Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Four.First Check.It was a glorious change from the terrible inactivity of waiting to energetic action, and the feeling was shared by all.Lupe leaped out of the chariot, the driver involuntarily shook the reins to urge the ponies forward forgetful of the fact that they were held on either side, and the beautiful little animals tried to plunge onward, but feeling the check upon their bits, snorted and began to rear while both Marcus and Serge had to make a struggle to control the desire within their breasts which urged them to break forward into a run.But the knowledge of the need of caution prevailed, and glancing to right and left in search of watching enemies, they had the satisfaction of seeing the chaos of rocks rising above their heads and quite concealing them, though on the other hand their progress became more painful, their way more burdened with stones.But it was glorious work to Marcus. These masses of rock were only difficulties in the way waiting to be mastered. It was quite refreshing to leave the leading of the horses to the driver and add their strength in pulling, pushing, and now and then seizing the spokes to hoist a wheel over some stony bar.Their progress was slow towards the far end of the amphitheatre, but every score of yards was something gained, and all worked eagerly till at last the lower end of the amphitheatre was reached, where the rocks closed in again and a small ravine was before them, whose bottom was the bed of a mountain torrent along which a shallow stream hurried, hardly above the soles of the adventurers’ sandals, though the smooth rocks of the bed and sides showed plainly enough that there were times when a furious flood dashed along, laden with smaller stones and gravel, whose effects were to polish the bigger rocks in their way.“Better not talk,” growled Serge, as they began to make quicker progress. “I don’t suppose anyone is here; they’ll all have gone to the front; but you never know, and every bad word is picked up by the rocks and sent flying far away till it drops plump into somebody’s ear. Steady’s the word, boy. Keep your little chap still. I don’t suppose this bit of a streamlet keeps like this. I expect the narrow bed opens out soon, for the hills seem to grow smaller and smaller here, and I am hoping that we shall come upon level ground so that we may get a gallop to stretch the ponies’ legs.”“Ah, I hope so,” cried Marcus, eagerly. “Now you are beginning to talk, Serge, like a man.”“And that means, boy, that I was talking a bit ago like some old woman, I suppose. Well, part of a soldier’s duty is to take care. Steady you, sir, and don’t splash the water up like that,” the old soldier continued softly to the pony whose head he held. “It’s all very nice for you, and I dare say the water feels nice and pleasant to your hoofs; but keep quiet. You don’t have to polish the rust off your armour—I do. I wish to goodness we could get on good dry ground.”Like the rest of mountain torrents, the one whose bed they were following zig-zagged in all directions, so that even from their old point of vantage they had been able to see but a very little way along, and were quite content with the knowledge that the rocks rose up some fifteen or twenty feet above their heads, amply sufficient to shelter them from the sight of the enemy who lay away on either side, while now as they journeyed along the rocky bed, with the rattle of the wheels multiplied by the echoes, nothing was visible a hundred yards ahead, and as fast as one angle was turned there lay another a short distance in front.But they were descending towards the plains; the plashing stream as it hurried along taught them that, and at the end of about a quarter of a mile of little interrupted progress they were cheered on by the fact that the rocks on either side grew lower, rapidly ceasing to afford them protection, and before long hardly rising to their shoulders.There was another turn, and then another, and then Marcus cried eagerly:“The hills are seeming to get farther away, Serge, and we must soon be out in the plain. I wonder what’s beyond that turning.”“Open ground, I should say, my lad,” said the old soldier, gravely; “but we must take care. We want the open ground for the horses, but not for ourselves.”“I don’t understand you,” cried Marcus, sharply.“I spoke plainly enough, boy. I meant this: no shelter for us, don’t you see, and if the enemy look back some of them may turn and come in pursuit.”“Ah, of course,” cried Marcus. “Well, if they do, and catch us, you will have to fight, Serge, and drive them back.”“That’s right, my boy, and I’ll do my best: but if I do, and get the worst of it, you never mind but go right on.”“Yes,” said Marcus, drily, “when you are ready to come too.”Serge grunted with satisfaction, and then, possibly from the solemnity of the desolate place along which they travelled, they tramped silently along over the rocky bed, their footsteps and those of the horses being the only sounds as they neared the sharp angle where the stream bed seemed to open out.Marcus said afterwards that Serge should have been more cautious, and Serge retorted that Marcus was captain and ought to have sent on a scout in front. But as it was, the scout who acted, sent on himself, and that scout was Lupe, who, attracted by the openness of the rocks in front, suddenly bounded forward with a cheery bark, sending the water flying, and exciting the ponies into starting forward at a canter.Almost involuntarily the holders of their reins let go and, acting as if on one impulse, caught at the sides of the chariot and sprang in, steadying themselves in their position as the heavy vehicle dashed on along the shallow bed, which was now wonderfully free of stones, while the driver participating in the dog’s excitement, uttered a low cry and shook his reins, so that a minute later the chariot swung round the angle into where the ravine suddenly came to an end and a low level valley opened out. Right at the edge of the stream, and not far in front, a cluster of rough camp shelters seemed to spring up before them, and from out of the huts where they had been sheltering from the sun, a body of about two score spear-armed men suddenly appeared.

It was a glorious change from the terrible inactivity of waiting to energetic action, and the feeling was shared by all.

Lupe leaped out of the chariot, the driver involuntarily shook the reins to urge the ponies forward forgetful of the fact that they were held on either side, and the beautiful little animals tried to plunge onward, but feeling the check upon their bits, snorted and began to rear while both Marcus and Serge had to make a struggle to control the desire within their breasts which urged them to break forward into a run.

But the knowledge of the need of caution prevailed, and glancing to right and left in search of watching enemies, they had the satisfaction of seeing the chaos of rocks rising above their heads and quite concealing them, though on the other hand their progress became more painful, their way more burdened with stones.

But it was glorious work to Marcus. These masses of rock were only difficulties in the way waiting to be mastered. It was quite refreshing to leave the leading of the horses to the driver and add their strength in pulling, pushing, and now and then seizing the spokes to hoist a wheel over some stony bar.

Their progress was slow towards the far end of the amphitheatre, but every score of yards was something gained, and all worked eagerly till at last the lower end of the amphitheatre was reached, where the rocks closed in again and a small ravine was before them, whose bottom was the bed of a mountain torrent along which a shallow stream hurried, hardly above the soles of the adventurers’ sandals, though the smooth rocks of the bed and sides showed plainly enough that there were times when a furious flood dashed along, laden with smaller stones and gravel, whose effects were to polish the bigger rocks in their way.

“Better not talk,” growled Serge, as they began to make quicker progress. “I don’t suppose anyone is here; they’ll all have gone to the front; but you never know, and every bad word is picked up by the rocks and sent flying far away till it drops plump into somebody’s ear. Steady’s the word, boy. Keep your little chap still. I don’t suppose this bit of a streamlet keeps like this. I expect the narrow bed opens out soon, for the hills seem to grow smaller and smaller here, and I am hoping that we shall come upon level ground so that we may get a gallop to stretch the ponies’ legs.”

“Ah, I hope so,” cried Marcus, eagerly. “Now you are beginning to talk, Serge, like a man.”

“And that means, boy, that I was talking a bit ago like some old woman, I suppose. Well, part of a soldier’s duty is to take care. Steady you, sir, and don’t splash the water up like that,” the old soldier continued softly to the pony whose head he held. “It’s all very nice for you, and I dare say the water feels nice and pleasant to your hoofs; but keep quiet. You don’t have to polish the rust off your armour—I do. I wish to goodness we could get on good dry ground.”

Like the rest of mountain torrents, the one whose bed they were following zig-zagged in all directions, so that even from their old point of vantage they had been able to see but a very little way along, and were quite content with the knowledge that the rocks rose up some fifteen or twenty feet above their heads, amply sufficient to shelter them from the sight of the enemy who lay away on either side, while now as they journeyed along the rocky bed, with the rattle of the wheels multiplied by the echoes, nothing was visible a hundred yards ahead, and as fast as one angle was turned there lay another a short distance in front.

But they were descending towards the plains; the plashing stream as it hurried along taught them that, and at the end of about a quarter of a mile of little interrupted progress they were cheered on by the fact that the rocks on either side grew lower, rapidly ceasing to afford them protection, and before long hardly rising to their shoulders.

There was another turn, and then another, and then Marcus cried eagerly:

“The hills are seeming to get farther away, Serge, and we must soon be out in the plain. I wonder what’s beyond that turning.”

“Open ground, I should say, my lad,” said the old soldier, gravely; “but we must take care. We want the open ground for the horses, but not for ourselves.”

“I don’t understand you,” cried Marcus, sharply.

“I spoke plainly enough, boy. I meant this: no shelter for us, don’t you see, and if the enemy look back some of them may turn and come in pursuit.”

“Ah, of course,” cried Marcus. “Well, if they do, and catch us, you will have to fight, Serge, and drive them back.”

“That’s right, my boy, and I’ll do my best: but if I do, and get the worst of it, you never mind but go right on.”

“Yes,” said Marcus, drily, “when you are ready to come too.”

Serge grunted with satisfaction, and then, possibly from the solemnity of the desolate place along which they travelled, they tramped silently along over the rocky bed, their footsteps and those of the horses being the only sounds as they neared the sharp angle where the stream bed seemed to open out.

Marcus said afterwards that Serge should have been more cautious, and Serge retorted that Marcus was captain and ought to have sent on a scout in front. But as it was, the scout who acted, sent on himself, and that scout was Lupe, who, attracted by the openness of the rocks in front, suddenly bounded forward with a cheery bark, sending the water flying, and exciting the ponies into starting forward at a canter.

Almost involuntarily the holders of their reins let go and, acting as if on one impulse, caught at the sides of the chariot and sprang in, steadying themselves in their position as the heavy vehicle dashed on along the shallow bed, which was now wonderfully free of stones, while the driver participating in the dog’s excitement, uttered a low cry and shook his reins, so that a minute later the chariot swung round the angle into where the ravine suddenly came to an end and a low level valley opened out. Right at the edge of the stream, and not far in front, a cluster of rough camp shelters seemed to spring up before them, and from out of the huts where they had been sheltering from the sun, a body of about two score spear-armed men suddenly appeared.

