"Sure you are not hurt, boy?" said Serge, as they stood waiting by the
chariot for further orders, their sturdy little driver taking advantage
of the opportunity to carefully attend to his steeds.
"Hurt? No!" cried Marcus. "I only feel hot and excited."
"Of course you do; but I don't suppose we shall move now for some time,
till the captain's scouts that he must have sent out bring back news of
the enemy, and then he will camp for the rest of the night. He ought
to. I should, so as to give the men a rest ready for when the enemy
attacks again in the morning."
"But you said that the enemy were beaten and driven away."
"So they were, boy, but in a war like this they will only make for the
mountains and collect together again ready for a fresh attack as soon as
they get the chance."
"But will they keep on doing that?" cried Marcus.
"Of course they will whenever they feel strong enough; and when they are
weak they will give up."
"Oh, I don't understand it a bit," cried Marcus.
"Well, you don't want to understand it," said Serge. "That's for the
generals and big captains to do. All that they want of us is to fight."
"But why is this war?" said Marcus, impatiently.
"Oh, I suppose it's because some of the tribes have been attacking and
plundering and carrying off cattle and goods of the country people, till
the chiefs say: This sort of thing must be stopped, and they collect an
army, talk it over with the peaceful tribes who are ready to be friends,
and then with their help march into the enemy's country, conquer it, and
bring them to their senses. That's what we do, and used to do--bring
all these nations round about under the rule of Rome. These we are
fighting with now are the peoples off to the north and west. They have
got all sorts of names, but I suppose they are all Gauls. But now look
here: a bit ago you were so tired out with your long march that you
wanted to sleep. Half the night hasn't gone, so the best thing you can
do is to curl yourself up and sleep till sunrise as hard as you can."
"Sleep!" cried Marcus, mockingly. "Who's to sleep at a time like this?"
"A soldier, of course, and be glad to when he gets the chance."
"Oh, I couldn't sleep," cried Marcus. "I feel all bubbling over with
excitement, and if I were to lie down I should seem to be galloping over
the fields again."
"Nonsense! You lie down and have a sleep. You always used to mind what
I said when I tried to teach you. Do so now, and get some rest."
"But suppose they come back and attack us again?"
"Well, we shall have warning. There are scouts and sentries out in all
directions, and you would have plenty of time to get up into the
chariot, I dare say. There, lie down."
"Don't you order me, Serge," said the boy, peevishly. "You are not my
officer."
"No, we are only comrades, and I am not ordering, only telling you for
the best. There, get a sleep, boy, while you can."
"Well, I'll lie down, but I can't sleep, Serge. I shall be thinking
about the war, and the tribes that are coming to attack us, all the
night."
"Very well, boy, think about them, then, as you are so anxious to
understand all about the war. I'd be sure and call you when you are
wanted. I am not greedy about having all the fighting to myself. You
shall have your share."
"Very well," said Marcus, and selecting a place that seemed a little
less hard than the stony ground in their close neighbourhood, and where
he was not likely to be trampled upon by any of the chariot horses, he
threw himself down, but started up again in alarm with his hand seeking
his sword, for a big lump of stone dimly-seen in the darkness suddenly
seemed endowed with life, springing up to give itself a rough shake, and
assuming the form of a big dog.
"Why, Lupe, you here?" cried Marcus, laughing. "Look here, Serge; he
was lying here curled up, asleep. Where's he been all the time?"
"Taking care of himself and waiting for us to come back, I suppose.
There, do you want a lesson in campaigning, boy?"
"No, not to-night, thank you. You said I was to go to sleep."
"Of course; and here's your lesson all the same. Make Lupe lie down,
and use him for a warm, dry pillow. Not a bad thing at a time like
this. A deal better than a horse, for it isn't always you can get them
to lie down, and a horse's hoofs are rather bad company if he gets
restless in the night."
Half irritably in his exalted state Marcus turned away with a gesture of
annoyance.
"Down, Lupe! Lie down!" growled the old soldier; and as the dog
obediently subsided on the rough ground, the boy thought better of it,
sank upon his knees, and then awkwardly in his armour adjusted himself
so that he could lay his face with his cheek in the rough hair about the
dog's neck.
There was something comforting and friendly in the deep, satisfied sigh
Lupe gave, holding quite rigid as he stretched himself out, while Marcus
said to himself:
"Oh, this is stupid! I shall never go to sleep like this;" and he lay
staring right before him at the indistinctly seen chariot with its pair
of horses standing together, one or the other every now and then giving
an impatient stamp or whinnying softly.
Beyond them and their driver all was dark confusion, out of which came
murmurs of voices, the jingling of armour, and a suggestion of people
passing to and fro.
And then the darkness seemed to lighten and horses were tearing along at
full gallop with the enemy in front, and Marcus gave a sudden start, his
sharp movement producing a low remonstrant growl from his pillow.
