Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Marcus: The Young Centurion > This page
Marcus: The Young Centurion, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 11. Good-Bye, Old Home |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER ELEVEN. GOOD-BYE, OLD HOME There was a strange solemnity about the Roman villa as soon as Marcus was left alone. All seemed to have grown painfully still. It was fancy, no doubt, but, to the boy, the birds had ceased to sing and chirp among the trees, the sounds from the farm were distant, and though more than once Marcus listened intently he did not hear Serge go to or from his room, nor his step anywhere about the road. "Poor old Serge," thought Marcus; "he is as miserable as I am--no, not quite, because he does not feel so guilty nor ready to disobey. He heard what my father said, bowed his head, and went away." And how slowly the time glided away. The hottest part of the afternoon came, when, as a rule, the boy felt drowsy and ready to have a restful sleep till the sun began to get low; but this day Marcus felt so alert and excited that he never once thought of sleep, though he more than once longed to see the sun go down so that it might be darkness such as would agree with the misery and despair which kept him shut in his room hating the very sight of day. Marcus took up his stylus to write a dozen times over, but he did not add a word to those which he had written as soon as he was alone, and he threw the pointed implement down each time with a feeling of disgust. "I feel as if I shall never write again," he said, bitterly. "Oh, it is too hard to bear!" He buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows upon his knees, feeling at times almost stunned by his misery, quite ignorant of the lapse of time, and so wretched that he did not even wonder how far his father and the great Roman general had got by this time upon their journey to Rome. "Is it never going to be night?" groaned the boy at last, and then he started violently, for something cold and moist touched one of his hands. "You, Lupe?" he said, with a sigh, as he realised his disturber, and he looked gently at the great dog, whose eyes were fixed enquiringly and wistfully on his. "He's gone, old boy--gone--gone--gone--and, yes, the place does seem lonely and sad." The dog whined softly, and then looked sharply in his face again, before turning to the door, forcing it open and passing through. "Who'd ever have thought a dog would feel it so?" thought Marcus. "But he does. He missed him directly, and he has gone to hunt for him. "What, can't you find him, Lupe?" cried Marcus, as there came a scratching at the door, which was forced open, and the dog came in again, to utter a piteous whimper which increased into a howl. "Poor old Lupe!" sighed Marcus. "Can't you find him, boy? No, and you never will. I dare say he will never come back here again. Good old dog!" he continued, taking hold of his ears and drawing the head into his lap, to keep on caressing him and talking to him the while. "What mistakes one makes! I used to think you such a surly, savage old fellow, and here you are as miserable as I am, Lupe. Oh, he might have let me go!" The dog whined softly as it gazed wistfully in his eyes, and whined again. "Where's old Serge, Lupe? You haven't seen him since father went." The dog growled. "Oh, don't be cross with him, Lupe. I dare say he's as disappointed as I am; but he will have to stay," continued the boy, bitterly, as he uttered a mocking laugh, "and take care of the house and the servants and all the things about the farm; and you will have to stay and help him too. Just as if all these things were of any consequence at all. There, get away; I can't make a fuss over you now. I feel half wild and savage. I can't bear it, Lupe. It's too much--too much." He thrust the dog's head roughly away, and Lupe stood up before him and shook himself violently so that his ears rattled. Then, trotting towards the door, he was stopped short, for the latch was in its place and he tried to drag it open with his claws, but tried for some moments in vain. Then showing plenty of intelligence, he trotted back to the middle of the room, looked up anxiously in his young master's face, and barked angrily. "Oh, look here," cried Marcus, "I can't bear this. Be off!" The dog trotted back to the door and scratched at it with his head turned towards the boy the while; but Marcus was too full of his own troubles to grasp the great animal's meaning, and, finding that he was not understood, Lupe trotted to Marcus' side, lifted one leg, and pawed at him. "Get away, I tell you!" cried the boy, and the dog barked a little, and stood barking in the middle of the room for a few moments, before turning and making for the window, where he crouched a little, and then, with one effort, sprang right out into the garden, while Marcus subsided into his old attitude with his face buried in his hands. No one disturbed him, and at last the night began to fall, the shadows in the room darkened and grew darker still, till at last the boy seemed to wake out of a deep sleep, though he had never closed his eyes. Springing up, he went to the window, looked out at the dark and silent garden, and then uttering a low, deep sigh he crossed to the door, passed through, and made for his father's study, to find there that all was darker still. But he knew what he wanted, and with outstretched hands made for his father's bed, when they came in contact at once with what he wanted. Then there arose from the place where his father rested night after night a short, sharp, clinking noise as of metal against metal, while the boy quickly and carefully gathered together the various portions of his armour and accoutrements which had been placed there by old Serge when he unpacked and sorted out the portions of the three suits. It did not take long to clear the bed, and then, hugging everything tightly to him, Marcus crept softly out through the darkness, listening carefully the while before every movement, his acts suggesting that he was playing the part of a robber; and he thought so and laughed to himself, as he said softly, as if answering his conscience, "Yes, but I am only stealing my own," and then made his way to his own sleeping chamber, a narrow little closet of a