CHAPTER SIX.
MAKING THE BEST OF IT.
Cracis was deep in thought, seated by the open window, with the doubleroll of a volume in his hands, reading slowly line by line of the oldpapyrus Romano-Grecian writings of one of the philosophers, and, as hecame to each line's end, it slowly disappeared beneath the upper roll,while the nether was opened out to leave the next line visible to thereader's eye.
Marcus dashed in loudly, but stopped short as he saw how his father wasoccupied, and waited for him to speak; but Cracis was deep in hisstudies and heard him not, so, bubbling over with impatience, the boyadvanced and laid his hand upon the student's arm.
Cracis looked up, wonderingly, and seemed to be obliged to drag hisattention from the book, smiling pleasantly in the flushed face of hisson, and with every trace of anger missing from his own.
"Well, boy," he said, gently, "what is it? Something you can't makeout?"
"Yes, father--old Serge."
"Ah, Serge!" said Cracis, with his brow clouding over. "I am sorry allthat happened, but it was your fault, my boy. You regularly led thebrave, old, honest fellow astray."
"Yes, father, I did," cried Marcus, eagerly, "and now he has taken allyour angry words to heart."
"Oh, tut, tut, tut! Nonsense! I have forgiven it all, my boy; but hehas not yet brought in the chest."
"No, father, I have left him packing it all now, and I have told himthat all that is over, and that when we have time we must amuseourselves in some other way than playing at soldiers and talking ofwar."
Cracis laid his hand upon his son's shoulder and, with his face growingsterner, looked proudly in the young, frank face.
"Thank you, my boy," he said. "That is very brave and right of you. Itshows great respect for me. Well, there! The past is all forgiven andforgotten--nay, I will not say forgotten; that can never be. Let italways stand in your memory as a stone of warning. Well, that is allover now."
"But it isn't all over, father," cried the boy. "Old Serge says whatyou said has cut him to the heart, and that you didn't forgive himproperly, and that he is dishonoured and disgraced as a soldier."
"Poor brave old Serge!" said Cracis, warmly.
"Hah!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "I wish he were here to hear you speaklike that."
"Oh, nonsense, boy. Time is too valuable to waste by thinking over suchtroubles as that. He must understand that I have reproved him for afault and forgiven him."
"But he won't understand, father. He's as obstinate as a bull."
"He is, and always was, Marcus," said Cracis, smiling; "but no man isperfect, and Serge's good qualities more than balance all his bad. Butthere, boy, what does he want me to do?"
"I don't know, father. He thinks what you have said can never beundone, that he can never be the same here again as he was, that he haslost your confidence and you won't trust him again, and--"
"Well, and what?" said Cracis, smiling tolerantly.
"Oh, it's too stupid to tell you, father."
"One has to hear stupid things in life, my boy, as well as wise, so tellme all the same. You see, poor Serge, with all his noble qualities, hasnever been a man to read and learn wisdom from the works of the great.Simple, matter-of-fact and straightforward, he is not one who reflectsand balances his acts before he makes them live. I don't think Sergeever said to himself: `shall I? Shall I not?' before he did a thing,and I suppose he has not been reflecting now. I am sorry I hurt hisfeelings, but I am the master. He is my servant, just as in old days Iwas his officer, he my legionary. It was his duty to obey. Now then,what is he doing?"
"Putting the armour together to go in the chest."
"Well, quite right."
"But it's what he's going to do next, father."
"And what is he going to do next?"
"Pack up his bundle, and then tramp up into the mountains to lie downand die, for the wolves to pick his bones."
It is impossible to put in words the young speaker's tones, mingled, asthey were, of sadness, ridicule and mirth, while Cracis drew a deep,long breath and said, softly:
"Brave as a lion, strong beyond the limits of ordinary men; and yet,poor faithful Serge, what a child he is at heart! Don't tell him what Isaid, boy. That is a piece of confidence between ourselves."
"But it's all so real, father. If you are angry with me you scold me,and it's soon all over. I forget it all."
"Yes, too soon, my boy, sometimes."
"Oh, but I do try to go on right, father. But, you see, with poor oldSerge it all sticks. He's regularly wounded."
"Yes, my boy, I know, and it's the sort of wound that will not heal.Well, of course, that's all absurd. He mustn't go."
"He will, father, if something isn't done."
"Yes, I am afraid he would; so something must be done. Who is in thewrong, boy--I or he?"
"It's this--_I_, father."
"Of course," said Cracis, laughing; "but I think I am in the right. Themaster, if right, cannot humble himself to his man if he is in thisposition, Marcus. If he is in the wrong it is noble and brave to giveway. Tell Serge to come to me at once. I will try to set him at onewith me; the sooner this is set aside the better for us all."
"Thank you, father," cried the boy, excitedly; and hurrying out he madefor the back of the villa, where he found Serge in his own particularden, hard at work packing the various accoutrements, but evidentlyfinding it difficult to make them fit.
"Well, I've been and talked to father, Serge," cried Marcus, quickly.
"That's right, boy," said the old soldier, without turning his head.
"I told him you were packing up the armour."
"Yes? Hard work. The things don't lie easy one with another, and wemustn't have the helmets bruised. The shields don't lie so flat as Icould wish, but--"
"Father wants you, Serge."
"What for, boy? What for?"
"To talk to you about you know what."
"Then you've told him I'm going away?"
"Of course."
"Then it's of no use for me to go and see him."
"But that's what he wishes to speak about."
