Marcus: the Young Centurion

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  REAL WAR.

  It was all one blur of mystery to Marcus as he tramped through theforest, following the slightly beaten road. Time seemed to be no more,and distance not to count. Everything was dreamy and strange,over-ruled by the one great thought that he was going to reach hisfather somewhere, somehow, in the future, when he would reprove himbitterly and forgive him, but he would never turn him back; and,governed by these thoughts, he went on, almost unconscious of everythingelse.

  The way was sometimes desolate, sometimes grand, with mountain andforest, over which and through which the roughly beaten track alwaysled, for it was not one of the carefully constructed military roads thathis great people afterwards formed through the length and breadth oftheir land.

  The rocks amongst the mountains afforded resting places; beneath thegrand trees of the forest there was mossy carpet, upon which he slept;there were trickling rills and natural basins where crystal water gavehim drink, or places where he could bathe his hot and tired feet, whilenow and again he came upon the rude hut of some goat-herd or Pagan who,for a small coin, gladly supplied him with coarse black bread and a bowlof freshly-drawn goat's milk.

  And this went on, as he could recall when he thought, day after day,night after night, if he tried to think; but that was rarely, for he hadno time. The one great thought of finding his father mastered all else,as, still in what continued a strange, blurred, adventurous dream, hewent on and on, seeming to grow more vigorous and stronger every hour,feeling too, at heart, that he was on the right way, with Rome in thedistance, the goal for which he was bound; and once there--ah!

  All was blank and confused again, but it was a confusion full ofexcitement, where flashes of greatness played up on the great city ofwhich he had heard so much, and his father and the army were there.

  There was nothing to hinder his progress, for the weather was glorious,and, each morning when he awakened from his sleep, it was with his heartthrobbing with joy and desire as he sprang up refreshed and eager withnothing to stay his way, till, on the morning of the third--the fourth--the fifth--he could not tell what day--all he knew was that it wasduring his journey--he came suddenly in a dense part of a forest, upon abig, armed figure marching before him far down the track, evidentlygoing the same way as he, turning neither to the right nor left, butstriding steadily on, and Marcus suffered a new emotion near akin tofear and dread, not of this armed man, but of what he might do. For theboy reasoned that, if he overtook this man, he might question him, findout who he was, and turn him back.

  Marcus stopped short, after stepping aside to shelter himself partlybehind a tree-trunk, to watch the soldier, whose helmet glistened in thesun-rays which played through the leaves, while the head of his spearflashed at times as if it were a blade of fire.

  It was not fear alone that troubled the boy, for the sight of thiswarrior, who was evidently on the march to join the army, sent a thrillthrough his breast, and the war-like ardour of old fostered by oldSerge, came back stronger than ever, as he said to himself that therewas nothing to mind, for they were both, this big, grand-looking warriorand he, upon the same mission.

  "He'll make me welcome," thought Marcus, "and we can march on togetherand talk about the wars, the same as Serge and I used to before fatherfound us out.

  "I wonder whether this man knew my father? He'll be sure to know CaiusJulius, and I can talk about him and his coming to my home."

  But Marcus did not hurry on, for the dread came, and with it the horrorof being ignominiously forced to retrace his steps, while the Romanwarrior seemed to increase and grow large, till he disappeared among thetrees, came into sight again farther on, and, after a time, as Marcusstill hesitated, he finally passed out of sight, making the boy breathemore freely.

  "What a coward I am!" he cried, aloud. "It's because I'm doing wrong inleaving home as I did after receiving my father's commands. But Icouldn't help it. Something forced me to come away, and it was onlybecause I felt that I ought to be at father's side.

  "Perhaps it wasn't cowardice," he muttered, after a pause. "It may havebeen prudence--the desire to make sure of reaching the army withoutbeing turned back. And I'm such a boy that this great warrior wouldhave laughed at me and perhaps have looked at me mockingly as he felt myarms. I've done quite right, and I'll keep to myself and join nobodytill I get to the army, where I shall be safe."

  After a time Marcus started off again, keeping a sharp look-out alongthe road as he proceeded, till, some time later, he saw afar off a flashof light, then another, which proved that the first had come from themarching warrior's helmet, and once more Marcus slackened his pace.

  He saw no more of the man that day, but, as the evening was closing in,upon the slope of a wooded mountain the boy caught sight of agoat-herd's hut, where he obtained bread and milk, and the peasant wholived there asked him if he was a companion of the big warrior who hadbeen there a short time before.

  Marcus shook his head, and soon after continued his journey, keeping astricter watch than ever, but seeing no more of the man. But he turnedaside into the forest as soon as he found a suitable place offeringshelter and a soft, dry couch, and was soon after plunged in a restfulsleep which lasted till the grey dawn, when he suddenly started intowakefulness, disturbed, as he was, by the rattling of armour.

  Marcus shrank back among the undergrowth which had been his shelter,waking fully to the fact that he had lain down to sleep not above adozen yards from where the man had made his couch, while, in allprobability, had he continued his journey for those few paces the nightbefore, he would have stumbled upon him he sought to avoid.

  There was nothing for it but to wait for a while so as to give hisfellow-traveller time to get some distance ahead, and, when he thoughtthat he might start, Marcus went on again slowly, with the result that,during that day, he caught sight of the man twice over steadily ploddingon, but never once looking back or hesitating as to his path.

  When night closed in again, the country had become far more hilly, and,as Marcus was descending a steep slope at the bottom of which a streamgurgled and rippled along, the boy awoke to the fact that the man hadbeen resting and bathing in the bottom of the tiny valley, and was nowascending the opposite slope, where, in full sight of hisfellow-traveller, he stopped beneath a tree, divested himself of aportion of his armour, and then lay down to rest.

