Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 24

"But it's rather heavy in this hot weather," ventured Marcus.

"Heavy, boy? Why, of course it is. If it wasn't heavy the barbarians'

swords and spears would go through it as if it was sheep skin. But yours fits you beautifully, and will for ever so long yet--if you don't grow," added the man, slily.

Marcus turned upon him peevishly.

"Well, I can't help growing, can I?" he cried.

"Oh no, boy; course you can't till you've done growing, and then you won't grow any more."

"Do you think I don't know that?" snapped out the boy.

"No. Oh no; but what's the matter with your shoulder?"

"Nothing much," said Marcus, sourly. "Those shoulder straps rub that one, and the back part frets my neck."

"Does it? That's bad; but I'll put that right when you put it on in the morning. Don't you mind about that: after a bit your skin'll get hard, and what feels to worry and rub you will be soft as a duck's breast."

"Nonsense! How can bronze and bra.s.s get to be soft as feathers, Serge?"

"Oh, I dunno, my lad," replied the old soldier, slowly, "but it do. I suppose," he added, mockingly, "you get so much glory on your shoulders that it pads you out and makes your armour fit like wax. It is heavy, though, at first. Mine worried me the first day, because I hadn't worn it for years; but it sits lovely now, and I could run and jump and do anything. Helmet too did feel a bit lumpy; but I felt it more in my toes than on my head."

"Are you laughing at me, Serge?" cried Marcus, turning upon the man, sharply.

"Can't you see I'm not, boy? Why, I'm as serious as a centurion with a new command."

"But do you think I'm going to believe that you felt your heavy helmet in your toes?"

"Of course I do, boy," said the man, chuckling. "If it's heavy, don't the weight go right down to the bottom and drive your toes hard to the very end of your sandals?"

"I didn't think of that, Serge," said the boy, a trifle less irritably.

"S'pose not, boy. You haven't got to the end of everything that there is to know. Besides, your helmet is light."

"Light?" cried Marcus, bitterly.

"Well, of course it aren't as light as a straw hat as you can tilt off every time you come into the shade, and let it hang between your shoulders, same as you do your shield."

"And I suppose that is?" said Marcus, sharply.

"What, as a straw hat, boy? Well, I don't say that," said Serge, drily, "because it do weigh a tidy bit. But that helmet of yours, as I took care should be just right for a boy, is too light altogether."

"Bah!" cried Marcus. "Why, it has made my forehead and the back just behind my ears as sore as sore."

"Pooh! That isn't because the helmet's too heavy; it's on account of your head being so soft and green. It'll be hard enough before the end of this war. Why, if it were lighter, every crack you got in your first fight would make it give way like an eggsh.e.l.l; and then where would you be, my lad? Come, come, cheer up! You're a bit tired with this tramp-- the first big one you've had. You'll be better in the morning, and before this time to-morrow night I dare say we shall be in sight of Rome and its hills and the Tiber, and, take my word for it, you won't feel tired then."

"Think not. Serge?"

"Sure of it, boy. Man who's a bit worn out feels as if everything's wrong, and the flies that come buzzing about seem to be as big as crows; but after a good sleep when the sun rises again to make everything look bright, he sees clearer; the flies don't seem to buzz, only hum pleasant like, and what there is of them is golden-green and shiny, and not a bit bigger than a fly should be."

"But I'm disappointed, Serge. I hoped to see my father as soon as I reached Rome, and get this trouble off my mind."

"Instead of which it has to wait. Well, never mind, lad. It will be easier perhaps then. Now then, you do as I say: lie down at once close up there to that dry, sandy bit, and sleep as hard as you can till morning. Then we'll set off and get to Rome as soon as we can, and hear about the army and which way it has gone."

"Perhaps it will not have started yet?" said Marcus, eagerly.

"Like as not, my lad, but, if it has, we can follow it up. Now then, be sharp, for I want to lie down too. We shall be fresh as the field flowers in the morning, for no one is likely to disturb us here."

Marcus said nothing, for he knew that the old soldier's words were meant to encourage him, and he thought so more than ever, as, free now from his heavy armour, he lay looking upward, listening to the faint hum of beetles and seeing the glint of the stars through the trees, while he thought of their journey and the disappointment he felt over Serge's words, while it seemed to him all a part of his thinking instead of a dream--a confused dream when he fancied himself back at the old house seeking for Serge and finding the dog crouched down in the shed where the great stone cistern stood, and in the harvest time the grapes were trodden, those grown in their little vineyard and those from the neighbouring farms where there was no convenience of the kind.

