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Marcus: The Young Centurion, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 23. The Fight Begun |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE FIGHT BEGUN Marcus was the first to break the silence. "Serge," he panted, "isn't he grand!" "Grand!" cried the old soldier, excitedly. "Grand arn't half big enough. He's a hero, that's what he is; and only think of me with a head like the old bull at home. Just as thick and stupid. Why, if he hadn't been such a great, wise, clever general as he is, he'd have knocked me down with the hilt of his sword. But it's all right after all, and look here, boy, you've got to do it." "We've got to do it, Serge," cried Marcus. "Why, the idea is splendid; but I say--Lupe?" "What about him?" "What are we to do with him?" "Nothing," said Serge, promptly; "he'll do for himself. Why, if you made up your mind to leave him behind he'd come." "I suppose so, Serge. There's no press-house here in which to shut him up." "No, and there's no other way of getting rid of him but cutting off his head," said the old soldier, grimly; "and you wouldn't like to do that." "Serge!" cried Marcus, taking for the moment his companion's words as being meant seriously. "Ah, I thought you wouldn't, boy," said the old fellow, smiling. "He'll hop into the chariot, of course, and when the way's clear we can let him down for a run, and do him good. But no more talking; we've got to get ready." "No," said Marcus; "we're soldiers, and all ready now. I can see nothing to do but wait till we see that it is time to go." "And that isn't far away," said Serge, "for here comes back one of the captains. Why, Marcus, boy, I feel happy enough to begin to dance. Just think of it: here we are off on quite a holiday, straight away for the Roman camp, to get to your father at once, and--Oh, my thick head! I never thought of that!" "Thought of what?" said Marcus. "What we're going to do: both of us going straight to face the lion and put our heads into his mouth." "You mean my father?" "Of course." "Nonsense! He will have no time to think of punishing us." "Won't he?" growled Serge. "Trust the master for ever forgetting anything. We shall have it, and sharply too, after him and Julius have come and done what they've got to do in the way they know how." "Pst! Don't talk," whispered Marcus. "Look, this officer is giving his orders to the leaders of the chariots, and here he comes to us." The boy was right, for a few minutes later the officer came quickly to him, and his words were very short. "You have your orders from the chief, young man?" he said. "Stand fast there among these rocks till the line of chariots has moved off, and then go down to the lower camp where the foot soldiers are as soon as they have changed their station." He turned away directly, and as their driver sprang up, quite on the alert as he saw that something was on the way, Marcus went to one pony, Serge to the other, to see that every portion of the harness was in proper trim; and Lupe leaped out of the chariot and then back to the front, to raise himself upon his hind legs and plant his paws on the front as if he were in command and issuing his orders, which took the form of a deep bay. Directly after a sub-officer, who was in command of the line, gave an order, each chariot was manned, and following one another in file they began rattling and bumping in and out amongst the rocks and hollows, slowly and noisily in the direction of the highest point of the pass from which the way had been fought so short a time before. "Look yonder, Serge," cried Marcus, as he gazed beyond the outposts in the direction of the hills that were dotted with the enemy. "Was looking, boy," growled the old soldier, "It's running all round us wherever the enemy can see. Why, it's like putting a stick into a wasp's nest and giving it a stir round." "Yes, look, look, look!" cried Marcus. "What an excitement! Does it mean that they are going to attack at once? Because if they are we shan't get off." "Nay, they are only getting ready. You'll see them settle down again directly to watch our men and make sure what we are going to do." The chariots moved on, one following the other till the rough line was all in motion, only one standing fast, and that one calling for the help of both Marcus and Serge, who at a word from the driver ran to the heads of the ponies to assist in controlling them. For as the last chariot started off they made a desperate plunge forward to follow, so taking the driver by surprise that the pair went on a few yards before they were stopped by Marcus and Serge hanging on to their bits and backing them to the place from which they had started. "Don't like being left behind," growled Serge. "Steady, boy, steady!" said Marcus, caressingly, as he patted the arching neck and smoothed down the wild, thick mane of the fiery little steed he held. "Wait a bit and we won't check you. You shall go, and as fast as you like, if we can only get clear ground." The swarthy little driver grasped the boy's words, and nodded and showed his teeth, while in a few minutes the spirited animals were quieted down where they stood now with their heads turned from the slowly advancing line. "He ought to have been on the look-out," growled Serge. "Hullo! How the chief must have been arranging all this!" And then he stood silently with his young companion, watching the changes that were beginning to take place in their little force. The spot on which they stood was sufficiently elevated to give the pair of spectators a pretty good view of the little beleaguered camp. All at once the line of chariots was halted, while a fresh agitation commenced where the cavalry had been posted. There was a quick change where horses and men were massed together, and the light played and flashed from helmet and shield, while the men's spears glittered like so many points of light, as they sprang on to the backs of their horses and soon after were in motion, forming into another line which moved to the front of the chariots and were stopped in due time