Marcus: the Young Centurion

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

  THE GENERAL'S TENT.

  The driver's face lit up as he saw Marcus and Serge come to his help,for the battle was as nothing to him compared to the state of thechariot and horses; and he eagerly set to work over the extraction ofthe vehicle, which, though splintered and battered, was not much theworse for the accident, and was soon dragged out from where it had beenwedged close to the spot where the horses, now quit calmed, had settleddown to browse upon the grass, which grew in abundance outside the clumpof trees.

  It was the harness which had fared the worst, but the driver and Sergewere both pretty handy, and by the time the day dawned tying and lacinghad done their work, so that, excepting appearance, the ropes, strapsand thongs were as good as ever, and, tired and anxious, Marcus hurriedhis companions into the chariot to start for the camp.

  Guessing at the direction where the slope led, they had just startedwhen they were encountered by a minor officer at the head of a party ofmen, who looked hard at them and accosted them with:

  "Have you seen anything of an overturned chariot in a clump of trees?"

  "Yes," said Marcus, smiling.

  "Which way?" cried the officer, who looked surprised at Marcus' way ofreceiving the question.

  "Straight down that slope," said Marcus. "You can almost see the treesfrom here."

  The officer nodded his thanks and was turning away, but Marcus stoppedhim by saying:

  "The chariot is not there now."

  "Not there?"

  "No; this is it."

  "Ah!" cried the officer, eagerly. "Then you are the youth and this isthe man I want."

  "What for?" asked Marcus, flushing slightly.

  "Oh, you'll know soon enough. My chief has sent me to find you. It isfor something that took place in the fight last night."

  "Something that took place in the fight last night?" faltered Marcus,wearily. "But tell me, did the Romans win the battle?"

  "Oh, yes, of course; but don't stop to talk. I must make haste back.You haven't been murdering and plundering the people, have you?"

  "No, of course not," cried Marcus, sharply.

  "So much the better for you," said the officer, shortly. "Come along."

  He gave orders to some of his men to form up behind the chariot, andwith the rest he placed himself in front, and gave the order to march,leading off at once to the left of the route in which the chariot hadbeen moving when it was stopped.

  "Why, anyone would think that we were prisoners," said Marcus, who feltannoyed, but, satisfied that they were being taken to the camp, hethought of his message and was content. He, however, reached over thefront of the chariot and called to the young officer, asking who was incommand of the army.

  The young man looked at him superciliously.

  "What is it to you?" he said, shortly. "Ask the general himself whenyou come before him, and then perhaps you will be able to explain whyyou who are Romans have come to be fighting on the side of the Gaul."

  "What!" said Marcus. "Do you know that--"

  "Never mind what I know, my lad," said the officer, shortly, "and don'tspeak to me again in that free off-hand tone. Please to understand thatI am an officer and you a prisoner. Forward, and mind this: any attemptto escape will be followed by a shower of spears."

  "Thanks," said Marcus, sarcastically; and he turned to Serge.

  "I shall not tell him why we have come," he said, with his face of adeeper red than before.

  "That's right, boy," growled Serge. "We don't want him to be civil; allwe want is for him to take us to the general. You can tell him why wehave come."

  They were ascending a slope that grew more and more steep, and themorning would have seemed beautiful to Marcus, whose heart beat high atthe prospect of being able to deliver his message to the general incommand, whoever it might be; but the beauty of the scene and theapproaching sunrise were marred by the traces left by the battle, whichthey were constantly passing: the dead here, wounded men waiting forhelp there; the trampled and stained earth everywhere. It was apleasant relief when the top of the hill they were ascending had beenreached, though it showed no trace of any camp till the descending slopecame into view, and then the adventurers found that they had to cross avalley, beyond which, with the trench and banks showing in rich browntints gilded by the rays of the rising sun, was the Roman camp, with itsfew tents and moving columns of men passing up the flanks of the steephill upon which it stood, evidently returning in regular order from thepursuit of the scattered foes who had resisted the attack upon theinvader during the past night.

  In his eagerness Marcus gave an order to the driver for the chariot toadvance down the slope and cross the valley at a trot; but the officerturned upon him angrily, and ordered two of his spear-armed men to takethe ponies by the rein, and in this fashion Marcus and his companionwere led right to the centre of the camp before one of the tents, up towhose entrance the officer marched, spoke to another who was on guard,and then entered.

  "Got all you want to say ready?" whispered Serge.

