Marcus: the Young Centurion

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  TURNING THE TABLES.

  "Marcus, boy!" came back the next instant, as the old soldier dasheddown his shield and his sword upon it with a clattering noise, beforecatching his deliverer in his arms and holding him to his breast.

  "Well done!" he cried. "Well done, boy! Well done! Hah! Hurrah!Think of it! Six on 'em! And you set 'em running. Hah!" he panted,breathlessly, as he freed the boy, took a couple of steps backward,planted his great fists upon his hips, gazed at him proudly, and thengave a sweeping look round as if addressing a circle of lookers-oninstead of blocks of stone and trees; "Hah!" he exclaimed. "I taughthim to fight like that!"

  "Yes, Serge, you did--you did!" cried Marcus. "But you are covered withblood, and you are badly hurt. Those wretches must have stabbed youwith their knives."

  "Eh?" growled the old soldier, beginning to feel himself all over."Yes, how nasty! All over my breast. It's a long time since I havebeen in a mess like this. I felt a dig in the front, and another in myback, and another--" Serge ceased speaking as his hands were busyfeeling for his wounds, and then he exclaimed: "Yes, it's blood, sureenough, but 'tain't mine, boy. Their knives didn't go through. I amall right, only out of breath. But you? Did you get touched?"

  "Oh no," cried Marcus. "I escaped."

  "But you made your marks on them, boy. My marks, I call 'em."

  "Pick up your sword and shield, Serge," cried Marcus, excitedly."They'll be coming back directly perhaps."

  "Well, yes, it would be wise, boy," said the old soldier, taking hisadvice. "Look yonder; that's the fellow I cut down," and he pointedwith his sword to the man who had been bathing his wound and, aftercrossing the rivulet, was also in full retreat. "No, he's had enough ofit, and if the others came back it wouldn't be six to one, but five totwo--two well-armed warriors, you and me," said the old man, proudly, ashe made Marcus' shield clatter loudly as he tapped it with his sword."You and me, boy," he repeated. "Tchah! They won't come on again.Why, back to back, you and me--why, we are ready for a dozen of them ifthey came. Here, I had my wash, but I must go now and have anotherwhile you keep guard over me. Think of it!--While you keep guard overme, boy! No, I won't call you boy no more, for I have made you afighting man, and here's been the proof of it this morning. There'sonly one thing wanted to make all this complete. Boy! Tchah! I can'tcall you a boy: you are a young Roman warrior."

  "Oh, nonsense, Serge!" cried the boy, flushing.

  "Nonsense, eh? Look at you and the way you handled that spear. Why,you are better with your sword, if you have to draw it, as I well know.Do you remember how you nearly did for me?"

  "Oh yes, I remember," replied Marcus.

  "Yes, I had to jump that time; and lucky I did, or I shouldn't have beenhere for you to fight like this. But, as I was saying, it only wantedone thing, and that was for your father, who has come to his senses atlast, to have been here to see, and--"

  The old soldier stopped short, his big, massive jaw dropped, and hestood staring as he took off his heavy helmet and wiped his brow withthe back of his hand.

  "But I say," he cried, at last, staring at the boy with the puzzledexpression upon his features growing more and more intense, "what areyou doing here?"

  Marcus' sun-browned face turned scarlet, and he stood silent, staring inreply, beginning almost to cower--he, the brave, young, growingwarrior--before the old servant's stern eyes, and ready to shiver at thepricking of the conscience that was now hard at work.

  "Look here," cried Serge, extending his shield and raising his shortbroadsword to punctuate his words with the taps he gave upon this armourof defence, "your father said that you were not to use that armour anymore, and I left it, being busy getting his for him to go off to thewar, lying upon his bed. It wasn't yours any longer. It was his'n.You have been in and stole it; that's what you have done. Do you hearme?" continued the old soldier, fiercely. "You've been and stole it andput it on, when he said you warn't to. That's what you've done."

  "Yes, Serge," said the boy, meekly.

  "Hah!" cried the old soldier, gathering strength.