Chapter Twenty Five.A Narrow Escape.To have the horses turned, and gallop back along the narrow river bed for their lives, was Marcus’ first thought. His second, braver and better, was to shout to the driver at his elbow to urge the horses on at their greatest speed.The man hardly needed telling, for as the first words of command were buzzing in his ear he was shaking the reins and calling upon the brave little beasts to exert themselves to the utmost.“Forward, my beauties,” he yelled, “or the barbarians will have you, and before to-morrow you will be roasted and eaten. Gallop—gallop away!”There was no time for Serge to talk, but he acted, and acted well. Picking up instantly two of the spears which hung at the chariot side in loops, he thrust one into Marcus’ hand, retained the other, and stood ready to thrust. Marcus followed his example. Neither thought of using their shields, but stood fierce and staring of aspect, watching the party of men barring their way and shouting to them to stop.It seemed like the next moment that the enemy, who fully expected the strangers in the chariot to surrender, found that to give up was the last thought in their expected prisoners’ breasts, and thereupon some dropped their spears, others were in the act of turning to fly, when with a dull, strange sound the chariot horses were upon them. Literally upon them, for the gallant little beasts obeyed their natural instinct, as they galloped and rose to leap the pale of human obstacles and spears in front, but only to come down quite short, trampling and spurning down the enemy, over whom the chariot rolled, bumping, leaping and splashing, and directly after, untouched by the long spears held by the uninjured, the driver turned the horses slightly, and their next bounds were upon dry land, rough and rugged enough, but free from any great impediments. Then away and away as hard as they could go, while the more active of those who were not hurt, recovering themselves a little from the shock and scare, came after the charioteers in chase with levelled spears.“Splendid, Marcus, boy!” cried Serge. “Bah! You need not look back; they’ll give up running directly. You did not think they would catch us up?”“No,” replied Marcus, breathing hard, “but stop! Stop! Lupe is fighting with them, and they’ll spear him if we don’t go to his help.”“Eh? Go back, boy? To certain death!” cried the old soldier, fiercely. “It couldn’t be done if it was to save the finest dog in the world.”“Oh, Serge!” cried Marcus, wildly.“The message to Julius and your father, boy. We must not think of either ourselves or the dog at a time like this.”“You are right, Serge,” said Marcus, bitterly. “But poor old Lupe!” he continued, as he held on to the side of the chariot with his left hand and gazed back. “He’ll kill no more wolves when they come down from the mountains over the wintry snow.”“Why not?” growled Serge.“Because the enemy are spearing him.”“I haven’t heard him yelp,” cried the old soldier, “but I can hear somebody shouting as if Lupe was spearing him.”“Do you think so?” cried Marcus.“Ay, that I do, boy. It wouldn’t be an easy job to stick a long-handled spear into old Lupe when he is bounding about attacking legs, and waiting his chance to tackle throats. Like as not we shall find him coming after us, scratched and bleeding perhaps, but not hurt more than I can doctor him and set him right again, same as I’ve done more than once when he has had a turn with the wolves.”“Ah, look, look!” shouted Marcus, joyously. “Why, here he comes!”For all at once Lupe, who had been lost to sight, hidden as he was by those of the enemy who had not taken up the pursuit, and who had resented the dog’s attacks by endeavouring to pin him to the earth with their long spears, now dashed into sight, proving that he was uninjured by the bounds and springs he kept on making, barking furiously the while at those who were keeping up their pursuit of the chariot, but whose attention was now diverted so that they turned the points of their spears to repulse the dog’s attack.“Yah! Just like him!” cried Serge, angrily. “You ugly old idiot, you! Whether it’s men or wolves, you always would have the last bite. Come away, stupid! Come here!” he roared again, quite oblivious of the fact that even if the distance had not prevented the dog from hearing, the noise of the horses’ beating hoofs would have effectually drowned Serge’s voice.“Ought we not to stop and help him, Serge?” cried Marcus.“No, boy; you know we ought not. We’ve got to get on with that message, and we must think of nothing else now we are clear. We must not even slacken while the path is so good; so keep on. You wanted a big gallop, so take it and be content, for the horses are going fast enough to satisfy anyone.”“Yes,” sighed Marcus. “But poor old Lupe!”“He must take care of himself, boy,” growled Serge. “Look at him, charging at the enemy as he is, when he is doing no good and running the risks for nothing.”“He has stopped the pursuit,” said Marcus.“Yes; but why can’t he be content now he has done it, and come on, instead of asking them as plainly as a dog can speak, to thrust a spear through his ribs?”“But he knows no better,” pleaded Marcus, who was watching all that was going on, and feeling proud of the dog’s bravery in charging the enemy furiously from time to time, and escaping every thrust as if by a miracle. “I don’t want to lose time, Serge,” cried Marcus, raising his voice so that his companion could hear, “but I am going to check the horses for a few moments so that I can shout to Lupe. If he hears my voice calling him he will come.”“He’s coming without, boy,” cried Serge, angrily. “Oh! Poor old fellow! But it’s his own fault. I knew he’d get it at last, and he has. That thrust has been too much for him. Look!”Marcus was already looking sharply enough to have seen, at the same moment as his companion, Lupe make a rush at the halting enemy, whose spears flashed in the bright light; and then the dog rushed away again, to stand apparently barking furiously at his enemies, before dashing off after the chariot for about a hundred yards, and then stopping short to roll over and over.“Killed!” cried Marcus, in a voice full of anguish.“No,” said Serge, hoarsely; “he’s up again and tearing after us.”But the next minute the dog had dropped again, and as far as those in the chariot could make out in the increasing distance, was busily engaged in licking his flank, and Marcus said so.“Not sure,” cried Serge, “but I’m afraid he has got an ugly dig. Is he going to lie down and die?”“Surely not!” cried Marcus, excitedly. “No, he is up again, and here he comes.”“Then perhaps it is not so bad as I thought, boy. Yes, here he comes as hard as he can pelt. He can’t be very bad, unless this is his last struggle to get to your side.”“And yours, Serge,” said Marcus, mournfully.“No, boy; it’s you that he wants to reach,” said the old soldier, with a grim smile. “He likes me, but you need not talk—he loves you; and if he’s very badly hurt he is putting all the strength he has left in him to get here to you.”“Oh, Serge,” cried Marcus, as the ponies tore on, with the dog in full pursuit, “it can’t be so bad as you think!”“Well, boy, I’m beginning to think you’re right. He can’t be so very bad, or he wouldn’t be able to stretch himself out like that and come over the ground faster than the horses are going, and that isn’t slow. Look at the brave old fellow; that’s just the stride he takes—”“Stride!” cried Marcus, proudly. “He’s coming on in bounds.”“So he is, boy, and as I was going to say, that’s just his way when he wants to overtake a pack of ravaging wolves who have been after our sheep. Well done, dog! Talk about muscles in his legs! I don’t call them muscles; he has legs like springs.”The chariot horses still tore on at a fast gallop, the sturdy little driver guiding them with admirable skill as they neared obstructions; but fast as they swept over the open ground, with the heavy chariot leaping and bounding behind, their speed was far out-paced by the great dog which stretched out like a greyhound of modern times, and lessened the distance between them more and more, till he was so near that Marcus uttered a cry of horror upon making out as he did that the dog’s flank was marked by a great patch of blood.“Yes,” said Serge, gravely, “I see, boy, and I could find it in my heart to stop the ponies and take him into the chariot; but there is no need for it. Can’t be a serious wound, and he’ll be close up to us in another minute.”“To reach us exhausted,” cried Marcus, bitterly; “and I shall always feel that we might have saved his life.”Serge made no reply, but, frowning heavily, he watched the final efforts the gallant animal was making. For gathering himself together for every spring and putting all his strength in his efforts, Lupe bounded on till he was close behind the chariot, and Marcus uttered an encouraging shout as he went down on one knee, while the next minute Lupe made a tremendous spring, from which he landed in the middle of the rapidly-going vehicle, and then couched down, bent his head over as he let himself fall over on his left side, and began licking his wound as calmly as if nothing had happened more than the receiving of a big scratch.“Why, Lupe, Lupe, old dog!” cried Marcus, as he knelt beside the wounded animal hard at work over his natural surgery.Upon hearing the boy’s voice the dog ceased his task, looked up in Marcus’ face with his big intelligent eyes, beat the floor of the chariot a few times heavily with his tail, and then went on again with his dressing of his wound.“There,” cried Serge, after looking back at the distant Gauls, “they’re not likely to pursue us, so make him ease the ponies down a little. We must not wear them out at the start. That’s better,” he continued, as Marcus touched the driver on the shoulder and signed to him to moderate their speed.This done, Serge placed his spear in the loops and Marcus’ beside it, before sinking down upon his knees on the other side of the wounded dog.“Now then,” he said, “let’s see whether it’s very bad or not,” and he laid his great hand upon the dog’s head.Lupe ceased the licking upon the instant, and raised his head to gaze intelligently in the old soldier’s eyes.“Good dog!” said the latter, speaking with gruff gentleness. “I won’t hurt you more than I can help.”As if he comprehended the old soldier’s words and placed full confidence in his knowledge and power, Lupe stretched himself out fully upon his left side, extended his head, and, half closing his eyes, lay perfectly still as if dead.“Poor old Lupe!” said Marcus, softly, and he took hold of the dog’s right forepaw, with the result that the poor animal winced, but only whined a little and did not try to withdraw his leg, but at the same time began again to beat the floor of the chariot with his tail, keeping up the latter, as Serge carefully examined the injury.“Nasty place!” growled Serge.“Not dangerous?” cried Marcus, anxiously.“Dangerous? No, not it. He had got himself into the right position when the spear thrust was made. It’s bad enough, of course—”“Oh, Serge!” cried Marcus.“But there’s no likelihood of its being dangerous. The spear caught him on the flank and went right in alongside his ribs, from the thick hair above his shoulder right away to the front of his hind jumper.”“Deep in the flesh, Serge?”“No, no; only just under the loose skin.”“Has it bled much?” said Marcus, anxiously.“Plenty, my lad, but he won’t die of it. Do you hear, Lupe, old boy? Your doctor says he is not going to do anything in the way of tying you up, for this is the sort of wound that has done bleeding and will heal up without any more help than you can give it with your tongue; so go on and do what you like to it, just the same as you began when you were stopped.”The dog ceased beating the floor of the chariot as Serge went on talking to him, and as soon as the old soldier had given him a final pat or two he resumed the application of Nature’s remedy, paying no heed to those in the chariot, which was now rolling steadily on and leaving the scene of the late encounter farther and farther behind.

To have the horses turned, and gallop back along the narrow river bed for their lives, was Marcus’ first thought. His second, braver and better, was to shout to the driver at his elbow to urge the horses on at their greatest speed.

The man hardly needed telling, for as the first words of command were buzzing in his ear he was shaking the reins and calling upon the brave little beasts to exert themselves to the utmost.

“Forward, my beauties,” he yelled, “or the barbarians will have you, and before to-morrow you will be roasted and eaten. Gallop—gallop away!”

There was no time for Serge to talk, but he acted, and acted well. Picking up instantly two of the spears which hung at the chariot side in loops, he thrust one into Marcus’ hand, retained the other, and stood ready to thrust. Marcus followed his example. Neither thought of using their shields, but stood fierce and staring of aspect, watching the party of men barring their way and shouting to them to stop.

It seemed like the next moment that the enemy, who fully expected the strangers in the chariot to surrender, found that to give up was the last thought in their expected prisoners’ breasts, and thereupon some dropped their spears, others were in the act of turning to fly, when with a dull, strange sound the chariot horses were upon them. Literally upon them, for the gallant little beasts obeyed their natural instinct, as they galloped and rose to leap the pale of human obstacles and spears in front, but only to come down quite short, trampling and spurning down the enemy, over whom the chariot rolled, bumping, leaping and splashing, and directly after, untouched by the long spears held by the uninjured, the driver turned the horses slightly, and their next bounds were upon dry land, rough and rugged enough, but free from any great impediments. Then away and away as hard as they could go, while the more active of those who were not hurt, recovering themselves a little from the shock and scare, came after the charioteers in chase with levelled spears.

“Splendid, Marcus, boy!” cried Serge. “Bah! You need not look back; they’ll give up running directly. You did not think they would catch us up?”

“No,” replied Marcus, breathing hard, “but stop! Stop! Lupe is fighting with them, and they’ll spear him if we don’t go to his help.”

