CHAPTER VIII.
THE NEWS IN THE CAMP.
That afternoon a banquet, which was as handsomely set out as the veryshort notice permitted, was given to all the officers in the camp. Whenthe tables were removed,(28) Constantine, who had been carefully primed byhis sons with what he was to say, addressed his guests. His words were fewand to the point. "Britain," he said, "has been long enough ruled byothers. It is now time that she should begin herself to rule. It was theerror of those who went before me to be content with the limits of thisisland. But here there is not enough to content us. Beyond the sea,separated from us by only a few hours' journey, lie wealthy provinceswhich wait for our coming. A kindlier sky, more fertile fields, richer andfairer cities than ours are there. We have only to show ourselves, inshort, to be both welcomed and obeyed. Half the victories which we havewon here to no profit over poverty-stricken barbarians would have sufficedto give us riches even beyond our desires. Henceforth let us use our armswhere they may win something for us beyond empty honour and wounds. Followme, and within a year you shall be masters both of Gaul and Spain."
The younger guests received this oration with shouts of applause; visionsof promotion and prize-money, and even of the spoil of some of the wealthycities of the mainland floated before them. The older men did not showthis enthusiasm. Many of them were attached to Britain by ties that theywere very loth to break. They had little to hope, but much to fear, from achange. Still, they saw the necessity for doing something; another yearsuch as that which had just passed would thoroughly demoralize the army ofBritain. Legions that get into the habit of making emperors and killingthem for their pastime must be dealt with by vigorous remedies, and theeasiest and best of these was active service. In any case it would havebeen impolitic to show dissent. Many feigned, therefore, a joy which theydid not feel, and shouted approval when the Senior Tribune exclaimed,"Comrades, drink to our chief, Constantine Augustus, Emperor of Britainand the West."
The revel was kept up late into the night, the young Goth distinguishinghimself by the marvellous depth of his draughts and the equally marvellousstrength of his head.
The Emperor retired early from the scene, and Constans, who had littleliking for these boisterous scenes, followed his example, as did most ofthe older men. One of these, the cheery centurion, who has been mentionedmore than once, we may follow to his home.
Outside the camp had grown up a village of considerable size, though itconsisted for the most part of humble dwellings. There were two or threetaverns, or rather drinking-shops, where the soldiers could carouse on thethin, sour wine of the British vineyards, or, if the length of theirpurses permitted, on metheglin, a more potent drink, made from thefermentation of honey. A Jew, driven by the restless speculation of hisrace, had established himself in a shop where he sold cheap ornaments tothe soldiers' wives, and advanced money to their husbands on the securityof their pay. A tailor displayed tunics and cloaks, and a shoemaker soldboots warranted to resist the cold and wet of the island climate. Therewere a few cottages occupied by the grooms and stablemen who attended tothe horses employed in the camp, by fishermen who plied their trade in theneighbouring waters, and other persons of a variety of miscellaneousemployments in one way or other connected with the camp. But just outsidethe main street, at the end nearest to the camp, stood a house of somewhatgreater pretensions. It was indeed a humble imitation of the Roman villa,being built round three sides of an irregular square, which was itselfoccupied by a grass plot and a few flower beds. It was to this that theCenturion Decius bent his steps after the conversation related in the lastchapter. It was evidently with the reluctant step of the bearer of badnews that he proceeded on his way. As soon as he entered the enclosure hisapproach was observed from within. Two blooming girls, whose ages may havebeen seventeen and fifteen respectively, ran gaily to meet him. A womansome twenty-five years older, but still youthful of aspect and handsome,followed at a more sober pace.
"What is the matter, father?" cried the elder of the girls, who had beenquick to perceive that all was not right.
The centurion held up his hand and made a signal for silence. "Hush," hesaid; "I have something to tell you, but it must not be here. Let us goindoors."
"Shall the children leave us alone?" said the centurion's wife, who hadnow come up.
"No," he answered, wearily, "let them be with us while they can," he addedin a low voice, which only the wife's ears, made keenly alive by affectionand fear, could catch.
The gaiety of the young people was quenched, for, without having any ideaof what had happened, they could see plainly enough that something wasdisturbing their parents; and it was with fast beating hearts that theywaited for his explanation.
"Our happy days here are over, my dearest," said the centurion, drawinghis wife to him, and tenderly kissing her, as soon as they were withindoors.
"You mean," said she, "that the order has come."
"Yes," he answered, "we are to leave as soon as the transports can becollected. The resolution was made to-day and will be announced to thearmy to-morrow. It is no secret, I suppose, or will not be for long."
"And where are we to go?" cried the elder of the girls, whose facebrightened as the thought of seeing a little more of the world, of a homein one of the cities of Gaul, possibly in Rome itself, flitted across hermind.
The poor centurion changed colour. The girl's question brought up thedifficulty which he knew had to be faced, but which he would gladly haveput off as long as he could.
"We shall go to Gaul, certainly; where I cannot say," he answered, after along pause, and in a hesitating voice.
"Oh, how delightful!" cried the girl; "exactly the thing that Lucia and Ihave been longing for. And Rome? Surely we shall go to Rome, father? Areyou not glad to hear it, mother? I am sure that we are all tired of thiscold, foggy place."
The mother said nothing. If she did not exactly see the whole of thesituation, she had at least an housewife's horror of a move. The poorfather moved uneasily upon his chair.
"The legion will go," he said, "but your mother and you----"
"Oh, Lucius," cried the poor wife, "you do not, cannot mean that we arenot to go with you!"
