Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 11

"_Quantum sufficit_, my boy," he said; "but I will eat a few of your grapes."

He broke off a tiny bunch, and went on talking as he glanced around.

"Your studies?" he said, pointing to the tablets and stylus. "And you read?"

"Oh yes," said the boy. "My father teaches me. He is a great student."

"Indeed?" said the guest. "And are you a great student too?"

"No," cried Marcus, merrily; "only a great stupid boy!"

"Very," said the visitor, sarcastically. "Well, and what are you going to be when you grow up?"

"Oh, a student too, and a farmer, I suppose."

"Indeed! Why, a big, healthy, young lad like you ought to be a soldier, and learn to fight for his country, like a true son of Rome."

"Hah!" cried Marcus, flushing up and frowning, while the visitor watched him intently.

"I knew just such a boy as you who grew up to be a general, a great soldier as well as a student who could use his pen."

"Ah, that's what I should like to be," cried the boy, springing from his seat with his eyes flashing, as his imagination seemed fired. "That's what Serge says."

"What does Serge say?" asked the visitor.

"Just what you do," cried the boy, boldly; "that I might grow up to be a great soldier, and still read and use my pen."

"Well, why not?" said the guest, as he slowly broke off and ate a grape.

The boy frowned and shook his head.

"It is a man's duty to be ready to draw his sword for his country like a brave citizen, and that country's son," continued the guest, warmly, while the boy watched him eagerly, and leaned forward with one hand resting upon the table as if he was drinking in every word that fell from the other's lips.

"Yes, that's what Serge says," he cried, "and that it is a great and n.o.ble thing for a man to be ready to die for his country if there is any need."

"But it is pleasanter to live, my boy," said the visitor, smiling, "and to be happy with those we love, with those whom we are ready to defend against the enemy. You must be a soldier, then--a defender of your land."

"No," said the boy, quickly, and he gave his head a quick shake. "It can never be."

"Why?"

"Because my father says 'no.'"

The visitor raised his brows a little, and then, leaning forward slightly to gaze into the boy's eyes, he said, softly:

"Why does your father say that?"

"Because people are ungrateful and jealous and hard, and would ill-use me, the same as they did him and drove him away from Rome."

The visitor tightened his lips and was silent, sitting gazing past the boy and through the window, so full of thought that he broke off another grape, raised it to his lips, and then threw it through the opening into a tuft of flowers beyond.

"Ah!" he said, at last, as his eyes were turned again towards the boy.

"And so you are going to live here then, and only be a student?"

"Of course," said the boy, proudly. "It is my father's wish."

"And you know nothing, then, about a soldier's life?"

"Oh, yes, I do," cried the boy, with his face lighting up.

"Hah! Then your father has taught you to be a soldier and man?"

"Oh, no; he has taught me to read and write. It was some one else who taught me how to use a sword and spear."

"Hah!" cried the visitor, quickly. "Then you are not all a student?"

"Oh, no."

"You know how to use a sword?"

"Yes," said Marcus, laughing, "and a spear and shield as well," and, warming up, the boy began to talk quickly about all he had learned, ending, to his visitor's great interest, with a full account of his training in secret and his father's discovery and ending of his pursuits.

"Well, boy," said the guest, at last, "it seems a pity."

"For me to tell you all this?" cried Marcus, whose face was still flushed with excitement. "Yes, I oughtn't to have spoken and said so much, but somehow you questioned me and seemed to make me talk."

"Did I?" said the visitor. "Well, I suppose I did; but what I meant was that it seems a pity that so promising a lad should only be kept to his books. But there, a good son is obedient to his father, and his duty is to follow out his commands."

"Yes," said the boy, stoutly, "and that's what Serge says."

"Then he doesn't want you to be a soldier now?"

"No," cried the boy. "He says one of the first things a soldier learns is to obey."

"Ah!" said the visitor, looking at the boy with his quiet smile. "I should like to know this old soldier, Serge."

"You soon can," said the boy, laughing. "Here he comes!" For at that moment there was the deep bark of a dog.

"The dog?" said the visitor.

"Oh, that's our wolf-hound, Lupe. It means that Serge is coming back."

The boy had hardly spoken when the man's step was heard outside, and, directly after, as Marcus' guest sat watching the door, it was thrust open, and the old soldier entered, saying: "Has the master come back, my lad?" and started back, staring at the sight of the stranger.

"Not yet, Serge. This is a gentleman, a traveller from Rome, who is sitting down to rest."

Serge drew himself up with a soldierly salute, which was received with dignity, and, as eyes met, the stranger looked the old warrior through and through, while Serge seemed puzzled and suspicious, as he slowly raised his hand and rubbed his head.

"Yes," said the visitor, "your young master has been playing the kindly host to a weary man. Why do you look at me so hard? You know my face?"