one likes 'em or whether one don't.
Ready?"
"No, Serge, no, I'm not ready," pleaded the boy. "It is too late. I
can't go back."
"Too late? Not a bit. Now then: come on."
"I cannot, Serge. I must--I will go on now."
"You mustn't, sir, and you will not," cried the old soldier, sternly.
"Now then, no nonsense; come on."
"No, no, Serge. Pray, pray take my side. It is to be with my father;
can't you see?"
"No, boy; I'm blind when it comes to orders."
"Oh, Serge, have you no mercy?" cried Marcus, piteously.
"Not a bit, boy. Now then, once more, come on."
"I cannot," cried Marcus, passionately.
"Then I'm going to make you."
"What!"
"I'm going to carry you, heavy as you'll be, and long as it will make
the road. But I've got it to do, and, if it takes me a month, I'm going
to make you obey your father's orders, sir, and stop at home."
As he spoke Serge swung his shield between his shoulders, pressed his
sheathed sword a little more round to his side, and with a sharp dig
made his spear stand up in the earth.
"Now then," he cried, and he caught Marcus by the wrists, and a struggle
seemed to be imminent.
"Serge!" cried Marcus, angrily.
"Your orders were to stay at home, sir, and home you go," cried the old
soldier. "If you will be carried back like a scrap of a little child,
why, carried you shall be. So give up. I'm twice as strong as you, and
it's your father's commands."
"Hah!" cried Marcus, ceasing his struggles on the instant, and leaving
his wrists tightly clasped in the old soldier's hands.
"Well, what are you `hah-ing' about?" cried Serge, as he noted the
suddenly triumphant tones of the boy's voice.
"I was thinking about my father's orders," cried Marcus, in a state of
wild excitement now.
"Good boy; and quite time. Pity you didn't think more of 'em and much
sooner. Then you're going to mind me without more fuss, and come home
like a good boy now?"
"No," cried Marcus, fiercely. "I am going on to my father. I will not
stir a step backward now."
"What!" cried Serge, as fiercely now, for the old man was roused by the
boy's obstinacy. "You won't obey?"
"No," cried Marcus, catching his companion by the top of his breast
armour. "It's my turn now. Look here, sir; you talk about my father's
commands."
"Yes, boy, I do," roared the old soldier, looking as fierce now as one
of the campagna bulls, whose bellow he seemed to emulate, "and I'll make
you obey them too."
"Commands--obey--when I'm only going to join him?"
"Yes, that's it, my lad. So now then!"
"Yes," cried Marcus, giving his companion a fierce thrust which forced
him a little back so that he caught his heels against a projecting
stone, and as he tried to recover himself was brought down by Marcus
upon his knees. "Hah!" he cried. "I've got you! What have you got to
say about my father's orders? What are you doing here?"