Chapter 14. Coming To Terms

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_ CHAPTER FOURTEEN. COMING TO TERMS

Serge was in the act of gathering himself together so as to spring up and catch his prisoner by the arms, but, as the boy questioned him sharply he sank a little lower upon his knees, and, as if all the strength had been suddenly discharged from within him, he said in quite a different tone of voice:

"What am I doing here?"

"Yes, sir," cried Marcus, forcing him a little more back, and fixing him with his eyes, "what are _you_ doing here?"

"Well, I--er--I--I'm here to take you back."

"You old shuffler!" cried Marcus, in a rage. "I can see through you. My father's orders, indeed! What were his orders to _you_, sir? Weren't they to stop and take care of his house and belongings, and of me?"

"Well, they was something like that," growled the man, softly; "but don't drive your knuckles into my throat like that, my lad. You hurt."

"Hurt! Yes, and you deserve it," cried Marcus, growing stronger in his attack upon the old servant as the latter grew more confused and weak. "So this is the way you obey my father's commands. You took upon yourself to go into his room and help yourself to the armour you have on. Confess, you did; didn't you?"

"Well, if it comes to that, Master Marcus," grumbled the man, "it was my armour, and wouldn't fit no one else."

"That's shuffling again, Serge, and it's no good. You took the armour, unknown to my father?"

"Course I did, my lad," cried the man, recovering himself a little. "He wasn't there, was he?"

"Pah!" ejaculated Marcus. "More shuffling. Now then, confess: you took the armour and disobeyed the orders given you. What is more, you forsook me and left me to myself. Speak out; you did, didn't you?"

"Well, I s'pose it's o' no use to deny it, Master Marcus. I s'pose I did."

"And in direct opposition to my father's orders you were going to follow him to the war?"

"That's right, Master Marcus, but how could I help it? Could I let him, as I'd followed into many a fight, go off to meet those savage Gauls without me at his back to stand by him as I've done many and many a time before?"

"You disobeyed him, sir," cried Marcus.

"Well, boy, I own up," growled the man; "but I meant to do it for the best. How could I stop at home nussing you like a baby and thinking all the while that my old master was going about with swords and spears offering at his throat? How could I do it, Master Marcus? Don't be so hard on a man. It wasn't to be done."

"And yet you were as hard as iron to me, sir," cried Marcus.

"Well, didn't your father order me to be in the way of taking care of you? It was my duty."

"Was it?" cried Marcus. "Then now I'm going to do my duty to you, sir."

"What are you going to do, Master Marcus?" said Serge, quite humbled now.

"Make you go back to the old home and take care of it."

"Master never gave you orders to do that," cried the old soldier, triumphantly; "and now I'm started to follow him and fight for him, nobody shan't make me go; so there!"

Marcus and Serge remained gazing in one another's eyes, till at last the latter spoke.

"Look here, Master Marcus, I meant it for the best. Aren't you being a bit hard on me?"

"Look here, Serge," replied Marcus, "I meant it for the best. Weren't you a bit hard upon me?"

"I think not, Master Marcus, boy."

"And that's what I think, Serge."

"I couldn't see my dear old master go away alone into danger."

"And I couldn't see my dear old father go away alone into danger."

"Of course you couldn't, Master Marcus. I say, my lad, you know what I used to tell you about enemies doing when they come to a check like-- what they settled was best."

"What, made a truce?" said Marcus.

"Yes, my lad. I should like one now, for that bruise you've made with your knuckles in my throat's quite big enough. It'll be black to-morrow."

"Get up, Serge," said Marcus, letting his hand fall.

"Thankye, my lad. I say, boy, I didn't think you were so strong."

"Didn't you, Serge?"

"No, boy. My word, it's just as if getting into your armour had stiffened you all over. My word, I wouldn't ha' believed that you could fight like you did this morning!"

"I felt hot and excited, Serge, and as if I could do anything."

"Didn't feel a bit scared like, though there was six of them?"

"No," said Marcus, thoughtfully; "I never thought anything about their numbers, only of saving you."

"Thinking all the time it was someone else, sir?"

"Yes, Serge; that was it."

"And you fought fine, sir. Seems to me it's a pity for a youngster like you to be stopping at home unrolling volumes and making scratches with a stylus."