"Nothing is settled," he replied, "it is true; but I am much troubledabout it. _You_ might go, though I do not like the idea of your followingthe camp; but these dear girls--and yet they cannot be separated from you."
The unhappy wife saw the truth only too clearly. If the times had beenquiet, she might herself have possibly accompanied the legion in its marchsouthward; but even then she could not have taken her daughters with her,her daughters whom she never allowed to go within the precincts of thecamp, except on the one day, the Emperor's birthday, when all theofficers' families were expected to be present at the ceremony of salutingthe Imperial likeness. And this had of late been omitted when it wasdifficult to say from day to day what Emperor the troops acknowledged. Thecenturion had spoken only too truly; the legion might go, but they muststay behind. She covered her face with her hands and wept.
"Lucia," cried the elder girl to her sister, "we will enlist; we will takethe oath; I should make just as good a soldier as many of the Briton ladsthey are filling up the cohorts with now; though you, I must allow, are alittle too small," she added, ruefully, as she looked at her sister'splump little figure, too hopelessly feminine ever to admit the possibilityof a disguise. "Cheer up, mother," she went on, "we shall find a way outof the difficulty somehow." And she threw her arms round the weepingwoman, and kissed her repeatedly.
There was silence for a few minutes, broken at last by the timid,hesitating voice of the younger girl.
"But must you go, father?" she said. "Surely they don't keep soldiers inthe camp for ever. And have you not served long enough? You were in thelegion, I have heard you say, before even Maria was born."
"My child," said the centurion, "it is true that my time is at least onthe point of being finished. Yet I can't leave
the service just now. Justbecause I am the oldest officer the Legate counts on me, and I can'tdesert him. It would be almost as bad as asking for one's discharge on theeve of a battle. And besides, though I don't like troubling your youngspirits with such matters, I cannot afford it. Were I to resign now Ishould get no pension, or next to none. But in a year or two's time, whenthings are settled down, I hope to get something worth having--some post,perhaps, that would give me a chance of making a home for you."
A fifth person, who had hitherto taken no part in the conversation, andwhose presence in the room had been almost forgotten by every one, nowbroke in, with a voice which startled the hearers by its unusual clearnessand precision. Lena, mother of the centurion's wife, had nearly completedher eightieth year. Commonly, she sat in the chimney corner, unheeding, toall appearances, of the life that went on about her, and dozing away theday. In her prime, and even down to old age, she had been a woman ofremarkable activity, ruling her daughter's household as despotically as informer days she had ruled her own. Then a sudden and severe illness hadprostrated her, and she had seemed to shrink at once into feebleness andhelplessness of mind and body. Her daughter and granddaughters tended hercarefully and lovingly; but she seemed scarcely to take any notice ofthem. The only thing that ever seemed to rouse her attention was the sightof her son-in-law when he chanced to enter the chamber without disarming.The shine of the steel brought a fire again into her dim, sunken eyes. Itwas probably this that had now roused her; and her attention, onceawakened, had been kept alive by what she heard.
"And at whose bidding are you going?" she said, in a startlingly clearvoice to come from one so feeble; "this Honorius, as he calls himself, afeeble creature who has never drawn a sword in his life! Now, if it hadbeen his father! He was a man to obey. He did deserve to be calledEmperor. I saw him forty years ago--just after you were born, daughter--whenhe came with his father. A splendid young fellow he was; and one who wouldhave his own way, too! How he gave those turbulent Greeks at Thessalonicatheir deserts! Fifteen thousand of them!(29) That was an Emperor worthhaving!"
"Oh! mother," cried her daughter, horrified to see the old woman'sferocity, softened, she had hoped, by age and infirmity, roused again inall its old strength. "Oh! mother, don't say such dreadful things. Thatwas an awful crime in Theodosius, and he had to do penance for it in thechurch."
"Ay," muttered the old woman, "I can fancy it did not please the priests.But why," she went on, raising her voice again, "why does not Britain havean Emperor of her own?"
"So she has, mother," said the centurion. "You forget our LordConstantine."
"Our Lord Constantine!" she repeated. "Who is Constantine? Why, I rememberhis mother--a slave girl--whom the Irish pirates carried off from somewherein the North. Constantine's father bought her, and married her. Why shouldhe be Emperor? I could make as good a one any day out of a faggot stick."
"Peace, dear mother," said the centurion, soothingly, afraid that herwords might have other listeners.
"Why not you," went on the old woman, unheeding; "you are better born."
"I, Emperor!" cried the centurion. "Speak good words, dearest mother."
"Well," said the old woman, dropping her voice again, "they are poorcreatures now-a-days." And she relapsed into silence, looking again aswholly indifferent to the present as if the strange outburst of rage andimpatience which her family had just witnessed had never taken place.
The family discussed the position of affairs anxiously till far into thenight.
"And what will happen," said the wife, "when the legions are gone?"
"There will be a British kingdom, I suppose; and, if it were united, itmight stand. But it will not be united. It will be every man for himself."
"And how about the Saxons and the Picts? If the legions hardly protectedus from them, how will it be when they are gone?"
The centurion's look grew gloomier than ever. "I know," he said, "theprospect is a sad one. But I hope that for a year you will be fairly safe;and after that I shall hope to send for you. Or you might go over to Gaul.But I hope to see the Count of the Shore about these matters. He will giveme the best advice. Here, of course, you can hardly stay, even if youcared to do it; and some place must be found. Meanwhile, make all thepreparations you can for a move."
The Count of the Saxon Shore; or The Villa in Vectis. Page 10