a little in advance. "Why, he's making quite a show of it," growled Serge, "and the little army looks as if it were slowly going into action just for us to see." "Yes," said Marcus, eagerly, "but look out yonder too. The enemy are advancing. They are gradually coming down that deep little valley, trickling like a stream." "To be sure they are," said Serge, "and they are doing the same over yonder too." "Well, doesn't that mean that they are going to attack at once?" "No, boy; I fancy it only means to close us in and sweep us before them right up into the narrow of the pass again. They are beginning to take it." "Take what?" "Take what? Why, what our general means. I am not going to call him a captain any more. He's acting like a general, and a good one too. The enemy don't mean to attack--not yet, because you see they have got no head man to make a big plan for them all to work together. You see, they are all little bodies and tribes and bits of tribes, each under its own leader, and everyone thinks himself a general and acts just as he likes, and that's where they often get in a muddle, good fighters as they are. Look at them now. There's another lot yonder going slowly down from that hill into the hollow and coming creeping towards us." "Yes, and right away from that opposite hill there's another tribe coming down," cried Marcus, whose voice was husky with excitement. "That's right," growled Serge, "and don't you see, not one lot has moved towards the upper pass. Why have they left that way open?" "I don't know," said Marcus. "Perhaps some of the enemy will move towards it soon." "Not they," growled Serge, with a deep, low chuckle. "Our general's laid a trap for them, and they are walking in. They know that we must be running short of provisions, and they think that we are going to retreat. It looks like it, don't it? There goes an advance guard of the foot, marching to the front of the horse. Well done, brave boys! There are some fine men amongst them to step together like that! Yes, there they go, about a third of them straight for the upper pass, and the whole of our little army will soon be under weigh as if in full retreat." "And then the enemy will attack," cried Marcus. "Perhaps not yet. They know what it's like up yonder amongst the snows, and they think that, tired and half starved, our poor fellows will be marching to their death, leaving their enemies very little work to do beside cutting down the stragglers. Ah, depend upon it, all these little petty generals think they have a great victory within their hands without any cost to themselves, and that none of our poor fellows will get across the pass alive." "Oh, don't talk, Serge," cried Marcus, excitedly. "Look at the enemy! There's more and more of them getting into motion. They are beginning to come from all round." "Yes, as I said before, like a nest of stingers stirred up with a stick; but we are getting all in motion too," continued Serge. "Every captain has had his orders, and he's beginning to head his men as it comes to his turn. Look how the infantry are tramping along to lead the way! Now the horse are getting ready to start! Take it coolly, my lads. You ought to be leading those horses over that stony ground; but I suppose the general wants to make a show and let it seem as if we were in full retreat." "Will the chariots go next?" asked Marcus. "Yes, boy, of course, with the baggage behind them, and all the strength of the infantry to form the rear-guard. You can see that for yourself, for the foot-men haven't moved." "No," said Marcus, "but the enemy are moving more and more into two great parties, advancing so as to meet where the pass begins to narrow. Why, Serge, if they get there first they'll cut our retreating line in two." "They would," said the old soldier, with a chuckle, "if they could, but our general will be too smart for that. He's got it all carefully planned out, and when those two great streams of men come together out yonder they will be well in the rear. But now look at them. You can see right round the camp from here. What are the enemy doing? Trying to surround us?" "No," said Marcus, after a long inspection; "they are all gradually turning in the same direction and getting into motion, as if to drive us back into the pass." "Yes, and it looks pretty and bright up yonder with the sun shining on the snow. To see it from here, boy, no one would think it meant bitter winds and a cold that cuts through you and turns men drowsy so that they want to lie down and die." "No," said Marcus, with a slight shudder. "Ah!" he added, excitedly. "Our big rear-guard is beginning to stir, and the enemy are still moving on. Why, in a short time the lower part of the camp will have none of them beyond it." "That's right," cried Serge, as he shaded his eyes and gazed long and fixedly towards the lower part of the amphitheatre far beyond which, looking green and beautiful, stretched away the sunny plains of Gaul; "and that means, boy, that things will be just as our general intended that they should, clear of the enemy and ready for us to creep cautiously down like a pack of deserters trying to save our skins." "Yes, but I want to be moving," cried Marcus, who was ready to stamp with impatience. "I want to be leading the horses down through this wilderness of rocks so as to get away to the open land, where we can send them off at a gallop with the wind whistling about their ears. I want to see their manes and tails flying, Serge, and feel the chariot rock as the wheels spin round and bump over the hillocks and stones. Then on and on as fast as we can go, straight for the main army, to tear up to the guards with my message and bring them back. Oh, how slowly they move! Why doesn't the chief hurry the men, and why doesn't the enemy follow them at a rush? I want to be stirring; I want to go." "Well done, young hurry-me-up!" chuckled Serge. "That's all very pretty. You want this and you want that, and you want to be racing the ponies along and making the chariot rock and the wheels spin round, till bump, crash, one of the wheels flies off or drops