Serge's announcement was quite correct, for while the Romans rested, the
enemy had been gathering together again among the hills, and were coming
on in force to attack the camp; but what they had failed to do by their
night attack proved doubly difficult in the light of day. The little
Roman force, though vastly outnumbered and surrounded, was well
commanded by a skilful officer, who was able, by keeping his
well-disciplined men together, to roll back the desultory attacks
delivered on all sides, till, quite disheartened, the enemy retreated in
all directions and the march was resumed again.
That day's tramp and the many that followed were a succession of marches
through an enemy's country, with the foe always on the watch to harass
the little force, and cut it off from joining the main invading body far
ahead.
Every day brought its skirmishes, with victory constantly on the Roman
side.
There was no want of bravery on the enemy's part, but the discipline of
the little civilised division with its strong coherence was too much for
the loose dashes, ambushes, and traps that were laid.
The consequence was a slow, steady advance that nothing could impede,
through the fertile plains of the South and ever onward, with the
snow-capped mountains growing nearer and nearer, till the great pass was
at hand that had been traversed by the main army, and no difficulty was
then experienced as to the route, for its passage was marked plainly
enough by the traces of the many encounters and the ruin and destruction
that indicated its way.
"Shall we never overtake them?" said Marcus, one evening.
"Well, if we keep on I suppose we shall," replied the old soldier. "But
what's your hurry? Are you tired out?"
"Oh, no," cried the boy; "we don't go fast enough for that; but I am
anxious to join father once again."
"Humph!" grunted Serge. "I don't feel so much in a hurry myself.
Perhaps we shan't overtake him at all."
"But we are going to join the army."
"We are going just where our captain takes us, boy. He's doing his work
splendidly, and so are we."
"What, keeping on with these little petty skirmishes?"
"Of course, boy. Don't you see how we are keeping the enemy from
closing in about the army's rear, and saving them from destroying and
burning every homestead and village whose supplies are wanted for our
men?"
"Oh, I don't quite understand," cried Marcus, impatiently.
"Leave it to your leader, then, boy. That's what a good soldier ought
to do. But what's the matter with you? Cold?"
"Yes, horribly. Why, it was as hot as could be in the valley this
morning."
"Well, no wonder," said Serge, with a grim smile. "We were all amongst
the trees and pleasant grass down there, and now on each side and
straight before you--"
"Yes," said Marcus, as he glanced around him. "It looks all very bleak
and bare down here."
"Up here, boy. We have been steadily rising all the day. Look at the
ice and snow up yonder and straight before us. This time to-morrow we
shall be shivering amongst the snow."
"But we can't get the horses and the baggage right over that mountain in
front." And he pointed at the jagged peaks and hollows which were
glistening like gold in the last rays of the setting sun.
"No, boy, but we can go on along this rugged valley, which leads right
through, and then when we get to the top of the pass begins to go down
again, when we shall find it getting warmer every hour till we are once
more in the plains amongst the green fields and forests of the enemy's
country. Look there at that stream," and the old soldier pointed to the
dingy-coloured rushing waters which flowed by the side of the level
which their leader had chosen as the site of that night's camp.
"Yes, I see; and it isn't fit to drink," said Marcus.
"Snow water," said the old man, shortly. "Well, which way does it run?"
"Why, towards us, of course."
"Well, by this time to-morrow, if it's like one that I tramped by with
your father years ago, we shall have found it coming out from underneath
a bed of ice, left it behind, and on the other side of the hill come
upon another flowing right away to the north and west; and alongside of
that road will be our road, right into the enemy's country, and the
enemy posted every here and there to stop us from reaching the plain--
that is, if Julius and your father have not driven them right away. But
most likely they have, and all our troubles now will come from the
rear."
Serge's remarks, based upon old experience, proved to be pretty correct,
for the troubles of the little force began to come thick and fast. Up
to the time of that last halt the attacks had been made by the little
parties, each under its own leader, and they came from front, rear, and
flanks, in all directions, for the rush made by one portion of a tribe
would act as the signal for others to follow suit, and it frequently
happened that the Roman soldiers were completely surrounded. But now as
they moved on towards the north and west, the pass they had entered and
which wound or zig-zagged its way more into the mountain chain which
divided the land of the Gauls from the Roman dominions, closed in more
and more, beginning as a beautiful open valley and gradually changing
its nature as it rose till it assumed the nature of a gorge or rift.
