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Marcus: The Young Centurion, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15. Wearing Armour |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. WEARING ARMOUR It was some hours afterwards, when the sun was beating down hotly, that Serge suggested that they should have half an hour's rest in the shade of a clump of huge, spiral-barked chestnuts, whose dark, glossy-green leaves were spread over a bend of the track which had evidently been slightly diverted so that those who followed it might take advantage of the shade. The trees were approached cautiously, and the pair scouted round the clump to make sure it was untenanted before they stretched themselves amongst the mossy, radiating roots that spread far and wide. "There seem to have been plenty of people here," said Marcus, pointing to where the soft, moist earth was full of imprints. "There have been wheeled carriages here." "Yes," grunted Serge. "Those are ox waggons. See?" "Yes," said Marcus. "But those others are different." "Yes," said Serge. "Chariot wheels, those." "How do you know?" said Marcus, sharply. "Look at 'em," grunted the old soldier. "Can't you see they are light? They are made to gallop. Those others were made to crawl. Why, it's printed all about that they were chariot wheels. Look at the marks of the horses' hoofs." "Oh yes, I see," cried Marcus. "The waggons show nothing but the feet of oxen. But how come there to be chariot wheels about here?" "How did that Roman general, Caius Julius, come to the farm?" "I don't know," said Marcus, starting. "I never thought of that." "I did," said Serge, with a grunt which might have been copied from one of the swine he had so often driven. "How did he come?" cried Marcus. "Same way as he went back to Rome." "Of course," cried the boy, impatiently. "But how was that?" "With chariots and horsemen." "Are you sure? I saw none." "Didn't go down to the village to look?" "No; I had too much to think of." "So had I," said Serge; "but I went and looked all the same. There was a grand chariot and a lot of horsemen, and it was in that chariot that, after walking down to the village, the master went away." "Oh, then they must be far ahead," cried Marcus. "Yes; at Rome before now." "And I have been expecting that we might come upon them at any moment," said Marcus, with a sigh of relief. "Then we shan't see them till we get there?" "And like enough not then," said Serge, with a grim smile; "so you may make yourself comfortable about this scolding that's got to come, for it won't be yet." "But we shall see my father as soon as we get to the army." "Some time perhaps," said Serge; "but the army will be miles long perhaps on the march, and it's hard work, boy, to find one in a hundred thousand men." "Then we may not find him!" cried Marcus, in an agonised tone. "Well, no, my lad, but you may make your mind happy about that. One man's not bound to find his general, but his general's pretty sure to find him, or the legion he is in. There, don't you fidget about that. If you and me hadn't done any harm we should be pretty safe, but so sure as one does what one ought not to do, one may make up one's mind that he'll be found out." The rest was pleasant, but Marcus did not feel so satisfied in his own mind when they started once again on the tramp. It was on the evening of a hot and wearying day that Marcus sat in a shady grove, gladly resting, while Serge was relieving him of his armour and carefully hanging it piece by piece from, one or other of the branches by which they were surrounded. "Grand thing, armour," said the old soldier, as he watched the tired boy from the corners of his eyes. Marcus started from a waking dream of Rome and its glories as he pictured it in his own mind. "Oh yes," he said, hastily; "glorious!" "Nice and bright and shining, and makes a man seem worth looking at when it's on, eh?" "Yes," said Marcus, with a faint sigh. "How proud you felt when you'd got yours; eh, my lad?" "Yes, very," said Marcus. "Nice dress to walk in." "But it's rather heavy in this hot weather," ventured Marcus. "Heavy, boy? Why, of course it is. If it wasn't heavy the barbarians' swords and spears would go through it as if it was sheep skin. But yours fits you beautifully, and will for ever so long yet--if you don't grow," added the man, slily. Marcus turned upon him peevishly. "Well, I can't help growing, can I?" he cried. "Oh no, boy; course you can't till you've done growing, and then you won't grow any more." "Do you think I don't know that?" snapped out the boy. "No. Oh no; but what's the matter with your shoulder?" "Nothing much," said Marcus, sourly. "Those shoulder straps rub that one, and the back part frets my neck." "Does it? That's bad; but I'll put that right when you put it on in the morning. Don't you mind about that: after a bit your skin'll get