"What was that?" thought Marcus. "Why, I must have been asleep. Ah,
there it is again!" For from somewhere out of the darkness there came a
low agonised cry which made the boy sit up and listen.
"Are you there, Serge?" he said, softly.
"Yes. What is it, boy?" came from the back of the chariot, where the
old soldier had seated himself; and he rose at once and crossed the few
yards which lay between him and his young companion's resting place.
"Did you hear that?" asked Marcus.
"Oh, yes, I heard it, boy."
"What was it?"
"A wounded man. They have been carrying some in from over yonder."
"How horrible!" whispered the boy. "Let's go and help him."
"No, go to sleep. You can do nothing there."
"Sleep!" cried the boy, reproachfully. "Who can sleep with anyone
suffering like that?"
"You," said Serge, quietly. "You have been asleep an hour, and of
course there have been plenty of poor fellows carried by, enemies and
friends."
"But--" began Marcus.
"Go to sleep again, boy. You can do nothing there. We'd go together if
we could help."
Marcus was silent as he lay resting on one hand, listening and thinking
what it was his duty to do, but listening in vain, for no such sound
again broke the silence of the night, while after standing by him a few
minutes, Serge walked away into the darkness and then returned to his
seat in the chariot, where he too, utterly devoid of all inclination to
sleep, sat and thought about their position there and asked himself
whether it was yet too late to reverse their plans, and seeking the
first opportunity to hurry his young companion away from the scenes of
carnage and the dangers by which they were surrounded.
"I have done wrong all along," he muttered to himself. "I went against
my orders, and some day I shall have to face the master and answer for
myself. Yes," he muttered, "I must take him back." And with the full
intention, as he sat there leaning his left shoulder against the side of
the chariot, of leaving the little rear-guard of the army as soon as he
could, Serge changed his position to the other side of the chariot to
rest his right side, and as he subsided against the hard iron-bound
wood, listening for danger, the galloping-in of scouts, or some other
warning of another night attack, a fresh current of thoughts began to
chase each other through his brain.
"No," he said, "I won't go, and if I would he'd say again that he
wouldn't come. He's a soldier's son, and it comes natural to him. What
am I growling at myself for? I didn't set him to run away. He came of
himself, and if I hadn't done the same he'd have been here all alone
without me to watch over him, take his part, and help him, same as he
did me when I was attacked. Why, after all, everything's gone right and
happened as it should. We are in for it, and must go on. But this
won't do; I mustn't go to sleep." And springing up, the old soldier
took a few steps up and down like a sentry, before stopping short and
going down on one knee, steadying himself the while by means of his
spear, and bending over Marcus, who was sleeping heavily, his breath
coming regularly as he lay there deaf to everything that was going on
around, while the dog uttered a low whine and lifted his heavy tail
slowly, to beat with it softly upon the ground.
"He's all right," said Serge, and he backed away again, to march up to
the horses, pat them, and then say a word or two to their driver, who
was lying upon his back just in front, sleeping heavily and quite
unconscious of Serge's presence.
The latter took another turn or two up and down, thinking deeply the
while.
"Yes," he said softly, "what I told the boy's about right, and I can
tell him some more to-morrow, for out here in the darkness and silence
all my old soldiering seems to be coming back. We are a sort of
rear-guard, that's what we are, and it's our job to keep some miles
behind the main army, to prevent the enemy from closing in and harassing
our troops, besides seeing that they carry out the general's orders and
bring up the food and forage they as a conquered people are ordered to
supply. Conquered people!" he said, with a contemptuous ejaculation.
"Why, it's like digging a channel through a bed of dry sand. I know
what this country is. If we go on like this for a few days we shall be
right in amongst the mountains, full of holes and hiding-places where
the enemy can lurk, and as fast as they are driven off they will be like
dry sand, as I said, and come running back again."
Serge went and bent over Marcus again to satisfy himself that the boy
was sleeping deeply, and uttered a low grunt that might have been
learned of the swine he tended at the farm.
"Do him no end of good," he muttered--"strengthen his legs." And he
began to walk up and down again, pausing once or twice to pat the horses
and growl at the driver, who was sleeping hard with his mouth wide open.
"Yes," muttered the old soldier, "a good sleep will do the boy good--
harden his legs. I said my old soldiering was coming back; I wish my
old legs would come back and be the same as they used to when I could
walk for weeks, instead of aching like this when I haven't had to walk,
but have been riding all day. Hah!" he sighed, as he lowered himself
down into the back of the chariot to lean against the side once more.
"I can keep watch over him just as well sitting down as standing up. I
don't see that I need watch at all when the boy's got a pillow with a
set of teeth like a rat trap that will take fast hold of anyone who came
to interfere with him. But there's the master. We have got to meet
some day, and I shall have to give an account of myself. `What were you
doing away from the farm?' he'll say. `Watching over your boy, master,'
says I. That will have him on the hip. That's my only chance, the only
thing that will save me."
