CHAPTER SEVEN.
COMPANY COMES.
"I want to go out," said Marcus to himself, one morning, as he sat atthe little table exclusively his.
There was a small volume, a double roll tied round by a band of silk,his tablets and stylus were before him, the latter quite blank, and thewindow was open, giving him a glorious view of the distant, sunlitmountains, while the air that was wafted in through the vine leaves wasrich in delicious odours that came gratefully to his nostrils.
"But I can't go out," he said; "I have all that writing to do, and thefirst thing when father comes back will be to ask me how much I havedone. And here have I been sitting for long enough and have notscratched a word. I wonder how soon he will come?"
The boy sat silently for a few minutes watching some twittering youngbirds that were playing in the garden trees, chasing one another fromtwig to twig in the full enjoyment of their life in the transparentatmosphere.
"I wish I were a bird!" sighed the boy, and then half passionately: "Oh,what a lazy dog I am! I am always longing to be or do something elsethan what I am. But look at that," he said, dropping into his dreamyway again. "How beautiful it must be to throw oneself off the very topof a tree and go floating and gliding about just where one likes, withno books to study, nothing to write, only play about in the sunshine,covered with clothes of the softest down; no bother about a house tolive in or a bed, but just when the sun goes down sing a bit about howpleasant life is as one sits on a twig, and then tuck one's head underone's wing, stick one's feathers up till one looks like a ball, and goto sleep till the Sun rises again. Oh, how glorious to be a bird! Ha,ha, ha!" he cried, with a merry laugh, "Old Serge is right. He says Iam a young fool, when he's in the grumps, and I suppose I am to thinklike that; but it seems a life so free from trouble to be a bird, till acat comes, or a weasel, or perhaps a snake, and catches one on theground, or a hawk when one's flying in the air, or one of the noisy oldowls when one's roosting in the ivy at night. And then squeak--scrunch--and there's no more bird. Everything has to work, I suppose,and nothing is able to do just as it pleases. That's what father says,and, of course, it's true; but somehow I should like to go out thismorning, but I can't; I have to stick here and write. There's fathergone off, and old Serge too. I wonder where he's gone. Right away intothe forest, of course, to look after the swine, or else into the fieldsto see whether something's growing properly, and mind that the men keepto work and are not lying snoozing somewhere in the shade. Oh, howbeautiful it looks out of doors!"
Marcus sat gazing longingly out of the window, and then apparently, forno reason at all, raised his right hand and gave himself a sharp slap onthe side of the head.
"Take that, you lazy brute!" he cried. "Of course you can't do yourwork if you sit staring out of the window. Turn your back to it, sir,and look inside where you will only see the wall. No wonder you can'twork."
He jumped up quickly, raised his stool, and was in the act of turning itround, giving a final glance through the window before he began to workin earnest, when he stopped short and set down the stool again.
"There's somebody coming along the road," he said. "Who's he? Dressedjust like father, in his long, white toga. Wonder where he's going, andwho he is? Some traveller, I suppose, seeing the country and enjoyinghimself."
The boy stood watching the stranger for a few moments.
"Why, where can he be going?" he said. "That path only leads here andto our fields. He can't be coming here, because nobody ever comes tosee us, and father doesn't seem to have any friends. Perhaps he wantsto see Serge about buying some pigs or corn, or to sell some younggoats? Yes, that's it, I should think. He wants to sell something.No; it can't be that; he doesn't look the sort of man. Look at thatsmooth-shaven face and short-cut hair. He seems quite a patrician, justlike father. What can he want? Here, how stupid!" cried the boy, as hesaw the stranger stop short a little distance from the villa front andbegin to look about him as if admiring the beauty of the place and thedistant scene. "I know; he's a traveller, and he's lost his way."
Excited by his new thought, Marcus hurried out and down the garden,catching the attention of the stranger at once, who smiled as he lookedwith the eyes of curiosity at the bright, frank lad, while he took out ahandkerchief and stood wiping his dewy face.
"Lost your way?" cried Marcus.
"Well, not quite," was the reply; "but I know very little of theseparts."
"I do," said Marcus, "laughing always, and have. I'll show you if youtell me where you want to go."
"Thank you," said the stranger, gravely and quietly; and the boy thoughtto himself once more that he was no dealer or trader, but some patricianon his travels, and he noted more particularly the clear skin, andclean-cut features of a man thoughtful and strong of brain, who spokequietly, but in the tones of one accustomed to command.