"Does it, Serge?"

"Yes, sir, it do; and likewise it seems a pity that such a man as me, who can do his share of fighting, should be doing nothing better than driving the swine into the acorn woods."

"And looking after and protecting me, Serge," said Marcus, drily.

"Oh, yes, of course; there was that, of course, Master Marcus; but I say, sir, don't you think we've both talked enough for the present; I tackled you and you tackled me in a pretty tidy argument, and both on us had the best of it in turn. I'm beginning to think that there's good clear water coming down from the mountain yonder."

"Yes, Serge; it makes me feel thirsty after getting so hot."

"Then, too, I've got a nice loaf in my wallet and a tidy bit o' meat as I got from a little way back. What do you say to our making a bit o' breakfast together same as we've done before now in the woods?"

"And settle afterwards about whether we should go back, Serge?" said Marcus.

"Yes, my lad; that'll be the sensiblest thing to do."

"Yes," said Marcus, "you've talked about it, and it has made me feel very hungry now."

"Well, look here," said Serge, "we are about even, aren't we?"

"Even!" said Marcus, staring at the man. "Do you mean about both being hungry?"

"Nay-y-y-ay! About being wicked uns. You've done wrong, you know, and disobeyed orders."

"Yes," said Marcus, with a sigh.

"So have I. Well, we are both in disgrace, and that makes us even; so, of course, I can't bully you any more and you can't say ugly things to me. Fair play's the thing, isn't it?"

"Of course," cried Marcus.

"Well, then, as you've behaved uncommon fine in tackling those rough ones, and saved my life--"

"Oh no," said Marcus, modestly.

"But I say, oh yes. Don't you talk to me. They'd have killed me dead, stripped off everything that was worth taking, and then left my body to the wolves."

Marcus recalled the words of the speaker of his wandering away up the mountains to lie down and die, and he felt ready to say: "Well, that would have suited you;" but he thought it better not, and held his tongue.

"As I said before, you have behaved uncommonly well over that, so I'll forgive you for running away, and shake hands, if you'll agree to say nothing more about it to me."

"Oh, very well," cried Marcus. "I don't feel that I can say any more to you."

"Then I won't to you, my lad, and there's my hand on it. Only mind this," cried Serge, as they stood with their hands clasped, "this is only me, you know. I lose my place of looking after you, according to the master's orders, by forsaking my post and going after him, so I aren't no longer holding your rein, as you may say. What I mean is this--I forgive you, but I am not going to answer for what your father will say."

"Oh, of course not," cried Marcus. "We have both got to face that."

"Yes, my lad," said the old soldier, sourly, "and a nice hard time it's going to be. I daren't think about it, but keep on putting it off till it comes. That'll be time enough. So now then, you and me's going to be friends, and try to help one another out of the mud. That is, unless you think we'd better go back home together."

"Oh, no, no," cried Marcus. "Impossible! We must go on now."

"Yes," said Serge, bluntly. "Then it's vittles."

"Vittles?" said Marcus, staring.

"Yes. Don't you know what vittles are? Didn't you say you was hungry?"

"Oh!" cried Marcus.

"Have you got anything?"

"Scarcely anything," replied Marcus.

"Yah! And after all the pains I took with you! Didn't I always say that an army on the march must always look well after its foraging? No commander can expect his men to behave better than a bottle."

"Look here, Serge," cried Marcus, laughing, "why don't you speak out plainly what you mean? What have men got to do with bottles?"

"Oh, a good deal sometimes," said the man, chuckling. "But that's only my way. You can't hold a bottle up, no matter whether it's a goat-skin or one of them big jars made of clay, and expect to pour something out of it if you haven't first put something in?"

"No, of course not," said Marcus, who was busy polishing the point of his spear with a tuft of dried grass.

"Well, men's the same as bottles; if you don't give them plenty to eat and drink you can't get plenty of fighting out of them. Always see to your foraging when you are on the march. I always do, and I have got something ready for us both now. But look here, my lad, this isn't at home, and I'm not going to drive out the swine, and you are not going to your wax table. We are soldiering now, and whether it's two thousand or only two, things are just the same. We have got to keep a sharp look-out for the enemy."

"You didn't," said Marcus, quickly, "or you would have seen me following you."