Serge's grim face relaxed, and he rolled about in his seat, chuckling
softly.
"It will get me off," he said; "it will get me off with the master. He
won't be very hard on me after that. It aren't quite honest, for I
never thought a bit about the boy when I went away. But I did mean to
take him back, and I'd have done it too, and stopped with him, only he
was too much for me. Ah, he's a clever one. He's only a boy, but he's
got a lot of man in him, and when he gets ripe, you mark my words," he
said, softly, staring hard at the dimly-seen driver the while, "he'll be
as big a man as his father. I don't mean as to size; like as not he'll
be bigger. I mean as to his head. It aren't quite fair, and maybe it's
a bit like deceiving the master to answer him like that when he says,
`What are you doing there?' and I says, `Watching over your boy,
master,' But I am going to watch over him, and I'll stick to him, and
I'll die for him if I'm obliged; and you can't say that arn't honest."
Serge bent forward and literally glared at the sleeping driver, who
muttered something in reply.
"Ah, you may say what you like," muttered Serge, "but that will be
honest; and if you put that in one side of the balance, and my forsaking
the old place when I was told to stay, in the other, they'll weigh
pretty much alike. Yes, I'll watch over him, master, like a man, just
as I would have done if he had been my own, for somehow I always seemed
to like him, and I suppose I should have felt just about the same if he
had been mine. It's precious dark and quiet enough now. I don't
suppose we shall be disturbed before daylight, for the enemy got more
than they expected, so I may just as well sit and rest. I can watch
over him just the same, and--" Serge's next utterance was not
understandable if treated as words, but perfectly plain if considered as
a snore, for he had sunk sideways till his head rested on the hard edge
of the car, while at regular intervals he gave vent to a series of deep
gruff tones which sounded as if his neck were bent at such a severe
angle that there was not room for his breath to pass comfortably round
the corner.
It was not comfortable for him, for though he was sleeping very soundly,
his rest was uneasy, consequent upon which he began to dream in a
troubled way about being at home; and his busy brain put its own
interpretation upon the sounds that rose from his chest and interfered
with the soundness of his sleep, so that, half awakened, he lay back
listening to his own snoring and attributed it to something else,
gradually awakening more and more the while.
"Hark at that!" he muttered. "And after all the trouble I took to mend
that bit of fence! Talk about sheep always following one another
through a gap, why they are nothing to swine! They want a gap, too, for
the leader to go through, but an old boar big with that snout of his and
them tusks, he'll bore and bore and bore till he makes a little hole a
big un, and once he gets his snout in he drives on till he gets right
through. Now, I've mended that hole so as you'd have thought it was
quite safe; but hark at that! He's got right through into the garden,
and the old sow and the young uns has followed him. But just wait a bit
till I get my staff, and I'll make such music as will bring Master
Marcus out to ask me if I am killing a pig. There's no room about the
place to please them, no miles of acorn and chestnut forest so that they
can fill themselves as full as sacks, but they must come into my garden
and raven there! Nothing will do for them but my melons and cucumbers!
Well, we'll just see about that."
Serge rose from his seat, after taking hold of the spear that he had
rested against the side of the chariot, and with his eyes closely shut
took a couple of steps forward, and then stopped short with his eyes
wide open, as he stared wildly round in an absolute state of confusion
and strove hard to make out where he was.
For some moments his mind was a complete blank, and the darkness seemed
impenetrable, while his mind absolutely refused to answer the mental
question--Where am I?
Then he knew, and there was fierce anger in the low tones of his voice,
which formed the self-accusatory words:
"Why, I've been asleep!"
He struck a sharp blow with the staff of his spear; but it was not at
the imaginary patriarch of the home herd, but at his own head, which was
saved from harm by his helmet, the stroke causing a sharp sound
sufficiently loud to make Lupe utter an ominous growl, and the horses
where they were tethered start and stamp.
"And sarve you right too!" growled Serge, removing his helmet, which he
had knocked on one side, and softly rubbing one spot that had felt the
bottom edge keenly. "And here have I been going on about being honest
and keeping a true watch over that boy! Here, I'm proud of myself, I
am! If I go to sleep again it shall be standing up, anyhow." And
pulling himself together he shouldered his spear and commenced pacing up
and down, to keep it up steadily hour after hour, only pausing to listen
from time to time, to hear nothing more suspicious than the regular
night sounds of a camp surrounded by sentries and scouts and on the
watch for an enemy known to be near at hand.
Marcus slept well till daybreak, when the first warning of the enemy's
movements was given, and he sprang to his feet, to find himself face to
face with Serge.
"What was that?" he cried.
"Trumpet, boy. Make ready. The enemy's going to stir us up again."