“Well, that’s right. Are you nearly ready?”
“Yes,” said Marcus, taking his helmet from where it rested in the fork of a young tree, and lowering it slowly upon his head.
“Does it hurt?” said Serge.
“Oh no, it feels quite comfortable now. Why?”
“Because you put it on as if it were red hot. But give the word ‘forward,’ captain, and let’s march. The first farm or house we come to we must halt and forage. My wallet’s empty, and we want something very much better than water for our next meal.”
“Forward, then!” cried Marcus, and the dog responded with a volley of his deep barking, and bounded off before them, old Serge smiling grimly the while.
“Got his nose straight for Rome,” he said, with a laugh. “Why, if I was a general, Master Marcus, and going to lead our armies against the barbarians as won’t let us alone but keep on attacking and wanting to come to plunder the riches of the place, and carry the Roman people off as slaves, do you know what I’d do?”
“Beat them and drive them back, and make them slaves instead,” replied Marcus.
“Ah, but besides that, my lad, I’d get together an army of dogs like our Lupe, and set them to work to tear ’em down and chase ’em away.”
“Oh, barbarous!” cried Marcus, laughing.