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Marcus: The Young Centurion, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 2. Old Serge |
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_ CHAPTER TWO. OLD SERGE Marcus, son of Cracis, was a good deal hurt, but his injuries were of a temporary and superficial kind, and, as he stood listening, so little importance did he attach to his injuries that a broad grin began to gather upon his frank young face, and he uttered a low, chuckling laugh; for, as he stood wiping his brow and listening, he could hear the sounds of blows, yells and cries, the worrying growl of the dog, and the harsh encouraging voice of the man pretty close at hand, all of which taught him that the enemy had been checked in their retreat and were being horribly routed by the reinforcements--a cohort of dog and man. "The young ruffians!" said Marcus, softly, as, unwillingly dragging himself from where he could have the satisfaction of hearing the punishment that was being awarded, he hurried back into the villa and stopped in the court, where he sank upon his knees by the cool, plashing fountain, whose clear waters he tinged as he bathed his face and swollen eye. He had some intention of hurrying back to the scene of battle to look upon the damaged vines, and see if any prisoners had been made; but, while he was still occupied in his surgical effort to make his injured eye see as well as the other, he was startled into rising up and turning to face the owner of a deep, gruff voice, who had approached him unheard, to growl out: "Well, you were a pretty fellow, boy! Why didn't you beat 'em?" The speaker was a big, thick-set, grizzled man of fifty, his bare arms and legs brown-skinned, hairy and muscular, his chest open, and his little clothing consisting of a belted garment similar to that worn by the boy, at whom he gazed with a grim look of satisfaction which lit up his rugged face and fine eyes. "Weren't running away, were you?" "No!" shouted Marcus, angrily. "I kept at it till you came, Serge. But there were six." "Yes, I know. You didn't go the right way to work. Were they at the grapes?" "Yes. They woke me up; I had been writing, and I dropped asleep." "Writing?" said the man contemptuously and with a deep grunt of scorn. "Enough to send anybody to sleep on a day like this. I say, lucky for you I came back!" "Yes," said Marcus, giving his face a final wipe; "I was getting the worst of it." "Course you were. That's reading and writing, that is. Now, if you had been taught to be a soldier instead of a volumer, you'd have known that when the enemy's many more than you, you ought to attack him in bits, not take him all at once and get yourself surrounded. Yes, it's lucky for you I came." "Yes, and I hope you gave them something to remember it," said the boy, with his eyes fixed upon the stout crook upon which the new-comer leaned. "Oh yes, I made them feel this," said the man, with a chuckle; "and old Lupus tickled them up a bit and made them squeak." "That's right," cried Marcus; "but where is he?" "On guard," said the man. "On guard?" "Yes," said the man, with a chuckle. "We took the whole six of them prisoners." "Ah! Where are they then?" "Shut up fast alone with the wine-press. They won't get out of there with Lupus looking on." "Capital!" cried Marcus, forgetting all his sufferings in the triumphant news. "Here, Serge, what shall we do with them?" "I'm not going to do anything with them," said the man, gruffly. "I've had my turn, and it's yours now. You've got to fight the lot." "Yes," cried the boy, flushing, and his fists began to clench. "But I say, Serge, I should like to, but I'm a bit tired, and they're still six to one." "Yes," said the man, "but that's what I want you to see. It won't hurt you to know how, even if you're never going to be a soldier. You come along o' me." "What, to fight them?" cried Marcus. "Yes. Aren't afraid, are you?" "Not a bit," cried the boy, flushing angrily. "Come and see." The man chuckled as he went off with his young companion to the lower side of the villa, where stood a low-roofed stone building with heavy chestnut plank doors, before which crouched a big, shaggy wolf-hound which pricked up its ears and uttered a deep growl as it lifted up its bushy tail, and rapped the earth in recognition of the new-comers, but did not take its eyes from the door beyond which were the prisoners it had been set to guard. "Now, boy," said the man, "it was your doing that I taught you a bit of soldiering, and a nice row there'll be about it some day when he finds us out; so now I'm just going to show you, if you're not too tired, how one good Roman can fight six enemies and beat 'em, same as we've often done in the good old days when I wore my armour and brass helmet with its plume, not a straw hat and things like these. Ah, boy," said the man, drawing himself up and shouldering his crook as if it were a spear, "those were grand old times! I was a better man then than now." "No, you weren't, Serge, not a bit," cried the boy. "You must have always been what you are now--a dear good old chap who'd do anything for me." The fierce-looking old fellow smiled pleasantly, literally beaming upon the boy, whom he patted on the shoulder. "Ah," he said, "but there was no you then. But never mind all that. Hark!" he continued, softly, as a whispering was heard beyond the door, "They know we are coming, and they're thinking about making a rush when I open the door. But they'd better not try; you'd pin some of them, wouldn't you, Lupe?" The dog uttered a low, deep, thundering growl. "That's right, boy. Now, Marcus, my lad, if you feel too tired, say so, and we'll keep them till the master comes." "Oh, don't do that," cried the boy. "He'd only talk