CHAPTER NINE.
THE OLD ARMOUR.
When Marcus went to bed his habit was to drop his head upon his pillow,close his eyes in the darkness, and, as it seemed to him, open them thenext minute to find it was broad daylight, and spring out of bed; but,almost for the first time in his life, he, that night, lay tossingabout, thinking how hot it was, getting in and out of bed to open thewindow wider or to close it again, changing from side to side, andtrying as hard as he possibly could to go off to sleep; and, even whenat last he succeeded, it seemed that he had suddenly plunged into a newstate of wakefulness in which he was listening to Caius Julius and thenquarrelling with him.
Then his father seemed mixed up with his dream, and all kinds of thewildest imaginings came forming processions through his fevered brain.Armies of barbarians were marching to attack Rome. His father was agreat warrior and general once again, fighting to save his country.Then he was the quiet student once more in his white toga, chiding himfor his love of arms and armour; and, directly after, Serge seemed tocome upon the scene, to catch their strange visitor by the ankle withhis crook and threaten to thrash him for breaking down the fir-poles andstealing the grapes.
From dreams peopled in this incongruous way the boy woke up again andagain, making up his mind that he would not go to sleep any more to beworried by what he termed such a horrible muddle.
The night, which generally passed so quickly, seemed as if it wouldnever end, and when at last he did start up from perhaps the worst andmost exciting dream of all, to find that the sun was just about to rise,he sprang off his bed with a sigh of relief, dressed, and went out intothe garden to have what he called a good rest.
His intention was to go round to the back and rouse up Serge, not tomake any confidence, but just to have a talk about the coming of thevisitor and the surly reception the old soldier had given to hisfather's friend; but, before he had gone many yards, a gleam ofsomething white amongst the trees caught his attention, and he foundhimself face to face with his father.
"You out so soon?" he cried, in astonishment.
"Yes, boy; it has been no time for sleep. I have had too much to thinkabout."
"But, father--" began the boy.
Cracis held up his hand.
"Wait," he said. "Our visitor, Marcus, seems to have been as sleeplessas I; here he comes." For at the same moment they caught sight of CaiusJulius leaving the doorway; and, upon seeing them, he came quickly tojoin them, with extended hand.
The rest of that morning seemed afterwards one whirl of confusion toMarcus, in which he could recall his father's words to their visitor,and his quiet, grave declaration of how much it meant to him to have togive up his calm and peaceful home and its surroundings to plunge atonce into the toil, excitement and care of public life.
Marcus recalled too how, divining how they seemed to wish to be alone,he had left them pacing up and down beneath the shading vines, talkingearnestly, while he consoled himself by joining Serge, who was in asgreat a state of excitement as himself and literally pelted him withquestions which he could not answer, making the old soldier turn fromhim fiercely after telling him that he might speak out if he liked,instead of being so obstinate and refusing to trust him with what heknew.
Serge went off in high dudgeon, while, hardly giving him a thought,Marcus strolled back towards the garden in the hope that his fatherwould take some notice of him and call him to his side.
It was then approaching mid-day, and this time he was not disappointed,for, as soon as the boy appeared, Cracis signed to him to approach.
"Come here, Marcus," he said; and the boy noticed that their visitorsmiled at him in a satisfied way.
"I am going away, my boy," he said, "to leave our quiet little home, onvery serious business."
"Soon, father?" cried Marcus, excitedly, as his father stopped short.
"Very soon, boy--now--at once. That is, as soon as I can make mypreparations."
Marcus drew a deep breath.
"You are going to follow--him?"
"I am going with my old friend Caius Julius."
"And you'll take me with you, father?"
Cracis was silent for a few moments, and he sighed deeply as he laid hishand upon his son's head.
"No, my boy; I must leave you behind. I am going to take part in agreat struggle."
"A great struggle, father? You don't mean a war?"
"Yes, my boy, I do mean a war."
"Oh!" exclaimed Marcus, and he turned sharply upon their visitor,looking the question he longed to put, while Caius Julius met his eyesand bowed in silence.
"You are too young," said Cracis, slowly; "and now I want you to help mefor the short time I am here making my preparations."
"Yes, father," cried the boy, in a choking voice; "but I should like foryou to--"
"Yes," said Cracis, interrupting him and speaking very firmly, "I knowwhat you would say--take you with me--but it cannot be. Now, Marcus,you are only a boy, but I want you to let my old friend see that you canact like a man. Do you understand?"
"Yes, father."
"Then look here, my boy. I reproved you and Serge rather harshly theother day for what you had done--Serge especially, for treasuring up andkeeping in order my old war-like gear; but Marcus, one never knows whatFate has in store for us. I could not foresee, neither, for thatmatter, could he, what was so soon to come, but he did quite right. Nowthen," he continued, sharply, "away with you at once, and get out allthe arms that I shall want, for I cannot leave here as student, but as asoldier once again. You understand?"
Marcus nodded, quickly. He could not trust himself to speak.
"Go to my room then, at once, to the big, old chest. Stop!" he cried,when Marcus was half way to the door. "Serge knows better than you.Call him and take him with you to help you lay out what I shall require.That will do. At once."
