“How do you know?”
“I can hear them, boy.”
“Oh, then why don’t we gallop forward and attack?” cried Marcus, excitedly.
“Because it arn’t our time. There! Hear that?”
“Yes; what does it mean?” cried Marcus, as a dull, low, clattering sound was heard.
“Why, you ought to know by now. That’s our foot-men joining shields together to receive the enemy’s horse, which must have scattered ours. They are driven back, and they will come round behind us if I am not mistaken.”
“What, have they run away?” cried Marcus.
“Oh no, boy. Bent back to right and left. They were taken by surprise, I should say, and gave way. That’s the art of war. And now! Hark at them! The enemy’s coming down with a rush upon our infantry to cut them up and sweep us all away.”
“What!” cried Marcus, wildly. “And we in the chariots are ambling on like this! Oh, if I could only see something besides that line in front!”
“See with your ears, boy, as I do,” growled Serge. “This is the first bit of real work I have been in for many a year, but it’s all going right. We have got a captain over us who knows what he is about. There! What did I say? Hear that?”