Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 23

"Why, then you must go thirsty, same as you must go hungry too sometimes. Didn't I always teach you that a soldier's first duty was to learn how to fast?"

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Marcus, as he lay down to drink, while his companion watched, and then drank in turn, rising to say, as he drew a long, deep breath:

"There, that's as much as I want now. Nice clear water, and we've left plenty for the next as comes. But a deal of trouble I used to have in the face of plenty to make you believe it was a soldier's duty to learn how to fast. You always were the hungriest boy I ever knew."

Marcus laughed, and looked wonderingly at his companion, who now stood up stiffly with his hands resting upon his spear.

"Well, Serge, what now?" cried Marcus.

"Only waiting, captain. Orders to advance."

"Forward!" cried Marcus; and, the next minute, with eyes eagerly scanning the track in front, they were marching together side by side on the way to Rome.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

WEARING ARMOUR.

It was some hours afterwards, when the sun was beating down hotly, that Serge suggested that they should have half an hour's rest in the shade of a clump of huge, spiral-barked chestnuts, whose dark, glossy-green leaves were spread over a bend of the track which had evidently been slightly diverted so that those who followed it might take advantage of the shade.

The trees were approached cautiously, and the pair scouted round the clump to make sure it was untenanted before they stretched themselves amongst the mossy, radiating roots that spread far and wide.

"There seem to have been plenty of people here," said Marcus, pointing to where the soft, moist earth was full of imprints. "There have been wheeled carriages here."

"Yes," grunted Serge. "Those are ox waggons. See?"

"Yes," said Marcus. "But those others are different."

"Yes," said Serge. "Chariot wheels, those."

"How do you know?" said Marcus, sharply.

"Look at 'em," grunted the old soldier. "Can't you see they are light?

They are made to gallop. Those others were made to crawl. Why, it's printed all about that they were chariot wheels. Look at the marks of the horses' hoofs."

"Oh yes, I see," cried Marcus. "The waggons show nothing but the feet of oxen. But how come there to be chariot wheels about here?"

"How did that Roman general, Caius Julius, come to the farm?"

"I don't know," said Marcus, starting. "I never thought of that."

"I did," said Serge, with a grunt which might have been copied from one of the swine he had so often driven.

"How did he come?" cried Marcus.

"Same way as he went back to Rome."

"Of course," cried the boy, impatiently. "But how was that?"

"With chariots and hors.e.m.e.n."

"Are you sure? I saw none."

"Didn't go down to the village to look?"

"No; I had too much to think of."

"So had I," said Serge; "but I went and looked all the same. There was a grand chariot and a lot of hors.e.m.e.n, and it was in that chariot that, after walking down to the village, the master went away."

"Oh, then they must be far ahead," cried Marcus.

"Yes; at Rome before now."

"And I have been expecting that we might come upon them at any moment,"

said Marcus, with a sigh of relief. "Then we shan't see them till we get there?"

"And like enough not then," said Serge, with a grim smile; "so you may make yourself comfortable about this scolding that's got to come, for it won't be yet."

"But we shall see my father as soon as we get to the army."

"Some time perhaps," said Serge; "but the army will be miles long perhaps on the march, and it's hard work, boy, to find one in a hundred thousand men."

"Then we may not find him!" cried Marcus, in an agonised tone.

"Well, no, my lad, but you may make your mind happy about that. One man's not bound to find his general, but his general's pretty sure to find him, or the legion he is in. There, don't you fidget about that.

If you and me hadn't done any harm we should be pretty safe, but so sure as one does what one ought not to do, one may make up one's mind that he'll be found out."

The rest was pleasant, but Marcus did not feel so satisfied in his own mind when they started once again on the tramp.

It was on the evening of a hot and wearying day that Marcus sat in a shady grove, gladly resting, while Serge was relieving him of his armour and carefully hanging it piece by piece from, one or other of the branches by which they were surrounded.

"Grand thing, armour," said the old soldier, as he watched the tired boy from the corners of his eyes.

Marcus started from a waking dream of Rome and its glories as he pictured it in his own mind.

"Oh yes," he said, hastily; "glorious!"

"Nice and bright and shining, and makes a man seem worth looking at when it's on, eh?"

"Yes," said Marcus, with a faint sigh.

"How proud you felt when you'd got yours; eh, my lad?"

"Yes, very," said Marcus.

"Nice dress to walk in."