Marcus: the Young Centurion

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  CAUGHT.

  It was the next day, under a brilliant blue Italian sky, that Marcus,after spending the morning with his father in the room he devoted to hisstudies, hurried out with a sense of relief to seek out the old soldier,whom he expected to find repairing damages amongst the vines. But thedamages were repaired, and very few traces remained of the mischief thathad been done; but several of the upright fir-poles looked new, andthere were marks of knife and bill-hook upon some of the freshcross-pieces that had been newly bound in their places. But a freshlytied-in cane and the careful distribution of the broad leaves prettywell hid the injured places, and Marcus walked away smiling as hethought of the encounter he had had, while passing his fingers daintilyover bruise and cut, and feeling gently a place or two that were tenderstill. He walked down one path and up another of the garden, his eyeswandering about to see if Serge were busy there; but he was absent, andthere was no sign of him in the farmyard, and none of the labourers whomhe found at work could give any news of his whereabouts.

  For quite half an hour the boy wandered about the well-kept littleestate of his father before beginning to return towards the villaembowered in flowers that had been carefully trained over the stonewalls, when, going round to the back, he heard a burring sound as ifsomeone with a very unmusical voice were trying to sing; and, hurryingalong a path, after muttering impatiently, the boy made for an openwindow, grasping the fact that he had had all his walk and search fornothing, and that, if he had gone round to the two rooms set apart forthe old soldier's use before going out, he would have found him there.

  Marcus dashed up to the window, and looked in.

  "Why, Serge," he cried, "I've been hunting for you everywhere! Ah!What are you doing there?"

  Without waiting for an answer, the boy drew sharply back, ran to an opendoorway, entered and made his way at once into Serge's room, a roughmuseum in its way of the odds and ends of one who acted as herdsman,gardener, and general odd man to the master of the little country Romanvilla.

  "Why, I have just come in time!"

  "Oh, here you are, then," said Serge, ignoring the boy's question."Well, what did the master say about the broken vines?"

  "Nothing," replied Marcus.

  "Well, about your cuts and bruises?"

  "Nothing," said the boy again.

  "He must have said something, seeing how you're knocked about."

  "No, he must not."

  "What!"

  "He was so quiet and thoughtful yesterday evening, and again thismorning, that he hardly looked at me at breakfast time; and when we wentinto the study he took up the new volume he is reading, and hardlyraised his head again."

  "Then you haven't been scolded for fighting?"

  "Not in the least."

  "So much the better for you."

  "But I say, what in the world is the meaning of all this?" cried theboy, as he stepped to the rough table, upon which, bright withpolishing, was a complete suit of armour such as would have been worn bya Roman man-at-arms if he had joined the army when a mere youth.

  There lay the curved, brazen helmet with its comb arching over and edgedwith its plume, the scaled cheek-straps that held it in its place, theleathern breast and back-piece moulded and hammered into the shape ofthe human form, brazen shoulder-pieces, ornamentations andstrengthening, the curved, oblong shield and short sword with lion'shead to its hilt and heavy sheath.

  There were two more helmets and suits of armour hanging from the walls,the one rich and ornamental, such as an officer would have worn, theother plain, and every indication visible of the old soldier having hada general clean up, the result of his polishing being that every pieceof metal glistened and was as bright as hands could make it.

  "Come in time?" said Serge. "What for? I didn't want you here."

  "No, but I wanted to come. How beautiful it all looks!"

  These words softened the old soldier's next remarks. He uttered asatisfied grunt as he said:

  "Yes, I have had a good turn at them; but it seems a pity, don't it?"

  "What seems a pity?"

  "To wrap all that tackle up and put it away so as it shan't be seen,till I think it wants cleaning again."

  "Yes, of course. But you are not going to put mine away."

  "Oh, yes, I am," said the old man. "I didn't sleep all last night forthinking about it. I don't mean for us to get into any trouble with themaster, so remember that."

  "Look here, Serge!" cried the boy, angrily, "you can put your armour andfather's away, of course, but this is mine, and I didn't save up themoney father gave me and let you buy what was wanted and pay those oldworkmen, the smith and armourer, to cut down and alter and make allthese things to fit me, to have them all wrapped up and put away where Ican't see them."

  "But you must, boy. You are not going to fight."

  "Never mind that. I am not going to have them put away."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I want to put them on sometimes."

  "Bah! To go and strut about like a full-plumaged young cockerel in thespring, and look at yourself in a bit of glass!"

  "No; I'm not so vain," said the boy; "but I've got that armour and thoseweapons, and you have been teaching me how to use a sword and spear, anda lot more besides, and I mean to go on learning--so mind that."

  "Ho!" cried the old man. "And who's going to teach you?"

  "You are, till I'm perfect."

  "Can't ever get perfect in using a sword and spear. It arn't to bedone, no matter how you practise."

  "Well, I mean to get as perfect as I can, and you are going on teachingme."

  "Nay," said the old man; "once a fool don't mean always a fool. I amgoing to put all these away, and you have got to forget it."

  "No!" cried the boy, angrily. "I shall never forget what you've taughtme, Serge--never; and I'm not going to have my things put away. Youshall keep them here, as you have since you fetched them home one afterthe other as they were made."