His brain whirling with excitement, his heart sinking withdisappointment and despair, Marcus ran into the house, striving to makeduty conquer all, his first effort being to drag his thoughts from selfand condense them upon the task he had in hand.
"Where shall I find Serge?" he muttered. "He'll be gone off somewherein the fields. Which way had I better go?"
The question had hardly formed itself in his brain as he was hurryingacross the little court where the fountain played, when the big, burlyfigure of the old soldier stopped his way.
"Want me, boy?" he cried, hoarsely.
"Yes, Serge. Father is going away at once."
"With that Caius Julius?" cried the old soldier. "I know him now. Itseemed to come to me like this morning when I woke. What does it meanthen? The master a prisoner?"
"No, Serge; he's going with him to the war. But come, quickly!" headded, as the man stood staring at him as if struck speechless withwonderment. "Don't talk--don't ask me questions. Father wants hisweapons and his armour at once. Come on. You are to help me get themready."
The old soldier was standing before him with his herdsman's staff in hishand as if ready to go off round the farm, and, drawing himself up, hegrasped the stout crook in both his hands, bent down, placed one kneeagainst it, and, with one effort of his great strength, snapped itacross his knee as if it were a twig and threw the pieces from him witha gesture of contempt.
"Hah!" he cried, with a deep expiration of his breath. "At last, boy!The master is going to be himself again. There, don't talk to me! Iknow! I have lain awake, boy, cursing that Caius Julius for coming hereto disturb the master's quiet life. He was his enemy always, and Icould see nothing in it but ill--blind fool that I was! I can bless himnow. Come on, boy! I know! Who was right now in keeping the swordssharp and the armour bright?"
The next minute the great chest had been dragged out into the middle ofCracis' room and the old soldier was down upon his knees joyouslyunpacking the war-like equipments that he had so sadly stowed away soshort a time before.
They were all mingled together so as to make them fit and the greatch
est contain them all, and as, taking the lead, Serge worked on, it waswith a rapid touch that he sorted the three suits, giving each itsplace, his own armour and weapons, the more handsomely furnishedappertaining to his master, and those of the boy, which had been fittedin.
The two former portions he laid to right and left, and, as he drew themforth, he sent pang after pang through the breast of Marcus, for itseemed to him that Serge laid his father's offensive and defensivepieces of accoutrement together with almost reverent care, banging hisown together heavily, while, as he dislodged those portions that hadbeen prepared and fitted with such pride to suit the youth who worethem, they were pitched carelessly upon the bed to clash and jingle asif in protest at being looked upon now, when reality ruled the occasion,as toys and of no account.
"Ah!" cried the old soldier, as, when he had nearly finished, he drewout from the bottom of the chest the smallest of the shields and pitchedit so that it fell upon Cracis' pillow, suggesting to Marcus that theman meant that it should lie there in his master's absence and sleep;but Serge saw nothing of Marcus' agitated countenance, for he was gazinginto the future.
"Here we are," he cried, as he lifted out his own and Cracis' shieldstogether, to stand them up on edge so that he could separate them, forthe loops and handles were tightly wedged together so that they seemedloth to come apart. "How soon will he be coming here for me to gird himup?"
"Directly, he said, Serge," replied the boy.
"Then you look sharp, my lad, and put those things of yours back intothe chest out of the way. I shall be wanting him to sit there while Ifasten some of his buckles and straps. To think of its coming to thisagain!" he cried, joyously. "Why, how many years is it since I did itlast? Why, you were a little toddling boy, and here you are getting onto be a man--man enough, Marcus, to help me and buckle on and hitchtogether some of the slides and studs when I dress myself."
Marcus nodded, with a look of despair and envy in his eyes, while theold soldier bent down, caught up his old legionary helmet from thefloor, gave it a slap with one hand, and then placed it upon his head,to draw himself up proudly before the boy, and give his foot a stamp, ashe struck an attitude and cried:
"Burn my old straw hat, Marcus, when I am gone. This fits me again likea shell does one of the old white snails, and makes me feel like asoldier and a man again, instead of a herdsman and a serf."
He had hardly finished speaking when the door was thrown open, and as ifimbued by his old follower's feelings, Cracis, no longer in hismovements the calm, grave student, but the general and leader of menonce more, strode quickly into the room and stopped short as the oldsoldier drew himself up motionless in his helmet, stiffly awaiting hisofficer's next command.
It seemed to Marcus, too, no longer his calm, grave father who, the nextmoment, spoke as he raised one hand and pointed at the helmet his manhad donned.
"What is the meaning of this, Serge?" he said, sternly.
"Only the thought of old times, general," cried Serge, sharply, and toMarcus the man's manner struck him as being completely changed, for hespoke shortly and bluntly, standing up as stiff and erect as before, andthen in his misery and disappointment there was something very near akinto malicious triumph as his father said, sternly:
"Tut, man! Take that off! Did you think you were going too?"
Serge's jaw dropped.
Marcus: the Young Centurion Page 9