"You have a beautiful place here, my boy," he continued, as he lookedround and seemed to take in everything; "fields, woodlands, garden.Fruit too--vines and figs. An attractive house too. The calm and quietof the country--a tired man could live very happily here."
"Yes, of course," cried Marcus and with a merry laugh, "a boy too!"
"Hah! Yes," said the stranger, smiling also, as he gazed searchingly inthe boy's clear eyes. "So you lead a very happy life here, do you?"
"Oh yes!"
"But not alone?" said the stranger.
"Oh no, of course not," cried Marcus. "There's father, and old Serge,and the labourers and servants."
"Yes, a very pleasant place," said the stranger, as he once more wipedhis dewy face.
"You look hot," said the boy. "Come in and sit down for a while andrest. It's nice and shady in my room, and you get the cool breeze fromthe mountains."
"Thank you, my boy, I will," said the stranger, and he followed Marcusthrough the shady garden and into the lately vacated room, where the boyplaced a chair, and his visitor sank into it with a sigh of relief.
"Have you walked far?" he asked.
"Yes, some distance," was the reply; "but the country is very beautiful,especially through the woodlands, and very pleasant to one who is freshfrom the hot and crowded city."
"The city!" cried Marcus, eagerly. "You don't mean Rome?"
"I do mean Rome," said the visitor, leaning back smiling, and with hiseyes half closed, but keenly reading the boy the while. "Have you everbeen there?"
"Oh no," said Marcus, quickly, "but I know all about it. My fatheroften used to tell me about Rome."
"Your father? May I ask who your father is?"
"Cracis," said the boy, drawing himself up proudly, as if he felt it anhonour to speak of such a man. "He used to live in Rome. You've comefrom there. Did you ever hear of him?"
"Cracis? Cracis? Yes, I have heard the name. Is he at home?"
"No; he went out this morning; but I daresay he will be back soon.Serge is out too."
"Serge?" said the stranger.
"Yes; our man who superintends the farm. He was an old soldier, andknew Rome well. He was in the wars."
"Ha!" said the stranger. "And they are both away?"
"Yes; but you are tired, sir, and look faint. I'll come back directly."
Marcus hurried from the room, but returned almost immediately, ladenwith a cake of bread, a flask and cup, and a bunch or two of grapeslying in an open basket.
"Ha, ha!" said the visitor, smiling. "Then you mean to play the host toa tired stranger?"
"Of course," said the boy. "That is what father would do if he were athome."
"And the son follows his father's teaching, eh?"
Marcus smiled, and busied himself in pouring out a cup of wine andbreaking the bread, which he pressed upon his guest, who partook of bothsparingly, keenly watching the boy the while.
"The rest is good," he said, as he caught the boy's eye, "the room cooland pleasant, and these most refreshing. You will let me rest myselfawhile? I might like to see your father when he c
omes."
"Oh, of course," cried the boy. "Father will be very glad, I am sure.We so seldom have anyone to see us here."
Quite unconsciously the boy went on chatting, little realising that hewas literally answering his visitor's questions and giving him a fullaccount of their life at the villa and farm.
He noted how sparingly his visitor ate and drank, and pressed himhospitably to partake of more, but, after a few minutes, the guestresponded by smilingly waving the bread and wine aside.
"_Quantum sufficit_, my boy," he said; "but I will eat a few of yourgrapes."
He broke off a tiny bunch, and went on talking as he glanced around.
"Your studies?" he said, pointing to the tablets and stylus. "And youread?"
"Oh yes," said the boy. "My father teaches me. He is a great student."
"Indeed?" said the guest. "And are you a great student too?"
"No," cried Marcus, merrily; "only a great stupid boy!"
"Very," said the visitor, sarcastically. "Well, and what are you goingto be when you grow up?"
"Oh, a student too, and a farmer, I suppose."
"Indeed! Why, a big, healthy, young lad like you ought to be a soldier,and learn to fight for his country, like a true son of Rome."
"Hah!" cried Marcus, flushing up and frowning, while the visitor watchedhim intently.
"I knew just such a boy as you who grew up to be a general, a greatsoldier as well as a student who could use his pen."
"Ah, that's what I should like to be," cried the boy, springing from hisseat with his eyes flashing, as his imagination seemed fired. "That'swhat Serge says."
"What does Serge say?" asked the visitor.
"Just what you do," cried the boy, boldly; "that I might grow up to be agreat soldier, and still read and use my pen."
"Well, why not?" said the guest, as he slowly broke off and ate a grape.
The boy frowned and shook his head.