“Eh? Go back, boy? To certain death!” cried the old soldier, fiercely. “It couldn’t be done if it was to save the finest dog in the world.”

“Oh, Serge!” cried Marcus, wildly.

“The message to Julius and your father, boy. We must not think of either ourselves or the dog at a time like this.”

“You are right, Serge,” said Marcus, bitterly. “But poor old Lupe!” he continued, as he held on to the side of the chariot with his left hand and gazed back. “He’ll kill no more wolves when they come down from the mountains over the wintry snow.”

“Why not?” growled Serge.

“Because the enemy are spearing him.”

“I haven’t heard him yelp,” cried the old soldier, “but I can hear somebody shouting as if Lupe was spearing him.”

“Do you think so?” cried Marcus.

“Ay, that I do, boy. It wouldn’t be an easy job to stick a long-handled spear into old Lupe when he is bounding about attacking legs, and waiting his chance to tackle throats. Like as not we shall find him coming after us, scratched and bleeding perhaps, but not hurt more than I can doctor him and set him right again, same as I’ve done more than once when he has had a turn with the wolves.”

“Ah, look, look!” shouted Marcus, joyously. “Why, here he comes!”

For all at once Lupe, who had been lost to sight, hidden as he was by those of the enemy who had not taken up the pursuit, and who had resented the dog’s attacks by endeavouring to pin him to the earth with their long spears, now dashed into sight, proving that he was uninjured by the bounds and springs he kept on making, barking furiously the while at those who were keeping up their pursuit of the chariot, but whose attention was now diverted so that they turned the points of their spears to repulse the dog’s attack.

“Yah! Just like him!” cried Serge, angrily. “You ugly old idiot, you! Whether it’s men or wolves, you always would have the last bite. Come away, stupid! Come here!” he roared again, quite oblivious of the fact that even if the distance had not prevented the dog from hearing, the noise of the horses’ beating hoofs would have effectually drowned Serge’s voice.

“Ought we not to stop and help him, Serge?” cried Marcus.

“No, boy; you know we ought not. We’ve got to get on with that message, and we must think of nothing else now we are clear. We must not even slacken while the path is so good; so keep on. You wanted a big gallop, so take it and be content, for the horses are going fast enough to satisfy anyone.”

“Yes,” sighed Marcus. “But poor old Lupe!”

“He must take care of himself, boy,” growled Serge. “Look at him, charging at the enemy as he is, when he is doing no good and running the risks for nothing.”

“He has stopped the pursuit,” said Marcus.

“Yes; but why can’t he be content now he has done it, and come on, instead of asking them as plainly as a dog can speak, to thrust a spear through his ribs?”

“But he knows no better,” pleaded Marcus, who was watching all that was going on, and feeling proud of the dog’s bravery in charging the enemy furiously from time to time, and escaping every thrust as if by a miracle. “I don’t want to lose time, Serge,” cried Marcus, raising his voice so that his companion could hear, “but I am going to check the horses for a few moments so that I can shout to Lupe. If he hears my voice calling him he will come.”

“He’s coming without, boy,” cried Serge, angrily. “Oh! Poor old fellow! But it’s his own fault. I knew he’d get it at last, and he has. That thrust has been too much for him. Look!”

Marcus was already looking sharply enough to have seen, at the same moment as his companion, Lupe make a rush at the halting enemy, whose spears flashed in the bright light; and then the dog rushed away again, to stand apparently barking furiously at his enemies, before dashing off after the chariot for about a hundred yards, and then stopping short to roll over and over.

“Killed!” cried Marcus, in a voice full of anguish.

“No,” said Serge, hoarsely; “he’s up again and tearing after us.”

But the next minute the dog had dropped again, and as far as those in the chariot could make out in the increasing distance, was busily engaged in licking his flank, and Marcus said so.

“Not sure,” cried Serge, “but I’m afraid he has got an ugly dig. Is he going to lie down and die?”

“Surely not!” cried Marcus, excitedly. “No, he is up again, and here he comes.”

“Then perhaps it is not so bad as I thought, boy. Yes, here he comes as hard as he can pelt. He can’t be very bad, unless this is his last struggle to get to your side.”

“And yours, Serge,” said Marcus, mournfully.

“No, boy; it’s you that he wants to reach,” said the old soldier, with a grim smile. “He likes me, but you need not talk—he loves you; and if he’s very badly hurt he is putting all the strength he has left in him to get here to you.”

“Oh, Serge,” cried Marcus, as the ponies tore on, with the dog in full pursuit, “it can’t be so bad as you think!”

“Well, boy, I’m beginning to think you’re right. He can’t be so very bad, or he wouldn’t be able to stretch himself out like that and come over the ground faster than the horses are going, and that isn’t slow. Look at the brave old fellow; that’s just the stride he takes—”

“Stride!” cried Marcus, proudly. “He’s coming on in bounds.”

“So he is, boy, and as I was going to say, that’s just his way when he wants to overtake a pack of ravaging wolves who have been after our sheep. Well done, dog! Talk about muscles in his legs! I don’t call them muscles; he has legs like springs.”

The chariot horses still tore on at a fast gallop, the sturdy little driver guiding them with admirable skill as they neared obstructions; but fast as they swept over the open ground, with the heavy chariot leaping and bounding behind, their speed was far out-paced by the great dog which stretched out like a greyhound of modern times, and lessened the distance between them more and more, till he was so near that Marcus uttered a cry of horror upon making out as he did that the dog’s flank was marked by a great patch of blood.

“Yes,” said Serge, gravely, “I see, boy, and I could find it in my heart to stop the ponies and take him into the chariot; but there is no need for it. Can’t be a serious wound, and he’ll be close up to us in another minute.”

“To reach us exhausted,” cried Marcus, bitterly; “and I shall always feel that we might have saved his life.”

Serge made no reply, but, frowning heavily, he watched the final efforts the gallant animal was making. For gathering himself together for every spring and putting all his strength in his efforts, Lupe bounded on till he was close behind the chariot, and Marcus uttered an encouraging shout as he went down on one knee, while the next minute Lupe made a tremendous spring, from which he landed in the middle of the rapidly-going vehicle, and then couched down, bent his head over as he let himself fall over on his left side, and began licking his wound as calmly as if nothing had happened more than the receiving of a big scratch.

“Why, Lupe, Lupe, old dog!” cried Marcus, as he knelt beside the wounded animal hard at work over his natural surgery.

Upon hearing the boy’s voice the dog ceased his task, looked up in Marcus’ face with his big intelligent eyes, beat the floor of the chariot a few times heavily with his tail, and then went on again with his dressing of his wound.

“There,” cried Serge, after looking back at the distant Gauls, “they’re not likely to pursue us, so make him ease the ponies down a little. We must not wear them out at the start. That’s better,” he continued, as Marcus touched the driver on the shoulder and signed to him to moderate their speed.

This done, Serge placed his spear in the loops and Marcus’ beside it, before sinking down upon his knees on the other side of the wounded dog.

“Now then,” he said, “let’s see whether it’s very bad or not,” and he laid his great hand upon the dog’s head.

Lupe ceased the licking upon the instant, and raised his head to gaze intelligently in the old soldier’s eyes.

“Good dog!” said the latter, speaking with gruff gentleness. “I won’t hurt you more than I can help.”

As if he comprehended the old soldier’s words and placed full confidence in his knowledge and power, Lupe stretched himself out fully upon his left side, extended his head, and, half closing his eyes, lay perfectly still as if dead.

“Poor old Lupe!” said Marcus, softly, and he took hold of the dog’s right forepaw, with the result that the poor animal winced, but only whined a little and did not try to withdraw his leg, but at the same time began again to beat the floor of the chariot with his tail, keeping up the latter, as Serge carefully examined the injury.

“Nasty place!” growled Serge.

“Not dangerous?” cried Marcus, anxiously.

“Dangerous? No, not it. He had got himself into the right position when the spear thrust was made. It’s bad enough, of course—”

“Oh, Serge!” cried Marcus.

“But there’s no likelihood of its being dangerous. The spear caught him on the flank and went right in alongside his ribs, from the thick hair above his shoulder right away to the front of his hind jumper.”

“Deep in the flesh, Serge?”

“No, no; only just under the loose skin.”

“Has it bled much?” said Marcus, anxiously.

“Plenty, my lad, but he won’t die of it. Do you hear, Lupe, old boy? Your doctor says he is not going to do anything in the way of tying you up, for this is the sort of wound that has done bleeding and will heal up without any more help than you can give it with your tongue; so go on and do what you like to it, just the same as you began when you were stopped.”

The dog ceased beating the floor of the chariot as Serge went on talking to him, and as soon as the old soldier had given him a final pat or two he resumed the application of Nature’s remedy, paying no heed to those in the chariot, which was now rolling steadily on and leaving the scene of the late encounter farther and farther behind.