"Yes, and I know how he can talk and get round a man. Why, if I went tohis place yonder he'd talk me into stopping, and I'm not going to dothat now."
"Nonsense! Father only wants to say a few words more. He has forgivenyou--I mean, us--and, after he has spoken, everything will be as it wasbefore. He says it's all nonsense about your going away."
Serge nodded.
"Yes, I knew he'd say that, my boy. Of course he would."
"Well," said Marcus, impatiently, "isn't that what you want?"
"No, not now, boy. Things can never be the same again."
"Why not?" cried Marcus.
"Because they can't, boy."
"Oh, Serge, don't be so obstinate!"
"No, my lad, not obstinate; only doing what's right. I can't helpwhat's done, nor what's said."
"But don't stop talking, Serge. Father wants to see you at once."
The old soldier shook his head and went on packing with increasedvigour.
"Well, why don't you go?" cried Marcus, impatiently.
"I daren't," said the man, frowning.
"Then that's because you feel you're in the wrong, Serge."
"Yes, boy, that's it; I'm in the wrong, and the master knows it, so it'sof no use for me to go."
"Oh, Serge," cried Marcus, "you do make me so angry when you will keepon like this. Look here, Serge."
"No," said the man, sourly, "and it's of no use for you to talk, boy,because my mind's made up. You want to talk me round, same as yourfather, the master, would. I've done wrong, and I told him so. It'sall because I tried to make a good soldier of you, as is what Naturemeant you to be, and he can't forgive me for that. He couldn't even ifhe tried. There, that's better--you lie there, and that'll make moreroom for the boy's helmet. Yes, that'll do. Swords lie on each sideunder the shields and keep them steady,
" he continued, apostrophisingthe different portions of the military equipment, as he worked veryrapidly now in spite of Marcus' words, till the whole of the war-likepieces were to his liking and the chest quite full, when he closed thelid and sat upon it as if to think, with his eyes fixed upon one cornerof the place.
"There, now are you satisfied?" cried Marcus. "Fortunately, father isreading, and he will not notice how long you have been. You've made mehorribly impatient. Now go in to him at once and get it over."
"I shall only want a little bundle and my staff," said Serge, as if tohimself. "That is mine, for I cut it in the forest and shaped andtrimmed it myself. Yes, that's all."
"Aren't you going to take the chest into father's room?" said Marcus,quietly.
"Eh? No, my lad."
"But he told you to."
"Yes, boy, but it was after all was over, and I can't face him again."
"Then you are going off without saying good-bye to him?"
The old soldier nodded.
"And you are not going in to see him after he has sent for you to come?"
"No, boy," said the old soldier, with a sigh. "It's the only way. I'mjust going to take my bundle and my stick, and then I'm going off atonce--_alone_," he added, meaningly.
"No, you're not, Serge, for someone else can be stubborn too."
"What do you mean?" cried the man, sharply.
"What I told you. I'm coming too."
"Nay, boy, you're not; your father would stop that, and you must obeyhim," cried Serge, angrily.
"No, I mustn't," said Marcus.
"What! Sons must obey their fathers."
"And soldiers must obey their officers."
"But he's not my officer now."
"Yes, he is," cried Marcus, angrily; "your officer as well as my father.If you go, Serge, I shall go, and I don't care where it is."
"He'd never forgive you," cried the old soldier, angrily.
"Well, I should take my chance of that. You know me, Serge. When I sayI'll do a thing I do it; and I shall do this, for I don't mean to letyou go away from here alone. Now what have you got to say?"
The old soldier got up from the shut-down lid of the chest, walked tothe corner of the room, and took his crook-like staff, to which a roughbundle was already tied, and then he stepped back to where Marcus wasseated upon the edge of the table which had so lately borne the armourcarefully spread out.
"Good-bye, Marcus, boy," he said, holding out his hand.
The lad sprang from the table and made for the door.
"Won't you say good-bye, Marcus?" cried Serge, pitifully.
"No," was the short, sharp reply. "What's the good? But stop a moment.I'd better go and shut up Lupus, or he'll come bounding after us and weshan't get rid of him again."
"Oh!" roared the old soldier, angrily, and he dashed his bundle andstaff across the room to the corner from which they had been taken."You're both of you too much for me."
"Come on, Serge, old fellow," said Marcus, softly, as he took his oldcompanion by the arm. "Shall I come in to father with you?"
"No!" growled Serge. "I'm going to be beat, and I'll go alone."
The next minute his steps were heard plodding heavily towards hismaster's study, and, as he listened Marcus burst out into a merry,silent laugh.
"Poor old Serge!" he said. "How father hurt his feelings! He'll neverleave us while he lives, but I believe if he had gone away it would havebroken his heart. Well, that's all over, and things will be all rightagain."
The boy stood thinking for a few minutes, and then he sighed.
"My poor old sword and shield," he said, half aloud; "and the helmet andarmour too! Oh, how grand it was! When I had them on I used to feel asif I was marching with a successful army coming from the wars, and nowit's all over and I must sit and read and write, and the days will seemso dull with nothing exciting, nothing bright, no war in the future--Yes, there will be," he cried; "there'll be those boys. They'll becoming on again as the grapes turn black. Yes," he went on, with amerry laugh, "and if they come I'll make some of them turn black. Nowar! I'll make war with them, with old Serge and Lupus for allies. Andthen the winter will come again, and there'll be the wolves. Why,there'll be plenty to think of, after all."
Marcus: the Young Centurion Page 6
