Marcus: the Young Centurion

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  GOOD-BYE, OLD HOME.

  There was a strange solemnity about the Roman villa as soon as Marcuswas left alone. All seemed to have grown painfully still. It wasfancy, no doubt, but, to the boy, the birds had ceased to sing and chirpamong the trees, the sounds from the farm were distant, and though morethan once Marcus listened intently he did not hear Serge go to or fromhis room, nor his step anywhere about the road.

  "Poor old Serge," thought Marcus; "he is as miserable as I am--no, notquite, because he does not feel so guilty nor ready to disobey. Heheard what my father said, bowed his head, and went away."

  And how slowly the time glided away. The hottest part of the afternooncame, when, as a rule, the boy felt drowsy and ready to have a restfulsleep till the sun began to get low; but this day Marcus felt so alertand excited that he never once thought of sleep, though he more thanonce longed to see the sun go down so that it might be darkness such aswould agree with the misery and despair which kept him shut in his roomhating the very sight of day.

  Marcus took up his stylus to write a dozen times over, but he did notadd a word to those which he had written as soon as he was alone, and hethrew the pointed implement down each time with a feeling of disgust.

  "I feel as if I shall never write again," he said, bitterly. "Oh, it istoo hard to bear!"

  He buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows upon his knees,feeling at times almost stunned by his misery, quite ignorant of thelapse of time, and so wretched that he did not even wonder how far hisfather and the great Roman general had got by this time upon theirjourney to Rome.

  "Is it never going to be night?" groaned the boy at last, and then hestarted violently, for something cold and moist touched one of hishands.

  "You, Lupe?" he said, with a sigh, as he realised his disturber, and helooked gently at the great dog, whose eyes were fixed enquiringly andwistfully on his. "He's gone, old boy--gone--gone--gone--and, yes, theplace does seem lonely and sad."

  The dog whined softly, and then looked sharply in his face again, beforeturning to the door, forcing it open and passing through.

  "Who'd ever have thought a dog would feel it so?" thought Marcus. "Buthe does. He missed him directly, and he has gone to hunt for him.

  "What, can't you find him, Lupe?" cried Marcus, as there came ascratching at the door, which was forced open, and the dog came inagain, to utter a piteous whimper which increased into a howl.

  "Poor old Lupe!" sighed Marcus. "Can't you find him, boy? No, and younever will. I dare say he will never come back here again. Good olddog!" he continued, taking hold of his ears and drawing the head intohis lap, to keep on caressing him and talking to him the while. "Whatmistakes one makes! I used to think you such a surly, savage oldfellow, and here you are as miserable as I am, Lupe. Oh, he might havelet me go!"

  The dog whined softly as it gazed wistfully in his eyes, and whinedagain.

  "Where's old Serge, Lupe? You haven't seen him since father went."

  The dog growled.

  "Oh, don't be cross with him, Lupe. I dare say he's as disappointed asI am; but he will have to stay," continued the boy, bitterly, as heuttered a mocking laugh, "and take care of the house and the servantsand all the things about the farm; and you will have to stay and helphim too. Just as if all these things were of any consequence at all.There, get away; I can't make a fuss over you now. I feel half wild andsavage. I can't bear it, Lupe. It's too much--too much."

  He thrust the dog's head roughly away, and Lupe stood up before him andshook himself violently so that his ears rattled. Then, trottingtowards the door, he was stopped short, for the latch was in its placeand he tried to drag it open with his claws, but tried for some momentsin vain. Then showing plenty of intelligence, he trotted back to themiddle of the room, looked up anxiously in his young master's face, andbarked angrily.

  "Oh, look here," cried Marcus, "I can't bear this. Be off!"

  The dog trotted back to the door and scratched at it with his headturned towards the boy the while; but Marcus was too full of his owntroubles to grasp the great animal's meaning, and, finding that he wasnot understood, Lupe trotted to Marcus' side, lifted one leg, and pawedat him.

  "Get away, I tell you!" cried the boy, and the dog barked a little, andstood barking in the middle of the room for a few moments, beforeturning and making for the window, where he crouched a little, and then,with one effort, sprang right out into the garden, while Marcus subsidedinto his old attitude with his face buried in his hands.

  No one disturbed him, and at last the night began to fall, the shadowsin the room darkened and grew darker still, till at last the boy seemedto wake out of a deep sleep, though he had never closed his eyes.

  Springing up, he went to the window, looked out at the dark and silentgarden, and then uttering a low, deep sigh he crossed to the door,passed through, and made for his father's study, to find there that allwas darker still. But he knew what he wanted, and with outstretchedhands made for his father's bed, when they came in contact at once withwhat he wanted.

  Then there arose from the place where his father rested night afternight a short, sharp, clinking noise as of metal against metal, whilethe boy quickly and carefully gathered together the various portions ofhis armour and accoutrements which had been placed there by old Sergewhen he unpacked and sorted out the portions of the three suits.

  It did not take long to clear the bed, and then, hugging everythingtightly to him, Marcus crept softly out through the darkness, listeningcarefully the while before every movement, his acts suggesting that hewas playing the part of a robber; and he thought so and laughed tohimself, as he said softly, as if answering his conscience, "Yes, but Iam only stealing my own," and then made his way to his own sleepingchamber, a narrow little closet of a place which opened upon the court,where the musical tinkling of the water as it fell back into the basincould be plainly heard.

