CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
WEARING ARMOUR.
It was some hours afterwards, when the sun was beating down hotly, thatSerge suggested that they should have half an hour's rest in the shadeof a clump of huge, spiral-barked chestnuts, whose dark, glossy-greenleaves were spread over a bend of the track which had evidently beenslightly diverted so that those who followed it might take advantage ofthe shade.
The trees were approached cautiously, and the pair scouted round theclump to make sure it was untenanted before they stretched themselvesamongst the mossy, radiating roots that spread far and wide.
"There seem to have been plenty of people here," said Marcus, pointingto where the soft, moist earth was full of imprints. "There have beenwheeled carriages here."
"Yes," grunted Serge. "Those are ox waggons. See?"
"Yes," said Marcus. "But those others are different."
"Yes," said Serge. "Chariot wheels, those."
"How do you know?" said Marcus, sharply.
"Look at 'em," grunted the old soldier. "Can't you see they are light?They are made to gallop. Those others were made to crawl. Why, it'sprinted all about that they were chariot wheels. Look at the marks ofthe horses' hoofs."
"Oh yes, I see," cried Marcus. "The waggons show nothing but the feetof oxen. But how come there to be chariot wheels about here?"
"How did that Roman general, Caius Julius, come to the farm?"
"I don't know," said Marcus, starting. "I never thought of that."
"I did," said Serge, with a grunt which might have been copied from oneof the swine he had so often driven.
"How did he come?" cried Marcus.
"Same way as he went back to Rome."
"Of course," cried the boy, impatiently. "But how was that?"
"With chariots and horsemen."
"Are you sure? I saw none."
"Didn't go down to the village to look?"
"No; I had too much to think of."
"So had I," said Serge; "but I went and looked all the same. There wasa grand chariot and a lot of horsemen, and it was in that chariot that,after walking down to the village, the master went away."
"Oh, then they must be far ahead," cried Marcus.
"Yes; at Rome before now."
"And I have been expecting that we might come upon them at any moment,"said Marcus, with a sigh of relief. "Then we shan't see them till weget there?"
"And like enough not then," said Serge, with a grim smile; "so you maymake yourself comfortable about this scolding that's got to come, for itwon't be yet."
"But we shall see my father as soon as we get to the army."
"Some time perhaps," said Serge; "but the army will be miles longperhaps on the march, and it's hard work, boy, to find one in a hundredthousand men."
"Then we may not find him!" cried Marcus, in an agonised tone.
"Well, no, my lad, but you may make your mind happy about that. Oneman's not bound to find his general, but his general's pretty sure tofind him, or the legion he is in. There, don't you fidget about that.If you and me hadn't done any harm we should be pretty safe, but so sureas one does what one ought not to do, one may make up one's mind thathe'll be found out."
The rest was pleasant, but Marcus did not feel so satisfied in his ownmind when they started once again on the tramp.
It was on the evening of a hot and wearying day that Marcus sat in ashady grove, gladly resting, while Serge was relieving him of his armourand carefully hanging it piece by piece from, one or other of thebranches by which they were surrounded.
"Grand thing, armour," said the old soldier, as he watched the tired boyfrom the corners of his eyes.
Marcus started from a waking dream of Rome and its glories as hepictured it in his own mind.
"Oh yes," he said, hastily; "glorious!"
"Nice and bright and shining, and makes a man seem worth looking at whenit's on, eh?"
"Yes," said Marcus, with a faint sigh.
"How proud you felt when you'd got yours; eh, my lad?"
"Yes, very," said Marcus.
"Nice dress to walk in."
"But it's rather heavy in this hot weather," ventured Marcus.
"Heavy, boy? Why, of course it is. If it wasn't heavy the barbarians'swords and spears would go through it as if it was sheep skin. Butyours fits you beautifully, and will for ever so long yet--if you don'tgrow," added the man, slily.
Marcus turned upon him peevishly.
"Well, I can't help growing, can I?" he cried.
"Oh no, boy; course you can't till you've done growing, and then youwon't grow any more."
"Do you think I don't know that?" snapped out the boy.
"No. Oh no; but what's the matter with your shoulder?"
"Nothing much," said Marcus, sourly. "Those shoulder straps rub thatone, and the back part frets my neck."
"Does it? That's bad; but I'll put that right when you put it on in themorning. Don't you mind about that: after a bit your skin'll get hard,and what feels to worry and rub you will be soft as a duck's breast."
