Chapter 10. Left Behind

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_ CHAPTER TEN. LEFT BEHIND

"Not going too, master?" cried Serge, as soon as he could recover himself from a verbal blow which had, for the moment, seemed to crush him down; and, as Marcus heard the hopeless despair in the poor fellow's tones, the feeling of malicious triumph in his breast died away.

"No," said Cracis, firmly; "your duty lies here."

"Lies here, master?" stammered Serge.

"Yes, man, here. Whom am I to leave in charge of my home? Who is to protect my son if I take you with me?"

"Home--Son?" faltered Serge. "But you, master--who is to protect you if your old follower is left behind?"

"I must protect myself, Serge," said Cracis, and his voice lost for the moment the hard, firm sternness of the soldier. "Your duty is here, Serge, and I look to you to carry it out. I leave you a greater charge than that of following and trying to shield me."

"No, no, master, no!" cried the old soldier, passionately. "I was with you always. I followed you through the wars, and I've stood by you like a man in peace. Once my master always my master while you could trust me, and it must be so still."

"No, Serge," cried Cracis, sternly. "I have told you your duty and now give you your orders. Protect my property; watch over my son till my return, if I ever do return," he added, sadly; "and if I fall, your place is still here to stand by my son and follow him as you have followed me."

"But you will not let me follow you, master!" cried Serge, passionately. "Oh, master, master! Young Marcus isn't a suckling; he's big and strong enough to fend himself. I've been waiting all these years for you to take your place as a soldier and a general once again! Don't-- pray don't leave me behind!"

"Serge," said Cracis, sternly, "you have led these years of peace, but recollect that you are a soldier still. Man, your officer has given you your orders--Obey!"

As Marcus gazed at their old follower he seemed to have suddenly grown old. His face was wrinkled, and the skin appeared to hang, while a piteous look of despair filled his eyes as, throwing out his hands towards one who seemed to him to be delivering his death sentence, he fell heavily upon his knees and poured forth:

"There, there, master, here's your sword, keener and brighter than ever. Draw it and put me out of my misery at once. I won't say a word, only give you a last look like that of a faithful hound who has died in your service. Kill me at once, and let that be the end, but now that you are coming to your rights again after all these weary years of waiting, and are going to fight for brave old Rome, don't throw me over as if I was a helpless log. Think what it means to an old soldier who never turned his back upon an enemy in his life. Use your sword on me, master, if you feel that I'm not the man to draw my own again; but don't--pray don't leave me behind!"

Marcus felt ready to join his petition to that of the old soldier, but he could not speak, only stand and listen to his father's words, as he stepped forward to lay his hand upon the man's shoulder.

"Serge," he said, in a voice full of emotion--"brave old follower--true old friend, I could sternly order you to obey my commands, but I can only beg of you as you do of me. Rise up, man, and hear me. I would gladly take you with me and have you always at my back, but we cannot do everything we would. In my absence, Serge, your place is here to protect my boy. It is your duty, and perhaps the last command I shall ever give you, for the Gauls are stout warriors and it is no child's play that takes me from my home. I beg, then, as well as order. Stay and protect my son."

"But you don't know, master, how you may be surrounded by enemies ready to strike at you."

"No," said Cracis, firmly, and there was a ring of command in his tones. "Neither do I know how closely my boy may be hemmed in, and I want to leave here with the peaceful feeling that, whatever happens, my son has one beside him that I can always trust. Your duty, Serge, is here, and I leave Marcus in your charge. Now, no more save this: Rise up like my trusted servant. Duty calls me away, not only as a counsellor, but also as one of my country's generals. Now help me with my armour, for I go forth to fight. There have been words enough. Take the example of my son. He feels the bitterness of being left behind as much as you. Now, quick! We have lost too much time already. Caius Julius awaits my coming, and my heart is burning to be free from all this suffering and mental pain. Marcus, my boy, help him. It is the first time I ever asked you to arm me as a soldier. Quick, boy, and let us get it done."

Marcus sprang to his father's side, while, heavy and slow, Serge, as he rose, tottered here and there as he busied himself over a task that had not fallen to him for many long years, while a faint groan of misery escaped his lips from time to time before the last metal loop had been forced over its stud and then drawn into its place, the last buckle drawn tight, and the armed cheek-straps of the great Robin helmet passed beneath the general's chin.

These final preparations made, Cracis stood, grave and thoughtful, asking himself whether there was anything more he wished to do, anything in the way of orders to give his servant and his son before he left his home.

"Leave me now, Marcus," he said. "I wish to be alone for a while. Well," he continued, as the boy stood frowning and looking at him wistfully, "why do you stay? You want to ask me something before I go?"

These words stirred the boy into action, and he started to his father's side; but, though his lips parted, no words came.

"The time is gliding away, Marcus, my boy," said Cracis, sadly. "Come, speak out. You want to ask some favour before I go?"

"Yes, father, but after what you have said I hardly dare," cried the boy, hoarsely.

