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Marcus: The Young Centurion, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 26. In The Track Of An Army |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. IN THE TRACK OF AN ARMY It was not easy to quiet down the half wild steeds. They had been going through a long period of inaction since the fierce charge made on the night of the encounter before crossing the snowy pass, and once their driver had, to use the horsey phrase, given them their heads, and urged them on to their top speed, their hot, wild blood had been bubbling through their veins, making them snort and tear along heedless of rock, rut, and the roughest ground. Marcus had told the driver to check them twice over, but as soon as Lupe was in the chariot and both Marcus and Serge busy seeing to his wound, the speed began to increase, till the chariot was bumping over the open plain faster than ever; and though the charioteer strove his best it was some time before he managed to get his little pair into hand again so that the pace grew moderate and the progress was made at a gentle canter, instead of a wild gallop which threatened wreck over some projecting stone. "They were half mad with excitement," cried Marcus, who was breathing hard. "Yes," grunted Serge. "I thought we were going to be upset over and over again. Feel a bit frightened, boy?" "Frightened?" said Marcus, looking wonderingly at his companion. "No! I liked it. Why, it was glorious to rush over the plain like that." "Wouldn't have been very glorious if one wheel had come bump against a stone, flown all to pieces, and we two had gone flying one way and the chariot the other." "No," said Marcus, laughing; "but that wheel did not, and we are all as right as can be, with the enemy left behind." "Yes, that's all very true, boy," said Serge, who was pressing his helmet a little farther back and holding it there so that he could get a good uninterrupted look all round. "You didn't like it, then?" said Marcus, smiling at his companion's perplexed expression. "Course I didn't," growled Serge. "Lupe did. Just look at him. He has curled himself up to go to sleep. That's a good sign, isn't it, that he is not badly hurt?" "Yes, he's not going to be bad," said Serge, without so much as a glance at the sleeping animal. "Dogs always do curl up when they are hurt;" and he kept on staring anxiously ahead. "What are you looking for, Serge? More enemies?" asked Marcus. "No," replied the old soldier, though it was more like a grunt than a reply. "What are you watching for, then? Not stones? It's getting smoother, and we're going on at a nice steady rate now." "Yes, boy, we're going along at a nice steady rate, but I want to know where to?" "Where to?" cried Marcus, quickly. "Why, to find the main army, and deliver the message." "Yes, boy," growled the old soldier; "but where is the main army?" Marcus stared at his companion for a few moments in complete astonishment, before gazing straight in front between the tossing manes of the cantering ponies, and then looked to right and left. "I don't know," he said, at last. "Somewhere in front, I suppose." "Somewhere in front, you suppose!" grumbled Serge. "But where's that? Nowhere, I say. We shall never come up with them if we go on like this. We may be getting farther away at every stride." "Oh, Serge!" cried the boy, excitedly. "And it's O, Marcus!" growled the old fellow, sourly. "What's to be done Serge?" cried the boy, despairingly. "Why, we may be losing time." "Most likely," said Serge. "And I was thinking that in flying along as we have been we were getting nearer and nearer to the army. Now, then, what is to be done?" Serge was silent for a few moments, and then said slowly: "Well, boy, it seems to me that the best thing we can do is to bear off to the right." "But that may take us wrong," said Marcus, excitedly. "Why not go to the left?" "Humph!" grunted Serge. "Because that may take us wrong, boy. You see, there's a lot of chance in it, and we must use our brains." "Of course. That's what I'm trying to do, Serge." "Don't seem like it, boy. We've got to track the army, haven't we?" "Yes," cried Marcus, "but they've left no traces." "Not that we have found as yet, boy, but they must have left some wounded men, or sick, belonging to the army or the enemy. If they're fighting their way, as is most likely, we may be sure that a good many men have fallen." "Yes, that's reasonable enough, Serge, but we have seen no signs of one." "Not one," said the old soldier. "So as there have been no traces, we must go by guesswork, mustn't we?" "Yes, of course," cried Marcus. "Well, you guessed and I guessed, and I think my guess will be the better one." "I know you do; but I don't, boy." "Why?" "Because there's no reason in yours and there is in mine." "I can't see that," said Marcus, stubbornly. "Show me how your way can be better than mine." "That's soon done, boy," said Serge. "Caius Julius will have a big army with him, won't he?" "Yes, of course; a very large one." "With plenty of mounted soldiers and chariots." "Yes," said Marcus. "Well, would he pick out the roughest part of the country all among the rocks, like you have, or the lower and more even way like mine?" "You are right and I'm wrong, Serge," cried Marcus, frankly. "Let's go your way." The old soldier nodded, the order was given, and the driver turned his horses' heads more to the right; but before they had gone far Marcus caught his companion by the arm. "But suppose, Serge, that the army did not come this way at all? We do not know that it did." "How's that?" asked the old soldier. "Why, it might have gone by some other way." "Which?" growled Serge. "Oh, I don't know," replied the boy. "There must be plenty of ways through the mountains by which an army could go." "No, there mustn't, and there arn't, without you go a long journey round, and that a general is not likely to do. Passes through the mountains are a long way apart; and besides, of course our new captain knew the way that Caius Julius was going, and this is the way he