Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 20

"I am going to join my father, sir, and answer to him, not to his servant."

"You are going back home to your books and to take care of your father's house."

"And suppose I refuse?" cried Marcus.

"Won't make a bit of difference, boy, for I shall make you."

"Indeed!" cried Marcus.

"Now then, none of that! None of your ruffling up like a young c.o.c.kerel and sticking your hackles out because you think your spurs have grown, when you are not much more than fledged, because that won't do with me.

I tell you this: you come easy and it will be all the better for you, for if you behave well perhaps I won't tell the master, after all. So make up your mind to be a good boy at once."

"A good boy!" cried Marcus, scornfully. "Why, you called me a brave young warrior just now."

"Yes, I am rather an old fool sometimes," growled Serge; "but you needn't pitch that in my teeth. Now then, no more words, and let's waste no more time. I want to get back."

"But Serge--" cried the boy.

"That'll do. You know what your father said, and you've got to obey him, or I shall make you. Aren't you sorry for doing wrong?"

"Yes--no," cried Marcus.

"Yes--no? What do you mean by that, sir?"

"I don't know," cried Marcus, desperately. "Look here, Serge: it is too late now. I've taken this step, and I must go on and join my father now."

"Taken this step? Yes, of course you have," cried the old soldier, sarcastically, "and a nice step it is! What's it led to? Your having to take a lot more steps back again. I know; but you didn't, being such a young callow bit of a fellow. Soon as you do anything wrong you have to do a lot more bad things to cover it up. Lucky for you I catched you; so now then, come on."

"But Serge," cried Marcus, pa.s.sionately, "you can't understand how I felt--how it seemed as if I must go after my father, to be with him in case he wanted help. He might be wounded, you know."

"Well, if he is there'll be plenty to help him. Soldiers are always comrades, and help one another. If he is wounded he won't want a boy like you, so stop all that. I'm not going to stand here and let you argue me into a rage. You've got to come back and obey your father's commands, instead of breaking his orders. I wonder at you, boy, that I do. Did this come out of your reading and writing?"

"Serge!" cried the boy. "I did try hard--so hard, you don't know; but I couldn't stay. I was obliged to come."

"Won't do, boy," growled the old soldier, frowning. "Orders are orders, and one has to obey them whether one likes 'em or whether one don't.

Ready?"

"No, Serge, no, I'm not ready," pleaded the boy. "It is too late. I can't go back."

"Too late? Not a bit. Now then: come on."

"I cannot, Serge. I must--I will go on now."

"You mustn't, sir, and you will not," cried the old soldier, sternly.

"Now then, no nonsense; come on."

"No, no, Serge. Pray, pray take my side. It is to be with my father; can't you see?"

"No, boy; I'm blind when it comes to orders."

"Oh, Serge, have you no mercy?" cried Marcus, piteously.

"Not a bit, boy. Now then, once more, come on."

"I cannot," cried Marcus, pa.s.sionately.

"Then I'm going to make you."

"What!"

"I'm going to carry you, heavy as you'll be, and long as it will make the road. But I've got it to do, and, if it takes me a month, I'm going to make you obey your father's orders, sir, and stop at home."

As he spoke Serge swung his shield between his shoulders, pressed his sheathed sword a little more round to his side, and with a sharp dig made his spear stand up in the earth.

"Now then," he cried, and he caught Marcus by the wrists, and a struggle seemed to be imminent.

"Serge!" cried Marcus, angrily.

"Your orders were to stay at home, sir, and home you go," cried the old soldier. "If you will be carried back like a sc.r.a.p of a little child, why, carried you shall be. So give up. I'm twice as strong as you, and it's your father's commands."

"Hah!" cried Marcus, ceasing his struggles on the instant, and leaving his wrists tightly clasped in the old soldier's hands.

"Well, what are you 'hah-ing' about?" cried Serge, as he noted the suddenly triumphant tones of the boy's voice.

"I was thinking about my father's orders," cried Marcus, in a state of wild excitement now.

"Good boy; and quite time. Pity you didn't think more of 'em and much sooner. Then you're going to mind me without more fuss, and come home like a good boy now?"

"No," cried Marcus, fiercely. "I am going on to my father. I will not stir a step backward now."

"What!" cried Serge, as fiercely now, for the old man was roused by the boy's obstinacy. "You won't obey?"

"No," cried Marcus, catching his companion by the top of his breast armour. "It's my turn now. Look here, sir; you talk about my father's commands."

"Yes, boy, I do," roared the old soldier, looking as fierce now as one of the campagna bulls, whose bellow he seemed to emulate, "and I'll make you obey them too."

"Commands--obey--when I'm only going to join him?"

"Yes, that's it, my lad. So now then!"

"Yes," cried Marcus, giving his companion a fierce thrust which forced him a little back so that he caught his heels against a projecting stone, and as he tried to recover himself was brought down by Marcus upon his knees. "Hah!" he cried. "I've got you! What have you got to say about my father's orders? What are you doing here?"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

COMING TO TERMS.

Serge was in the act of gathering himself together so as to spring up and catch his prisoner by the arms, but, as the boy questioned him sharply he sank a little lower upon his knees, and, as if all the strength had been suddenly discharged from within him, he said in quite a different tone of voice: