Marcus: the Young Centurion

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

  AFTER THE BATTLE.

  Serge was right. The weather was glorious; the hot sun blazed down; butthe heat was tempered by the gentle breeze which wafted its coolnessfrom the snowy pass.

  To one ignorant of the horrors that lurked behind, it was one granddisplay of armed men, with their armour glittering and standards onhigh, marching in different bodies as if to take part in some gloriouspageant to be held in the mighty, rugged amphitheatre whose walls weremountains and whose background was formed by the piled-up masses of iceand snow, here silvery, there dazzling golden in the blaze of theafternoon sun, and farther back beauteous with the various azure tints,from the faintest tinge to the deepest purple, in the rifts and chasmsfar on high.

  There was a grim meaning behind it all as the troops under the commandof Caius Julius swept round by slow degrees to seize upon and hold thedifferent little valleys leading into the amphitheatre, and all in aslow orderly fashion suggesting merely change of position, and as ifcollision with the Gallic force was the last thing likely to occur.

  For as the Roman soldiery gradually advanced as if the distant pass werethe object they held in view, ready for pressing through it in one longextended column, the barbarian troops gradually fell back, to formthemselves into one vast dam whose object it was to check the Romanhuman river and roll it back broken and dismembered, ready for finaldestruction in the plains they had invaded.

  There were moments when, as he stood beside the line of stalwart menwith whom he had been placed, Marcus' thoughts were wholly upon thescene of which, from high up on a slope of one of the valleys, he had amost comprehensive view; and he too was ready to forget what was behind,as for an hour he watched and waited, until as if by magic the marchingand changing of position of the thousands before his eyes had ceased.

  It was evening then, with the sun sinking behind the hills in the rearof the now concentrated Roman army, while the Gauls who filled theamphitheatre and faced them were lit up, and their armour and weaponsblazed as if turned to fire by the orange glow which rose and filled themountain hollows and the pass beyond with its ever-deepening reddeninghaze.

  Naturally enough Marcus took his stand close by Serge, who seemed tohave quite recovered from the injuries which he had received, and stoodup bronzed and sturdy, with his face lit up with the expectancy of onewhose training taught him to foresee a triumph for the Roman arms.

  "Are we all ready, Serge?" said Marcus, in a low voice.

  "Yes, boy. Isn't it grand! Take the lesson to heart. You willunderstand it better later on, for it's too much for one so young as youto take in all at once. Look how our generals have placed their men,with never a bit of confusion from beginning to end, and all ready whenthe trumpets sound to advance and strike, while these Gauls, crowded uptogether into this great trap, don't even know as yet that their numberswill be worse than nothing, only a big crowd in which every man will bein his neighbour's way."

  "But suppose they stand fast," said Marcus, "instead of giving way?"

  "We shall march over them, boy, straight for the pass. Nothing can stopour advance. One of our lines may go down, but another will step intoits place, and if that is broken there is another close behind, andanother and another, each of which must weaken the resistance and pavethe way for our army to pass on."

  "Don't say pave the way, Serge. It sounds too horrible, and makes methink of what it means."

  "Don't think, then, boy."

  "I must," replied Marcus; "but it will be dreadful for the first cohortwhich leads."

  "Grand, you mean, boy," cried the veteran, "and you ought to be proud,for it is ours."

  "I don't see any signs of the captain's coming to meet us."

  "In hiding perhaps," said Serge. "He's certain to be there. He willnot let his men show themselves until we advance, and he has not stirredas yet."

  "How do you know?"

  "Look at the barbarians," cried the old soldier, pointing to the distantcrowd far up the slope. "They would be showing it by now if he werecoming on."

  "It is getting late," said Marcus, after a pause.

  "Yes," replied Serge, "and if I were in command I should be here tobegin leading on my men. Think of that now," he whispered, sharply."Here he is!"

  "Who? My father?"

  "No, boy. He'd be in the rear upon one of these hills, directing theadvance of the legions, where he can look over the whole amphitheatre."

  No more was said, for a thrill seemed to be running through the longserried line of veterans extending to right and left, as, followed by agroup of his principal officers, Caius Julius rode close up to hisleading cohort, gave the order to advance, and turned his horse to ridein front and lead.

