Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 48

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE GENERAL'S TENT.

The driver's face lit up as he saw Marcus and Serge come to his help, for the battle was as nothing to him compared to the state of the chariot and horses; and he eagerly set to work over the extraction of the vehicle, which, though splintered and battered, was not much the worse for the accident, and was soon dragged out from where it had been wedged close to the spot where the horses, now quit calmed, had settled down to browse upon the gra.s.s, which grew in abundance outside the clump of trees.

It was the harness which had fared the worst, but the driver and Serge were both pretty handy, and by the time the day dawned tying and lacing had done their work, so that, excepting appearance, the ropes, straps and thongs were as good as ever, and, tired and anxious, Marcus hurried his companions into the chariot to start for the camp.

Guessing at the direction where the slope led, they had just started when they were encountered by a minor officer at the head of a party of men, who looked hard at them and accosted them with:

"Have you seen anything of an overturned chariot in a clump of trees?"

"Yes," said Marcus, smiling.

"Which way?" cried the officer, who looked surprised at Marcus' way of receiving the question.

"Straight down that slope," said Marcus. "You can almost see the trees from here."

The officer nodded his thanks and was turning away, but Marcus stopped him by saying:

"The chariot is not there now."

"Not there?"

"No; this is it."

"Ah!" cried the officer, eagerly. "Then you are the youth and this is the man I want."

"What for?" asked Marcus, flushing slightly.

"Oh, you'll know soon enough. My chief has sent me to find you. It is for something that took place in the fight last night."

"Something that took place in the fight last night?" faltered Marcus, wearily. "But tell me, did the Romans win the battle?"

"Oh, yes, of course; but don't stop to talk. I must make haste back.

You haven't been murdering and plundering the people, have you?"

"No, of course not," cried Marcus, sharply.

"So much the better for you," said the officer, shortly. "Come along."

He gave orders to some of his men to form up behind the chariot, and with the rest he placed himself in front, and gave the order to march, leading off at once to the left of the route in which the chariot had been moving when it was stopped.

"Why, anyone would think that we were prisoners," said Marcus, who felt annoyed, but, satisfied that they were being taken to the camp, he thought of his message and was content. He, however, reached over the front of the chariot and called to the young officer, asking who was in command of the army.

The young man looked at him superciliously.

"What is it to you?" he said, shortly. "Ask the general himself when you come before him, and then perhaps you will be able to explain why you who are Romans have come to be fighting on the side of the Gaul."

"What!" said Marcus. "Do you know that--"

"Never mind what I know, my lad," said the officer, shortly, "and don't speak to me again in that free off-hand tone. Please to understand that I am an officer and you a prisoner. Forward, and mind this: any attempt to escape will be followed by a shower of spears."

"Thanks," said Marcus, sarcastically; and he turned to Serge.

"I shall not tell him why we have come," he said, with his face of a deeper red than before.

"That's right, boy," growled Serge. "We don't want him to be civil; all we want is for him to take us to the general. You can tell him why we have come."

They were ascending a slope that grew more and more steep, and the morning would have seemed beautiful to Marcus, whose heart beat high at the prospect of being able to deliver his message to the general in command, whoever it might be; but the beauty of the scene and the approaching sunrise were marred by the traces left by the battle, which they were constantly pa.s.sing: the dead here, wounded men waiting for help there; the trampled and stained earth everywhere. It was a pleasant relief when the top of the hill they were ascending had been reached, though it showed no trace of any camp till the descending slope came into view, and then the adventurers found that they had to cross a valley, beyond which, with the trench and banks showing in rich brown tints gilded by the rays of the rising sun, was the Roman camp, with its few tents and moving columns of men pa.s.sing up the flanks of the steep hill upon which it stood, evidently returning in regular order from the pursuit of the scattered foes who had resisted the attack upon the invader during the past night.

In his eagerness Marcus gave an order to the driver for the chariot to advance down the slope and cross the valley at a trot; but the officer turned upon him angrily, and ordered two of his spear-armed men to take the ponies by the rein, and in this fashion Marcus and his companion were led right to the centre of the camp before one of the tents, up to whose entrance the officer marched, spoke to another who was on guard, and then entered.

"Got all you want to say ready?" whispered Serge.

"Yes," whispered back Marcus. "Oh, if he would only be quick! This is all wasting time."

The young officer was quick enough, for he returned directly, and his manner seemed changed as he stepped up to the chariot.

"Follow me, sir," he said. "The generals will see you directly."

Marcus' heart beat quicker than ever now, as he sprang from the chariot, wincing slightly from his stiffness, while Serge limped and screwed up his face as he strove in vain to hold himself erect.

It was bright with the early sunshine outside the tent, where Marcus now found himself face to face with a stern-looking man in the dress of a general, who sat with his hand resting upon his helmet.

But he was not alone, for another officer was lying upon a rough couch, evidently, from his bandaged head, wounded; but he was fully dressed, and his helmet and sword were upon the rolled-up cloak at the side of his averted head.

"You are welcome," began the sitting general, warmly. "I have sent for you to give you the thanks of my injured friend, whose life--Why, what is this! My severe young friend Marcus here!"

"What!" came from the couch, and its occupant sprang into a sitting position.

"Father!" cried Marcus, and Serge, who had doffed his helmet, now in his astonishment let it fall upon the skins which covered the ground with a heavy thud.

As Marcus spoke he ran to his father's side and sank down upon one knee to gaze anxiously in his face.

"Are you much hurt?" he said, hoa.r.s.ely.

"No, no, not much, my boy," said Cracis; "but in the excitement I did not know you, Marcus. Oh, it seems impossible that you could have been my preserver!"

"It was more Serge than I, father," cried Marcus, quickly.

"Nay, nay, nay!" growled the old soldier, in his hoa.r.s.est tones. "Speak the truth, boy."

"That is the truth," cried Marcus, quickly.

"I helped, of course, but it was him, master, who made that cut at the Gaul's spear and knocked him over. But we neither of us knew that it was you."