  "Yes," whispered back Marcus. "Oh, if he would only be quick! This isall wasting time."

  The young officer was quick enough, for he returned directly, and hismanner seemed changed as he stepped up to the chariot.

  "Follow me, sir," he said. "The generals will see you directly."

  Marcus' heart beat quicker than ever now, as he sprang from the chariot,wincing slightly from his stiffness, while Serge limped and screwed uphis face as he strove in vain to hold himself erect.

  It was bright with the early sunshine outside the tent, where Marcus nowfound himself face to face with a stern-looking man in the dress of ageneral, who sat with his hand resting upon his helmet.

  But he was not alone, for another officer was lying upon a rough couch,evidently, from his bandaged head, wounded; but he was fully dressed,and his helmet and sword were upon the rolled-up cloak at the side ofhis averted head.

  "You are welcome," began the sitting general, warmly. "I have sent foryou to give you the thanks of my injured friend, whose life--Why, whatis this! My severe young friend Marcus here!"

  "What!" came from the couch, and its occupant sprang into a sittingposition.

  "Father!" cried Marcus, and Serge, who had doffed his helmet, now in hisastonishment let it fall upon the skins which covered the ground with aheavy thud.

  As Marcus spoke he ran to his father's side and sank down upon one kneeto gaze anxiously in his face.

  "Are you much hurt?" he said, hoarsely.

  "No, no, not much, my boy," said Cracis; "but in the excitement I didnot know you, Marcus. Oh, it seems impossible that you could have beenmy preserver!"

  "It was more Serge than I, father," cried Marcus, quickly.

  "Nay, nay, nay!" growled the old soldier, in his hoarsest tones. "Speakthe truth, boy."

  "That is the truth," cried Marcus, quickly.

  "I helped, of course, but it was him, master, who made that cut at theGaul's spear and knocked him over. But we neither of us knew that itwas you."

  "But you, Marcus, my boy," said Cracis, as he gazed wonderingly in hisson's face, while Caius Julius watched them both in turn--"you knew me,of course?"

  "No, father," replied Marcus, whose face was scarlet now withexcitement. "I only saw that it was a Roman officer."

  "And you dashed at once to his help," said Caius Julius, smiling."Well, it was a brave act then, while now I scarcely know what to callit. Why, Marcus, you must feel very proud of what you have done."

  "Stop!" cried the boy, quickly, eager to end the words of praise andcompliment.

  "Yes, stop," said Cracis, sternly. "You here, Marcus, in a soldier'sarmour, and Serge as well! Is this the way my commands are obeyed? Whyare you here?"

  "To bring the message of the general commanding the rear-guard, father.He is shut in on the snowy pass that crosses the mountain, and heldthere by many times his number of the enemy; and he sent me and Serge tothe army here to a
sk for help."

  "He sent you, boy?" cried Cracis, quickly.

  "Yes, father," replied Marcus, "and I was to say that at all cost hewould hold out till help was sent."

  "Help shall be sent at once," said Cracis, firmly; "or better still,Julius," he continued, "our work being so far completed, withyesterday's victory, we will march to his help ourselves."

  Caius Julius bent his head without saying a word, and then sat back inhis seat, attentively watching father and son.

  "But your message did not answer my question, boy," said Cracis, coldly."Marcus, my son, how came it that you were with the little army that atmy orders was to follow in our wake, crushing down the Gauls who wouldbe sure to gather after we had passed? Speak out, sire: how came youthere?"

  "I could not bear it, father: something seemed to tell me that you wouldbe in danger, and I followed you to Rome, and then on here."

  "Then you disobeyed my commands, boy," said Cracis, sternly; and Marcussank upon his other knee, clasped his hands, and held them out beforehim. Closing his eyes then he threw back his head and was silent whileone might have slowly counted ten. Then in a low, distinct tone, fullof sorrow and despair, he said slowly:

  "Yes, father; I disobeyed your command."

  "And you, Serge, my old and trusted servant, old soldier though youwere," continued Cracis, in tones that sounded icy, "as soon as my backwas turned you plotted with my son to follow me and forsake your post."

  "Nay, master," cried Serge, quickly; "there was no plotting. I desertedfirst."

  "Hah!" ejaculated Caius Julius again, and his clearly-cut face looked asif it were formed of marble.

  "Worse and worse," cried Cracis, angrily. "Then you set the examplewhich my weak son followed?"