  Then as the heavy tramp of the armed men rang out and the advance withshield joined to shield moved on over the stony ground, there was a roarlike distant thunder which rose and rolled and reverberated from therocks around, as the Gauls in one vast mass flashed forward to meet themand sweep the van of the Roman army away.

  The deep thunderous sound as of a storm was awe-inspiring enough todaunt the stoutest, but it had no effect upon the Roman warriors whosteadily advanced close to the heels of their leaders' horses; and oncemore with his heart beating fast the while, it all seemed to Marcus likesome grand pageant in which he was honoured by being allowed to play hislittle part.

  Fate had placed his rank almost within touch of their general, who rodecalmly, probably anticipating that the wild charge of Gauls as they cametearing on would never be carried home, and that the enemy would meltaway to right and left before the steady pressure of that rank upon rankof unbroken shields bristling with sword and spear.

  But the general was deceived. The wild barbarian charge ofundisciplined Gallic warriors was carried home. Borne on by their ownimpetuosity, and pressed forward by the crowd behind, the enemy came onwith a wild rush, and then came the clashing arms, the roar of thefierce multitude. Then as the steady stride of the line of Romanveterans was checked in the awful shock, Marcus was conscious of thestruggles of a charger which reared up, fighting fiercely with its hoofsagainst the enemy which hemmed him in, and then of its sidewise fall, tolie upon its flank, plunging feebly in its efforts to rise, before lyingprone and motionless with half a dozen spear thrusts in its breast andthroat.

  Marcus was conscious of striking out fiercely with his keen, shortsword, and of the pressure on both sides amidst the roar and rush of thefight in which he was taking part. But all seemed wild and confused, ashe stood with one foot planted on the fallen horse's side, the other onthe rock, holding his shield the while in front of the fallen rider, whowas striving vainly to free himself from the weight of the charger whichpinned him down.

  It seemed to be some long space of time, all horror and death, duringwhich men fought and heaved and swayed, sometimes beaten back a fewfeet, then recovering themselves, regaining the lost ground, andpressing on, till in regular rhythmic pulsation rank after rank ofwarriors tramped on, opening out as they reached the group of dead andwounded men whose core was the spear-slain horse. But in fact it wasbut a matter of minutes before the pressure ceased as the ranks passedon and a big, heavy-looking man came up, and by signs--for no voicecould make itself heard--seemed to be urging other men to seize and dragthe dead horse off the prisoned officer, who was saving himself fromfalling prone, possibly to be trampled to death by the advancing ranks,by clasping his hands round Marcus' waist as he still stood over himwith ready sword and shield.

  The start having been made, there were willing hands in plenty to dragthe horse away, and its rider stood up, holding on by Marcus' arms, asonce more a wave of the enemy seemed to rise up out of the tumultuoussea of carnage, sweeping between the two Romans and their friends, theformer being left to face the bristling spears of the Gauls, and deathappearing inevitable for Marcus and the officer he had saved.

  The boy was borne back by half a score of the hirsute semi-savages,leaving his companion standing erect with
nothing to defend himself buthis clenched hand, when, half maddened by the scene, Marcus uttered awild cry, recovered himself, and dashed forward to the rescue,staggering the foe with astonishment by the fierceness of his onslaught,as he literally hurled himself between the officer and his fate, theupraised shield turning aside the spears gliding with deadly aim towardhis throat.

  At that moment the deadly wave of destruction was checked in its onwardsweep by the rebound of a line of Roman veterans, the Gauls fell back,and the officer drew himself up panting and waving one arm on high, whena couple of officers rode up, one of whom dismounted and held hisstirrup, when, without a word, the companion of Marcus in peril sprangupon the charger's back and dashed forward, the late rider holding on bythe mane.

  "Well done, boy! Grand!" was shouted in Marcus' ear, as he stood therewondering whether it was all real, that noise of men tramping by, theclash of arms, and the roar as of muttering thunder ahead, and not somehorrible dream in which, faint and sick, everything was whirling slowlyround.

  "That you, Serge?" someone said, for they did not seem to be his words.

  "Yes, boy; grand, but we ought to be along with our cohort, and it's farahead, so we must join the ranks of one of these that are going by."