Chapter Twenty Six.In the Track of an Army.It was not easy to quiet down the half wild steeds. They had been going through a long period of inaction since the fierce charge made on the night of the encounter before crossing the snowy pass, and once their driver had, to use the horsey phrase, given them their heads, and urged them on to their top speed, their hot, wild blood had been bubbling through their veins, making them snort and tear along heedless of rock, rut, and the roughest ground. Marcus had told the driver to check them twice over, but as soon as Lupe was in the chariot and both Marcus and Serge busy seeing to his wound, the speed began to increase, till the chariot was bumping over the open plain faster than ever; and though the charioteer strove his best it was some time before he managed to get his little pair into hand again so that the pace grew moderate and the progress was made at a gentle canter, instead of a wild gallop which threatened wreck over some projecting stone.“They were half mad with excitement,” cried Marcus, who was breathing hard.“Yes,” grunted Serge. “I thought we were going to be upset over and over again. Feel a bit frightened, boy?”“Frightened?” said Marcus, looking wonderingly at his companion. “No! I liked it. Why, it was glorious to rush over the plain like that.”“Wouldn’t have been very glorious if one wheel had come bump against a stone, flown all to pieces, and we two had gone flying one way and the chariot the other.”“No,” said Marcus, laughing; “but that wheel did not, and we are all as right as can be, with the enemy left behind.”“Yes, that’s all very true, boy,” said Serge, who was pressing his helmet a little farther back and holding it there so that he could get a good uninterrupted look all round.“You didn’t like it, then?” said Marcus, smiling at his companion’s perplexed expression.“Course I didn’t,” growled Serge.“Lupe did. Just look at him. He has curled himself up to go to sleep. That’s a good sign, isn’t it, that he is not badly hurt?”“Yes, he’s not going to be bad,” said Serge, without so much as a glance at the sleeping animal. “Dogs always do curl up when they are hurt;” and he kept on staring anxiously ahead.“What are you looking for, Serge? More enemies?” asked Marcus.“No,” replied the old soldier, though it was more like a grunt than a reply.“What are you watching for, then? Not stones? It’s getting smoother, and we’re going on at a nice steady rate now.”“Yes, boy, we’re going along at a nice steady rate, but I want to know where to?”“Where to?” cried Marcus, quickly. “Why, to find the main army, and deliver the message.”“Yes, boy,” growled the old soldier; “but where is the main army?”Marcus stared at his companion for a few moments in complete astonishment, before gazing straight in front between the tossing manes of the cantering ponies, and then looked to right and left.“I don’t know,” he said, at last. “Somewhere in front, I suppose.”“Somewhere in front, you suppose!” grumbled Serge. “But where’s that? Nowhere, I say. We shall never come up with them if we go on like this. We may be getting farther away at every stride.”“Oh, Serge!” cried the boy, excitedly.“And it’s O, Marcus!” growled the old fellow, sourly.“What’s to be done Serge?” cried the boy, despairingly. “Why, we may be losing time.”“Most likely,” said Serge.“And I was thinking that in flying along as we have been we were getting nearer and nearer to the army. Now, then, what is to be done?”Serge was silent for a few moments, and then said slowly:“Well, boy, it seems to me that the best thing we can do is to bear off to the right.”“But that may take us wrong,” said Marcus, excitedly. “Why not go to the left?”“Humph!” grunted Serge. “Because that may take us wrong, boy. You see, there’s a lot of chance in it, and we must use our brains.”“Of course. That’s what I’m trying to do, Serge.”“Don’t seem like it, boy. We’ve got to track the army, haven’t we?”“Yes,” cried Marcus, “but they’ve left no traces.”“Not that we have found as yet, boy, but they must have left some wounded men, or sick, belonging to the army or the enemy. If they’re fighting their way, as is most likely, we may be sure that a good many men have fallen.”“Yes, that’s reasonable enough, Serge, but we have seen no signs of one.”“Not one,” said the old soldier. “So as there have been no traces, we must go by guesswork, mustn’t we?”“Yes, of course,” cried Marcus. “Well, you guessed and I guessed, and I think my guess will be the better one.”“I know you do; but I don’t, boy.”“Why?”“Because there’s no reason in yours and there is in mine.”“I can’t see that,” said Marcus, stubbornly. “Show me how your way can be better than mine.”“That’s soon done, boy,” said Serge. “Caius Julius will have a big army with him, won’t he?”“Yes, of course; a very large one.”“With plenty of mounted soldiers and chariots.”“Yes,” said Marcus.“Well, would he pick out the roughest part of the country all among the rocks, like you have, or the lower and more even way like mine?”“You are right and I’m wrong, Serge,” cried Marcus, frankly. “Let’s go your way.”The old soldier nodded, the order was given, and the driver turned his horses’ heads more to the right; but before they had gone far Marcus caught his companion by the arm.“But suppose, Serge, that the army did not come this way at all? We do not know that it did.”“How’s that?” asked the old soldier.“Why, it might have gone by some other way.”“Which?” growled Serge.“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the boy. “There must be plenty of ways through the mountains by which an army could go.”“No, there mustn’t, and there arn’t, without you go a long journey round, and that a general is not likely to do. Passes through the mountains are a long way apart; and besides, of course our new captain knew the way that Caius Julius was going, and this is the way he meant to follow if he had come on.”“Are you sure?” said the boy, doubtingly.“Certain, my lad, or I wouldn’t go this way.”Serge had struck for the right, and he proved to be right indeed, for before an hour had passed the adventurers had good proof, the old soldier suddenly giving vent to a grunt of satisfaction.“What is it, Serge?” cried Marcus, eagerly, seeing that the old man was smiling.“I’m right,” he said.“What! Can you see anything?”“Yes; look yonder, boy.”Marcus gazed in the direction the old man pointed, carefully scanning the distance, but seeing nothing save the undulating stony plain with here and there a stunted tree, and in one part a depression like an old river bed.“Well,” he said; at last; “I can see nothing.”“Not looking right,” said Serge.“I’ve looked right and left, and down that hollow too,” said Marcus.“That’s what I say. You haven’t looked right up. Look up.”“Up?” cried Marcus, who felt puzzled. “I do wish you would speak. There is nothing to see there but those crows circling slowly round and round.”“That’s right,” grunted Serge; “you have seen what I mean.”“What, the crows?”Serge grunted, and Marcus stared.“I don’t know a bit what you mean,” said Marcus, irritably. “Don’t, pray don’t, waste time.”“I’m not wasting time. I say we’re on the right track, boy. Look at the crows.”“What for?” cried Marcus, angrily.“What for?” growled Serge. “S’pose you and me was at home and were out among the pastures and up the lowest slopes of the mountains where we drive the goats.”“Well, what then?” cried Marcus, impatiently.“And suppose we saw crows flying round and round. What would you say then?”“That there was a dead lamb or a kid lying somewhere about, or that the wolves had been down and killed a sheep.”“Well?” said Serge, with a dry look on his wrinkled face.Marcus was silent for a few moments, and then, “Oh, Serge,” he cried, with a look of horror, “you don’t think—”“Yes, I do, boy. Nay, I feel sure. There’s been a big fight yonder where those crows are flying about.”“Yes: I see,” cried Marcus. “But—but which side has won?”“Ah, that we are going to see, my boy, and before long too. Turn a bit more to the right, my man,” he continued, laying his hand upon the driver’s shoulder, and their direction was a trifle altered, with the result that before long they were passing by the side of a portion of the plain where it was evident that a desperate encounter had taken place from the large number of ghastly relics of the engagement that lay scattered about, spread over the space of quite a mile.The scene was passed in silence, Marcus pressing their driver to urge on the ponies till they were well ahead, after grasping the fact that a stubborn stand must have been made, and that the action had been continued onward to where they stood.“Well,” said Serge, “you see all clearly enough now, don’t you, boy?”“I’m not quite sure,” said Marcus, thoughtfully, “though I think our army must have won the day.”“There’s no doubt about that, boy, and in such a fight as it has been they could not help losing heavily; but I haven’t seen the body and arms of a single Roman soldier, and that is a sure sign that they won the day, and then stopped to carry away their wounded and bury their dead.”Marcus shuddered, and they rode on for a time in silence, passing here and there a little mound, and as soon as they had cleared one the old soldier swept the distance with his eyes in search of another.Marcus looked at him questioningly.“Yes, boy,” said the old fellow, softly; “an ugly way of tracking our road, but a sure. Those hillocks show where they’ve laid some of our poor fellows who fell out to lie down and die, and there their comrades found them.”“War is very horrible,” said Marcus, after a pause.“Well, yes,” replied Serge, “I suppose it is; but soldiers think it’s very glorious, and as a man’s officers say it is, why, I suppose they’re right. But there; that’s not for us to think about. It’s not horrible for our Roman soldiers to stop and bury their slain, and their doing this has made it easy for us to follow the track of the army.”“Yes,” said Marcus, who was gazing straight before him; “and look there.”Serge shaded his eyes, and gazed in the direction pointed out.“Yes,” he said, “that’s another sign-post to show us our way, and I dare say we shall come upon some more, ready to prove that we are on the right track. The crows seem to have been pretty busy there, boy.”“The crows and the ants,” said Marcus.“Yes, and maybe the wolves have been down from the mountains to have their turn.”“Whoever would think, Serge, that those scattered white bones had once formed a beautiful horse, just such a one as these we have in the chariot?”“Ah, who indeed?” replied the old soldier. “But I don’t know that we want to think about it, boy. Let’s think about your message and getting on to deliver it. We must make the best of our way while the light lasts, so as to get on as far as we can, as we know now that we’re going right. I should like to get down to some hilly or mountainous hit.”“What for, Serge?”“To climb up when it’s dark.”“Because you think it will be safe to sleep there?”“No, boy; I was not thinking of sleeping till we get our message delivered. I was wondering whether we should be lucky enough to get so far that after dark, if we climbed up high enough, we might be able to see our people’s watch fires twinkling like stars in the distance.”“Oh, Serge, that would be capital!” cried Marcus, excitedly. “Do you think we shall be so fortunate?”“Don’t know, boy,” growled the old soldier; “but hurry the ponies along while we can see that we are on the right track. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be fortunate.”“Oh, we must be, Serge,” cried Marcus. “It’s horrible to think of our general and all his men shut up in that bitter snowy pass, fighting hard for life, and always watching for the help that does not come. Forward!” shouted the boy, and at his word the driver seemed to make the horses fly.

It was not easy to quiet down the half wild steeds. They had been going through a long period of inaction since the fierce charge made on the night of the encounter before crossing the snowy pass, and once their driver had, to use the horsey phrase, given them their heads, and urged them on to their top speed, their hot, wild blood had been bubbling through their veins, making them snort and tear along heedless of rock, rut, and the roughest ground. Marcus had told the driver to check them twice over, but as soon as Lupe was in the chariot and both Marcus and Serge busy seeing to his wound, the speed began to increase, till the chariot was bumping over the open plain faster than ever; and though the charioteer strove his best it was some time before he managed to get his little pair into hand again so that the pace grew moderate and the progress was made at a gentle canter, instead of a wild gallop which threatened wreck over some projecting stone.

“They were half mad with excitement,” cried Marcus, who was breathing hard.

“Yes,” grunted Serge. “I thought we were going to be upset over and over again. Feel a bit frightened, boy?”

“Frightened?” said Marcus, looking wonderingly at his companion. “No! I liked it. Why, it was glorious to rush over the plain like that.”

“Wouldn’t have been very glorious if one wheel had come bump against a stone, flown all to pieces, and we two had gone flying one way and the chariot the other.”

“No,” said Marcus, laughing; “but that wheel did not, and we are all as right as can be, with the enemy left behind.”

“Yes, that’s all very true, boy,” said Serge, who was pressing his helmet a little farther back and holding it there so that he could get a good uninterrupted look all round.

“You didn’t like it, then?” said Marcus, smiling at his companion’s perplexed expression.

“Course I didn’t,” growled Serge.

“Lupe did. Just look at him. He has curled himself up to go to sleep. That’s a good sign, isn’t it, that he is not badly hurt?”

“Yes, he’s not going to be bad,” said Serge, without so much as a glance at the sleeping animal. “Dogs always do curl up when they are hurt;” and he kept on staring anxiously ahead.

“What are you looking for, Serge? More enemies?” asked Marcus.

“No,” replied the old soldier, though it was more like a grunt than a reply.

“What are you watching for, then? Not stones? It’s getting smoother, and we’re going on at a nice steady rate now.”

“Yes, boy, we’re going along at a nice steady rate, but I want to know where to?”

“Where to?” cried Marcus, quickly. “Why, to find the main army, and deliver the message.”

“Yes, boy,” growled the old soldier; “but where is the main army?”

Marcus stared at his companion for a few moments in complete astonishment, before gazing straight in front between the tossing manes of the cantering ponies, and then looked to right and left.

“I don’t know,” he said, at last. “Somewhere in front, I suppose.”

“Somewhere in front, you suppose!” grumbled Serge. “But where’s that? Nowhere, I say. We shall never come up with them if we go on like this. We may be getting farther away at every stride.”

“Oh, Serge!” cried the boy, excitedly.

“And it’s O, Marcus!” growled the old fellow, sourly.

“What’s to be done Serge?” cried the boy, despairingly. “Why, we may be losing time.”

“Most likely,” said Serge.

“And I was thinking that in flying along as we have been we were getting nearer and nearer to the army. Now, then, what is to be done?”

Serge was silent for a few moments, and then said slowly:

“Well, boy, it seems to me that the best thing we can do is to bear off to the right.”

“But that may take us wrong,” said Marcus, excitedly. “Why not go to the left?”

“Humph!” grunted Serge. “Because that may take us wrong, boy. You see, there’s a lot of chance in it, and we must use our brains.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m trying to do, Serge.”

“Don’t seem like it, boy. We’ve got to track the army, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” cried Marcus, “but they’ve left no traces.”