But as he was about to turn away and fasten the door, it seemed strange that the place should be lit up by sunshine coming aslant through the trees, when it was late in the evening and dark. But so it was, with Lupe couching down, making no attempt to follow or pa.s.s him as he closed the door, but resting his long, fierce-looking jaws upon his extended paws, till, after trying hard to puzzle out why it was so, Marcus came fully to his waking senses and sat up suddenly, while Lupe followed his example, to burst out into a deep, joyous bark.

"What!" now came in a deep voice from behind Marcus. "Why, Lupe, dog, have you found your way here?"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE NEW RECRUIT.

The dog had been lying for hours watching the sleepers, who had lain perfectly unconscious of the presence of such a sentry and guardian, while he had crouched there with his muzzle almost touching Marcus'

breast, p.r.i.c.king up his ears at the slightest sound made by some nocturnal food-seeking creature, and uttering a low sigh of content as he settled himself down again.

Several times over he had heard some sound which he could not understand, and upon these occasions he sprang up, smothering the low growl that tried for exit, and seeming to understand the necessity for caution, he began to reconnoitre in the direction from which the suspicious noise had come.

Had anybody been there to watch the dog, what they had seen would have excited wonder at the amount of reason that the animal displayed; not that Lupe, big wolf-hound, one of the kind kept by the peasantry in the far-back past for the protection of their flocks, was anything exceptional, for plenty of dogs at the present time are ready to display an instinct that is almost human.

Point out some very human act, and there are plenty who will tell you either that it is the result of teaching, or that it has come naturally from the dog's long continued intercourse with man. One ventures to think that it is something more than teaching that makes a shut-out dog wait till he sees what he considers to be a suitable stranger whom he has never seen before, and then trot up to him and begin to gambol and lead him on till the gate or door is reached, stopping short then and saying as plainly as a dog can speak in barks--not the most expressive language in the world--Open it and let me in.

Lupe was evidently a dog that could reason in his way, and attributing two of these interruptions of the night to the presence of wolves that had come prowling down from the hills, he set off cautiously, with the thick, dense hair bristling up about his neck, his armour against his deadly enemy's teeth, and his black gums retiring to display his trap-like jaws full of glistening ivory teeth. And all the time, in spite of his efforts, there was a low, deep sound like young thunder rumbling somewhere in his chest.

But in each case, before he had gone far, Lupe's reason told him that his natural enemies did not come prowling down from the mountains during the soft summer nights, but waited till their hunger was sharpened by the frosts of winter, and that he was over-anxious regarding the safety of those he had come so far to find, judging rightly that the sounds he had heard and magnified were only caused by some innocent little animal which did not smell in the least like a wolf. So he trotted slowly back, making sounds suggestive of mutterings against his own stupidity, and dropped quietly down once more to watch.

"Why, Serge," cried Marcus, "how could that dog manage to find us all this distance from home?"

"I dunno," said the old soldier, stooping down to caress the savage-looking beast in his customary way, which was to bang him heavily on both shoulders with his great, h.o.r.n.y hand, the blows given being such as would have made an ordinary dog howl; but their effect upon Lupe was to make him half close his eyes, open his wide jaws, and loll out his long, lambent tongue, which curled up at the end; and, as it quivered in the fresh morning light, he rolled over upon his back and began patting playfully at Serge's hand.

"Don't knock him about like that, Serge," cried Marcus.

"Knock him about?" cried the old soldier. "Why, he likes it; it loosens his skin and makes it fit easy, and knocks out the dust. How did he manage to find his way here? Ask him. I dunno. I left him at home, yelping about and uneasy like, looking as if he'd like to go at the general and tear his toga off his back."

"I left him," cried Marcus, "hunting all over the place to find you. He came twice over into my room, whining and asking me where you were."

"Did he?" cried Serge. "Good old dog!" And he gave the animal a few more of his tender caresses, with the result that the dog wriggled himself along snake-like fashion upon his spine, and then made a playful dab at his friend's hand.

"I found him at last," continued Marcus, "in the press-house, and when I came away I shut him up."

"What, to starve?"