"It is a man's duty to be ready to draw his sword for his country like abrave citizen, and that country's son," continued the guest, warmly,while the boy watched him eagerly, and leaned forward with one handresting upon the table as if he was drinking in every word that fellfrom the other's lips.
"Yes, that's what Serge says," he cried, "and that it is a great andnoble thing for a man to be ready to die for his country if there is anyneed."
"But it is pleasanter to live, my boy," said the visitor, smiling, "andto be happy with those we love, with those whom we are ready to defendagainst the enemy. You must be a soldier, then--a defender of yourland."
"No," said the boy, quickly, and he gave his head a quick shake. "Itcan never be."
"Why?"
"Because my father says `no.'"
The visitor raised his brows a little, and then, leaning forwardslightly to gaze into the boy's eyes, he said, softly:
"Why does your father say that?"
"Because people are ungrateful and jealous and hard, and would ill-useme, the same as they did him and drove him away from Rome."
The visitor tightened his lips and was silent, sitting gazing past theboy and through the window, so full of thought that he broke off anothergrape, raised it to his lips, and then threw it through the opening intoa tuft of flowers beyond.
"Ah!" he said, at last, as his eyes were turned again towards the boy."And so you are going to live here then, and only be a student?"
"Of course," said the boy, proudly. "It is my father's wish."
"And you know nothing, then, about a soldier's life?"
"Oh, yes, I do," cried the boy, with his face lighting up.
"Hah! Then your father has taught you to be a soldier and man?"
"Oh, no; he has taught me to read and write. It was some one else whotaught me how to use a sword and spear."
"Hah!" cried the visitor, quickly. "Then you are not all a student?"
"Oh, no."
"You know how to use a sword?"
"Yes," said Marcus, laughing, "and a spear and shield as well," and,warming up, the boy began to talk quickly about all he had learned,ending, to his visitor's great interest, with a full account of histraining in secret and his father's discovery and ending of hispursuits.
"Well, boy," said the guest, at last, "it seems a pity."
"For me to tell you all this?" cried Marcus, whose face was stillflushed with excitement. "Yes, I oughtn't to have spoken and said somuch, but somehow you questioned me and seemed to make me talk."
"Did I?" said the visitor. "Well, I suppose I did; but what I meant wasthat it seems a pity that so promising a lad should only be kept to hisbooks. But there, a good son is obedient to his father, and his duty isto follow out his commands."
"Yes," said the boy, stoutly, "and that's what Serge says."
"Then he doesn't want you to be a soldier now?"
"No," cried the boy. "He says one of the first things a soldier learnsis to obey."
"Ah!" said the visitor, looking at the boy with his quiet smile. "Ishould like to know this old soldier, Serge."
"You soon can," said the boy, laughing. "Here he comes!" For at thatmoment there was the deep bark of a dog.
"The dog?" said the visitor.
"Oh, that's our wolf-hound, Lupe. It means that Serge is coming back."
The boy had hardly spoken when the man's step was heard outside, and,directly after, as Marcus' guest sat watching the door, it was thrustopen, and the old soldier entered, saying: "Has the master come back, mylad?" and started back, staring at the sight of the stranger.
"Not yet, Serge. This is a gentleman, a traveller from Rome, who issitting down to rest."
Serge drew himself up with a soldierly salute, which was received withdignity, and, as eyes met, the stranger looked the old warrior throughand through, while Serge seemed puzzled and suspicious, as he slowlyraised his hand and rubbed his head.
"Yes," said the visitor, "your young master has been playing the kindlyhost to a weary man. Why do you look at me so hard? You know my face?"
"No," said Serge, gruffly; "no. But I think I have seen someone likeyou before."
"And I," said the visitor, "have seen many such like you, but few whobear such a character as your young master gives."
"Eh?" cried Serge, sharply. "Why, what's he been saying about me?"
"Told me what a brave old soldier you have been."
"Oh! Oh! Stuff!" growled Serge, sourly.
"And of how carefully you have taught him the duties of a soldier, andtold him all about the war."
"There!" cried Serge, angrily, stepping forward to bring his big, hairyfist down upon the table with a thump. "I don't know you, or who youare, but you have come here tired, and been given refreshment and rest,and, instead of being thankful, you have been putting all sorts ofthings in this boy's head again that he ought to have forgot."
"Serge! Serge!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "Mind what you are saying!This is a stranger, and a noble gentleman from Rome."
