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Marcus: The Young Centurion, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 32. "My Own Brave Boy!" |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. "MY OWN BRAVE BOY!" The speech Cracis made when he recovered from the fainting fit brought on by emotion when he was weak and prostrate from his wounds, and found Marcus by his side bathing his face, was very short, setting the boy's heart at rest and telling him that the past was entirely forgiven; and the stern Roman judge merged once more in the loving father. For the speech was this: "My own brave boy!" "Ah!" cried Caius Julius, who had just hurried back, after having been away for a very brief time giving the orders which had set the whole camp in motion. "This is bad for you, Cracis, for we start at once straight for the pass, and as fast as we can go. Do you think you will be able to sit a horse?" "I will," said Cracis, firmly. "Yes, I am better now. My wounds are mere scratches, and once I get to-day and to-night over I shall be nearly myself again." "Nearly," said Caius Julius, with a smile. "Well, we shall see. What do you say, nurse?" Marcus flushed up at the term by which he was addressed. "If my father says he will do a thing he will," cried the boy. "No doubt," said the general; "but do you feel well enough to give me your counsel and make any suggestions about our return?" "Yes, certainly," was the reply. "First, then, tell me if you are fully aware of our position." "Yes," said Julius, "we have scattered the Gauls in every direction, and as soon as we start they will take it for granted that we are so disheartened that we are hurrying back through the country in full retreat, and they will begin to flow back upon us like a great tide, fiercer and more venturesome than ever." "That is enough," said Cracis. "I ought to have known your feelings, but nearly helpless as I am, I was afraid that last triumph would make you over confident, and that our followers would take their cue from their leader and become careless at a time when our position will be more hazardous than ever." "Trust me, Cracis; I shall be ready for the enemy at any moment. Now, Marcus, can I leave your father in your charge?" "No," said Cracis, before the boy could speak, "I am not going to be a burden to our men and join the train of litters and our wounded. My son Marcus and his old follower, Serge, will join one of the cohorts, and you will place him where I am sure he would like to be as his father's son." "And that is--?" said Caius Julius. "Where would you like to be, my boy?" Marcus flushed deeper than ever as he replied: "Serge always taught me, father, that the place of honour was in the front." That morning, as the army moved off in perfect order from their camp upon the hill, a message came to where Marcus was marching on one side of his father's horse, Serge limping stiffly along on the other, that the boy was to come forward to join his cohort at once, by the general's orders; and Marcus started upon seeing that the messenger, at the head of ten stern-looking veterans, was the young officer who had fetched him to the general's tent. There was a brief and soldierly leave-taking, and then Marcus was hurrying forward with his guide, who began at once to falter out hurriedly his apologies for his former treatment of the boy. "I didn't know," he said. "I couldn't tell who you were. I thought you were to be a prisoner brought in as a traitorous Roman who had been fighting on the enemy's side." "Don't say a word more," cried Marcus, holding out his hand, and, the best of friends directly, the young officer began to tell him how all that he had done was known in the cohort, and how proud the men were to have Cracis' son appointed to join their ranks. "Ah," said Serge, as soon as he could get an opportunity to speak to Marcus alone, "do you see how I am marching now, my lad?" "Oh, I have been watching you all the way," cried Marcus, "and pitying you." "What!" growled the old soldier. "You seemed so lame and in such pain. I don't know what has become of our chariot, but as that's gone you ought to be in one of the litters carried by the slaves." "Wha-a-at!" growled the old soldier, making the interjection as long in its utterance as half a dozen six-syllabled words. "Well, I do call this hard! The knocking about you have had must have got into your head, my lad, and upset your eyes. Why, you can't see a bit!" "What do you mean?" cried Marcus. "Why, this, boy. When I began to march after that young cockerel had brought the orders, I was so stiff that I could hardly put one leg before the other; but the very news of you being appointed to take your place in one of the leading cohorts of the army has acted like salve, and all my stiffness is as good as gone. Carried in a litter by slaves! Me! Do I look the sort of fellow who wants carrying in a litter like a