“Not that we have found as yet, boy, but they must have left some wounded men, or sick, belonging to the army or the enemy. If they’re fighting their way, as is most likely, we may be sure that a good many men have fallen.”

“Yes, that’s reasonable enough, Serge, but we have seen no signs of one.”

“Not one,” said the old soldier. “So as there have been no traces, we must go by guesswork, mustn’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” cried Marcus. “Well, you guessed and I guessed, and I think my guess will be the better one.”

“I know you do; but I don’t, boy.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s no reason in yours and there is in mine.”

“I can’t see that,” said Marcus, stubbornly. “Show me how your way can be better than mine.”

“That’s soon done, boy,” said Serge. “Caius Julius will have a big army with him, won’t he?”

“Yes, of course; a very large one.”

“With plenty of mounted soldiers and chariots.”

“Yes,” said Marcus.

“Well, would he pick out the roughest part of the country all among the rocks, like you have, or the lower and more even way like mine?”

“You are right and I’m wrong, Serge,” cried Marcus, frankly. “Let’s go your way.”

The old soldier nodded, the order was given, and the driver turned his horses’ heads more to the right; but before they had gone far Marcus caught his companion by the arm.

“But suppose, Serge, that the army did not come this way at all? We do not know that it did.”

“How’s that?” asked the old soldier.

“Why, it might have gone by some other way.”

“Which?” growled Serge.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the boy. “There must be plenty of ways through the mountains by which an army could go.”

“No, there mustn’t, and there arn’t, without you go a long journey round, and that a general is not likely to do. Passes through the mountains are a long way apart; and besides, of course our new captain knew the way that Caius Julius was going, and this is the way he meant to follow if he had come on.”

“Are you sure?” said the boy, doubtingly.

“Certain, my lad, or I wouldn’t go this way.”

Serge had struck for the right, and he proved to be right indeed, for before an hour had passed the adventurers had good proof, the old soldier suddenly giving vent to a grunt of satisfaction.

“What is it, Serge?” cried Marcus, eagerly, seeing that the old man was smiling.

“I’m right,” he said.

“What! Can you see anything?”

“Yes; look yonder, boy.”

Marcus gazed in the direction the old man pointed, carefully scanning the distance, but seeing nothing save the undulating stony plain with here and there a stunted tree, and in one part a depression like an old river bed.

“Well,” he said; at last; “I can see nothing.”

“Not looking right,” said Serge.

“I’ve looked right and left, and down that hollow too,” said Marcus.

“That’s what I say. You haven’t looked right up. Look up.”

“Up?” cried Marcus, who felt puzzled. “I do wish you would speak. There is nothing to see there but those crows circling slowly round and round.”

“That’s right,” grunted Serge; “you have seen what I mean.”

“What, the crows?”

Serge grunted, and Marcus stared.

“I don’t know a bit what you mean,” said Marcus, irritably. “Don’t, pray don’t, waste time.”

“I’m not wasting time. I say we’re on the right track, boy. Look at the crows.”

“What for?” cried Marcus, angrily.

“What for?” growled Serge. “S’pose you and me was at home and were out among the pastures and up the lowest slopes of the mountains where we drive the goats.”

“Well, what then?” cried Marcus, impatiently.

“And suppose we saw crows flying round and round. What would you say then?”

“That there was a dead lamb or a kid lying somewhere about, or that the wolves had been down and killed a sheep.”

“Well?” said Serge, with a dry look on his wrinkled face.

Marcus was silent for a few moments, and then, “Oh, Serge,” he cried, with a look of horror, “you don’t think—”

“Yes, I do, boy. Nay, I feel sure. There’s been a big fight yonder where those crows are flying about.”

“Yes: I see,” cried Marcus. “But—but which side has won?”

“Ah, that we are going to see, my boy, and before long too. Turn a bit more to the right, my man,” he continued, laying his hand upon the driver’s shoulder, and their direction was a trifle altered, with the result that before long they were passing by the side of a portion of the plain where it was evident that a desperate encounter had taken place from the large number of ghastly relics of the engagement that lay scattered about, spread over the space of quite a mile.

The scene was passed in silence, Marcus pressing their driver to urge on the ponies till they were well ahead, after grasping the fact that a stubborn stand must have been made, and that the action had been continued onward to where they stood.

“Well,” said Serge, “you see all clearly enough now, don’t you, boy?”

“I’m not quite sure,” said Marcus, thoughtfully, “though I think our army must have won the day.”

“There’s no doubt about that, boy, and in such a fight as it has been they could not help losing heavily; but I haven’t seen the body and arms of a single Roman soldier, and that is a sure sign that they won the day, and then stopped to carry away their wounded and bury their dead.”

Marcus shuddered, and they rode on for a time in silence, passing here and there a little mound, and as soon as they had cleared one the old soldier swept the distance with his eyes in search of another.

Marcus looked at him questioningly.

“Yes, boy,” said the old fellow, softly; “an ugly way of tracking our road, but a sure. Those hillocks show where they’ve laid some of our poor fellows who fell out to lie down and die, and there their comrades found them.”

“War is very horrible,” said Marcus, after a pause.

“Well, yes,” replied Serge, “I suppose it is; but soldiers think it’s very glorious, and as a man’s officers say it is, why, I suppose they’re right. But there; that’s not for us to think about. It’s not horrible for our Roman soldiers to stop and bury their slain, and their doing this has made it easy for us to follow the track of the army.”

“Yes,” said Marcus, who was gazing straight before him; “and look there.”

Serge shaded his eyes, and gazed in the direction pointed out.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s another sign-post to show us our way, and I dare say we shall come upon some more, ready to prove that we are on the right track. The crows seem to have been pretty busy there, boy.”

“The crows and the ants,” said Marcus.

“Yes, and maybe the wolves have been down from the mountains to have their turn.”

“Whoever would think, Serge, that those scattered white bones had once formed a beautiful horse, just such a one as these we have in the chariot?”

“Ah, who indeed?” replied the old soldier. “But I don’t know that we want to think about it, boy. Let’s think about your message and getting on to deliver it. We must make the best of our way while the light lasts, so as to get on as far as we can, as we know now that we’re going right. I should like to get down to some hilly or mountainous hit.”

“What for, Serge?”

“To climb up when it’s dark.”

“Because you think it will be safe to sleep there?”

“No, boy; I was not thinking of sleeping till we get our message delivered. I was wondering whether we should be lucky enough to get so far that after dark, if we climbed up high enough, we might be able to see our people’s watch fires twinkling like stars in the distance.”

“Oh, Serge, that would be capital!” cried Marcus, excitedly. “Do you think we shall be so fortunate?”

“Don’t know, boy,” growled the old soldier; “but hurry the ponies along while we can see that we are on the right track. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be fortunate.”

“Oh, we must be, Serge,” cried Marcus. “It’s horrible to think of our general and all his men shut up in that bitter snowy pass, fighting hard for life, and always watching for the help that does not come. Forward!” shouted the boy, and at his word the driver seemed to make the horses fly.

