CHAPTER THIRTY.
WHAT SERGE THOUGHT.
The silence seemed to be awful to the listeners, who were prepared togive the word for the ponies to dash away as soon as the approach theyexpected commenced.
"Our people?" whispered Marcus at last, with his lips close to Serge'sear.
"No," was whispered back, and the next moment there was the heavytrampling of feet, but not towards them; and they had proof directlythat they were no friends by the strange yell of defiance which suddenlyrang out in response to a challenge given in the unmistakable Romantongue.
"Oh!" whispered Marcus, excitedly. "Our people, and so near! We mustgo forward now."
"No, not yet, boy. Hark! Yonder are our people speaking out, and thefight is beginning."
"A night attack," whispered Marcus, hoarsely, and with his heart beatingheavily.
"Yes, boy, and as far as I can make out the hill and camp have beensurrounded. Now, then, the darkness may prove to be our friend. Whatdo you say? Shall we try to join our people, or fall back till morning,when we can see what is best for us to do?"
"Try and join the army," said Marcus, firmly. "If the hill issurrounded we shall be getting into fresh danger by attempting to fallback."
"Yes," said Serge, in a low, deep voice, and no further word wasuttered. Lupe gave vent to an impatient growl, and the ponies from timeto time stamped uneasily as if eager to advance, while away to right andleft rose, all the more horrible for the darkness, the clash of arms androar of voices, mingled with the loud braying of trumpets, followed bythe responsive shouts of the soldiery. There were moments when the tideof battle seemed to flow in the direction of the chariot, but only to bebeaten back and sway to and fro.
Then, Marcus never afterwards knew how it happened--all he could recallwas a fragment or two of their situation--Serge had just almost shoutedin his ear, having to raise his voice to make himself heard, that theymust at all costs make a dash to get away, and he himself had laid hishand on their driver's shoulder to bid him drive on, when he found thathe was too late. For all at once he discovered that the battle wasraging close at hand, right in front of the horses' heads, and directlyafter as they were swung round in the opposite direction for theoccupants of the chariot to seek safety, there was a rush of armed men.These came into contact with another body, and so it was that whicheverway they turned there was the wild turmoil and fury of the fight goingon, while as far as Marcus could make out, one minute the Roman soldierswere driving the barbarians back and carrying all before them, but onlyto be overwhelmed in turn by some tremendous wave of the enemy in theshape of reinforcements, which raged and swirled round the moredisciplined men, carrying them back by sheer weight of numbers in thedirection from which they had come.
Both Marcus and Serge seemed to bear a charmed life. They made noattempt to use their weapons, and their position in the car hadsomething to do with their escape from injury as they held on to thefront, to be borne here and there by their frantic horses, whilenaturally enough Roman and Gaul, where they were crowded together incontention, yielded and made way for the plunging and rearing steeds,whose hoofs seemed to them for the time being more dangerous than theweapons of a foe.
How long all this lasted Marcus never knew.
It was enough for his brain to take in the wild horrors of the fiercefight and its many changes till all at once in the dim light shed by thestars the chariot horses had borne him and Serge partly out of thefierce crowds of fighting men.
Encounters were taking place all around in single combat, and chargesand counter charges made by little parties who were separated from themain body crowded together in the central portions of the battlefield;and snatching at the opportunity, Serge, spear in hand, leaned over toMarcus and, pointing forward to an opening in front, shouted to him tobid their driver make for that gap in the human wall.
Marcus planted his spear shaft sharply down upon the floor of thechariot to steady himself, as he leaned down to the driver to utter hiscommands, and the next minute the fiery little steeds were tearing awayat full gallop along the open space, as if in their wild excitement theywere eager to escape from the savage scenes and bloodshed going onaround.
But before a hundred yards had been traversed, the sea of human beingsclosed in again, completely filling up the opening, and seeming about toentirely stop the fugitives' course.