"I don't care who he is," replied the old soldier, fiercely. "He's nobusiness to be coming here and talking like this. Now, look here, sir,"he continued, turning upon the visitor, who sat smiling coldly with hiseyes half closed, "this lad's father, my old officer--and a better neverstepped or led men against Rome's enemies--gave me his commands, andthey were these: that young Marcus here was to give up all thoughts ofsoldiering and war, and those commands, as his old follower, I am goingto carry out. So, as you have eaten and are rested, the sooner you goon your journey the better, and leave us here at peace."
"Serge!" cried Marcus, firmly; and he drew himself up with his father'sangry look, "you mean well, and wish to do your duty, but this is notthe way to speak to a stranger and my father's guest."
"He's not your father's guest, my lad, but yours, and he's taken uponhimself to say to you what he shouldn't say, and set you against yourfather's commands."
"Even if he has, Serge, he must be treated as a guest--I don't know yourname, sir," continued the boy, t
urning to the visitor, "but in myfather's name I ask you to forgive his true old servant's blunt, honestspeech."
The visitor rose, grave and stern.
"It is forgiven, my boy," he said; "for after hearing what he has said Ican only respect him for his straightforward honesty. My man, I am anold soldier too. I regret that I have spoken as I did, and I respectyou more and more. Rome lost a brave soldier when you left her ranks.Will you shake hands?"
Serge drew back a little, and looked puzzled.
"Yes, give me your hand," said the visitor. "I am rested and refreshed,but I am not yet going away. I am going to stay and see Cracis, who wasonce my dear old friend."
"You knew my master?" cried Serge, with the puzzled look deepening inhis eyes.
"Thoroughly," was the reply, "and we have fought together in the past.He will forgive me what I have said, as I do you, and I shall tell himwhen he comes how glad I am to see that he has such a son and is sobravely served."
For answer the old soldier hesitatingly took the proffered hand, andthen gladly made his retreat, the pair following him slowly out into theshady piazza, where they stood watching till he disappeared, when thevisitor, after glancing round, gathered his toga round him, and sankdown into a stone seat, beside one of the shadow-flecked pillars,frowning heavily the while.
"He means well, sir," said Marcus, hastily; "but I'm sure my fatherwould have been sorry if he had heard. I am glad, though, that I askedyou in."
"Why?" said the visitor, with a peculiar look in his eyes.
"Because you say you are an old friend of his, and, of course, I didn'tknow. It was only out of civility that I did so."
"Yes, so I suppose," was the reply. "Poor fellow! Your man meantwell," continued the visitor, with his whole manner changed, and hespoke in a half-mocking, cynical way which puzzled and annoyed the boy."A poor, weak, foolish fellow, though, who hardly understands what hemeant. Don't you think he was very weak, bull-headed and absurd?"
"Well--no," said the boy, quickly, and his face began to flush, and grewthe deeper in tint as he noticed a supercilious, mocking smile playingupon the visitor's lips. "Serge is a very true, honest fellow, andthought he was doing right."
"Yes, of course," said the other, "but some people in meaning to doright often commit themselves and do great wrong."
"But you knew my father well?" said Marcus, hastily, to change theconversation. "I never heard him mention you."
"No, I suppose not," said the visitor, thoughtfully, but with a mockingsmile upon his lip growing more marked as he went on. "I don't supposehe would ever mention me. A very good, true fellow, Cracis, and, as Isaid, we were once great friends. But a weak and foolish man who gotinto very great trouble with the Senate and with me. There was greattrouble at the time, and I had to defend him."
"You had to defend my father?" said Marcus, turning pale, and with astrange sensation rising in his breast. "What for?"
"Why, there was that charge of cowardice--the retreat he headed from theGaulish troops," continued the visitor, watching the boy intently allthe while. "He was charged with being a coward, and--"
"It was a lie!" cried the boy, fiercely. "You know it was a lie. Myfather is the bravest, truest man that ever lived, and you who speak socan be no friend of his. Old Serge was right, for he saw at once whatkind of man you are. How dare you speak to me like that! Go, sir!Leave this house at once."
"Go, boy?" said the visitor, coldly, and with a look of suppressed angergathering in his eyes. "And suppose that I refuse to go at the biddingof such a boy as you?"
"Refuse?" cried Marcus, fiercely. "You dare to refuse?"
"Yes, boy, I refuse. And what then?"
"This!" cried the boy, overcome with rage, and, raising his hand, hemade a dash as if about to strike, just as a step was heard, and, calmlyand thoughtfully, Cracis walked out into the piazza.
Marcus: the Young Centurion Page 7