Chapter Twenty Seven.Marcus’ Plan.“Steady, steady!” cried Serge to the driver. “Mind that great block.”For as they tore on, with more and more traces of an engagement teaching them that they were going right, the driver seemed to be sending the fiery little pair he drove straight for a low mass of stone, contact with which must have meant wreck.Startled by the old soldier’s angry shout, the driver drew one rein sharply, making the ponies swerve right for another far more dangerous obstacle and but for Marcus’ readiness in snatching at the other rein, a worse mishap would have occurred.They were saved from this, but the shouts had scared the fiery little steeds, sending them dashing frantically off in quite a fresh direction, while to Marcus’ horror, he saw that it was into another danger in the shape of a vast body of the enemy who, as the flying ponies drew near, sprang to their feet from where they were lying behind a ridge.Getting the ponies once more well in hand, the driver, who saw nothing but death for himself if they were taken, wrenched the heads of the pair round once more, just when they seemed about to plunge into the thick ranks of the enemy, along whose front they tore in the intent of sweeping round their line.But the hope was vain, for another body of men came into sight, rising from the earth where they had been lying, to form up at right angles to the first body, and once more the direction of the chariot had to be changed, then altered again and again, for to Marcus’ horror foes sprang up in every direction they took, the country seeming alive with the enemy, and all prospect of getting through them and continuing their dash for the Roman army at an end.“What’s to be done, Serge?” cried the boy, at last.“Steady the ponies and let them get their wind again.”This was done, the gallop being turned into a gentle trot and from that into a walk, while the fugitives watched the slow, steady advance of the barbarians, who in their way, in spite of the name they received, appeared to be nearly as civilised as the Romans themselves.Their intent now seemed to be to make sure of the capture of the chariot and its occupants as they kept on closing up and gradually narrowing the extent of the open plain about which the galloping evolutions had taken place.“It’s just as if they knew that we were the bearers of an important message, Serge,” said Marcus.“Seems like it, boy, but it is not,” was the reply. “We’re enemies and invaders on their lands, and they mean to take us at all costs. It looks bad too.”“What does?” said Marcus, sharply.“The country being up like this. It looks bad for our army, boy. I’m beginning to think that Julius has had to fight every step of the way he has come, and if our message was not what it is I should say it was our soldierly duty to give up attempting to get through with it.”“What!” cried Marcus, with a look of horror, as he turned from watching the approaching enemy spreading out more and more over the open plain.“I said if it wasn’t what it is,” said Serge, quietly.“But you wouldn’t give up, Serge, come what may?”“Do I look the sort of man to give up when I have work to do?”“No, no,” cried Marcus, warmly. “It was wrong of me to think it even for a moment. But now, Serge, our way lies away to the left.”“No, boy; I’ve been watching every turn we took, and if we kept on as we are now we should about be in the line our army took.”“Then we must make a brave dash now and with lowered spears gallop right through them.”“And come down before we were half through their line, boy.”“Oh, don’t oppose what seems to be the only plan, Serge!” cried the boy, appealingly.“I oppose it because it means being killed or taken prisoners.”“Then what can we do?” cried Marcus.“I’ll tell you what’s best, boy,” said the old soldier, thoughtfully. “They’re a long way off us, both in front and on the left.”“Ah, try and trick them?” cried Marcus. “I know!”“That’s right, then, boy,” said Serge, with a smile. “How would you do it?”“Why like this,” cried Marcus, excitedly—“Pull up!” he cried to the driver.The man obeyed, and the ponies stopped short, looking full of go, but with their sides marked heavily with sweat and foam.“Now,” cried Marcus, laying down his spear and leaping out of the chariot, “out with you both. Lie down, Lupe! Quiet, sir!”The driver and Serge sprang from their places and followed Marcus to the heads of their steeds, to begin patting and caressing them in the full sight of the army.“Now,” continued Marcus, “you get back into the car,” and the driver stepped into his place.“Take hold of the reins and hold them ready, but sit down as if your work was done. You, Serge, lead one pony; I’ll lead the other, and we’ll walk them slowly towards the enemy away here to the left.”“So as to let them think we have given up trying to escape, and are going to surrender?” said Serge, quickly. “Well done, boy! That’s just about what I was going to say.”“Then,” continued Marcus, “when we have slowly walked the ponies as near to the enemy as we dare, resting them all the while, I’ll give the word to gallop off, and as the ponies are turned we two spring into the chariot as it passes, and we’ll tear away for liberty. No stopping this time, but use our spears.”“That’s right,” said Serge, rubbing his hands softly; “and I think they will be so taken by surprise that we shall get through; and if we don’t—”“Well, Serge, finish what you were going to say,” said Marcus, sadly.“It will be because it couldn’t be done.”“But it must be done.”Just then a faint burst of cheering came to the adventurers’ ears and began to run along the line upon their left, towards which they now began to move at a walk.The next instant it was taken up in front to their right and rear.“They think we’ve surrendered, Marcus, boy,” said Serge, with a chuckle. “Here, do as I do; take off your helmet and pitch it into the chariot. It will look better.”Marcus followed his companion’s example, and leading the ponies, the adventurers advanced slowly towards the enemy on their left, still about a quarter of a mile away, and Marcus had the satisfaction of seeing that the men had all halted, and those on the left were awaiting their approach, while all ideas of order or discipline were at an end, the lines breaking up and becoming so many loose crowds of armed men, instead of roughly-formed Greek-like phalanxes ready for action.Those were exciting moments, and as the time neared for giving the order for action, Marcus’ heart did not fail, for it beat as strongly as ever, but a feeling of doubt began to grow as he glanced along the line of the army he was approaching, and then at the loose mass standing or moving about at right angles, and thought how impossible it would be to dash through them.At last, when the chariot was about fifty yards from the line, and a couple of the enemy who seemed to be leaders stepped forward as if to take their weapons, Marcus, without turning his head, whispered softly:“Ready, Serge?”“Ready!” was the reply.“Then drop your rein when I sayNow. You, driver, turn their heads at the same moment and gallop away.”For answer the charioteer gathered up the reins a little, when, startled at the touch, the ponies threw up their heads.What followed looked so natural upon the movement of the steeds that when Marcus gave the word, and he and Serge stepped back together it seemed to the enemy as if the horses had snatched the reins from their hands, and when the chariot was turned rapidly, to dash off, the actions of Marcus and Serge in catching at the sides and swinging themselves in were looked upon as attempts to help the driver check the endeavours of a restive pair of horses which had taken fright and galloped away at full speed.Consequently a burst of laughter arose, to travel down the line, every man watching the progress of the supposed runaways with delight, while the body of men, now a disorderly crowd, instead of taking the alarm and closing up with presented spears to receive and impale the runaways, caught the contagion of laughter and separated, tumbling over one another in their haste to escape the expected shock, and leaving a wide opening through which the horses tore, urged to their utmost speed by their driver’s excited cries.Seeing this, Marcus shouted to Serge, who was ready with the spears and holding out one to Marcus.“No, no,” he cried, and seeing no danger he bent over the front of the chariot, making believe to snatch at the reins, and grasping his idea Serge seemed to be seconding his efforts as they tore by, and it was not until the last of the enemy was left behind that any attempt was made to follow, while even then the idea that it was a ruse went home but slowly.“Hurrah!” said Marcus, softly, for he did not dare to shout. “They may think what they like now; we have got the start and ought to be able to drive clear away for the army again, eh, Serge?”“I hope so, boy, but after what I’ve seen I’m afraid that the passage of our army has roused up the whole country, and that we shall be meeting enemies every step of the way.”“Oh, don’t say disheartening things after this escape, Serge,” cried the boy, excitedly. “That’s right, lad; keep them going for a bit longer, and then steady down again to give them breath. Look at the beautiful beasts, Serge. I wish we were mounted upon them, instead of letting them drag this heavy chariot.”“I’m looking at the enemy, my boy,” cried Serge. “They don’t seem to know the truth yet, but scores of them are coming after us at a run. I don’t think they’ll catch us though, for we are going four feet to their one.”“Yes, but we must not distress the horses. Steady! Steady! An easy gallop now. That’s better. A quarter of an hour like this, and we can laugh at them, unless old Serge is right and enemies are ready to spring up everywhere in our way.”“Ah!” shouted Serge, at that moment, and the ponies took his cry to mean faster, and increased their speed. “No, no,” he cried. “Steady, steady! Look, Marcus, boy, we are going right,” and the old soldier pointed to another of the grim traces of war in the shape of an overturned chariot, with the skeletons of the horses that had drawn it looking ghastly and strangely suggestive of what might have been their fate, or might happen even yet.Before long the crowded together lines of the enemy began to grow more and more confused; then the idea of distance manifested itself more and more, and those who had pursued melted away into the main body, while the gallant little steeds, whose pace had been slackened down into a steady hand gallop, were eased more and more, to proceed at a gentle trot such as they could easily keep up, till they were checked in the midst of a green slope that ran along by a pine wood, pleasant indications of the mountain land being left behind.Here a clear cool stream ran prattling along, towards which the ponies stretched out their necks and were allowed to drink, their example being followed by those they had drawn, a short distance higher up, and Marcus rose looking eager and refreshed.“We shall do it, Serge,” he cried; “but I have seen no signs lately of the army having passed this way. Have you?”Serge gave him a peculiar look.“Yes,” he said, roughly; “there has been fighting just yonder, if you look for it; but don’t, boy. I want to get on gently again, and to find some sign of a farm, or peasants’ hut. We must have food of some kind if we are to do our work. Let’s get a little farther on, and then I must forage.”“Yes,” said Marcus, sadly. “It seems waste of time, but it must be done, I suppose. But why not let the ponies browse a little here? See, they have already begun.”“Because it will be of no use for us to look about here.”“Of course not,” said Marcus, hastily, and he stood looking hurriedly round, to see for the first time that all along the edge of the forest which should have been bordered with fresh green bushes, was broken down and trampled, while not far from where he stood fire had been doing its work, and a large portion was blackened stump and skeleton-like stem.

“Steady, steady!” cried Serge to the driver. “Mind that great block.”

For as they tore on, with more and more traces of an engagement teaching them that they were going right, the driver seemed to be sending the fiery little pair he drove straight for a low mass of stone, contact with which must have meant wreck.

Startled by the old soldier’s angry shout, the driver drew one rein sharply, making the ponies swerve right for another far more dangerous obstacle and but for Marcus’ readiness in snatching at the other rein, a worse mishap would have occurred.

They were saved from this, but the shouts had scared the fiery little steeds, sending them dashing frantically off in quite a fresh direction, while to Marcus’ horror, he saw that it was into another danger in the shape of a vast body of the enemy who, as the flying ponies drew near, sprang to their feet from where they were lying behind a ridge.

Getting the ponies once more well in hand, the driver, who saw nothing but death for himself if they were taken, wrenched the heads of the pair round once more, just when they seemed about to plunge into the thick ranks of the enemy, along whose front they tore in the intent of sweeping round their line.

But the hope was vain, for another body of men came into sight, rising from the earth where they had been lying, to form up at right angles to the first body, and once more the direction of the chariot had to be changed, then altered again and again, for to Marcus’ horror foes sprang up in every direction they took, the country seeming alive with the enemy, and all prospect of getting through them and continuing their dash for the Roman army at an end.

“What’s to be done, Serge?” cried the boy, at last.

“Steady the ponies and let them get their wind again.”

This was done, the gallop being turned into a gentle trot and from that into a walk, while the fugitives watched the slow, steady advance of the barbarians, who in their way, in spite of the name they received, appeared to be nearly as civilised as the Romans themselves.

Their intent now seemed to be to make sure of the capture of the chariot and its occupants as they kept on closing up and gradually narrowing the extent of the open plain about which the galloping evolutions had taken place.

“It’s just as if they knew that we were the bearers of an important message, Serge,” said Marcus.

“Seems like it, boy, but it is not,” was the reply. “We’re enemies and invaders on their lands, and they mean to take us at all costs. It looks bad too.”

“What does?” said Marcus, sharply.

“The country being up like this. It looks bad for our army, boy. I’m beginning to think that Julius has had to fight every step of the way he has come, and if our message was not what it is I should say it was our soldierly duty to give up attempting to get through with it.”

“What!” cried Marcus, with a look of horror, as he turned from watching the approaching enemy spreading out more and more over the open plain.

“I said if it wasn’t what it is,” said Serge, quietly.

“But you wouldn’t give up, Serge, come what may?”

“Do I look the sort of man to give up when I have work to do?”

“No, no,” cried Marcus, warmly. “It was wrong of me to think it even for a moment. But now, Serge, our way lies away to the left.”

“No, boy; I’ve been watching every turn we took, and if we kept on as we are now we should about be in the line our army took.”

“Then we must make a brave dash now and with lowered spears gallop right through them.”

“And come down before we were half through their line, boy.”

“Oh, don’t oppose what seems to be the only plan, Serge!” cried the boy, appealingly.

“I oppose it because it means being killed or taken prisoners.”

“Then what can we do?” cried Marcus.

“I’ll tell you what’s best, boy,” said the old soldier, thoughtfully. “They’re a long way off us, both in front and on the left.”

“Ah, try and trick them?” cried Marcus. “I know!”

“That’s right, then, boy,” said Serge, with a smile. “How would you do it?”

“Why like this,” cried Marcus, excitedly—“Pull up!” he cried to the driver.

The man obeyed, and the ponies stopped short, looking full of go, but with their sides marked heavily with sweat and foam.

“Now,” cried Marcus, laying down his spear and leaping out of the chariot, “out with you both. Lie down, Lupe! Quiet, sir!”

The driver and Serge sprang from their places and followed Marcus to the heads of their steeds, to begin patting and caressing them in the full sight of the army.

“Now,” continued Marcus, “you get back into the car,” and the driver stepped into his place.

“Take hold of the reins and hold them ready, but sit down as if your work was done. You, Serge, lead one pony; I’ll lead the other, and we’ll walk them slowly towards the enemy away here to the left.”

“So as to let them think we have given up trying to escape, and are going to surrender?” said Serge, quickly. “Well done, boy! That’s just about what I was going to say.”

“Then,” continued Marcus, “when we have slowly walked the ponies as near to the enemy as we dare, resting them all the while, I’ll give the word to gallop off, and as the ponies are turned we two spring into the chariot as it passes, and we’ll tear away for liberty. No stopping this time, but use our spears.”

“That’s right,” said Serge, rubbing his hands softly; “and I think they will be so taken by surprise that we shall get through; and if we don’t—”

“Well, Serge, finish what you were going to say,” said Marcus, sadly.

“It will be because it couldn’t be done.”

“But it must be done.”

Just then a faint burst of cheering came to the adventurers’ ears and began to run along the line upon their left, towards which they now began to move at a walk.

The next instant it was taken up in front to their right and rear.

“They think we’ve surrendered, Marcus, boy,” said Serge, with a chuckle. “Here, do as I do; take off your helmet and pitch it into the chariot. It will look better.”

Marcus followed his companion’s example, and leading the ponies, the adventurers advanced slowly towards the enemy on their left, still about a quarter of a mile away, and Marcus had the satisfaction of seeing that the men had all halted, and those on the left were awaiting their approach, while all ideas of order or discipline were at an end, the lines breaking up and becoming so many loose crowds of armed men, instead of roughly-formed Greek-like phalanxes ready for action.

Those were exciting moments, and as the time neared for giving the order for action, Marcus’ heart did not fail, for it beat as strongly as ever, but a feeling of doubt began to grow as he glanced along the line of the army he was approaching, and then at the loose mass standing or moving about at right angles, and thought how impossible it would be to dash through them.