"Speak out, my son, boldly and bravely," said Cracis. "What is it you wish to say?"

"That there is yet time, father, before you go."

"Time for what?" said Cracis, frowning as if he grasped what his son was about to say.

"Time for you to withdraw your command," cried the boy, desperately. "Father, I can't help it; I could not stay behind here with you leaving home for the wars. You must take me with you after all."

Cracis frowned heavily.

"Is this my son speaking?" he said, harshly. "After the commands I have given you--after the way in which I have arranged for you to represent me here, and take my place in all things? Where are all my teachings about duty--have all flown to the winds?"

"No, no, father," cried the boy, passionately; "but you cannot tell how I feel. You do not know what it is to be left alone, and for me to see you go."

"You are wrong, my boy; I do know," cried Cracis; "and I may answer you and say, neither do you know what it is for me to give up my happy home and all belonging to me, to go hence never to return."

"Oh, I do, I do, father! I can feel that it must be terrible," cried the boy, excitedly; "but there is no need for you to go alone. I know how young I am, but I could be of great help to you. I am sure I could. So pray, pray don't leave me behind."

"Is that all you have to say, Marcus?" said Cracis, sternly.

"Ye-e-es, father," faltered the boy, in a despairing tone, for he could read plainly enough in his father's eyes that his appeal had been in vain.

"Then leave me now, boy, and do not make my task harder by speaking like this again. I have my duty to do towards my country and my home. My duty to my country is to follow Caius Julius in the great venture he is about to attempt; my duty to my home and son is to leave you here and not expose you, at your age, to the horrors of this war."

"But father!" cried the boy, wildly.

"Silence, boy!" said Cracis, firmly. "Obey me. I will hear no more. Go!"

Marcus' lips parted to make one more appeal, but, as his eyes met his father's where Cracis stood pointing towards the door, his own fell again, and feeling mastered, crushed in his despair, he moved slowly towards the door, his heart seeming to rise to his throat to strangle him in the intense emotion from which he suffered; but, as soon as he was outside, his elastic young spirit seemed to spring up again, and he hurried to his room, to stand there thinking, with the resolve to make one more strong effort to move his father's determination.

"He does not--he cannot know what I feel," he said to himself with energy. "I did not half try. I should have thrown myself at his feet and prayed to him. No, no," said the boy, mournfully, as he felt more and more the hopelessness of his cause. "It would have been no good. Father is like iron in his will; he is so strong, I am so weak--He a great man--I only a poor, feeble boy to be left behind to mind the house, as if I were a girl! Oh, it's of no use; I must stay--I must stay!" he half groaned, in his despair. "When perhaps I might help him so, I and Serge, when he was in the fight, or--oh, if he were wounded! Suppose he were cut down and bleeding, perhaps dying, and I not there to help him! Oh, it's of no use to despair; I must--I will go. I know! I'll appeal to Caius Julius; he will hear me, I feel sure."

Full of enthusiasm once more, he hurried out of his room to seek for the visitor, who had wrought such a change in their quiet home; but, as he caught sight of him pacing slowly up and down the little inner court close to the fountain, the boy's heart failed him again, for he recalled the angry passage that had taken place between them the previous day-- their visitor's half-mocking words, and his own burst of passion, which had roused him into forgetting the sacred rites of hospitality and raising his hand to strike.

"I can't ask him; I dare not beg him to intercede," thought Marcus. "He would only jeer at me for being a boy, and put me out of temper again. But I must," he said. "It is for father's sake. Yes, I will. Why should I mind? Let him laugh at me if he likes."

Raising his courage he was on his way to their visitor's side when Caius Julius turned and caught sight of the approaching boy.

"Ah, Marcus," he said; "is your father nearly ready to go?"

"Yes," cried the boy, "but--"

He stopped short, for the words refused to come.

"Well, what were you about to say?" said Julius, frowning.

"Your father is not going to repent?"

"Repent? About me?" cried the boy, excitedly.

"About you, boy? Why should he repent about you?"

"And let me go with him," cried Marcus, excitedly, as, forgetting all his dislike, he caught his father's visitor by the robe and spoke eagerly and well. "I want to go with him to the war."

"You? To fight?"

"Yes; I know I am young and weak--Yes, I know, only a boy, but I shall grow strong, and it is not only to fight. I want to be there to help him. He might be sick or wounded. He says I must stay at home here, but I appeal to you. You can tell him how useful I could be. You will tell him, sir, for I feel that I ought not--that I cannot stay here and let him go alone."

"Well spoken, my brave boy!" cried Caius Julius. "Spoken like a man! So you, young as you are, would go with us?"

"Yes, yes, of course," cried Marcus, in his wild excitement, as he listened to this encouraging reception of his appeal. "I think I could fight; but even if I could not there is so much that I could do."

"And you would not feel afraid?" cried Julius, catching the boy by the arm.

"No--yes--no--I do not know," said the boy, colouring. "I hope not."