sick woman? Bah! Why, before we get far on the march we shall have the enemy closing in on all sides, and the fight beginning." "Think so, Serge?" "Yes, my boy. We have got our work cut out, for they'll never believe till it's knocked into them that we are not making a retreat. Me in a litter!" he growled. "Just you wait a bit, and I shall be showing that I have got a little fighting left in me." Serge proved his words the very next day, when, after many hours' marching painfully in the ranks, pretty close to where his young master had been appointed a junior officer, and been received by the men with cheers, a desperate attack was made upon this, the advance guard, by a perfect crowd of fierce Gallic warriors made up of the scattered remnants of the beaten army, who came down upon the marching cohort like the sea upon some massive rock. So fierce was the onslaught that though the Roman ranks remained comparatively unbroken, they were pressed back by the sheer weight of their enemies, but only to recoil, and as they advanced to recover their lost ground, it was over the bodies of some of their wounded men, and to Marcus' horror he found himself once more called upon to dash forward to another's help. This time, however, it was not blindly and in the dusk, for a shiver of dread ran through him, knowing how crippled his old companion was, when he saw that Serge was one of those who had been unable to keep his place in the rank when the Romans were driven back, and that now he was defending himself and striving to hold his own against the attack of three of the Gauls. Tearing off his helmet, as if it were an incumbrance, and making his short sword flash through the air, Marcus rushed to his old companion's help, but too late to save him being hurled heavily to the ground, while, ready as he was to contend against ordinary weapons, this barbaric method of attack confused and puzzled him. One of his half-nude enemies made as if to flinch from a coming blow, and then sprang up, hurling something through the air, and in an instant the boy found himself entangled in the long cord of strips of hide, which was dragged tight above his arms and crippled the blow he would have struck, while as he was jerked round the Gaul's companions flung themselves upon his back, and for the moment he was prisoner in his turn. The struggle that followed was brief, for the blade Marcus wielded was that in which old Serge had taken pride, feeling as he did that his master's son should be armed with a weapon that was keenest of the keen. Fortunately, too, the aim of the enemy was to make a prisoner of the well-caparisoned young Roman, and not a slay, so that Marcus, in spite of the way in which his arms were dragged to his side, was able to turn the point of his sword upward, and give one thrust between the cord and his breast, when the rope parted like tinder upon the razor-like edge, and his enemies started back from the sweep of the terrible blade he whirled above his head. Staggered for the moment, they were preparing for a fresh attack when Serge, uttering a deep growl like a wounded lion, sprang to his feet, after snatching his sword from where it lay. That was enough for the three Gauls, who turned at once and fled, for a rank of the Roman soldiers was advancing, and as they closed up, Marcus and Serge were free to take their places in the line once more as if nothing had happened, and the advance guard steadily pressed on. There was a fortnight's hard fighting carried on day by day, with a succession of halts for the formation of camps in the strongest positions that offered themselves as havens of refuge against a teeming enemy which refused to be crushed and constantly swarmed round the retiring Roman army, perfectly reckless of life, and apparently content with the smallest advantages that they could gain. Rolled back one day by a Roman charge, the Gauls gathered together again during the night to attack and harass the retiring troops; but all was in vain, for step by step Caius Julius carried all before him, and the help that Marcus had been sent to seek gradually drew nearer to the beleaguered force till one morning, as the army came into position to continue its march, Marcus was passing along the ranks and halted by Serge, who eagerly drew his attention to the glittering snow upon the mountains a mile or two in front. "See that?" he cried. "Why, before long we shall reach that stream and be marching into that great hollow among the mountains where we stopped that day with the chariot to see our general lead his men up into the pass. Why, to-night we ought to be camping there amongst the snows; and a nice change too, my boy, for its been rather hot work for about a fortnight now." "Yes," said Marcus, quietly; "but according to the tidings the scouts have been bringing in all through the night, the Gauls are swarming in that great amphitheatre between here and the