"Nonsense! How can bronze and brass get to be soft as feathers, Serge?"
"Oh, I dunno, my lad," replied the old soldier, slowly, "but it do. Isuppose," he added, mockingly, "you get so much glory on your shouldersthat it pads you out and makes your armour fit like wax. It is heavy,though, at first. Mine worried me the first day, because I hadn't wornit for years; but it sits lovely now, and I could run and jump and doanything. Helmet too did feel a bit lumpy; but I felt it more in mytoes than on my head."
"Are you laughing at me, Serge?" cried Marcus, turning upon the man,sharply.
"Can't you see I'm not, boy? Why, I'm as serious as a centurion with anew command."
"But do you think I'm going to believe that you felt your heavy helmetin your toes?"
"Of course I do, boy," said the man, chuckling. "If it's heavy, don'tthe weight go right down to the bottom and drive your toes hard to thevery end of your sandals?"
"I didn't think of that, Serge," said the boy, a trifle less irritably.
"S'pose not, boy. You haven't got to the end of everything that thereis to know. Besides, your helmet is light."
"Light?" cried Marcus, bitterly.
"Well, of course it aren't as light as a straw hat as you can tilt offevery time you come into the shade, and let it hang between yourshoulders, same as you do your shield."
"And I suppose that is?" said Marcus, sharply.
"What, as a straw hat, boy? Well, I don't say that," said Serge, drily,"because it do weigh a tidy bit. But that helmet of yours, as I tookcare should be just right for a boy, is too light altogether."
"Bah!" cried Marcus. "Why, it has made my forehead and the back justbehind my ears as sore as sore."
"Pooh! That isn't because the helmet's too heavy; it's on account ofyour head being so soft and green. It'll be hard enough before the endof this war. Why, if it were lighter, every crack you got in your firstfight would make it give way like an eggshell; and then where would yoube, my lad? Come, come, cheer up! You're a bit tired with this tramp--the first big one you've had. You'll be better in the morning, andbefore this time to-morrow night I dare say we shall be in sight of Romeand its hills and the Tiber, and, take my word for it, you won't feeltired then."
"Think not. Serge?"
"Sure of it, boy. Man who's a bit worn out feels as if everything'swrong, and the flies that come buzzing about seem to be as big as crows;but after a good sleep when the sun rises again to make everything lookbright, he sees clearer; the flies don't seem to buzz, only hum pleasantlike, and what there is of them is golden-green and shiny, and not a bitbigger than a fly should be."
"But I'm disappointed, Serge. I hoped to see my father as soon as Ireached Rome, and get this trouble off my mind."
"Instead of which it has to wait. Well, never mind, lad. It will beeasier perhaps then. Now then, you do as I say: lie down at once closeup there to that dry, sandy bit, and
sleep as hard as you can tillmorning. Then we'll set off and get to Rome as soon as we can, and hearabout the army and which way it has gone."
"Perhaps it will not have started yet?" said Marcus, eagerly.
"Like as not, my lad, but, if it has, we can follow it up. Now then, besharp, for I want to lie down too. We shall be fresh as the fieldflowers in the morning, for no one is likely to disturb us here."
Marcus said nothing, for he knew that the old soldier's words were meantto encourage him, and he thought so more than ever, as, free now fromhis heavy armour, he lay looking upward, listening to the faint hum ofbeetles and seeing the glint of the stars through the trees, while hethought of their journey and the disappointment he felt over Serge'swords, while it seemed to him all a part of his thinking instead of adream--a confused dream when he fancied himself back at the old houseseeking for Serge and finding the dog crouched down in the shed wherethe great stone cistern stood, and in the harvest time the grapes weretrodden, those grown in their little vineyard and those from theneighbouring farms where there was no convenience of the kind.
But as he was about to turn away and fasten the door, it seemed strangethat the place should be lit up by sunshine coming aslant through thetrees, when it was late in the evening and dark. But so it was, withLupe couching down, making no attempt to follow or pass him as he closedthe door, but resting his long, fierce-looking jaws upon his extendedpaws, till, after trying hard to puzzle out why it was so, Marcus camefully to his waking senses and sat up suddenly, while Lupe followed hisexample, to burst out into a deep, joyous bark.
"What!" now came in a deep voice from behind Marcus. "Why, Lupe, dog,have you found your way here?"
Marcus: the Young Centurion Page 15