Chapter 5. The Trouble Grows

________________________________________________
_ 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."

"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 passionately. "I wish I hadn't shrunk away."

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

"Pah!" ejaculated 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."

"Oh, Serge, this comes hard on me," cried the boy, passionately.

"Nay, boy; it's all on my unfortunate head."

"It isn't, Serge," cried Marcus, "for, as I told father, it was all my doing. It was my stupid vanity and pride. I took it into my head that I wanted to be a soldier the same as father and you had been, and it has brought all this down upon you. I shall never forgive myself as long as I live."

"Nay, but you will, boy, when I'm gone and forgotten."

"Gone and forgotten!" cried Marcus, angrily. "You are not going, and you couldn't be forgotten. I shall never forget you, Serge, as long as I live."

"Shan't you, boy?" said the man, smiling sadly. "Well, thank ye. I don't think you will. I like that, boy, for you never seemed like a young master to me. I'm old and ugly, while you're young and handsome, but somehow we have always seemed to be companions like, and whatever you wanted me to do I always did."

"Yes, that you did, Serge," cried Marcus, laughing.

"I don't see nothing to laugh at, boy," said the old soldier, bitterly, as he half drew Marcus' blade from its scabbard, and then thrust it fiercely back with a sharp snap.

"No, but I do," said Marcus, "sad as all this is. It seems so droll."

"What does?" cried the man, fiercely.

"For you to talk about being old and ugly--you, such a big, strong, manly fellow as you are. Why, you are everything that a man ought to be."

"What!" cried the old soldier, gazing wonderingly at the boy, a puzzled look in his eyes as if he was in doubt whether the words to which he listened were mocking him.

"Why, look at you! Look at your arms and legs, and the way in which you step out, and then your strength! The way in which you lift heavy things! Do you remember that day when you took hold of me by the belt and lifted me up, to hold me out at arm's length for ever so long when I was in a passion and tried to hit you, and the more I raged the more you held me out, and laughed, till I came round and thought how stupid I was to attack such a giant as you, when I was only a poor feeble boy?"

"Nay, nay, you were never a poor feeble boy, but always a fine, sturdy little chap, and strong for your years, from the very first. That was partly my training, that was, and the way I made you feed. Don't you remember how I told you that it was always a soldier's duty to be able to fast, to eat well when he had the chance, and go without well when he hadn't, and rest his teeth?"

"Oh, yes, I recollect you told me it was the way to grow up strong and hearty, and that some day I should be like you."

"Well, wasn't that true enough? Only it takes time. And so you thought I was quite a giant, did you?"

"Yes, and so I do now. Old and worn out! What stuff! Why, Serge, I have always longed and prayed that I might grow up into a big, strong, fine-looking man like you."

"Thank you, my lad," said the man, sadly, and with the beaming smile that had come upon his face dying out, to leave it cold and dull. "Then you won't forget me, boy, when--" He stopped short, with a suggestion of moisture softening his fierce, dark eyes.

"Forget you! You know I shan't. But what do you mean by 'when'?"

"When my well-picked, dry bones are lying out somewhere up the mountain side, scattered here and there."

"What!" cried Marcus, laughing merrily. "Who's going to pick them and scatter them to dry up in the mountains?"

"The wolves, boy, the wolves," said the man, bitterly, "for I suppose I shall come to that. You asked me what I was going to do. I'll tell you. I shall wander away somewhere right up among the mountains, for my soldiering days are over, and I can never serve another master now, and at last I shall lie down to die! The wolves will come, and," he added, with a sigh, "you know what will happen then."

"Oh yes," said Marcus, with mock seriousness. "The poor wolves! I shall be sorry for them. I know what will happen then. At the first bite you will jump up in a rage, catch them one at a time by the tail, give them one swing round, and knock their brains out against the stones. You wouldn't give them much chance to bite again."

A grim smile gradually dawned once more upon the old soldier's countenance, and, slowly raising one of his hands, he began to scratch the side of his thickly-grizzled head, his brow wrinkling up more deeply the while, as he gazed into the merry, mocking eyes that looked back so frankly into his.

"You are laughing at me, boy," he said, at last.

"Of course I am, Serge. Oh my! You are down in the dumps! I say, how many wolves do you think you could kill like that? But, oh nonsense! You wouldn't be alone. If old Lupe saw you going off with your bundle he'd spring at you, get it in his teeth, and follow you carrying it wherever you went."

"Hah! Good old Lupe!" said the man, thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten him. Yes, he'd be sure to follow me. You'd have to shut him up in the wine-press."

"And hear him howl to get out?" cried Marcus. "No, I shouldn't, because I shouldn't be there."

"Why, where would you be?" said Serge, wonderingly.

"Along with you, of course."

"Along o' me?"

"Yes. If you left home and went away for what was all my fault, do you think I should be such a miserable cur as to stop behind? No; I should go with you, Serge, and take my sword, and you and Lupe and I could pretty well tackle as many wolves as would be likely to come up at us on the mountain side."

"Ah," cried the man, "you are talking like a boy."

"And so are you, Serge, when you say such things as you did just now. Now, look here; you are going to do as father said, pack up all the armour in the old chest, and then you are going to speak out and tell him that you are sorry that you listened to me, and then it will be all over and we shall go on again just the same as before. You and I will think out something that we can learn or do, and talk of something else besides fighting. There, let's have no more talking about going away. Look sharp and get it over. I shan't be happy till I see you and father shaking hands again. Now promise me you will go and get it done."

"'Tis done, boy; I did speak and made myself humble, just as you want; but he wouldn't take it right, and you know what he said. I can't never forget it now. He wouldn't listen to me, and no words now, no shaking hands, will put it straight. I shall have to go."

"Oh!" cried Marcus. "What an obstinate old bull it is! Yes, I mean it, Serge; you are just like a human bull. Now, look here; do as I tell you. You have got to go and speak to father as I say."

"Nay, boy," said the man, solemnly, "not a word. I am going to do my bit of work, the last job I shall ever do here, and then it will be good-bye."

Marcus sprang up in a passion.

"I can't bring you to your senses," he said. "You are too stubborn and blunt. If you won't promise me you will go and speak to father, I shall go myself and tell him all you say."

"Do, boy; that's right! I like to hear you turn like that. Hit me and kick me if you will. It will all make it easier for me to go away."

Marcus stood up before him, looking at him fiercely, and he was about to flash out a torrent of angry words, but, feeling that he would say something of which he might afterwards repent, he dashed out of the room and made for his father's study. _

Read next: Chapter 6. Making The Best Of It

Read previous: Chapter 4. Caught

Table of content of Marcus: The Young Centurion


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book