meant to follow if he had come on." "Are you sure?" said the boy, doubtingly. "Certain, my lad, or I wouldn't go this way." Serge had struck for the right, and he proved to be right indeed, for before an hour had passed the adventurers had good proof, the old soldier suddenly giving vent to a grunt of satisfaction. "What is it, Serge?" cried Marcus, eagerly, seeing that the old man was smiling. "I'm right," he said. "What! Can you see anything?" "Yes; look yonder, boy." Marcus gazed in the direction the old man pointed, carefully scanning the distance, but seeing nothing save the undulating stony plain with here and there a stunted tree, and in one part a depression like an old river bed. "Well," he said; at last; "I can see nothing." "Not looking right," said Serge. "I've looked right and left, and down that hollow too," said Marcus. "That's what I say. You haven't looked right up. Look up." "Up?" cried Marcus, who felt puzzled. "I do wish you would speak. There is nothing to see there but those crows circling slowly round and round." "That's right," grunted Serge; "you have seen what I mean." "What, the crows?" Serge grunted, and Marcus stared. "I don't know a bit what you mean," said Marcus, irritably. "Don't, pray don't, waste time." "I'm not wasting time. I say we're on the right track, boy. Look at the crows." "What for?" cried Marcus, angrily. "What for?" growled Serge. "S'pose you and me was at home and were out among the pastures and up the lowest slopes of the mountains where we drive the goats." "Well, what then?" cried Marcus, impatiently. "And suppose we saw crows flying round and round. What would you say then?" "That there was a dead lamb or a kid lying somewhere about, or that the wolves had been down and killed a sheep." "Well?" said Serge, with a dry look on his wrinkled face. Marcus was silent for a few moments, and then, "Oh, Serge," he cried, with a look of horror, "you don't think--" "Yes, I do, boy. Nay, I feel sure. There's been a big fight yonder where those crows are flying about." "Yes: I see," cried Marcus. "But--but which side has won?" "Ah, that we are going to see, my boy, and before long too. Turn a bit more to the right, my man," he continued, laying his hand upon the driver's shoulder, and their direction was a trifle altered, with the result that before long they were passing by the side of a portion of the plain where it was evident that a desperate encounter had taken place from the large number of ghastly relics of the engagement that lay scattered about, spread over the space of quite a mile. The scene was passed in silence, Marcus pressing their driver to urge on the ponies till they were well ahead, after grasping the fact that a stubborn stand must have been made, and that the action had been continued onward to where they stood. "Well," said Serge, "you see all clearly enough now, don't you, boy?" "I'm not quite sure," said Marcus, thoughtfully, "though I think our army must have won the day." "There's no doubt about that, boy, and in such a fight as it has been they could not help losing heavily; but I haven't seen the body and arms of a single Roman soldier, and that is a sure sign that they won the day, and then stopped to carry away their wounded and bury their dead." Marcus shuddered, and they rode on for a time in silence, passing here and there a little mound, and as soon as they had cleared one the old soldier swept the distance with his eyes in search of another. Marcus looked at him questioningly. "Yes, boy," said the old fellow, softly; "an ugly way of tracking our road, but a sure. Those hillocks show where they've laid some of our poor fellows who fell out to lie down and die, and there their comrades found them." "War is very horrible," said Marcus, after a pause. "Well, yes," replied Serge, "I suppose it is; but soldiers think it's very glorious, and as a man's officers say it is, why, I suppose they're right. But there; that's not for us to think about. It's not horrible for our Roman soldiers to stop and bury their slain, and their doing this has made it easy for us to follow the track of the army." "Yes," said Marcus, who was gazing straight before him; "and look there." Serge shaded his eyes, and gazed in the direction pointed out. "Yes," he said, "that's another sign-post to show us our way, and I dare say we shall come upon some more, ready to prove that we are on the right track. The crows seem to have been pretty busy there, boy." "The crows and the ants," said Marcus. "Yes, and maybe the wolves have been down from the mountains to have their turn." "Whoever would think, Serge, that those scattered white bones had once formed a beautiful horse, just such a one as these we have in the chariot?" "Ah, who indeed?" replied the old soldier. "But I don't know that we want to think about it, boy. Let's think about your message and getting on to deliver it. We must make the best of our way while the light lasts, so as to get on as far as we can, as we know now that we're going right. I should like to get down to some hilly or mountainous hit." "What for, Serge?" "To climb up when it's dark." "Because you think it will be safe to sleep there?" "No, boy; I was not thinking of sleeping till we get our message delivered. I was wondering whether we should be lucky enough to get so far that after dark, if we climbed up high enough, we might be able to see our people's watch fires twinkling like stars in the distance." "Oh, Serge, that would be capital!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "Do you think we shall be so fortunate?" "Don't know, boy," growled the old soldier; "but hurry the ponies along while we can see that we are on the right track. There's no reason why we shouldn't be fortunate." "Oh, we must be, Serge," cried Marcus. "It's horrible to think of our general and all his men shut up in that bitter snowy pass, fighting hard for life, and always watching for the help that does not come. Forward!" shouted the boy, and at his word the driver seemed to make the horses fly. _ |
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