At last, when the chariot was about fifty yards from the line, and a couple of the enemy who seemed to be leaders stepped forward as if to take their weapons, Marcus, without turning his head, whispered softly:

“Ready, Serge?”

“Ready!” was the reply.

“Then drop your rein when I sayNow. You, driver, turn their heads at the same moment and gallop away.”

For answer the charioteer gathered up the reins a little, when, startled at the touch, the ponies threw up their heads.

What followed looked so natural upon the movement of the steeds that when Marcus gave the word, and he and Serge stepped back together it seemed to the enemy as if the horses had snatched the reins from their hands, and when the chariot was turned rapidly, to dash off, the actions of Marcus and Serge in catching at the sides and swinging themselves in were looked upon as attempts to help the driver check the endeavours of a restive pair of horses which had taken fright and galloped away at full speed.

Consequently a burst of laughter arose, to travel down the line, every man watching the progress of the supposed runaways with delight, while the body of men, now a disorderly crowd, instead of taking the alarm and closing up with presented spears to receive and impale the runaways, caught the contagion of laughter and separated, tumbling over one another in their haste to escape the expected shock, and leaving a wide opening through which the horses tore, urged to their utmost speed by their driver’s excited cries.

Seeing this, Marcus shouted to Serge, who was ready with the spears and holding out one to Marcus.

“No, no,” he cried, and seeing no danger he bent over the front of the chariot, making believe to snatch at the reins, and grasping his idea Serge seemed to be seconding his efforts as they tore by, and it was not until the last of the enemy was left behind that any attempt was made to follow, while even then the idea that it was a ruse went home but slowly.

“Hurrah!” said Marcus, softly, for he did not dare to shout. “They may think what they like now; we have got the start and ought to be able to drive clear away for the army again, eh, Serge?”

“I hope so, boy, but after what I’ve seen I’m afraid that the passage of our army has roused up the whole country, and that we shall be meeting enemies every step of the way.”

“Oh, don’t say disheartening things after this escape, Serge,” cried the boy, excitedly. “That’s right, lad; keep them going for a bit longer, and then steady down again to give them breath. Look at the beautiful beasts, Serge. I wish we were mounted upon them, instead of letting them drag this heavy chariot.”

“I’m looking at the enemy, my boy,” cried Serge. “They don’t seem to know the truth yet, but scores of them are coming after us at a run. I don’t think they’ll catch us though, for we are going four feet to their one.”

“Yes, but we must not distress the horses. Steady! Steady! An easy gallop now. That’s better. A quarter of an hour like this, and we can laugh at them, unless old Serge is right and enemies are ready to spring up everywhere in our way.”

“Ah!” shouted Serge, at that moment, and the ponies took his cry to mean faster, and increased their speed. “No, no,” he cried. “Steady, steady! Look, Marcus, boy, we are going right,” and the old soldier pointed to another of the grim traces of war in the shape of an overturned chariot, with the skeletons of the horses that had drawn it looking ghastly and strangely suggestive of what might have been their fate, or might happen even yet.

Before long the crowded together lines of the enemy began to grow more and more confused; then the idea of distance manifested itself more and more, and those who had pursued melted away into the main body, while the gallant little steeds, whose pace had been slackened down into a steady hand gallop, were eased more and more, to proceed at a gentle trot such as they could easily keep up, till they were checked in the midst of a green slope that ran along by a pine wood, pleasant indications of the mountain land being left behind.

Here a clear cool stream ran prattling along, towards which the ponies stretched out their necks and were allowed to drink, their example being followed by those they had drawn, a short distance higher up, and Marcus rose looking eager and refreshed.

“We shall do it, Serge,” he cried; “but I have seen no signs lately of the army having passed this way. Have you?”

Serge gave him a peculiar look.

“Yes,” he said, roughly; “there has been fighting just yonder, if you look for it; but don’t, boy. I want to get on gently again, and to find some sign of a farm, or peasants’ hut. We must have food of some kind if we are to do our work. Let’s get a little farther on, and then I must forage.”

“Yes,” said Marcus, sadly. “It seems waste of time, but it must be done, I suppose. But why not let the ponies browse a little here? See, they have already begun.”

“Because it will be of no use for us to look about here.”

“Of course not,” said Marcus, hastily, and he stood looking hurriedly round, to see for the first time that all along the edge of the forest which should have been bordered with fresh green bushes, was broken down and trampled, while not far from where he stood fire had been doing its work, and a large portion was blackened stump and skeleton-like stem.

Chapter Twenty Eight.Marcus’ Promise.“Seems to me, my lad,” said Serge, “that we ought to have been started on this journey two days earlier.”“Yes, Serge,” replied Marcus, in a despairing tone. “It’s maddening. Here have we gone on, almost starved, never getting a proper night’s rest—”“Well, but that’s nothing to grumble at, my boy. That’s soldiering; that is what I always told you. A soldier must be ready to fast and go without sleep, and be always prepared to fight. Now, didn’t I teach you that?”“Yes, Serge, but I didn’t quite understand it then.”“But you do now?”“Oh, yes, I know now; and I wouldn’t care a bit if we could only overtake them. Three times over during the past week we have been so close that half a day’s march must have brought us to the army.”“That’s true,” said Serge; “and each time we were cut off by parties of the enemy, and driven back, just as we thought we could march in, find the master and Caius Julius, and deliver our message. Fortune of war, my lad; fortune of war.”“Misfortune of war,” cried Marcus, angrily. “Here, I don’t know how many days it is since we started, for days and nights and time all seem to have grown mixed up together.”“Yes, we have had rather a muddled and worrying time of it, Marcus, lad.”“And now we are just as far off as ever.”“Well, not quite, my lad.”“I feel weak for want of food, and confused for want of sleep.”“Not you! You only fancy that because you’re down in the dumps. You’ll be all right as soon as ever there’s anything wants doing and we have tumbled by accident near to one of those parties of the enemy, who all seem to be moving the same way as we are to surround the army.”“Yes, Serge, and that’s what I am afraid they are doing, and keeping us outside. It’s all desperate and bad.”“Oh, I don’t know. We shall get to them some time,” said Serge.“Some time!” cried Marcus, mockingly. “Our poor general with his followers must have been utterly destroyed by this time.”“Tchah! Not he! You don’t know what a Roman general can do. He’ll hold out for months, or kill those who are attacking him. Give it up your fashion!”“What do you mean by my fashion?” cried Marcus, sharply.“Give it up in despair sort of way when there’s no need.”“No need!” cried Marcus, bitterly. “You seem to be blind to the danger. Why, the main army, as you must see perfectly well, has penetrated so far into the enemy’s country that it is completely surrounded by the tribes that have gathered together, and are only now waiting for a favourable opportunity to fall upon it and crush it.”“Well, the army’s no worse off than we are. They’ve surrounded us—parties of them—only we wouldn’t be crushed. It’s just the same with the Roman army; it won’t be crushed. I’ve taught you times enough, boy, what our generals can do—lock their men together, shield to shield, cohort to cohort, all facing outwards and bristling with spear and sword. These barbarians are brave enough and they rush at our men meaning to crush them and sweep them out of the country; and so they keep on at it, losing more and more, before they roll back beaten.”“Yes, Serge, but only to try again.”“Oh, of course. That’s right enough, but it only means to be rolled back again. Now, look here, my boy; you have got your message to deliver.”“Yes, yes, I know,” cried Marcus, despairingly.“And you are a bit disappointed because it’s not done. Everything’s bad, you say. It’s been all misfortune since we started, and we may as well give up at once.”“Well, isn’t it all true?” cried Marcus, as he stood unconsciously caressing one of the chariot horses as the pair stood ready to make another dash at a moment’s notice, their driver busying himself the while with seeing to and examining the different parts of the harness.“True! Hardly a bit of it,” cried Serge. “I ought to give you a good drilling and bullying for what you said; but somehow I can’t, for we have had some very hard work, and all through you have been such a brave boy.”“Oh, nonsense, Serge! You are only saying that to comfort me. You will praise me so.”“Oh no I won’t,” said the old soldier, gruffly. “I won’t give you a bit more than’s good for you, boy. When I say you have done well it means you have done well. You won’t get any flattery out of me. All this trouble that we are going through is no more than you must expect. Look what we are doing, and how we stand.”Serge was sitting down on a stone, busily employed as he talked polishing and sharpening his sword as it lay across his knees, and he did not trouble himself to look up at his young companion, but kept on lecturing him in a bluff, good-humoured way, smiling to himself with satisfaction all the time.“Now here we are, trying to overtake our army, which had some days the start of us. If I say what you think isn’t right, you stop me. Well, our army has invaded the country of these Gallic tribes. The Gauls are no fools. They know Caius Julius has come to conquer them, and they don’t want to be conquered. Their idea is to invade Rome and conquer us. Well, my boy, we have come into their country, and every man who can fight has been called upon to come and fight against us, so that like a big crop in a cultivated land, what has been planted has come up all over. And this crop is fighting men with swords and spears. Now we—you and me and the driver, and we ought to put the horses in, bless ’em, for they’ve done wonders—have come after the army, marching through this bristling crop, and you, without taking any account of what a hard job it is to get through, keep on grumbling and saying everything is bad.”“And so it is, Serge.”“It arn’t, boy!” cried the old soldier, firmly, and letting his sword rest, brightly polished and sharp as it was, he now raised his head and looked smilingly in the boy’s face. “Haven’t you got proof of it that things are not as bad as you say?”“No,” cried Marcus, angrily. “I was entrusted with a message to my father and Caius Julius, and I have not done my task.”“Not yet, boy, but you are going to at the first chance. Why, look here, my lad, if things were half as bad as you say they are we shouldn’t be here. If we have escaped once from being taken or killed we have got through a dozen times. Look at us. Why, we haven’t got a scratch, and here we are, better, ever so much, than when we started.”“Better?” cried Marcus.“Yes, better. We are a bit hungry.”“I tell you I’m half starved,” cried Marcus.“Take your belt up another hole, then, boy. That’s a splendid tightener. Hungry! Why, you talk about it as if it was a disease, when it’s a thing you can cure yourself the first time you get hold of a big cake and a bowl of goat’s milk.”“Oh, how you talk!” cried the boy, holding out his arm and trying to span his wrist with his fingers. “Look how thin I am getting.”“Thin!” cried Serge. “Why, you look prime. You have got rid of a lot of that nasty fat that was filling out your skin through doing nothing but sit on a stool all day making scratches with a stylus on a plate of wax. What does a soldier want with fat? Your armour’s quite heavy enough to carry, without your being loaded up with a lot of fat. That’s right enough for women and girls; makes ’em look smooth and nice and pretty, and fills up all the holes and corners; but a soldier wants bone and muscle—good, hard, tough muscle and sinew, and that’s what you have got now. Look at me.”“Yes, I have looked at you time after time, Serge, and you look hollow-cheeked and haggard and worn.”“Why, I feel prime, my boy, ready for anything; ten years younger than when we started. Why, I have got into regular fighting condition again. Did you see how I jumped into the car yesterday when the ponies started without me?”“Yes, I saw you run ever so far and jump,” cried Marcus.“And you begin talking to me about being haggard and worn! Isn’t a sword all the sharper for being a bit worn?”“Yes, of course.”“So’s a soldier. Look here, boy; we are getting seasoned, and I’m proud to say that I am what a man’s officer would call a veteran, and that’s the finest title there is in an army. Then, too, look at our lad here. See what a splendid driver he’s turned out, and how he can send that chariot in and out among the rocks so close as almost to shave them, and right in between pairs of them where you or I would think there wasn’t room to pass. And then there’s the ponies! They are a bit thin, certainly, but they are as fine as bronze, and can gallop farther and better than ever. Now then! Speak out honest! Did you ever before see such a splendid pair?”“No, Serge, never.”“And yet you say that everything’s wrong and hopeless and bad. Why, boy, if I didn’t know it was all through your being young and anxious and eager to do your duty, I should be ashamed of you.”“But you are not, Serge?” cried the boy, excitedly.“’Shamed of you? No, boy. I feel proud.”“There, Serge,” cried Marcus, leaving the pony, to go and lay his hand upon the old soldier’s shoulder, “I’ve done, and I will try and never complain any more. I do see now what a lot we have to be thankful for. Now then; what’s the next thing we ought to do?”“Same as usual, my lad,” said Serge, rising and sheathing his sword, which went back into its scabbard with a quick glide till the hilt was nearly reached, when it required a firm thrust to get it close into its place. “Well, to begin with, forage first. I often think it’s a pity a man wasn’t made like a horse. Look at those two ponies! How their coats shine in the sunshine! They began eating their breakfast before it was light, for I was watching and wakeful, and I got thinking like this as I heard them busy at it, crop and blow, crop and blow, and after they had eaten all they wanted they had a drink of water, and there they are fit for the day, while we three have got to find out some place or another where we can buy, or frighten them into giving us some bread and milk. We always have been lucky enough so far, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t be again to-day.”“But which way shall we go, Serge? It’s of no use to try to follow up the army as we did yesterday, and then have to turn back because the enemy are between us and it.”“No, boy; I think the best thing we can do is to leave that till we have done foraging, for we must have something to eat. Then we’ll try if we can’t creep round these tribes, or get in between them somehow. Perhaps we may have a bit of luck to give us a little help. Anyhow, we are not going to despair.”“No, Serge,” cried Marcus, firmly; “anything but that.”“Hah!” cried Serge. “That’s spoken like Cracis’ son.”