Serge and the driver, both now as excited as the horses, burst forthinto a wild cry of command, and this and the sight of the dimly-seenapproaching steeds thundering along had their effect. The crowd openedout again just as the driver's efforts were rewarded and he was able tocheck the furious gallop of his steeds and save them from plunging intothe mass of friend and foe alike.
The gallop became a trot, the trot a gentle amble, as the chariot nowrolled slowly on to where about a score altogether of Romans and Gauls,each party headed by an officer, were just in the act of meeting, prettyevenly balanced, in deadly combat.
As with wild shouts they rushed together with sword and spear clashingloudly against helmet, shield, or the protecting body armour they wore,the driver of Marcus' chariot dragged upon his left rein to try andswing round to avoid the contending foes. But in the darkness he didnot grasp that which was on his left, and Marcus became aware by asudden jerk that their further progress was at an end, the chariot beingwedged in between a couple of trees, while the horses were plungingwildly to escape from a tangle of bush and branch, and the driver hadleaped out to seize them by their heads.
"Look, look!" shouted Serge just then.
Marcus, who had had to cling to the sides of the chariot to save himselffrom being thrown out, turned sharply to learn the meaning of his oldcomrade's cry, and he was just in time to see him throw himself over thechariot's side, evidently to hurry to the help of the Roman officer andhis few men, who, completely outnumbered, were being beaten down by twoor three times their number of Gauls.
Serge said no more in words; his acts spoke for themselves, and graspingthat he meant at all costs to go to the help of the Roman officer,Marcus stood for a moment spear in hand and hurled it with all his mightat four of the barbarians who were attacking the Roman leader, who wascut off from his companions and faring badly, in spite of a valorousdefence, at his enemies' hands.
It was pretty nearly momentary, but Marcus took all in at a glance. Hesaw that their coming and the dash of the chariot had had their effectupon a portion of the Gauls, who turned and fled, while some of theirfellows were beating back the few Roman soldiers left unhurt.
There were enough still, though, of the Gauls to rush at spear-armedSerge with a yell of triumph, and Marcus, as he saw the sturdy oldsoldier making furious play with his spear, snatched out his sword torush to his help; but his course was diverted by that which he saw justbeyond, dimly enough, but with sufficient vividness to go straight tohis heart.
It was the Roman officer staggering back with his helmet falling fromhis head from a blow he had just received from one Gaul, while, takingadvantage of his momentary helplessness, a second rushed at him with hisspear, bore him down backwards, and with a yell of triumph planted onefoot upon his chest and drove his spear with all his force right at histhroat.
There was a curious crashing sound as the spear point was turned asideby the finely-tempered gorget the Roman wore, and with a snarl the Gaulraised his weapon again for a second blow.
He made the thrust, but it was caught midway by the sword of Marcus, whoended his rush to the Roman's help with a bound; his keen sword met thedescending spear shaft, cutting it right through as if it were a twig,while he who wielded the sword came with all his weight full upon theGaul's chest and sent him rolling over and over upon the ground.
Marcus, too, came heavily to earth, but it was upon hands and knees,and, still retaining his sword, he scrambled to his feet again at thesame time as the Gaul, who raised his headless spear on high to bring itdown upon the head of his assailant.
But at that moment Marcus was reinfo
rced by the officer whose life hehad saved, and who, regaining his feet, cut down the Gaul and turned tomeet his next enemy; for about a dozen men came at him with a rush, butonly to be borne back in turn by a rallying party of the Romans, who,coming at their officer's help, sprang at the Gauls, to be swept on inturn by a tremendous rush in which Marcus was trampled down, to lie halfinsensible for a few minutes before he struggled up, looked round, andthan staggered towards the trees in which the chariot was entangled,while the horses were still being held by the driver.
Here Marcus supported himself, panting and breathing hard, by the edgeof the chariot. He was giddy, and the dim battlefield seemed to beheaving and slowly gliding round before his eyes. There was a curiousfeeling of sickness troubling him and an intense longing for a draughtof water, while his thoughts were all, so to speak, broken and confusedand mingled together with a selfish feeling that he must be very badlyhurt.