to pieces, over goes the car, sending you yesterday and me to-morrow, and the driving boy with his head knocked off, while the poor ponies stand staring and broken-winded, and no message taken to the master." "What are you talking about, Serge?" cried Marcus, angrily. "You, boy, and what you want to do," growled the old man. "That's not the way to carry a despatch, and if we are going to get where we want, it will have to be slow and sure. It will be all very well going to the heads of the ponies as soon as the way's clear and leading them in and out amongst the rocks, so that if any of the enemy sees us he'll think we are sneaking away; but when that's done and we are clear of the enemy, what then?" "Why, we must gallop off," cried Marcus, excitedly. "This is not a time for your slow and sure." "Oh, arn't it?" grumbled Serge. "Then you want to gallop right away at once, do you?" "Of course." "Which way? What way? And how?" "What are you talking about?" cried Marcus. "You know, and yet you don't know. Where's our army? Haven't we got to find the track they left?" "Of course." "Yes, of course, boy, but where's the beginning of it?" growled Serge, as he made a comprehensive motion, sweeping round one hand. "There will be no one to ask, for the country will be cleared--all the fighting men gone to the wars, all the women and children and old folk hiding among the mountains. Our army will have made a clean sweep of everything, and we have got to eat. It all sounds very nice, my boy, but to go off at a gallop such as you speak of means riding to nowhere, and the army never found." "Oh, Serge, don't talk like that." "Must, boy. We will gallop when we can, but lots of the time we shall pretty well have to crawl." "Oh!" groaned Marcus, as he felt the truth of the old soldier's words. "There, don't make a noise like that, but look round here and see what's going on. It's a sight, boy, such as you may never see again." "I can't stand and look at sights," cried the boy, angrily. "But you must. It's part of the work you have on hand. You must watch for the time that is best for our start. You can't say anything to that." "No," sighed Marcus, "that's right; but see what a time we have been waiting now. It must be hours since the general came and gave me his command." "Well, not hours, but it's a long time, boy, and it will be longer yet before we shall dare to stir. Why, there are thousands of men below there, and hundreds more coming into sight just along the part we shall have to go, and we must wait till they have all marched off right and left to join the rest before we shall dare to start." "But you are making the worst of it, Serge," cried Marcus, eagerly, as he glanced round from his post of observation at the magnificent sight of men in motion, glittering arms, trampling horse, and all framed in by the sterile rocks, the snow-capped hills, and the dazzling blue sky above. "Perhaps I am, boy, and all the better for us; but it's much the best to look troubles straight in the face and not to come to grief from being too hopeful." And as to time, so it proved, for after about another two hours had elapsed, with the boy bubbling over with impatience, they were able to feel that they might venture downward through the lower part of the amphitheatre, where they would be getting more into the shelter of rock and valley, and beyond the ken of the two trampling multitudes urging their way on after the little army now in full motion higher up the pass, the leading foot showing still clearly and nearly as distinctly as if close at hand, though quite a couple of miles from where the chariot stood. "Ah," cried Serge, at last, "now I think we will start." "Yes, come on," cried Marcus. "But why did you say that?" he added, hastily. "Because the fight's begun, boy." "Where? How?" cried Marcus. "Look yonder towards that patch of grey rock which glitters in the sun. That's where our stout rear-guard is. If you look hard you will be just able to see something moving slowly and something like a dark cloud just behind. That's the enemy's, front just coming into action, driving our men on. Hark! Do you hear how the hum of the enemy's troops' sounds changed?" "Yes, I think so. It comes echoing along the rocks." "Well, that's the barbarians cheering the others on." "Oh," cried Marcus, "the attack begun, when we haven't even stirred to fetch the help! Serge, shall we reach the army to-night?" "Nay, nor to-morrow night either, boy." "And the fight begun!" cried Marcus. "Why, before we can get to my father and Caius Julius our little force will be destroyed." "Bah! Don't you get setting up for a prophet like that. Do you think our men are going to sit down and let themselves be swallowed up without striking a blow? What are you thinking of, boy? Isn't our general marching his men into the narrow gorge again where he will be safely walled in, with only a little front to defend? You let him alone. He will stop and turn as soon as he has found a spot he likes, one that he can easily hold; and there he'll be with his rear open for men to go over the pass and forage for food. He knows what he's about, and we know what we have got to do." "Yes," said Marcus, with a sigh; "we know, but--" "But you needn't watch the going on of the fight, boy, for at this distance it's nearly all guess work and little see, and here as far as I can make out no one can notice us if we begin to move, so now's the time to start." "Ah!" cried Marcus, triumphantly, as he turned to the horse's head on his side. Serge made for the other, and the great dog reared himself up with his paws upon the front of the chariot and his jaws parted, to send forth one of his deep, barking volleys. But at a cry from Marcus he sank down as if abashed, and the only sounds that were heard above the deep, low hum of the trampling army of barbarians, were the soft rattling of the chariot wheels, and the beat of the horses' hoofs upon the stony ground, as they began cautiously to make for the end of the amphitheatre and its labyrinth of rocks. _ |
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