  "No, father," cried Marcus, quickly; "I did not know that Serge hadgone."

  "Ah!" said Cracis, quickly. "What excuse have you to make, sir, fordeserting your post?"

  "I didn't, master," cried the old soldier, stoutly. "I didn't desert mypost. My post was where I was last night, at my master's side. It wasmy post that deserted me."

  "What!" cried Cracis, angrily. "Insolent!"

  "Nay, master," cried the old soldier; "I'm as humble as young Marcusthere, and I'd kneel down just the same as he's a-doing now, but themGauls knocked me about so in the fight that my legs won't bend. Lookhere, master; I couldn't help it. I was just like the boy there; I feltsomehow that you'd want your old follower's help, and I was obliged tocome and join you. You see, we came together, and reached you just intime."

  "You disobeyed my commands, Serge," said Cracis, speaking as if deaf tohis old follower's appealing words. "You too, my son; but the words ofboth tell of the repentance in your breasts. Prove, then, by your nextacts that you are willing to make amends. Silence! Do not speak, butact. The horrors and bloodshed of this campaign are not for my son andservant. You, Serge, do your duty as guardian--you, Marcus, yours, inobedience at once. Back home at once, and I will forgive."

  "And leave you now, father, wounded, amidst all these perils?" criedMarcus, wildly. "I cannot! I would sooner die!"

  Cracis started angrily to his feet and tore the bandage from his head,as at that moment two officers advanced as if to receive commands.

  "You hear me, Marcus?" he cried, sternly. "You hear me, Serge?"

  "Yes, master," said the old soldier, slowly, and making an effort withhis bruised and stiffened limb, he slowly passed his hand across to hisleft side and drew his short, heavy sword, passed the hilt into his leftso that he could clasp the blade with his right, and in that way held itout to Cracis as he went on speaking: "I disobeyed you once, master, andthat's enough for a Roman soldier. Take hold. I've kept it as sharp asit was in the old days when I followed you to victory, ready to die foryou, master, as I am this day, for I can't live to disobey you again.Take it, I say, master, and let me die at once; better that you shouldcut me down than that I should myself fall upon my sword, for that hasalways seemed to me a coward's death."

  "Stop, Serge!" cried Marcus, passionately, and he laid his hand upon hisold comrade's blade. "I am a Roman, if only a boy, and I have the rightto appeal."

  Turning to Caius Julius, he cried:

  "You refused me once, sir, when I appealed to you, saying that I was buta weak unseasoned boy--not in those words, but that is what you meant."

  Caius Julius gravely bent his head, and fixed his keen, glittering eyesupon the speaker, who went on:

  "Since then I have tried hard to prove myself worthy to bear the arms Iwas taught by an old soldier to use."

  The general bowed his head slowly once again.

  "Then help me, sir. It is from no desire to disobey, but I feel that Icannot leave my father now. Forgive me, father. I cannot obey you.Forgive me, too, for this appeal."

  "Yes," said Caius Julius, rising from his seat and taking a step or twoforward. "You both disobeyed, and came here bearers of an importantdespatch which means more than you, boy, can imagine, in time to save afather's and a master's life. Serge, old comrade," he continued, layinghis hand upon the unsheathed sword, "keep your blade for our enemies.If it prove necessary I will kneel for you to my oldest friend and askhis forgiveness for you and my brave young soldier here. Boy," hecontinued, "you have confessed your fault as your father's son, butsince he left you, a simple scholar, you have become a soldier andbravely done your duty in your country's cause. Cracis, my brothergeneral, I grant your son's appeal. Endorse it, man, for a fault sofrankly acknowledged is half atoned."

  "I must have obedience," said Cracis, coldly, "not defiance, at a timelike this."

  "I feel with you, old friend," said Caius Julius, slowly, "but yourwounds have fevered you, and it has not been cool, calculating Craciswho has spoken, but the angry, offended general. Brother, you desirethat your old servant and your son should return home at once?"

  "Yes," said Cracis, speaking faintly now.

  "How?" said Caius Julius, quickly. "Alone, to fight their way throughthe thousands of half conquered Gauls who will bar their way to the passwhere the great captain is waiting for help?"

  Cracis looked wildly at his brother in arms, and then slowly turned hiseyes upon his son--eyes that had flashed but a short time before, butwhich now softened into a look of loving pride, as he slowly sank backinsensible upon his rough pillow, Marcus darting to his side.