Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 38

"But you must. It's part of the work you have on hand. You must watch for the time that is best for our start. You can't say anything to that."

"No," sighed Marcus, "that's right; but see what a time we have been waiting now. It must be hours since the general came and gave me his command."

"Well, not hours, but it's a long time, boy, and it will be longer yet before we shall dare to stir. Why, there are thousands of men below there, and hundreds more coming into sight just along the part we shall have to go, and we must wait till they have all marched off right and left to join the rest before we shall dare to start."

"But you are making the worst of it, Serge," cried Marcus, eagerly, as he glanced round from his post of observation at the magnificent sight of men in motion, glittering arms, trampling horse, and all framed in by the sterile rocks, the snow-capped hills, and the dazzling blue sky above.

"Perhaps I am, boy, and all the better for us; but it's much the best to look troubles straight in the face and not to come to grief from being too hopeful."

And as to time, so it proved, for after about another two hours had elapsed, with the boy bubbling over with impatience, they were able to feel that they might venture downward through the lower part of the amphitheatre, where they would be getting more into the shelter of rock and valley, and beyond the ken of the two trampling mult.i.tudes urging their way on after the little army now in full motion higher up the pa.s.s, the leading foot showing still clearly and nearly as distinctly as if close at hand, though quite a couple of miles from where the chariot stood.

"Ah," cried Serge, at last, "now I think we will start."

"Yes, come on," cried Marcus. "But why did you say that?" he added, hastily.

"Because the fight's begun, boy."

"Where? How?" cried Marcus.

"Look yonder towards that patch of grey rock which glitters in the sun.

That's where our stout rear-guard is. If you look hard you will be just able to see something moving slowly and something like a dark cloud just behind. That's the enemy's, front just coming into action, driving our men on. Hark! Do you hear how the hum of the enemy's troops' sounds changed?"

"Yes, I think so. It comes echoing along the rocks."

"Well, that's the barbarians cheering the others on."

"Oh," cried Marcus, "the attack begun, when we haven't even stirred to fetch the help! Serge, shall we reach the army to-night?"

"Nay, nor to-morrow night either, boy."

"And the fight begun!" cried Marcus. "Why, before we can get to my father and Caius Julius our little force will be destroyed."

"Bah! Don't you get setting up for a prophet like that. Do you think our men are going to sit down and let themselves be swallowed up without striking a blow? What are you thinking of, boy? Isn't our general marching his men into the narrow gorge again where he will be safely walled in, with only a little front to defend? You let him alone. He will stop and turn as soon as he has found a spot he likes, one that he can easily hold; and there he'll be with his rear open for men to go over the pa.s.s and forage for food. He knows what he's about, and we know what we have got to do."

"Yes," said Marcus, with a sigh; "we know, but--"

"But you needn't watch the going on of the fight, boy, for at this distance it's nearly all guess work and little see, and here as far as I can make out no one can notice us if we begin to move, so now's the time to start."

"Ah!" cried Marcus, triumphantly, as he turned to the horse's head on his side.

Serge made for the other, and the great dog reared himself up with his paws upon the front of the chariot and his jaws parted, to send forth one of his deep, barking volleys.

But at a cry from Marcus he sank down as if abashed, and the only sounds that were heard above the deep, low hum of the trampling army of barbarians, were the soft rattling of the chariot wheels, and the beat of the horses' hoofs upon the stony ground, as they began cautiously to make for the end of the amphitheatre and its labyrinth of rocks.

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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 ma.s.ses 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 partic.i.p.ating 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 cl.u.s.ter 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.