to them and scold them, and then let them go, after forgiving them for stealing the grapes." "That's right, boy; so he would." "And they'd all laugh," cried Marcus, "and come again." "But they won't after the welting you are going to give them, boy--if you are not too tired." "Of course I'm tired," cried the boy, impatiently, "after a fight like that; but then they are tired too, so it's all fair--only six to one?" "Don't I tell you that I am going to show you how to fight them as a Roman should, and how we used to conquer in the good old times before we took to reading and writing and came into the country to keep pigs." "And grow corn and grapes, and feed our goats in this beautiful farm villa; and if father liked to take to study instead of being a great Roman general and senator, it's not for you, Serge, to find fault with what it pleases him to do." "Right, boy! Spoken like your father's son. It was only one of my growls. I don't mind. He's one of the finest men that ever stepped, and what he says is right. But you and me, we don't want him to let these young ragamuffins off without loosening their skins a bit to do them good, do we?" "No!" cried the boy, joyously, as he showed his white teeth. "I say, Serge, I feel rested now, and I want to give it to them for knocking me about as they did. The rascally young plebs! The cowards! Six to one! I believe they'd have half killed me if they had got me down." "That they would, Marcus, my boy," cried the old soldier, gazing at him proudly. "But come on, I'll show you the way, and Lupe and I will look on and see that they fight fair, while we guard you flank and rear. Old Lupe shall be ready to scatter their mothers, if they hear that we have the young rascals fast. No women will interfere if old Lupe begins to show his teeth." The man and boy exchanged glances, and, as the former struck his staff down heavily upon the earth in advancing towards the great, rough door of the building, the latter's fists clenched involuntarily, and the dog pricked up his ears and uttered a low sigh. The next minute a big, rough, hairy hand was raised to the cross-bar which secured the door, and, at the first touch, there was a low, rustling sound within the building. Serge and Marcus exchanged glances again, while the dog crouched as if about to spring. Directly after, the bar was loosened, and fell with a clang, the door was dragged open from within, and the prisoners made a simultaneous rush to escape, but only to fall back with a despairing yell, for the great dog bounded at them, and the old soldier and his young master closed in, to fill up the door and step forward. "Stop outside, Lupe, my lad," said the old soldier, quietly; and the dog turned back to his former position and crouched once more, while the door was shut from the inside, the six boys backing to the far side, beyond the great stone hewn-out press, empty now, dry and clean, for the time of grape harvest was not yet. "Now then, my fine fellows," growled Serge; "you want to fight, do you?" "We want to go," half whimpered the one who acted as spokesman. "Oh, yes, you want to go," said the old soldier; "of course. Well, you shall go soon, but you wanted to fight young Marcus here, and you didn't play fair." "Never touched him till he came at us," cried another. "So I suppose," said Serge. "Very hard on you! Six nice boys! Interfered, did he, when you were breaking down the vines and stealing the grapes?" "They warn't ripe," whimpered another. "Then they ought to have been, seeing that you wanted them," cried Serge, indignantly, while Marcus laughed. "But as they weren't ripe, of course, it made you cross, and you began to fight young Marcus here." None of the boys spoke, but gazed longingly at the door. "Ah! You see it ain't fastened inside," said Serge, mockingly; "but it is fastened outside with dog's teeth. I wouldn't advise you to try to get out, because our dog, Lupus, doesn't like boys, and he's hungry. Nothing he'd like better than to eat such a chap as one of you. But you know that, and you wouldn't have come, only you'd seen me go off to the forest with him to herd up the young swine. Didn't know that we should be back so soon. You see, the young swine were just at the edge." "You'd better not touch us, old Serge," cried the biggest lad, in a whining tone. "You touch me and see if my father don't mark you!" "I'm not going to touch you, boy," replied the herdsman. "I've done all I wanted to you for breaking down my grape poles that I cut and set up. I've got you here because you wanted to fight." "I don't want to fight," cried the youngest of the party. "You'd better let us go." "Yes, I'm going to as soon as you've fought young Marcus and beat him as you meant to." "We don't want to fight," half sobbed another. "We want to go home." "I don't believe it," growled Serge. "You want to whip young Marcus, and I'm going to see you do it; only old Lupe, our dog, and me's going to see fair." "No, you ain't!" came in chorus. "You've got to call that dog off and let us go." "Yes, when you've done," said the old soldier, with a grin. "Who's going to be the first to begin? For it's going to be a fair fight, not six all at once upon one. Now then, anyhow you like, only one at a time. What, you won't speak? They're nice boys, Marcus, my lad, so modest they don't like to step before one another; so you'll have to choose for yourself. Just which you like, but I should go or that big fellow first." "I don't want to fight," whined the lad indicated, and he backed in among his companions and placed himself as far behind them as he could. "Oh, come! This is wasting time. There, go and fetch him out into the middle, Marcus, my lad--or no, I'll do it." _ |
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