  "And your father said you were to stop at home and take care of hishouse and servants, and the swine and cattle, and his lands, and, assoon as he's gone, you begin kicking up your heels and playing yourwicked young pranks. That's what you've done, and been pretty quickabout it too. Now then, out with it. Let's have the truth--the truth,and no excuses. Let's have the truth."

  It was no longer punctuation, but a series of heavy musical bangs uponthe shield, and once more, very meekly indeed, Marcus said, almostbeneath his breath:

  "Yes, Serge; that's quite right. Everything is as you say."

  "Ah, well," growled the old soldier, a little mollified by his youngmaster's frankness, "that don't make it quite so bad. Now then, justyou answer right out. Where were you a-going to go?"

  "To join father at the war."

  "Hah! I thought as much," cried the old soldier, triumphantly, andlooking as though he credited himself with a grand discovery. "And nowyou see what comes of not doing what you are told. I've just catchedyou on the hop, and it's lucky for you it's me and not the masterhimself. So, now then, it's clear enough what I've got to do."

  "To do?" cried Marcus, quickly. "What do you mean, Serge?"

  "What do I mean? Why, to make you take off that coat of armour on thespot. Well, no, I can't do that, because you aren't got nothing else towear. Well, never mind; you must go as you are."

  "Oh yes, Serge, never mind about the armour; I'll go as I am. Butgather your things together--that bundle of yours."

  "How did you know I'd got a bundle?" said the old soldier, suspiciously.

  "I have seen you carrying it day after day."

  "What! You've seen me day after day?"

  "Oh yes. I don't know how long it's been, but I have often seen youright in front."

  "Worse and worse!" cried the old soldier, angrily. "That shows what abad heart you've got, boy. You've come sneaking along after me to findthe way, and never dared to show your face."

  "I did dare!" cried the boy, indignantly. "But I only saw your back. Ididn't know it was you."

  "Oh, you didn't know it was me?" growled Serge. "Well, that don't makeit quite so bad. But you knew it was me that you came to help?"

  "No."

  "Oh! Then I might have been a stranger?"

  "Yes, of course. I saw six men attacking one, and--"

  "Oh, come, he ain't got such a bad heart as I thought," said the oldsoldier. "And you did behave very well. I did feel a bit proud of you.But never mind that; we have got something else to talk about," saidSerge, as he rearranged his armour and picked up his wallet and spear."Now then, let's get back at once, and mind this, if you attempt to giveme the slip--"

  "Give you the slip! Get back!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "What do youmean by get back at once?"

  "Why, get back home to your books and that there wax scratcher to do asyour father said. This is a pretty game, upon my word!"

  "But I am not going back, Serge," cried the boy, firmly. "I am going tojoin my father."

  "You are not going to join your father," said the old soldier, sturdily."You've run away like one of them village ragged-jacks, and I amashamed of you, that's what I am. But 'shamed or no 'shamed, I'vecatched you and I am going to take you back."

  "No!" cried Marcus, fiercely.

  "Nay, boy, it's yes, so make no more bones about it."

  "I am going to join my father, sir, and answer to him, not to hisservant."

  "You are going back home to your books and to take care of your father'shouse."

  "And suppose I refuse?" cried Marcus.

  "Won't make a bit of difference, boy, for I shall make you."

  "Indeed!" cried Marcus.

  "Now then, none of that! None of your ruffling up like a young cockereland sticking your hackles out because you think your spurs have grown,when you are not much more than fle
dged, because that won't do with me.I tell you this: you come easy and it will be all the better for you,for if you behave well perhaps I won't tell the master, after all. Somake up your mind to be a good boy at once."

  "A good boy!" cried Marcus, scornfully. "Why, you called me a braveyoung warrior just now."

  "Yes, I am rather an old fool sometimes," growled Serge; "but youneedn't pitch that in my teeth. Now then, no more words, and let'swaste no more time. I want to get back."

  "But Serge--" cried the boy.

  "That'll do. You know what your father said, and you've got to obeyhim, or I shall make you. Aren't you sorry for doing wrong?"

  "Yes--no," cried Marcus.

