Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 5

"But it's duty, boy, eh! What we ought to do?"

"Yes, Serge, and it must be done; but I wish we had never begun it all."

"Ay, lad, so do I; but it's of no use to wish. There, have one good look at it, and then I'll put it all away in the big chestnut box."

"But I shall want to look at it all sometimes, Serge."

"Well, I don't see no harm in that, my boy. Only no more fighting lessons."

"No," sighed Marcus; "no more fighting lessons. You are right, Serge, and I'm going to forget all about it if I can; but I shall always feel that I should have liked to be a Roman soldier."

"Ah, you can't help that, boy, of course."

"No, I can't help that," sighed Marcus, and, stretching out his hands, he picked up the heavy brazen helmet, looked at it round and round before turning it with the back towards him, and then, slowly raising it, he balanced the heavy head-piece on high for a few moments before slowly lowering it down upon his head; the scaled cheek-straps fell into their places, and he drew himself up erect with his eyes flashing and face lighting up, as he gazed half defiantly at the old soldier.

"Hah!" cried the latter. "It do fit you well, boy, and you look nearly a man in it."

"Do I, Serge?" cried the boy, flushing, as he put off the helmet with a sigh, and set it aside; then, catching up the sword and belt, he went out on to the _Piazza_ to buckle them on, his fingers trembling with excitement the while.

"Do you, boy? Yes, and a regular soldier too," said Serge, following.

Marcus threw his hand across and grasped the scabbard of the short sword blade with his left, the hilt with his right, and, the next moment, the keen, two-edged weapon flashed in the sunlight.

"Good! Brave boy!" cried the old soldier excitedly, and, forgetting all the words that had pa.s.sed, he fetched the oblong, round-faced shield from the table and held it ready for Marcus to thrust his left arm through the loop and then grasp the hand-hold firmly, and draw the piece of defensive armour before his breast. "Well done! Now think that I'm going to cut you down."

In an instant Marcus had drawn back with all his weight upon his right foot, as he slightly raised the shield to cover his head and left breast, before throwing himself forward again, bringing up his right hand, sword-armed as it was, and delivering a thrust which, in the boy's excitement, lightly touched the folds of the thick woollen garment which crossed his breast, while the receiver smartly drew himself aside.

"Gently, boy!" he shouted. "I didn't mean you to do that!"

"Oh, Serge!" cried Marcus, flushing scarlet. "I didn't mean to touch you like that! I haven't hurt you, have I?" he cried.

"Well, no," said the old fellow, smiling grimly; "but it was very near, and the point of that sword's as sharp as I could grind it."

"I'm so sorry," cried Marcus. "I didn't think."

"Lucky for me I did," said Serge, with a laugh. "Did you think I was an enemy?"

"No," cried Marcus, hurriedly; "I thought--no, I didn't think."

"Of course you didn't, boy, but--"

"What is the meaning of this?" said a stern voice, and a bare-headed figure draped in the folds of a simple Roman toga stood looking wonderingly at the pair.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE TROUBLE GROWS.

"There!" muttered Serge. "We've done it now!"

"My old arms and weapons! Yours, Serge! And these?--How came you to be possessed of those, my boy?"

The new-comer pointed, frowning the while, at the boy's weapons, and then turned his eyes upon Serge, who turned as red as the detected boy, and made signs for him to speak; but, instead of speaking out, Marcus signalled back for his companion to explain.

"I am waiting very patiently for one of you to give me some explanation, though I see plainly enough that I have been disobeyed by you, my son, as well as by my old servant, in whom I thought I could place confidence. Marcus, my son, do not disgrace yourself further by behaving like a coward. Speak out at once and confess."

"Yes, father," cried the boy, making a desperate effort to speak out frankly. "I want to tell you everything, but it is so hard to do."

"Hard to speak the truth, boy?"

"No, father, I did not mean that. I--I--"

"Well, sir?"

"I've done wrong, father, and I am ashamed of it."

"Hah! Come, that is more like my boy," cried Cracis, very sternly, but with the frown upon his brow less deeply marked. "There, go on."

"It was like this, father. One day I found Serge cleaning and burnishing the old armour that you and he used to wear."

"Why was this, sir?" cried Cracis sternly to his old servant. "Did I not tell you that I had given up a warrior's life for ever?"

"Yes, master."

"Did I place any tie upon you? Did I not tell you that you were free to remain in the legion?"

"Yes, master; but how was I to leave you? You know I could not."

"Well, sir, I gave you leave to stay here with me in my country house, but I told you to leave all traces of my former life behind."

"You did, master."

"Is this the way that you obey a master who has always been true to you in his dealings?"

"It's all bad, master," replied the man, "and I tried hard to do my duty, and so I brought the old armour and our swords, and something seemed to make me keep everything clean and bright, ready if it should be wanted."

"It never could be wanted by one who was rejected, humbled and disgraced as I was, man. You knew all that took place, and saw me cast down from my position."

"Yes, master, and my heart bled for you. That's why I came."

"Yes," said Cracis, more gently, "and in my heart, Serge, I thank you for your fidelity; but my orders were that all traces of our old position in the Roman army should be destroyed."

"Yes, master," said the man, humbly, "but they wouldn't destroy. I only kept them, and cleaned them up now and then when no one was looking; but you know what young Marcus is: he found me out."

"Yes, father," cried Marcus, excitedly; "don't blame Serge. I made him talk to me about the past, and he was obliged to tell me all about you being such a great friend of Caesar, and how, at last, you went against him and he--There, I won't say any more, father, because I can see from your face how it hurts you; but I got to know everything, and, when you were busy reading and writing of an evening, I used to come and sit by the fire in the winter's nights and make him tell me about the wars and what a great general you were; and so, from always loving to hear about rights, I loved to hear of the wars and conquests more and more, and--"

"Go on, my son, and keep nothing. I must hear everything now."