“Seems to me, my lad,” said Serge, “that we ought to have been started on this journey two days earlier.”

“Yes, Serge,” replied Marcus, in a despairing tone. “It’s maddening. Here have we gone on, almost starved, never getting a proper night’s rest—”

“Well, but that’s nothing to grumble at, my boy. That’s soldiering; that is what I always told you. A soldier must be ready to fast and go without sleep, and be always prepared to fight. Now, didn’t I teach you that?”

“Yes, Serge, but I didn’t quite understand it then.”

“But you do now?”

“Oh, yes, I know now; and I wouldn’t care a bit if we could only overtake them. Three times over during the past week we have been so close that half a day’s march must have brought us to the army.”

“That’s true,” said Serge; “and each time we were cut off by parties of the enemy, and driven back, just as we thought we could march in, find the master and Caius Julius, and deliver our message. Fortune of war, my lad; fortune of war.”

“Misfortune of war,” cried Marcus, angrily. “Here, I don’t know how many days it is since we started, for days and nights and time all seem to have grown mixed up together.”

“Yes, we have had rather a muddled and worrying time of it, Marcus, lad.”

“And now we are just as far off as ever.”

“Well, not quite, my lad.”

“I feel weak for want of food, and confused for want of sleep.”

“Not you! You only fancy that because you’re down in the dumps. You’ll be all right as soon as ever there’s anything wants doing and we have tumbled by accident near to one of those parties of the enemy, who all seem to be moving the same way as we are to surround the army.”

“Yes, Serge, and that’s what I am afraid they are doing, and keeping us outside. It’s all desperate and bad.”

“Oh, I don’t know. We shall get to them some time,” said Serge.

“Some time!” cried Marcus, mockingly. “Our poor general with his followers must have been utterly destroyed by this time.”

“Tchah! Not he! You don’t know what a Roman general can do. He’ll hold out for months, or kill those who are attacking him. Give it up your fashion!”

“What do you mean by my fashion?” cried Marcus, sharply.

“Give it up in despair sort of way when there’s no need.”

“No need!” cried Marcus, bitterly. “You seem to be blind to the danger. Why, the main army, as you must see perfectly well, has penetrated so far into the enemy’s country that it is completely surrounded by the tribes that have gathered together, and are only now waiting for a favourable opportunity to fall upon it and crush it.”

“Well, the army’s no worse off than we are. They’ve surrounded us—parties of them—only we wouldn’t be crushed. It’s just the same with the Roman army; it won’t be crushed. I’ve taught you times enough, boy, what our generals can do—lock their men together, shield to shield, cohort to cohort, all facing outwards and bristling with spear and sword. These barbarians are brave enough and they rush at our men meaning to crush them and sweep them out of the country; and so they keep on at it, losing more and more, before they roll back beaten.”

“Yes, Serge, but only to try again.”

“Oh, of course. That’s right enough, but it only means to be rolled back again. Now, look here, my boy; you have got your message to deliver.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” cried Marcus, despairingly.

“And you are a bit disappointed because it’s not done. Everything’s bad, you say. It’s been all misfortune since we started, and we may as well give up at once.”

“Well, isn’t it all true?” cried Marcus, as he stood unconsciously caressing one of the chariot horses as the pair stood ready to make another dash at a moment’s notice, their driver busying himself the while with seeing to and examining the different parts of the harness.

“True! Hardly a bit of it,” cried Serge. “I ought to give you a good drilling and bullying for what you said; but somehow I can’t, for we have had some very hard work, and all through you have been such a brave boy.”

“Oh, nonsense, Serge! You are only saying that to comfort me. You will praise me so.”

“Oh no I won’t,” said the old soldier, gruffly. “I won’t give you a bit more than’s good for you, boy. When I say you have done well it means you have done well. You won’t get any flattery out of me. All this trouble that we are going through is no more than you must expect. Look what we are doing, and how we stand.”

Serge was sitting down on a stone, busily employed as he talked polishing and sharpening his sword as it lay across his knees, and he did not trouble himself to look up at his young companion, but kept on lecturing him in a bluff, good-humoured way, smiling to himself with satisfaction all the time.

“Now here we are, trying to overtake our army, which had some days the start of us. If I say what you think isn’t right, you stop me. Well, our army has invaded the country of these Gallic tribes. The Gauls are no fools. They know Caius Julius has come to conquer them, and they don’t want to be conquered. Their idea is to invade Rome and conquer us. Well, my boy, we have come into their country, and every man who can fight has been called upon to come and fight against us, so that like a big crop in a cultivated land, what has been planted has come up all over. And this crop is fighting men with swords and spears. Now we—you and me and the driver, and we ought to put the horses in, bless ’em, for they’ve done wonders—have come after the army, marching through this bristling crop, and you, without taking any account of what a hard job it is to get through, keep on grumbling and saying everything is bad.”

“And so it is, Serge.”

“It arn’t, boy!” cried the old soldier, firmly, and letting his sword rest, brightly polished and sharp as it was, he now raised his head and looked smilingly in the boy’s face. “Haven’t you got proof of it that things are not as bad as you say?”

“No,” cried Marcus, angrily. “I was entrusted with a message to my father and Caius Julius, and I have not done my task.”

“Not yet, boy, but you are going to at the first chance. Why, look here, my lad, if things were half as bad as you say they are we shouldn’t be here. If we have escaped once from being taken or killed we have got through a dozen times. Look at us. Why, we haven’t got a scratch, and here we are, better, ever so much, than when we started.”

“Better?” cried Marcus.

“Yes, better. We are a bit hungry.”

“I tell you I’m half starved,” cried Marcus.

“Take your belt up another hole, then, boy. That’s a splendid tightener. Hungry! Why, you talk about it as if it was a disease, when it’s a thing you can cure yourself the first time you get hold of a big cake and a bowl of goat’s milk.”

“Oh, how you talk!” cried the boy, holding out his arm and trying to span his wrist with his fingers. “Look how thin I am getting.”

“Thin!” cried Serge. “Why, you look prime. You have got rid of a lot of that nasty fat that was filling out your skin through doing nothing but sit on a stool all day making scratches with a stylus on a plate of wax. What does a soldier want with fat? Your armour’s quite heavy enough to carry, without your being loaded up with a lot of fat. That’s right enough for women and girls; makes ’em look smooth and nice and pretty, and fills up all the holes and corners; but a soldier wants bone and muscle—good, hard, tough muscle and sinew, and that’s what you have got now. Look at me.”

“Yes, I have looked at you time after time, Serge, and you look hollow-cheeked and haggard and worn.”

“Why, I feel prime, my boy, ready for anything; ten years younger than when we started. Why, I have got into regular fighting condition again. Did you see how I jumped into the car yesterday when the ponies started without me?”

“Yes, I saw you run ever so far and jump,” cried Marcus.

“And you begin talking to me about being haggard and worn! Isn’t a sword all the sharper for being a bit worn?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So’s a soldier. Look here, boy; we are getting seasoned, and I’m proud to say that I am what a man’s officer would call a veteran, and that’s the finest title there is in an army. Then, too, look at our lad here. See what a splendid driver he’s turned out, and how he can send that chariot in and out among the rocks so close as almost to shave them, and right in between pairs of them where you or I would think there wasn’t room to pass. And then there’s the ponies! They are a bit thin, certainly, but they are as fine as bronze, and can gallop farther and better than ever. Now then! Speak out honest! Did you ever before see such a splendid pair?”

“No, Serge, never.”

“And yet you say that everything’s wrong and hopeless and bad. Why, boy, if I didn’t know it was all through your being young and anxious and eager to do your duty, I should be ashamed of you.”

“But you are not, Serge?” cried the boy, excitedly.

“’Shamed of you? No, boy. I feel proud.”

“There, Serge,” cried Marcus, leaving the pony, to go and lay his hand upon the old soldier’s shoulder, “I’ve done, and I will try and never complain any more. I do see now what a lot we have to be thankful for. Now then; what’s the next thing we ought to do?”

“Same as usual, my lad,” said Serge, rising and sheathing his sword, which went back into its scabbard with a quick glide till the hilt was nearly reached, when it required a firm thrust to get it close into its place. “Well, to begin with, forage first. I often think it’s a pity a man wasn’t made like a horse. Look at those two ponies! How their coats shine in the sunshine! They began eating their breakfast before it was light, for I was watching and wakeful, and I got thinking like this as I heard them busy at it, crop and blow, crop and blow, and after they had eaten all they wanted they had a drink of water, and there they are fit for the day, while we three have got to find out some place or another where we can buy, or frighten them into giving us some bread and milk. We always have been lucky enough so far, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t be again to-day.”

“But which way shall we go, Serge? It’s of no use to try to follow up the army as we did yesterday, and then have to turn back because the enemy are between us and it.”

“No, boy; I think the best thing we can do is to leave that till we have done foraging, for we must have something to eat. Then we’ll try if we can’t creep round these tribes, or get in between them somehow. Perhaps we may have a bit of luck to give us a little help. Anyhow, we are not going to despair.”

“No, Serge,” cried Marcus, firmly; “anything but that.”

“Hah!” cried Serge. “That’s spoken like Cracis’ son.”

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