  "Yes--no? What do you mean by that, sir?"

  "I don't know," cried Marcus, desperately. "Look here, Serge: it is toolate now. I've taken this step, and I must go on and join my fathernow."

  "Taken this step? Yes, of course you have," cried the old soldier,sarcastically, "and a nice step it is! What's it led to? Your havingto take a lot more steps back again. I know; but you didn't, being sucha young callow bit of a fellow. Soon as you do anything wrong you haveto do a lot more bad things to cover it up. Lucky for you I catchedyou; so now then, come on."

  "But Serge," cried Marcus, passionately, "you can't understand how Ifelt--how it seemed as if I must go after my father, to be with him incase he wanted help. He might be wounded, you know."

  "Well, if he is there'll be plenty to help him. Soldiers are alwayscomrades, and help one another. If he is wounded he won't want a boylike you, so stop all that. I'm not going to stand here and let youargue me into a rage. You've got to come back and obey your father'scommands, instead of breaking his orders. I wonder at you, boy, that Ido. Did this come out of your reading and writing?"

  "Serge!" cried the boy. "I did try hard--so hard, you don't know; but Icouldn't stay. I was obliged to come."

  "Won't do, boy," growled the old soldier, frowning. "Orders are orders,and one has to obey them whether one likes 'em or whether one don't.Ready?"

  "No, Serge, no, I'm not ready," pleaded the boy. "It is too late. Ican't go back."

  "Too late? Not a bit. Now then: come on."

  "I cannot, Serge. I must--I will go on now."

  "You mustn't, sir, and you will not," cried the old soldier, sternly."Now then, no nonsense; come on."

  "No, no, Serge. Pray, pray take my side. It is to be with my father;can't you see?"

  "No, boy; I'm blind when it comes to orders."

  "Oh, Serge, have you no mercy?" cried Marcus, piteously.

  "Not a bit, boy. Now then, once more, come on."

  "I cannot," cried Marcus, passionately.

  "Then I'm going to make you."

  "What!"

  "I'm going to carry you, heavy as you'll be, and long as it will makethe road. But I've got it to do, and, if it takes me a month, I'm goingto make you obey your father's orders, sir, and stop at home."

  As he spoke Serge swung his shield between his shoulders, pressed hissheathed sword a little more round to his side, and with a sharp digmade his spear stand up in the earth.

  "Now then," he cried, and he caught Marcus by the wrists, and a struggleseemed to be imminent.

  "Serge!" cried Marcus, angrily.

  "Your orders were to stay at home, sir, and home you go," cried the oldsoldier. "If you will be carried back like a scrap of a little child,why, carried you shall be. So give up. I'm twice as strong as you, andit's your father's commands."

  "Hah!" cried Marcus, ceasing his struggles on the instant, and leavinghis wrists tightly clasped in the old soldier's hands.

  "Well, what are you `hah-ing' about?" cried Serge, as he noted thesuddenly triumphant tones of the boy's voice.

  "I was thinking about my father's orders," cried Marcus, in a state ofwild excitement now.

  "Good boy; and quite time. Pity you didn't think more of 'em and muchsooner. Then you're going to mind me without more fuss, and come homelike a good boy now?"

  "No," cried Marcus, fiercely. "I am going on to my father. I will notstir a step backward now."

  "What!" cried Serge, as fiercely now, for the old man was roused by theboy's obstinacy. "You won't obey?"

  "No," cried Marcus, catching his companion by the top of his breastarmour. "It's my turn now. Look here, sir; you talk about my father'scommands."

  "Yes, boy, I do," roared the old soldier, looking as fierce now as oneof the campagna bulls, whose bellow he seemed to emulate, "and I'll makeyou obey them too."

  "Commands--obey--when I'm only going to join him?"

  "Yes, that's it, my lad. So now then!"

  "Yes," cried Marcus, giving his companion a fierce thrust which forcedhim a little back so that he caught his heels against a projectingstone, and as he tried to recover himself was brought down by Marcusupon his knees. "Hah!" he cried. "I've got you! What have you got tosay about my father's orders? What are you doing here?"