pass, and all promises for the biggest fight that the army has yet had." Serge took off his helmet and rubbed one ear thoughtfully, as he gazed straight before him in the direction of the pass. "Well," he said, slowly, "I shouldn't wonder if such a fight did come off, and if it does it will be hard and fierce. I shouldn't wonder if it is what your father means. That used to be the way we went on: he planned where the fight was to be, and Caius Julius went on and won. I remember every bit of that amphitheatre place, and what a death trap it seemed. You know the captain would not stay in it when the Gauls had surrounded him, but left the way clear for us to go for the help we've brought, and led his force right up into the pass so as to make the enemy follow him. Now our generals are scheming to get the Gauls, who have kept on attacking us front, rear and flanks, right into that amphitheatre of a place in the mountains, where they mean, so it seems, to make a stand and stop our getting up by the pass--for that's what they think we mean to do--so as to join forces with him who is holding it still." "But is he holding it still?" said Marcus. "The scouts that were sent out last night as soon as it was dark have not yet returned." "Yes they have," said Serge, quickly. "I saw them come back an hour ago, and make for the general's headquarters." Serge was right, for one of his comrades had heard the result of their investigation, the news they brought back being that their leader was still holding the pass, and, what was more, he was well supplied with provisions, for the country people on the farther slope, realising the strength of the Roman general's position, had judged it best to accept the conquest, and, making friends, had kept up an ample supply of food, so that the little force which kept the gateway into Gaul and commanded the approaches on either side, had had no greater difficulties to contend with than an occasional attack on the part of the enemy. This being made known to Serge, he laughed softly. "There, you'll see how our generals will carry to-day's work out, my lad. That's it: Cracis has calculated upon its being like this, and this place will be instead of a retreat a masterly scheme which will end this war." "How?" said Marcus. "How? Why, in the way your father has arranged. You'll see that when we advance the general will throw out two wings to secure the little hollows by which the Gauls have been advancing, till he has got round them, and then, and then only, he will advance his centre. Do you see?" "Not quite," said Marcus, "though I am trying to follow you." "Well, I should have thought you would have been soldier enough to have seen what would follow." "A desperate fight?" said Marcus. "Most likely, boy; but don't you see what will happen then?" "A horrible slaughter, Serge," said Marcus, excitedly. "Perhaps, boy, but it may happen that when the enemy finds how he has been out-manoeuvred and that he is trapped he may surrender." "But everything has proved that the enemy is too stubborn for that." "He has never been in such a fix as this yet, my boy." "But he has equal chances with us, Serge, and may fight to the last and drive us back." "Not when he finds out the truth." "That our men are better disciplined than his?" "No, boy; he must have found that out long ago. Not that, but that, as I said before, he has been completely out-manoeuvred by your father." "Well, you said that before, Serge," said Marcus, impatiently; "but I don't see matters as you do, though I have tried very hard." "Then you ought to have seen," cried the old soldier, gruffly. "The captain is still holding the pass, isn't he?" "Yes, we have heard so." "Well, boy, knowing him, do you think he will go on holding it without doing anything when we advance and close the enemy in more and more?" "Ah! I see now!" cried Marcus, eagerly. "He will come down from the pass with his men, and attack the Gauls in the rear." "To be sure he will, and do the greater part of the fighting and driving the enemy on to our troops. Why, in a very short time, as I see it, I mean after the attack, half their men will be prisoners, for no matter how clever the Gaul general may be he is bound to give up or have his forces cut down to a man." "Yes," said Marcus, eagerly. "Just you take warning, then, boy, by this day's work: never you, when you grow up to be a general with an army at your command, never you let yourself be driven into a hole like this where you may be caught between two fires." "I never will if I can help it," said Marcus, smiling. "Forewarned is forearmed, boy. You know now." "Yes, Serge; but I am anxious to see what this afternoon brings forth." "Not much but a little marching and counter marching to get things quite exact and to the satisfaction of our generals. I expect this battle will be fought out before night." _ |
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