“Front—rear—flanks! Well done!” cried Serge. “I like that. You’re getting quite the soldier, my boy.”
Matters proved to be better still as they moved higher up the pass, not in the way of the road improving, but respecting the difficulties with the enemy, for after the latter had made a brave stand in one spot where the pass widened out for a space, and fought stubbornly for a while, the little Roman force cut their way through and into the narrow portion where the walls of the gorge closed quite up on either side, leaving only room for the grey muddy stream and the road track along which Marcus and his friends made their way, completely freed from all attack save from the rear, where a fierce pursuit was kept up, fresh parties of the enemy giving up and retreating after delivering their attack and being rolled back.
The fighting was sharp, the brunt of it being borne by the foot soldiers, who protected the rear, while the chariots were forced over the many difficulties and the horses helped along, a portion of the foot being far in advance, ready for any body of the enemy which might be blocking their way in ambush.
It had been rough work that day, and the men, after the amount of fighting they had gone through, were beginning to look dispirited and feel disheartened, for in addition to the length of the struggle, the supplies had run short, and everyone knew that no more food could be obtained until they had forced their way through the desolate pass, over the summit, and down the other side to the cultivated and inhabited regions below.
But their leader was well suited to his task, and he seemed to be everywhere, with a word or two of encouragement and praise, stopping to help the men with the baggage animals, heading a party sent forward to lever the great blocks of stone that impeded progress, and ready directly after to urge his trembling horse back among the rocks the moment the echoes of the shouts behind warned him that there was a fresh attack in the rear. There were two of these, one directly after the start at sunrise, and a second high up the pass at mid-day, when as he bade the horsemen and the chariots pass on, he laughingly in Marcus’ hearing told his soldiery to make use of the loose rocks to form a rough breastwork behind which they could fight, and all the better for the cavalry being out of their way.
That fight was bitter and long sustained, and as the turmoil came echoing up the gorge to where Marcus and Serge were striving hard to master the difficulties before them and urge their willing little chariot horses on, the latter frowned as he rubbed his blue nose and responded to something Marcus had said.
“No, my lad,” he replied; “they’re not getting the better of our men, and they will not. We hear so much of what is going on because the sound comes up as if through a trumpet.”
“Comes up, Serge?”
“Yes, my lad; we’re a couple of thousand feet higher than they are below yonder, and the reason the fight lasts so long is because the enemy keep on bringing up fresh men.”
“Think so?” said Marcus.