"You do not know the horrors of a battlefield, boy," said Julius, fixing Marcus with his keen eyes.

"No," said Marcus, thoughtfully; "it must be very terrible, but I do not think I should shrink. I should be thinking so much of my father."

"Well, honestly and modestly spoken, boy," said Julius. "Why, you make me feel full of confidence in your becoming as brave and great a man as your father."

"Oh no, sir," replied Marcus, sadly. "No one could be so great and brave a man as he."

"But you would follow us into the middle of the battle's horrors?"

"Yes, sir, I would indeed; indeed I would," cried Marcus, eagerly.

"I believe you, my boy, and all the more for your simple honesty of speech."

"And you will prevail upon my father to let me go?" cried Marcus, appealingly.

"I do not know," said Julius, thoughtfully. "You say that you have begged hard and your father says that you must stay?"

"Yes," cried Marcus, "but you have the power, sir, and you will speak to him and tell him that he must take me?" cried Marcus.

Julius shook his head.

"Let me see," he said; "you told me that you would try to be brave."

Marcus felt that his hopes were vain, but he spoke out desperately:

"Yes, I would indeed try to be as brave and firm as I could."

"I know you would, boy, but remember this: it is very brave to be obedient to those who are in authority over you," said Julius. "A good son obeys his father, and Cracis has given you his commands to stay here, has he not?"

"Yes," cried Marcus, desperately; "but I was sure that I could be of the greatest help."

"I believe that you would try to be," said Julius, gravely; "but, my boy, I cannot fight for you in this and oppose your father's commands. Be brave and do your duty here. Put up with the disappointment and wait. Time flies fast, boy, and you will be a man sooner than you expect--too soon perhaps for the golden days of youth. No, my boy, I cannot interfere. You must obey your father's commands."

"Oh," cried Marcus, passionately, "and suppose he is stricken down, to lie helpless on the field?"

Julius shrugged his shoulders, and at that moment the voice of Cracis was heard summoning the boy, who turned away hanging his head in his despair. Marcus turned to meet his father, who looked at him wondering to see him there, and bringing the colour to the boy's cheeks, so guilty did he feel, as, with his cloak over his arm, Cracis drew his son to him to press him to his mailed breast, held out his hand to Serge, and then strode forward with heavy tread to join his old military companion, who was now slowly bending over the side of the fountain, into whose clear surface he kept on lowering the white tips of his fingers so that one or the other of the little fish that glided about within the depths might dart at them and apply its lips in the belief that something was offered to it fit for food.

Caius Julius rose up slowly as he heard the heavy tramp of his friend's armoured feet upon the paved floor, and took in his appearance with a smile of satisfaction.

"You are ready, then?" he said.

"Yes," was the laconic reply.

"Then nothing remains but for you to take your farewell of my brave young friend, your defender when I ventured to try his faith."

"That is done," said Cracis, gravely; "and as Rome awaits my coming, lead the way."

"But I have not said my valediction to your son, Cracis, and it is this: Wait, Marcus, my brave boy. Some day perhaps I may come to you as I have come to your father to ask your help. Better still, send him, full of the honours he has won, to bring his son to Rome. Till then, farewell."

Marcus felt the touch of their visitor's hands and heard his words, but he could not speak, only stand side by side with Serge, who looked older and more bent than when he first learned the truth that he was to stay behind; but the boy had no thought at the moment but of the father who was going away to face peril as well as to strike for glory and his country's welfare.

He could only follow the pair of Rome's great men as, side by side, they passed out of the open court where the fountain played and the water that sparkled like diamonds in the bright sunshine fell back into the basin with a musical splashing sound.

A minute later and Cracis with his companion passed out through the porched entry into the tree-shaded road, the grave, white-robed leader and the well-armed general with his shield, which flashed and turned off a shower of keen darts which came from on high, as he turned once to wave his hand to his son.

At that moment there was a low, deep bay, and the great wolf-dog, which had caught sight of his master, bounded from the shadow where he had crouched to avoid the flies, and, seeing the two strangers, as they seemed to him, he leaped forward, but crouched at his master's feet as he recognised his face and voice.

"Good dog!" cried Cracis. "No, go back and guard all here till I return."

If the dog did not grasp the words, he did the tone and gesture, replying by throwing up his muzzle and giving vent to a piteous howl full of protest, as he turned and walked slowly back to join Marcus and Serge, dropping at the former's feet just as the departing pair disappeared at a turn of the road.

Then there was a pause for a time, before the dog slunk off to his kennel; Serge hung his head and moved away in silence towards the back of the villa and the room that Marcus playfully called his den, while the boy, feeling that all was over and hope dead and buried in his breast, went slowly and sadly to his seat in the study, where his stylus and waxen tablets lay, to slowly scratch upon the smooth surface the words:

"Gone. Left behind." _

Read next: Chapter 11. Good-Bye, Old Home

Read previous: Chapter 9. The Old Armour

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