hard, and what feels to worry and rub you will be soft as a duck's breast." "Nonsense! How can bronze and brass get to be soft as feathers, Serge?" "Oh, I dunno, my lad," replied the old soldier, slowly, "but it do. I suppose," he added, mockingly, "you get so much glory on your shoulders that it pads you out and makes your armour fit like wax. It is heavy, though, at first. Mine worried me the first day, because I hadn't worn it for years; but it sits lovely now, and I could run and jump and do anything. Helmet too did feel a bit lumpy; but I felt it more in my toes than on my head." "Are you laughing at me, Serge?" cried Marcus, turning upon the man, sharply. "Can't you see I'm not, boy? Why, I'm as serious as a centurion with a new command." "But do you think I'm going to believe that you felt your heavy helmet in your toes?" "Of course I do, boy," said the man, chuckling. "If it's heavy, don't the weight go right down to the bottom and drive your toes hard to the very end of your sandals?" "I didn't think of that, Serge," said the boy, a trifle less irritably. "S'pose not, boy. You haven't got to the end of everything that there is to know. Besides, your helmet is light." "Light?" cried Marcus, bitterly. "Well, of course it aren't as light as a straw hat as you can tilt off every time you come into the shade, and let it hang between your shoulders, same as you do your shield." "And I suppose that is?" said Marcus, sharply. "What, as a straw hat, boy? Well, I don't say that," said Serge, drily, "because it do weigh a tidy bit. But that helmet of yours, as I took care should be just right for a boy, is too light altogether." "Bah!" cried Marcus. "Why, it has made my forehead and the back just behind my ears as sore as sore." "Pooh! That isn't because the helmet's too heavy; it's on account of your head being so soft and green. It'll be hard enough before the end of this war. Why, if it were lighter, every crack you got in your first fight would make it give way like an eggshell; and then where would you be, my lad? Come, come, cheer up! You're a bit tired with this tramp-- the first big one you've had. You'll be better in the morning, and before this time to-morrow night I dare say we shall be in sight of Rome and its hills and the Tiber, and, take my word for it, you won't feel tired then." "Think not. Serge?" "Sure of it, boy. Man who's a bit worn out feels as if everything's wrong, and the flies that come buzzing about seem to be as big as crows; but after a good sleep when the sun rises again to make everything look bright, he sees clearer; the flies don't seem to buzz, only hum pleasant like, and what there is of them is golden-green and shiny, and not a bit bigger than a fly should be." "But I'm disappointed, Serge. I hoped to see my father as soon as I reached Rome, and get this trouble off my mind." "Instead of which it has to wait. Well, never mind, lad. It will be easier perhaps then. Now then, you do as I say: lie down at once close up there to that dry, sandy bit, and sleep as hard as you can till morning. Then we'll set off and get to Rome as soon as we can, and hear about the army and which way it has gone." "Perhaps it will not have started yet?" said Marcus, eagerly. "Like as not, my lad, but, if it has, we can follow it up. Now then, be sharp, for I want to lie down too. We shall be fresh as the field flowers in the morning, for no one is likely to disturb us here." Marcus said nothing, for he knew that the old soldier's words were meant to encourage him, and he thought so more than ever, as, free now from his heavy armour, he lay looking upward, listening to the faint hum of beetles and seeing the glint of the stars through the trees, while he thought of their journey and the disappointment he felt over Serge's words, while it seemed to him all a part of his thinking instead of a dream--a confused dream when he fancied himself back at the old house seeking for Serge and finding the dog crouched down in the shed where the great stone cistern stood, and in the harvest time the grapes were trodden, those grown in their little vineyard and those from the neighbouring farms where there was no convenience of the kind. But as he was about to turn away and fasten the door, it seemed strange that the place should be lit up by sunshine coming aslant through the trees, when it was late in the evening and dark. But so it was, with Lupe couching down, making no attempt to follow or pass him as he closed the door, but resting his long, fierce-looking jaws upon his extended paws, till, after trying hard to puzzle out why it was so, Marcus came fully to his waking senses and sat up suddenly, while Lupe followed his example, to burst out into a deep, joyous bark. "What!" now came in a deep voice from behind Marcus. "Why, Lupe, dog, have you found your way here?" _ |
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