Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 42

"Yes, I do, boy. Nay, I feel sure. There's been a big fight yonder where those crows are flying about."

"Yes: I see," cried Marcus. "But--but which side has won?"

"Ah, that we are going to see, my boy, and before long too. Turn a bit more to the right, my man," he continued, laying his hand upon the driver's shoulder, and their direction was a trifle altered, with the result that before long they were pa.s.sing by the side of a portion of the plain where it was evident that a desperate encounter had taken place from the large number of ghastly relics of the engagement that lay scattered about, spread over the s.p.a.ce of quite a mile.

The scene was pa.s.sed in silence, Marcus pressing their driver to urge on the ponies till they were well ahead, after grasping the fact that a stubborn stand must have been made, and that the action had been continued onward to where they stood.

"Well," said Serge, "you see all clearly enough now, don't you, boy?"

"I'm not quite sure," said Marcus, thoughtfully, "though I think our army must have won the day."

"There's no doubt about that, boy, and in such a fight as it has been they could not help losing heavily; but I haven't seen the body and arms of a single Roman soldier, and that is a sure sign that they won the day, and then stopped to carry away their wounded and bury their dead."

Marcus shuddered, and they rode on for a time in silence, pa.s.sing here and there a little mound, and as soon as they had cleared one the old soldier swept the distance with his eyes in search of another.

Marcus looked at him questioningly.

"Yes, boy," said the old fellow, softly; "an ugly way of tracking our road, but a sure. Those hillocks show where they've laid some of our poor fellows who fell out to lie down and die, and there their comrades found them."

"War is very horrible," said Marcus, after a pause.

"Well, yes," replied Serge, "I suppose it is; but soldiers think it's very glorious, and as a man's officers say it is, why, I suppose they're right. But there; that's not for us to think about. It's not horrible for our Roman soldiers to stop and bury their slain, and their doing this has made it easy for us to follow the track of the army."

"Yes," said Marcus, who was gazing straight before him; "and look there."

Serge shaded his eyes, and gazed in the direction pointed out.

"Yes," he said, "that's another sign-post to show us our way, and I dare say we shall come upon some more, ready to prove that we are on the right track. The crows seem to have been pretty busy there, boy."

"The crows and the ants," said Marcus.

"Yes, and maybe the wolves have been down from the mountains to have their turn."

"Whoever would think, Serge, that those scattered white bones had once formed a beautiful horse, just such a one as these we have in the chariot?"

"Ah, who indeed?" replied the old soldier. "But I don't know that we want to think about it, boy. Let's think about your message and getting on to deliver it. We must make the best of our way while the light lasts, so as to get on as far as we can, as we know now that we're going right. I should like to get down to some hilly or mountainous. .h.i.t."

"What for, Serge?"

"To climb up when it's dark."

"Because you think it will be safe to sleep there?"

"No, boy; I was not thinking of sleeping till we get our message delivered. I was wondering whether we should be lucky enough to get so far that after dark, if we climbed up high enough, we might be able to see our people's watch fires twinkling like stars in the distance."

"Oh, Serge, that would be capital!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "Do you think we shall be so fortunate?"

"Don't know, boy," growled the old soldier; "but hurry the ponies along while we can see that we are on the right track. There's no reason why we shouldn't be fortunate."

"Oh, we must be, Serge," cried Marcus. "It's horrible to think of our general and all his men shut up in that bitter snowy pa.s.s, fighting hard for life, and always watching for the help that does not come.

Forward!" shouted the boy, and at his word the driver seemed to make the horses fly.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

MARCUS' PLAN.

"Steady, steady!" cried Serge to the driver. "Mind that great block."

For as they tore on, with more and more traces of an engagement teaching them that they were going right, the driver seemed to be sending the fiery little pair he drove straight for a low ma.s.s of stone, contact with which must have meant wreck.

Startled by the old soldier's angry shout, the driver drew one rein sharply, making the ponies swerve right for another far more dangerous obstacle and but for Marcus' readiness in s.n.a.t.c.hing at the other rein, a worse mishap would have occurred.

They were saved from this, but the shouts had scared the fiery little steeds, sending them dashing frantically off in quite a fresh direction, while to Marcus' horror, he saw that it was into another danger in the shape of a vast body of the enemy who, as the flying ponies drew near, sprang to their feet from where they were lying behind a ridge.

Getting the ponies once more well in hand, the driver, who saw nothing but death for himself if they were taken, wrenched the heads of the pair round once more, just when they seemed about to plunge into the thick ranks of the enemy, along whose front they tore in the intent of sweeping round their line.

But the hope was vain, for another body of men came into sight, rising from the earth where they had been lying, to form up at right angles to the first body, and once more the direction of the chariot had to be changed, then altered again and again, for to Marcus' horror foes sprang up in every direction they took, the country seeming alive with the enemy, and all prospect of getting through them and continuing their dash for the Roman army at an end.

"What's to be done, Serge?" cried the boy, at last.

"Steady the ponies and let them get their wind again."

This was done, the gallop being turned into a gentle trot and from that into a walk, while the fugitives watched the slow, steady advance of the barbarians, who in their way, in spite of the name they received, appeared to be nearly as civilised as the Romans themselves.

Their intent now seemed to be to make sure of the capture of the chariot and its occupants as they kept on closing up and gradually narrowing the extent of the open plain about which the galloping evolutions had taken place.

"It's just as if they knew that we were the bearers of an important message, Serge," said Marcus.

"Seems like it, boy, but it is not," was the reply. "We're enemies and invaders on their lands, and they mean to take us at all costs. It looks bad too."

"What does?" said Marcus, sharply.

"The country being up like this. It looks bad for our army, boy. I'm beginning to think that Julius has had to fight every step of the way he has come, and if our message was not what it is I should say it was our soldierly duty to give up attempting to get through with it."

"What!" cried Marcus, with a look of horror, as he turned from watching the approaching enemy spreading out more and more over the open plain.

"I said if it wasn't what it is," said Serge, quietly.

"But you wouldn't give up, Serge, come what may?"

"Do I look the sort of man to give up when I have work to do?"

"No, no," cried Marcus, warmly. "It was wrong of me to think it even for a moment. But now, Serge, our way lies away to the left."

"No, boy; I've been watching every turn we took, and if we kept on as we are now we should about be in the line our army took."