"That's right," said Serge, "and it was because I could think of nothing else but about being such a bad un as I was and forsaking my post. I dursen't look back either, for fear that I should see someone following me. But that's all over now; you and me's joined forces, and we must go on straight. I don't think it's necessary, but we will just take a look round for danger before we sit down to enjoy our breakfast."

"Enjoy?" said Marcus, dubiously.

"Yes, that's right. We shall both have company over it. It's been precious dull to me, being all alone. So now then; take the lead, captain, and give the orders to advance for a scout all round before we sit down to our meal."

"Very well, then," cried Marcus. "Forward! This way first."

"Yes, but that's too much of it," said the old soldier. "A commanding officer don't make speeches to his men 'cept when he's going into action, and not always then. What you ought to have said was just 'forward!' and then advanced with your troops to follow you."

Marcus nodded and smiled, and, side by side and spear in hand, they climbed to the highest ground, carefully surveying their surroundings of wood and rock--every place, in fact, likely to give harbour to an enemy, till all at once Marcus threw out his left arm across his companion's breast, and, stopping short, stood pointing with his spear to something half hidden behind a patch of bushes upon the other side of the stream.

Serge sheltered his eyes on the instant, and gave a satisfied nod.

"Right, captain," he whispered; "but your force isn't strong enough to surround the enemy. You must advance in line. It's an ambuscade."

The half-concealed figure was nearly a hundred yards away, and, by the time they had covered half the distance, Marcus' keen young eyes sent a message to his brain, and he whispered to his companion in an awe-stricken voice:

"It's that wounded man. He has lain down to die."

The old soldier uttered a low grunt, and sheltered his eyes again.

"Looks like it," he said, "but we had best make sure. Tell your men to level their spears and advance at a run. Dead men are dangerous sometimes."

Recalling the lesson he had just received, Marcus lowered his spear and uttered the one word:

"Advance!"

They broke into a sharp trot, straight for the horrible-looking, stiffened figure which lay crouched together in an unnatural attitude just behind a bush; but, before they were half way, there was a quick movement, a sharp rustling of leaves, and the dead man had sprung up and was running as swiftly as a deer.

Marcus stared in astonishment, looking so surprised that Serge lowered the butt of his spear and rested upon its shaft in his familiar home attitude when the staff he carried was terminated by a crook instead of a keenly-pointed blade.

"There, you see, my lad. That's the sort of dead man you have got to beware of after a fight. They are a very dangerous sort; like that fellow, they are crippled a bit, but they won't stop to be buried. They don't like the idea. What they do is to play sham till their enemy has marched by 'em, thinking they are real, and then when some poor fellow is looking forward, one of them dead barbarians lets him have it in the back. There, we will go and sit up on the top there, and I'll lean up against your back, and you shall lean up against mine while we eat our breakfast and are busy with our teeth, and leave our four eyes to play watchful sentry till we've done."

Marcus felt quite willing now that the excitement caused by the flying foe was at an end, and, soon after, Serge's little store was drawn upon, and, quite happy and contented, the two old companions made what Marcus thought was the most appetising breakfast he had ever had in his life.

"Hah!" cried Serge, as they rose at last. "Now let's go down to the stream for a drink. Always camp, my lad, beside a river or a lake; and if you can't--" He stopped short.

"Well, if you can't?" said Marcus.

"Why, then you must go thirsty, same as you must go hungry too sometimes. Didn't I always teach you that a soldier's first duty was to learn how to fast?"

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Marcus, as he lay down to drink, while his companion watched, and then drank in turn, rising to say, as he drew a long, deep breath:

"There, that's as much as I want now. Nice clear water, and we've left plenty for the next as comes. But a deal of trouble I used to have in the face of plenty to make you believe it was a soldier's duty to learn how to fast. You always were the hungriest boy I ever knew."

Marcus laughed, and looked wonderingly at his companion, who now stood up stiffly with his hands resting upon his spear.

"Well, Serge, what now?" cried Marcus.

"Only waiting, captain. Orders to advance."

"Forward!" cried Marcus; and, the next minute, with eyes eagerly scanning the track in front, they were marching together side by side on the way to Rome. _

Read next: Chapter 15. Wearing Armour

Read previous: Chapter 13. Turning The Tables

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