The sides were no longer soft grassy slopes broken by little vales which
afforded shelter for the enemy, and from which they made their fiercest
rushes, coming down like furious torrents from the hills and often in
company with the streams by whose sides they made their way, but hour by
hour grew steeper till they assumed the nature of rugged walls,
impassable to any but climbers or the goats that browsed their sterile
paths in herds. The mountains here towered up higher and higher in
their stern frowning majesty, scantily furnished with growth, save here
and there the earth that had been washed down from above afforded
sustenance to a patch of spear-like pines with their dark, sombre,
blackish green needles. The roughest of rough stony tracks was now the
detachment's path, and it became hard work, approaching to climbing, for
the heavily-armed foot soldiers, difficult for the cavalry--whose horses
needed the sure-footedness of mules to get along, their riders having to
dismount and lead their steeds--while for the little train of chariots
the difficulties were almost insurmountable. The pony-like pairs that
drew them were safer footed and got on better than the heavier animals
that bore the Roman mounted men, but the chariots were always in need of
help. Sometimes one wheel would be high in the air, sometimes the
other, while often the drivers and riders had to make a rush to help
drag or push the low, heavy vehicles over some more rugged spot.
For there was no regular road now that they were beyond the Roman
dominions, where directly a country was conquered the new owners set
themselves to form a level military road, but simply a rough,
rock-encumbered track.
"Yes, it's bad going," Serge said, "but it would want a far worse way
than this to keep back a Roman army. Our men with all their baggage
have been along here, as you see, so of course we can follow; and it's
splendid for us in the way of safety."
"Yes," agreed Marcus; "every attack must come now from the front or
rear. These mountain walls make splendid allies to guard our flanks."
"Front--rear--flanks! Well done!" cried Serge. "I like that. You're
getting quite the soldier, my boy."
Matters proved to be better still as they moved higher up the pass, not
in the way of the road improving, but respecting the difficulties with
the enemy, for after the latter had made a brave stand in one spot where
the pass widened out for a space, and fought stubbornly for a while, the
little Roman force cut their way through and into the narrow portion
where the walls of the gorge closed quite up on either side, leaving
only room for the grey muddy stream and the road track along which
Marcus and his friends made their way, completely freed from all attack
save from the rear, where a fierce pursuit was kept up, fresh parties of
the enemy giving up and retreating after delivering their attack and
being rolled back.
The fighting was sharp, the brunt of it being borne by the foot
soldiers, who protected the rear, while the chariots were forced over
the many difficulties and the horses helped along, a portion of the foot
being far in advance, ready for any body of the enemy which might be
blocking their way in ambush.
It had been rough work that day, and the men, after the amount of
fighting they had gone through, were beginning to look dispirited and
feel disheartened, for in addition to the length of the struggle, the
supplies had run short, and everyone knew that no more food could be
obtained until they had forced their way through the desolate pass, over
the summit, and down the other side to the cultivated and inhabited
regions below.
But their leader was well suited to his task, and he seemed to be
everywhere, with a word or two of encouragement and praise, stopping to
help the men with the baggage animals, heading a party sent forward to
lever the great blocks of stone that impeded progress, and ready
directly after to urge his trembling horse back among the rocks the
moment the echoes of the shouts behind warned him that there was a fresh
attack in the rear. There were two of these, one directly after the
start at sunrise, and a second high up the pass at mid-day, when as he
bade the horsemen and the chariots pass on, he laughingly in Marcus'
hearing told his soldiery to make use of the loose rocks to form a rough
breastwork behind which they could fight, and all the better for the
cavalry being out of their way.
That fight was bitter and long sustained, and as the turmoil came
echoing up the gorge to where Marcus and Serge were striving hard to
master the difficulties before them and urge their willing little
chariot horses on, the latter frowned as he rubbed his blue nose and
responded to something Marcus had said.
"No, my lad," he replied; "they're not getting the better of our men,
and they will not. We hear so much of what is going on because the
sound comes up as if through a trumpet."
"Comes up, Serge?"
"Yes, my lad; we're a couple of thousand feet higher than they are below
yonder, and the reason the fight lasts so long is because the enemy keep
on bringing up fresh men."
