Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 6

"Yes, father; I want to be frank. It was all my doing, for I persuaded and then I ordered Serge to get me sword and armour, and made the armourer alter a man's breast-plate and helmet to fit me, and--and paid for it all by degrees; and then I made Serge teach me how to wear the armour and use the sword and spear and shield; and it was all like that, father."

"And he has taught you all this?" said Cracis, sternly.

"Yes, father. I made him do it; but I did it all as a thoughtless boy."

"And did this old soldier do all as a thoughtless boy," said Cracis, bitterly, "or as my trusted servant?"

"He did it as my servant as well as yours, father," said the boy, proudly. "I told him it was his duty to obey me, his master's son, father, and, poor fellow, he obeyed unwillingly till to-day, when he felt and I felt, that we had been doing very wrong, that it was all worse than we had ever thought, and this was the last time the teaching was to go on. Everything was to be put aside, and I was going to work hard at my writing and reading, as you wished, and try to think no more about the army and the wars."

Cracis was silent for a few moments, during which he gazed searchingly at his son.

"Is this the very truth?" he said.

"Every word of it, master!" cried Serge, excitedly. "Tell him, Marcus boy, how it was all by chance you put on your helmet and drew your sword. I wish now, boy, it had gone through me and made an end of me, before I had to stand up like this and own all my fault."

"What do you mean by that--the sword gone through you, Serge?"

"Yes, father. In my eagerness I made a big thrust at him, and the point of my sword almost entered his breast."

"Dangerously close?" asked Cracis.

"Horribly close, father, and--there, I am glad you found it all out. I have no more to say, father, only that you must punish me, not Serge, and I will bear everything without saying a word."

Cracis was silent for a few minutes, and his voice sounded different when he spoke again.

"Where have these war-like implements been kept?" he said.

"In your big chest, master, made out of the planks cut from the big chestnut that was hewn down four years ago."

"Place them back there, Serge," said Cracis, gravely. "Fasten them in, and carry the chest and bestow it where it may stand beside my bed."

"But father--" began Marcus.

"Silence, sir!" said Cracis. "I wish to think of all this, and not judge hastily. Take off those unseemly weapons, which are far from suited for my student son. Let this be done at once, Serge. You, Marcus, will follow me to my room, and be there an hour hence. I have much to say to you, my boy, very much to say."

Cracis turned thoughtfully away, leaving his son with the old soldier, for them to gaze sadly at one another as the slow steps of the father and master died away.

"He'll never forgive us, Marcus, my lad."

"He will forgive us both, Serge," said Marcus quickly; "but what would I not give if it had never been done!"

"No," said Serge, grimly, "he'll never forgive us."

"Nonsense!" cried Marcus. "You don't know my father as I do."

"Better, a lot, boy. I've fought with him, starved with him, saved his life; and I'll be fair--he's saved mine more than once. But he's hard as bronze, boy, and when he says a thing he'll never go back."

"And I say he's as good and forgiving as can be, and when all the armour has been put away as he told you, he'll forget all this trouble, and we shall be as happy again as ever."

"You say that, boy, because you don't know him. I do, and there's nothing left for it but for me to make up my bundle and go off."

"What!" cried Marcus, laughing. "You pack up your bundle and go?"

"Yes, my lad; I can never get over this again. I have been a servant and herdsman here all these years because I felt your father respected me, but now he don't I feel as if I could never do another stroke of work, and I shall go."

"No, you won't, Serge; you are only saying that because you are cross."

"Oh no," said the man, shaking his head, "not cross, boy--wounded. Cut to the heart. I'm only a poor sort of labouring man here and servant, but I have been a soldier, and once a soldier always a soldier at heart, a man who thinks about his honour. Ah, you smile; and it does sound queer for a man dressed like this and handling a herdsman's crook to talk about his honour; but inside he's just the same man as wore the soldier's armour and plumed helmet and marched in the ranks, erect and proud, ready to follow his general wherever he led. You wouldn't think it strange for a proud-looking man like that to say his honour was touched."

"No," said Marcus, thoughtfully.

"Well, boy, I'm the same man still. I have lost your father's confidence, and as soon as I have done putting away of our armour and weapons, as he told me, in the big old chest, I shall pack up and go."

"Shall you take your sword and helmet with you, Serge?" asked the boy.

The man stared, and looked at him sharply, before remaining silent for quite a minute.

"No," he cried, angrily; "I shall take nothing that will bring up the past. I want to forget it all."

"But what do you mean to do?" said Marcus.

"I don't know yet, boy. Something will happen, I daresay; for we never know what's going to take place to-morrow, and I shall leave all that."

The man ceased speaking, and began almost caressingly to straighten and arrange the various pieces of military accoutrement that he had been burnishing, while Marcus sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching him sadly.

"I don't like it, Serge," he said at last.

"Nay, boy, and I don't like it," replied the man. "I said just now we never know what is going to take place to-morrow. Who would have thought yesterday that things could have been like this to-day? But here they are. Hah!" he cried pa.s.sionately. "I wish I hadn't shrunk away."

"Shrunk away!" cried Marcus. "Why, you are bigger and stouter than ever you were."

"Pah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the man, angrily. "I don't mean that. I mean shrunk away as I did just now when you made that thrust at me with the sword."

"What!" cried Marcus. "Why, I should have killed you. That sword point is so horribly sharp. You don't know what a shudder ran through me when I saw what I had nearly done."

"Yes, you would have killed me, boy, and that's what I wish you had done."

"Serge, do you know what you are talking about?" cried Marcus. "Are you going mad?"

"Oh yes, I know what I'm talking about, and perhaps I am going mad.

What else can you expect of a poor fellow who, all at once, finds himself dishonoured and disgraced?"

"You are not. I tell you I don't believe that my father will ever say another word when all the things are put away."

"Yes, because you don't know him, boy. There, it's no use to talk. I have made up my mind to go."

"What nonsense!" said Marcus. "When my father as good as said he was going to look over all the past."

"Ah, but that won't do for me, boy. I am dishonoured and disgraced, and I can never hold up my head again."