place which opened upon the court, where the musical tinkling of the water as it fell back into the basin could be plainly heard. In the darkness everything was wonderfully still, save that the music of the water sometimes sounded loud, and when the boy rather roughly freed himself from his burden that he carried by casting the armour and weapons upon his own bed, he was half startled by the resulting crash, and turned back quickly into the court to stand and listen. As he did this the low murmur of voices came to his ear, making him step cautiously across the little square court and go round to the spot from which the sounds came. There he stood listening for a few moments, to satisfy himself that it was only his father's servants talking together, their subject being their master's going away. "Oh," he said, impatiently, "they don't think about me, any more than old Serge does. But he might have given me a thought and come and said a word or two to show that he was sorry for my disappointment. "But no; he wouldn't," continued the boy, with a sigh. "I suppose people in trouble are always selfish, and he thinks his trouble a bigger one than mine. Never mind. I won't be selfish. I'll go and speak to him, just a few kind words to let him see that I am sorry for him, and then--Oh, it's very miserable work, and what a difference father could have made if he would have listened to me--and that Julius too. "Caius Julius! Yes, of course, I have heard about him, but it never troubled me--in fact I hardly knew there was such a man in the world-- the greatest man in Rome, a mighty soldier and conqueror, old Serge said more than once; but I never took any notice, for it seemed nothing to do with me. Oh, who could have thought that in a few short hours there could be such a change as this!" The boy turned off, crossed the court again, and made his way to Serge's den, where all was still and dark as the part of the building he had just quitted. "You here, Serge?" he cried, cheerily, thrusting open the door. "Where are you? What have you been doing all this time?" Marcus' words sounded hollow and strange, coming back to him, as it were, and startling him for the moment. "Are you asleep?" he shouted, loudly, as if to encourage himself, for an uncomfortable feeling thrilled him through and through. "Oh, what nonsense!" he muttered. "Not likely that he would be asleep; he'd have heard me directly and sprung up. Where can he be?" The boy thought for a few moments, and then hurried out towards the farm buildings and sheds, but stopped short as another thought struck him, and he made at once for the dark building with its stone cistern where the grapes were trodden. The door was ajar, and he stepped in at once. "You here, Serge?" he cried; and this time there was an answer, but it was made by the dog, which approached him fawningly and uttered a low, whining, discontented howl. "Oh, get out! I don't want you," cried Marcus, angrily; and he turned to leave the place, but his conscience smote him and he stooped down and began patting the great beast's head. "Yes, I do," he said, gently. "Poor old Lupe! I mustn't be surly to my friends. Good old dog, then! But where's Serge? Do you know where he is, boy?" The dog growled, and pressed up against Marcus' leg. "No, you don't know, old fellow. If you did you'd be with him. There, go and lie down. I daresay he's gone into the woods to sulk and walk it off." The dog whined softly, and then, in obedience to his master's commands, let himself subside upon the stones, while Marcus strolled off, stopped once or twice to think and listen, and then said, half aloud: "There, it's of no use, and perhaps it's all for the best, for I'm so weak and stupid, and I daresay I shouldn't have been able to talk to him and say what I meant without breaking down." He drew himself up firmly, then stood breathing hard for a few moments, as he turned and gazed through the darkness in different directions, and then made straight for his little cubicle, entered at once, and, breathing hard the while as if he had been running far, he cast off his loose every-day garment and began rapidly to put on the armour in which he had had such pride. Practice with old Serge had made him perfect, and, in spite of the darkness, his fingers obeyed him well, so that it was not long before he stood girded and buckled up, fully accoutred, with nothing more to be done than to crown his preparations by placing his heavy helmet upon his head. Before he began, his spirits were down to the lowest ebb, but exertion and excitement, joined with something in the touch of the war-like garb and the thoughts this last engendered, so that as he went on he gradually grew brighter, adventurous thoughts encouraged him; and, at last, taking the helmet in both hands, he placed it upon his head, drew the armed strap beneath his chin, and readjusted the hang of his short broadsword, before standing in the darkness absolutely motionless. "Why, it makes me feel ten years older," he said, "even if I am but a boy! And here was I, before I began, shrinking and feeling that I should repent and be afraid to go. And now I am like this!" He lifted his shield from where it lay upon the bed, took the short spear which he had leaned in a corner of the wall, and then, stiffened by his armour and far more by the spirit that seemed to thrill through every nerve and tendon, he stepped out into the court, to bend down and place his lips to the clear water in the fountain basin, drink deeply, and then stand up in the darkness to look round. "Good-bye, old home!" he said, aloud, and his voice broke a little; but it hardened again the next moment, as he said, quickly: "No, it isn't home now that he has gone away. I am coming, father, and you must forgive me when we meet, for I cannot--I dare not stay." There was the quick, sharp tramp of the boy's feet as he crossed the stone-paved court, with the arms he wore, and those he carried, making a slight crackling and clinking noise, while his bronze protected feet made his steps sound heavier than of old. The next minute he was fighting against the desire to turn and look back, and, conquering, for he felt that it would be weak, he strode off with quickened pace away along the track that had been taken by his father and Caius Julius hours before. _ |
||