"Think so?" said Marcus.
"I'm sure of it, my lad. Yesterday and before there were thousands of
them scattered in droves all about us; now the pass is so narrow that
they are all squeezed up together; and so much the better for us."
"Why?" asked Marcus.
"Because we've got such a narrow front to defend. Why, you know what a
scrap of road there was where the captain halted his men."
"Yes," said Marcus; "just like a gash cut through the rock."
"That's right," said the old soldier. "Well, a line of twenty men would
have been sufficient to guard that bit."
"More than enough," said Marcus.
"Right, boy. Well, he has got six or seven hundred there, and no army
that the enemy can bring up can drive our men from that stronghold.
There are only two things that can master them."
"What are they?" said Marcus, anxiously.
"Cold and hunger."
"Ah!" sighed Marcus.
"There, don't groan like that, boy," cried the old soldier, sharply.
"It sounded as if you hadn't had anything to eat for a week, and I'm
sure you're not cold."
"Then you're wrong," cried Marcus, "for I am bitterly cold."
"That shows you haven't worked hard enough. Come on and let's get
behind the chariot and help the horses with a push."
"Yes, presently," said Marcus, as he glanced at the brave little beasts,
which looked hot in spite of the fact that a chilly wind was blowing
down the gorge, and that they were standing up to their knees in snow.
"I'm a bit out of breath too."
"Don't talk, then, boy," growled Serge. "Save your wind."
"But I want to talk," continued Marcus. "You've been over this pass
before?"
"Nay, not this one, boy, but one like it farther east."
"Like this? But was it so strange?"
"What do you mean by strange, my lad?"
"Why, for us to be going to rest last night with the country all round
seeming to be in summer, while as we've come along to-day we've got into
autumn, and now we're going right into the depth of winter."
"Yes, my lad, but it's summer all the same. It's only because we're so
high up, same as you used to see it at home when you looked up towards
the mountains and saw them covered with snow."
"But this doesn't look like snow, Serge," said the boy, kicking up the
icy particles. "It is more like piled-up heaps of hail after a heavy
storm. Ugh! It does look winterly! Ice and snow everywhere, and not a
green thing to be seen."
"All the more reason, boy, why we should push on, get over the highest
bit, and then every step we take will be for the better."
"Shall we be out of this cutting icy wind that comes roaring up between
these two great walls of rock?"
"To be sure we shall," said Serge, cheerfully; "and it'll be something
to talk about when we've done it and are down below in the warm sunshine
to-morrow morning, eating new bread and drinking milk."
"I don't want to talk about it, Serge," said Marcus, beginning to talk
in a dull, drowsy way. "I shall want to sleep and rest. I feel as if I
could do so now."
"Do you? Then you mustn't; and we must stop anyone who tries to. Why,
it reminds me, boy, of old times when we crossed that other pass. Some
of our men would lie down to sleep, but they never got up again."
"Why?" cried Marcus, in a horrified tone.
"Frozen stiff, boy. Once you're up amongst the snow you can't stop,
only to get breath; you must push on; and I wish someone would give me
orders to go on now."
Marcus was silent for a few moments, as if thinking deeply.
"Don't feel more sleepy, boy, do you?" said Serge, sharply.
"No; that seems to have woke me up," was the reply; and taking a few
steps forward with difficulty, for his feet sank right in at every step,
Marcus leaned over into the car and caught Lupe by the ear where he lay
curled up with his rough coat on end.
The boy's movement was quickly and excitedly performed, a feeling of
dread having attacked him that the dog might have been frozen stiff; but
at the touch the animal gave a cheery bark, bounded out of the car, and
began to plough his way through the snow, at first after the fashion of
a pig, and then by throwing himself down first on one side and then upon
the other.
"I was half afraid, Serge," said Marcus.
"You needn't have been, boy," replied the old soldier. "You see,
Nature's given him a warm, thick coat, and he makes it thicker whenever
he likes by setting his bristles up on end."
"But that would make it more open and thinner, Serge."
"Nay, but it don't, boy. Somehow it keeps warm all inside between the
hairs, and the cold can't get through."
"I don't understand why that should be, Serge," said Marcus,
thoughtfully.