  To have gone on and passed him would have been the most sensible thingto do, but to do this the boy would have had to creep along a ruggedpath close beside the sleeper's halting place, at the great risk ofdislodging stones and awakening him if he were asleep, while, if he wereyet awake, to pass without being seen was impossible.

  It was not the spot where Marcus would have chosen his resting place,but there was no option, and, carefully keeping among the trees, hedropped down at the most suitable place, and then lay for some timevainly trying to sleep, till at last he lost consciousness, resting andpreparing for his next day's journey, waking at sunrise in the hope thatif he could not lose sight of his unwelcome fellow-traveller, the nextnight would find him so near to Rome that another day's march would, atleast, bring him so close that there would be no more such anxioustravel.

  But matters turn out in daily life very often in a different way fromwhat is expected, and so it was here. Marcus waited and watched till hesaw the warrior rise bare-headed, but not to go on at once after donninghis helmet, but to come back in his direction.

  "He must have seen me," thought the boy excitedly, and he began to creepcarefully away through the low bushes; but, at the end of a minute, uponglancing back, he found that the man was not following him, but had madehis way down to the little stream to drink and wash.

  Relieved by this, Marcus reseated himself to watch unseen every actionof the soldier, who had left his helmet, shield and weapons at the footof the tree where he had slept; and, after bathing his face and hands,he was on his way back, when, to Marcus' horror, he caught sight of aglint of something bright, an
d, directly after, made out first one andthen another rough-looking, armed man, till he saw there were no lessthan six creeping towards the spot where the Roman soldier had left hisweapons.

  Marcus thought no more of himself at this, but was about to issue fromhis hiding place when he grasped the fact that the soldier had realisedhis danger, and, springing forward with a shout, he made a dash to reachhis resting place first.

  The strange men were evidently shaken by his bold action, but only for afew moments, and turned to meet the soldier, knife in hand; but theirhesitation gave the warrior time to reach shield and sword, when,without waiting to be attacked, the men advanced upon him at once.

  Such an encounter as this was quite new to Marcus, and he stood therehidden from all concerned for quite a minute, with his heart beatingrapidly, trembling with excitement, and taking the position of aspectator, gazing with starting eyes at the party of strangers as if thefight were no concern of his.

  Strangers? Yes, they were all strangers--enemies perhaps; and then,like a flash, it struck him that these rough-looking, knife-armed menwere robbers intent upon spoiling the warrior and perhaps taking hislife.

  This flash of intelligence opened the way for another, making him seethe cowardice of six attacking one while that one was brave as bravecould be.

  For a few moments, as he watched the encounter in the bright morninglight, Marcus was full of admiration for the brave and clever way inwhich, hemmed in though he was, the big warrior interposed his shieldand turned off blow after blow. But all the same it was very evidentthat numbers would gain the day and some desperate thrust lay the poorfellow low.

  Marcus' thoughts passed very quickly in his excitement, and now anothercame like a question: You are in armour, with a good shield, a sharpsword and spear. You have taken upon yourself the part of a Romansoldier, and you stand there doing nothing but look on.

  That thought seemed to smite Marcus right in the face, and the nextmoment he was running hard, spear in hand, down the steep hill slope, toleap the rivulet and, with lowered spear, charge up the other sidetowards the contending party, a loud shout ringing out upon the morningair.

  So fully were the attacking party taken up by their work of escaping thesingle swordsman's blows and trying to get in a thrust, that they paidno heed to the shout of the boy, and were not even conscious of hispresence till he was close at hand.

  But his approach was noted by the brave soldier, just as an attack frombehind was delivered simultaneously with one in front, and it gave himstrength to make a last effort which enabled him to lay one of hisassailants low; but at the same moment another enemy sprang upon hisback, and he went down, his foes hurling themselves upon him with ashout of triumph, which turned into a yell of dismay as the boyliterally leaped amongst them as if to join in the mastery over thefallen man.

  But though Marcus sprang quickly into their midst, his spear moved farmore quickly than his feet, and he darted in to right and left two ofthe thrusts that he had learned from Serge in one of his mock combats athome when his spear had been only a short, light pole, cut and trimmedby the old soldier for the purpose in hand.

  All that was sham, but this was startlingly real to the boy, as, at eachthrust, he saw blood start, and heard the yells of pain given by thereceivers of the point.

  Those cries were auxiliaries, for they pierced the ears of those whoattacked, making them turn in their surprise to find amongst them afully-armed warrior whose arms flashed in the morning sun, as, advancinghis shield ready for a blow, he darted his spear forward at another, whoavoided the thrust by a backward leap, and, once started, dashed away ashard as they could go. Fighting men are prone to follow their leader,sometimes to victory, sometimes in panic flight. This latter was thecase here. Marcus' next thrust, delivered with all his might, comingtoo late, for it was at a flying foe, three men running swiftly, onelimping away, another running more slowly, nursing his right arm, andthe sixth, who had been struck down by the Roman soldier's sword,crawling along towards the rivulet, by which he stopped to bathe hiswound.

  It was a matter of very few moments, and Marcus had hardly realised thefact that his daring surprise had completely turned the tables, for hisfirst thought was, "They couldn't have seen what a boy I am," when hisnext led him to turn back to see how the beaten-down soldier had fared,just in time to meet him face to face, as, half stunned, he struggled tohis knees and pressing his sword upon one of the stones hard by, used itas a staff to enable him to gain his feet.

  The next moment he was afoot, passing his sword into his shield-bearinghand so that he might raise his big helmet, which, in the struggle, hadbeen driven down over his eyes. Then it was that he stared at hisdeliverer, and his deliverer stared at him.

  "Thank you, whoever you are--" began the soldier, and then his jawdropped and he was silent. Not so Marcus, whose countenance lit up withdelight, as he shouted:

  "Why, Serge! Can this be you?"