  "And all too big for you, so that you might fill up and grow into them,"said the old soldier, with a sigh of regret.

  "And I have grown, ever so much, Serge."

  "You have, lad; and you're big-boned, and you'll make a big man one ofthese days. You were framing finely for a soldier, my boy. But that'sall over now."

  "No, it isn't," cried the boy, impatiently, "and you shall go onteaching me about all the fighting and the men's shields being alllinked together so that the enemy shouldn't break through the serriedranks."

  "Nay, my lad," sighed the old warrior; "that was all very grand, but Idon't know what I could have been thinking about to let you persuade meto teach you what I did, all going against the master's orders as itwas. I suppose I liked it, for it put me in mind of the old days; but Iseem to have come to myself like and know better now. You tempted me,my lad, and I'm afraid I tempted you; but no more of it. I'm sorry forwhat's done, and the best way to be sorry for it is to own up and neverdo so any more."

  "Then you mean that you're to leave off teaching me?"

  "Yes, my lad; that's so."

  "And suppose I say, as your master: `you shall go on.' What then?"

  "I should say: `you're not going to disobey your father's orders anymore, but to give all this soldiering up like a man.'"

  "Serge!"

  "That's right, my lad, and I know you aren't going to set your faceagainst what the master says I'm right, aren't I?"

  "Yes, Serge," said the boy, sadly; "but it seems very hard."

  "It do, boy, very, very hard; but orders are orders, and I forgot toteach you what is the first thing a soldier has to learn."

  "What's that, Serge? How to use his sword and shield? You did teach methat."

  "No, that's not what I meant. What a soldier has to learn first is toobey orders, and I want to teach you that now."

  Marcus was silent for a while, as he stood looking wistfully at thespeaker, then at the bright soldierly accoutrements, back
at the oldman, and lastly, as if the bright weapons and armour fascinated him, hestood frowning fixedly down at everything that was spread out upon therough table.

  The boy's looks and actions affected the old man, who said sadly:

  "It do seem hard, lad, eh?"

  "Yes, very, very hard, Serge," replied Marcus.

  "But it's duty, boy, eh! What we ought to do?"

  "Yes, Serge, and it must be done; but I wish we had never begun it all."

  "Ay, lad, so do I; but it's of no use to wish. There, have one goodlook at it, and then I'll put it all away in the big chestnut box."

  "But I shall want to look at it all sometimes, Serge."

  "Well, I don't see no harm in that, my boy. Only no more fightinglessons."

  "No," sighed Marcus; "no more fighting lessons. You are right, Serge,and I'm going to forget all about it if I can; but I shall always feelthat I should have liked to be a Roman soldier."

  "Ah, you can't help that, boy, of course."

  "No, I can't help that," sighed Marcus, and, stretching out his hands,he picked up the heavy brazen helmet, looked at it round and roundbefore turning it with the back towards him, and then, slowly raisingit, he balanced the heavy head-piece on high for a few moments beforeslowly lowering it down upon his head; the scaled cheek-straps fell intotheir places, and he drew himself up erect with his eyes flashing andface lighting up, as he gazed half defiantly at the old soldier.

  "Hah!" cried the latter. "It do fit you well, boy, and you look nearlya man in it."

  "Do I, Serge?" cried the boy, flushing, as he put off the helmet with asigh, and set it aside; then, catching up the sword and belt, he wentout on to the _Piazza_ to buckle them on, his fingers trembling withexcitement the while.

  "Do you, boy? Yes, and a regular soldier too," said Serge, following.

  Marcus threw his hand across and grasped the scabbard of the short swordblade with his left, the hilt with his right, and, the next moment, thekeen, two-edged weapon flashed in the sunlight.

  "Good! Brave boy!" cried the old soldier excitedly, and, forgetting allthe words that had passed, he fetched the oblong, round-faced shieldfrom the table and held it ready for Marcus to thrust his left armthrough the loop and then grasp the hand-hold firmly, and draw the pieceof defensive armour before his breast. "Well done! Now think that I'mgoing to cut you down."

  In an instant Marcus had drawn back with all his weight upon his rightfoot, as he slightly raised the shield to cover his head and leftbreast, before throwing himself forward again, bringing up his righthand, sword-armed as it was, and delivering a thrust which, in the boy'sexcitement, lightly touched the folds of the thick woollen garment whichcrossed his breast, while the receiver smartly drew himself aside.

  "Gently, boy!" he shouted. "I didn't mean you to do that!"

  "Oh, Serge!" cried Marcus, flushing scarlet. "I didn't mean to touchyou like that! I haven't hurt you, have I?" he cried.

  "Well, no," said the old fellow, smiling grimly; "but it was very near,and the point of that sword's as sharp as I could grind it."

  "I'm so sorry," cried Marcus. "I didn't think."

  "Lucky for me I did," said Serge, with a laugh. "Did you think I was anenemy?"

  "No," cried Marcus, hurriedly; "I thought--no, I didn't think."

  "Of course you didn't, boy, but--"

  "What is the meaning of this?" said a stern voice, and a bare-headedfigure draped in the folds of a simple Roman toga stood lookingwonderingly at the pair.