By degrees, though, the various objects began to settle down, and theroar of battle and clash of arms gave place slowly to a dull, singingnoise in his ears. Then, as if by a sudden jump, his power of thinkinglucidly came back, and he looked round for the officer he had tried tohelp.
But he was not there. Some twenty or thirty dead and wounded men werescattered about as they had fallen, some few of whom wore the armour ofRoman soldiers, but for the most part they were Gauls, and Marcus lookedin vain for the object of his search.
Then he turned giddy again, for a mental cloud seemed to close him in,and he snatched at his helmet and dragged it off, when the cool nightwind that played upon his heated brow brought with it a sense of relief,and he thought clearly again, not of self but of Serge, and with a cryof horror he ran from where he had stood, to bend over each of theprostrate Roman soldiers in turn, uttering a sigh of relief as he raisedhimself up, replaced his helmet, and looked round, fully conscious nowthat the tide of war had swept right away to a distance. The fightingwas still going on, and the cries and the clashing of weapons werestrangely commingled, but faintly heard. One side had evidently won thebattle and was driving its enemies before it. But were was Serge?
Marcus turned to where the driver was still soothing the horses, but hecould give him no information. He had not seen Serge since he leaptfrom the chariot and was lost directly in the crowd of fighting men.Marcus stepped back to the spot where his own encounter had taken place,and looked round again for a few moments, but though he could seeseveral prostrate bodies Serge's was not one, and going on and on in thedim starlight he was to some extent able to follow the course of thefighting men by those they had left behind, till he grew confused as tohis position and began to retrace his steps.
It was not easy, for he had nothing to guide him, and some considerablespace of time had elapsed before, utterly worn out and disheartened, hemade out a clump of trees, towards which he now directed his steps inthe hope that it might be the one in which the chariot had beenentangled.
To his great delight, as he approached, he heard the voice of the drivertalking to the horses, and, hurrying on, he found that he wasapproaching the chariot from the opposite side to that he had left. Thenext minute he was tugging his sword from its sheath, for an armed mansuddenly rose up from just in front, and as the boy's sword fell to hisside, caught him in his arms.
"And I thought you were dead--I thought you were dead!" came in afamiliar, deep, gruff voice, broken by sobs. "Oh, Marcus, my boy, wherehave you been?"
"Looking for you, Serge."
"You have? Well, that's what I have been doing for you."
"But where were you?" cried Marcus.
"I d'know, boy, only that I have been fighting. I was hard at it whenthere was a rush, and I was carried along with all the rest, getting ahit now and then at one of the enemy, but not often, for they don'tfight fair. They all crowd at you together, and I got the worst of itbadly."
"Then you are wounded?" cried Marcus. "No, boy; but I lost my spear."
"Lost your spear?" cried Marcus, staring. "Yes, boy; this 'ere's only asavage one."
"But you are not hurt?" cried Marcus again.
"Not hurt?" cried Serge. "Why, boy, I just am. Battered and banged andhit all over. If it hadn't been for the goodness of my armour therewouldn't have been no Serge--nothing left but a few bits. But you, myboy?"
"Oh, I'm very sore and bruised and sprained, but nothing worse. Butthat officer, Serge, that we went to help?"
"Ah!" cried Serge. "That officer we went to help! What about him? Youdidn't let him be killed, boy?"
"No; I remember he got up and fought again."
"That's right, boy; but where is he now?"
"I don't know," cried Marcus. "I was trampled down and lost my senses.Don't you know what became of him?"
"No," said Serge, "and I don't care, boy now that I have found you.Here, don't let's stand talking, but help to get out that chariot. Iwant to get up to the Roman camp."
"Can we? Did our people win?"
"Win? Why, of course, my lad! Romans never fail."
"Quick, then!" cried Marcus. "The chariot, and then up to the camp.There's the message; and let's hope my father's there."
Marcus: the Young Centurion Page 30