  "Are we losing?" said Marcus, faintly, and still it was as if someoneelse was speaking.

  "Losing!" cried the old soldier. "Winning, you mean. But think of youhaving such luck as that!"

  "Luck?--Luck?" said the same voice, slowly.

  "Yes, I never saw anything like you. Sprang forward, you did, just asthe general's horse reared up, and saved him from an ugly death by thethrust you gave that Gaul."

  "Who did?" said the same voice, feebly heard in the horrible dream.

  "Who did? Why, you did, and covered him afterwards with your shield allthe while he was pinned down by his dead charger. Why, Marcus, boy, ifyou were a man you'd be made a big officer at once. But what's thematter with you, boy?"

  "I--I don't know, Serge."

  "But I do!" roared the old soldier, with a roar like a lion. "Why, whodid this?"

  "That--that Gaul," said the boy, faintly, as he felt himself seized andpressed back, to lie with his head pillowed upon the dead charger'sneck, while he was conscious of his old comrade's hands being busilyunbuckling his armour and then bandaging him tightly to stop the flowingblood.

  "Feel better now, boy?" cried Serge, at last, as he bent down close tothe wounded lad's face.

  "Yes; not so sick," was the reply. "But tell me, Serge, about thefight," and as Marcus uttered these words he was conscious that theywere his own.

  "Tell you about the fight? Ah, that's a sign you are better. A nastycut, my boy, between the shoulder and the neck. But it's nothing tohurt."

  "But it does, Serge."

  "Pooh! Only smarts. It hasn't killed you. Soldiers expect wounds, andyou've got yours."

  "But the fight--the fight?"

  "Oh, just what I told you it would be, boy. The captain has brought hismen down the pass, and the Gauls, taken between the two armies, arebreaking up and streaming away to right and left. There'll be no Gallicarmy by the time the litters come to carry the wounded off the field,and the first shall be for the lad who saved the life of Caius Julius."

  "Oh, Serge, it is impossible that I could have done that," said Marcus,feebly.

  "That's what I should have said, boy, if I had not seen."

  "But, Serge?"

  "I look out sharp, boy, so don't doubt what I say. Your wound made youforget. I wonder whether the general will."

  "But you don't tell me about the fight, Serge."

  "What, do you want to know more?"

  "Of course."

  "Well, the Gauls are taken in a trap, and after all is over I hope thatone of those snowstorms will come down from the pass to cover all thatthe amphitheatre will have to show. It's terrible work, my boy."

  "Horrible! Horrible indeed!" sighed Marcus, as he looked sadly round atthe traces of the fight that had taken place about the fallen horse.

  "Yes, my lad, I can't help thinking just the same," said the oldsoldier, as he stooped to pick up the spear he had laid down while hebound his young companion's wound, and leaned upon the staff as he gazedstraight away in the direction where the fight seemed to be ragingstill.

  And the time passed on, till the tumult died away, and the old soldierstood watching still and waiting anxiously, while Marcus lay silent inthe troubled sleep that came to dull his pain.

  At last the boy stirred, and Serge bent over him.

  "Awake, boy?" he said.

  "Yes, Serge. Have been asleep?"

  "Yes."

  Marcus gazed around him, and shuddered at the traces of the fight.

  "Horrible!" he sighed.

  "Yes, boy," said the old warrior, gravely; "I suppose it is, in spite ofall the glory and triumph and the like; but," he continued, after apause, as he raised his spear, whose head glimmered in the pale light ashe pointed in the direction of the shining crest of one of the mountainsbeyond, while far away lay Rome, "our country must rule the world."

  Marcus sighed.

  "And give up the bravest and the best of her sons to fight her cause!"sighed the old soldier to himself. "But I hope the general won't forgetwhat even a boy can do."

  Caius Julius did not, for a little later a group of mounted menappeared, and the faint cheers of the wounded soldiery greeted them asthey passed.

  "It was somewhere near here, Cracis," said one of the party, and thenpointing with his sword, "Ah, it must have been there. Yonder is mypoor horse. Yes, there lies your brave son not dead, for he has raisedand is waving his hand to you. Another great triumph for Rome, Cracis,but I'd give up all the glory I have won to possess a son like yours."