"I don't neither," said the man, "but it is so. It's one of those funny
things in Nature. Why, look at the birds. What do they do when a snow
storm comes down from the mountains in winter? They don't squeeze their
feathers down tight, do they?"
"No," said Marcus, thoughtfully; "they seem to set them all up on end,
just as they do when they go to roost, and they look twice as big."
"To be sure they do, boy. You don't feel sleepy now?"
"No, not a bit. But I say, Serge, will there be more snow higher up the
pass?"
"Most likely, boy; and I want to get at the job of fighting our way
through it. We ought to be going on. Hallo! Hear that?"
"Yes. What does it mean?"
"It's the reason why we with the horses are not pushed on. That's what
I was afraid of."
"Afraid?"
"There, don't take a man up short that way," growled Serge. "I didn't
mean afraid; I meant expected. The enemy have attacked our men right up
yonder in the front, and they've got us between them. Well, all the
better. Something for us to do, and keep us warm."
"But I was hoping that we might be pushed on now."
"So was I, boy, but it won't be yet," growled Serge. "I say, don't let
your mouth get watering for the new bread and warm milk just yet."
"No," groaned Marcus, rather piteously.
"But it will be all the nicer and sweeter when it comes, boy. I say,
there was only one thing that could possibly have happened to make us
worse off."
"What, having to fight in this snow, Serge?"
"Nay, that would have warmed us, lad. I meant, come on to snow."
"Snow at this time of year?" cried Marcus.
"It snows up in the mountains at all times of the year, boy," growled
Serge. "Down below in the plains it only rains, but up here it snows;
and here it comes, and someone else too. I expect things are going
wrong in the rear, or else he has heard the attack in front, and has
come to see."
For a blinding and dense squall of snow came raging through the pass,
leaving horsemen and chariots as white as their chief, whose horse came
churning its way through the hail-like coating that stood half way up
the wheels, close to which its rider reined in.
"Find it cold, my lads?" he cried cheerily, and was answered by a chorus
of assent.
"Well, I've brought you up news to warm you. The men below are holding
the enemy in check, and they have begun to retire, which means to
support us and drive those back who are trying to stop us at the head of
the pass. Make ready. Ah, my boy, you there? Well, are you tired of
seeking your father?"
Marcus shook his head.
"Well," said the captain, "tired or not there is no going back, for you
could not cut through two or three thousand of the enemy alone. There,
we shall soon be through this frozen pass, and making our way down into
the sunny plains. Winter now, and summer this time to-morrow. Ready
there, advance!"
As their chief spoke loudly, Marcus caught sight through the haze of
snow which seemed to hold the darkness of night above, the head of a
column of the foot soldiers making a steady advance, looking as if they
were wearing a fresh form of decoration, every man's helmet plume being
increased in size by a trimming of the purest, whitest swans-down or
filmy, flocculent silver itself.
But there was no time for studying appearances; all now was stern,
earnest work. At the first order given by the chief, Lupe seemed to
take it that he was concerned, and set up a hoarse barking, which seemed
to animate the chariot horses, notably his friends attached to Marcus'
chariot, which began to stamp and paw up the snow beneath their feet,
while when their driver took his place by their heads they plunged
forward, tugging the heavy vehicle out of the ruts into which the wheels
had cut for themselves. Then with the snow squall driving on before
them leaving the trampled snow ahead freshly smoothed, and lighting the
darkness of the night, there was a dull, grinding, creaking sound of
wheels and yielding snow as it was trampled down into a better road, and
good progress was made, for the slope in advance was more gradual, and
the hollows and pitfalls between the rugged stones that strewed the way
were levelled down.
It was a strange and weird procession, as Marcus tramped on step by step
with Serge, behind the chariot, into which Lupe had suddenly leaped to
stand with his paws planted upon the front of the vehicle, which now
looked as if it had been turned into silver. And there were moments
when the boy felt that it must all be part of a dream.
But there was nothing dream-like in the sounds that came downward
between the great snowy walls, for they were those of desperate
fighting--the shouts of defiance of the Roman soldiers mingled with the
barbarous cries of the Gauls, who had gathered together again in the
great gateway from which they had been driven by the troops of Caius
Julius, and were now striving to prevent the descent of the Roman
rear-guard into their fruitful plains, and if possible entrap these new
troops between their own forces, which were holding them shut in the
deep, long, wintry gorge.