  In the darkness everything was wonderfully still, save that the music ofthe water sometimes sounded loud, and when the boy rather roughly freedhimself from his burden that he carried by casting the armour andweapons upon his own bed, he was half startled by the resulting crash,and turned back quickly into the court to stand and listen.

  As he did this the low murmur of voices came to his ear, making him stepcautiously across the little square court and go round to the spot fromwhich the sounds came.

  There he stood listening for a few moments, to satisfy himself that itwas only his father's servants talking together, their subject beingtheir master's going away.

  "Oh," he said, impatiently, "they don't think about me, any more thanold Serge does. But he might have given me a thought and come and saida word or two to show that he was sorry for my disappointment.

  "But no; he wouldn't," continued the boy, with a sigh. "I supposepeople in trouble are always selfish, and he thinks his trouble a biggerone than mine. Never mind. I won't be selfish. I'll go and speak tohim, just a few kind words to let him see that I am sorry for him, andthen--Oh, it's very miserable work, and what a difference father couldhave made if he would have listened to me--and that Julius too.

  "Caius Julius! Yes, of course, I have heard about him, but it nevertroubled me--in fact I hardly knew there was such a man in the world--the greatest man in Rome, a mighty soldier and conqueror, old Serge saidmore than once; but I never took any notice, for it seemed nothing to dowith me. Oh, who could have thought that in a few short hours therecould be such a change as this!"

  The boy turned off, crossed the court again, and made his way to Serge'sden, where all was still and dark as the part of the building he hadjust quitted.

  "You here, Serge?" he cried, cheerily, thrusting open the door. "Whereare you? What have you been doing all this time?"

  Marcus' words sounded hollow and strange, coming back to him, as itwere, and startling him for the moment.

  "Are you asleep?" he shouted, loudly, as if to encourage himself, for anuncomfortable f
eeling thrilled him through and through.

  "Oh, what nonsense!" he muttered. "Not likely that he would be asleep;he'd have heard me directly and sprung up. Where can he be?"

  The boy thought for a few moments, and then hurried out towards the farmbuildings and sheds, but stopped short as another thought struck him,and he made at once for the dark building with its stone cistern wherethe grapes were trodden.

  The door was ajar, and he stepped in at once.

  "You here, Serge?" he cried; and this time there was an answer, but itwas made by the dog, which approached him fawningly and uttered a low,whining, discontented howl.

  "Oh, get out! I don't want you," cried Marcus, angrily; and he turnedto leave the place, but his conscience smote him and he stooped down andbegan patting the great beast's head.

  "Yes, I do," he said, gently. "Poor old Lupe! I mustn't be surly to myfriends. Good old dog, then! But where's Serge? Do you know where heis, boy?"

  The dog growled, and pressed up against Marcus' leg.

  "No, you don't know, old fellow. If you did you'd be with him. There,go and lie down. I daresay he's gone into the woods to sulk and walk itoff."

  The dog whined softly, and then, in obedience to his master's commands,let himself subside upon the stones, while Marcus strolled off, stoppedonce or twice to think and listen, and then said, half aloud:

  "There, it's of no use, and perhaps it's all for the best, for I'm soweak and stupid, and I daresay I shouldn't have been able to talk to himand say what I meant without breaking down."

  He drew himself up firmly, then stood breathing hard for a few moments,as he turned and gazed through the darkness in different directions, andthen made straight for his little cubicle, entered at once, and,breathing hard the while as if he had been running far, he cast off hisloose every-day garment and began rapidly to put on the armour in whichhe had had such pride.

  Practice with old Serge had made him perfect, and, in spite of thedarkness, his fingers obeyed him well, so that it was not long before hestood girded and buckled up, fully accoutred, with nothing more to bedone than to crown his preparations by placing his heavy helmet upon hishead.

  Before he began, his spirits were down to the lowest ebb, but exertionand excitement, joined with something in the touch of the war-like garband the thoughts this last engendered, so that as he went on hegradually grew brighter, adventurous thoughts encouraged him; and, atlast, taking the helmet in both hands, he placed it upon his head, drewthe armed strap beneath his chin, and readjusted the hang of his shortbroadsword, before standing in the darkness absolutely motionless.

  "Why, it makes me feel ten years older," he said, "even if I am but aboy! And here was I, before I began, shrinking and feeling that Ishould repent and be afraid to go. And now I am like this!"

  He lifted his shield from where it lay upon the bed, took the shortspear which he had leaned in a corner of the wall, and then, stiffenedby his armour and far more by the spirit that seemed to thrill throughevery nerve and tendon, he stepped out into the court, to bend down andplace his lips to the clear water in the fountain basin, drink deeply,and then stand up in the darkness to look round.

  "Good-bye, old home!" he said, aloud, and his voice broke a little; butit hardened again the next moment, as he said, quickly:

  "No, it isn't home now that he has gone away. I am coming, father, andyou must forgive me when we meet, for I cannot--I dare not stay."

  There was the quick, sharp tramp of the boy's feet as he crossed thestone-paved court, with the arms he wore, and those he carried, making aslight crackling and clinking noise, while his bronze protected feetmade his steps sound heavier than of old.

  The next minute he was fighting against the desire to turn and lookback, and, conquering, for he felt that it would be weak, he strode offwith quickened pace away along the track that had been taken by hisfather and Caius Julius hours before.