“But it will be all the nicer and sweeter when it comes, boy. I say, there was only one thing that could possibly have happened to make us worse off.”
“What, having to fight in this snow, Serge?”
“Nay, that would have warmed us, lad. I meant, come on to snow.”
“Snow at this time of year?” cried Marcus.
“It snows up in the mountains at all times of the year, boy,” growled Serge. “Down below in the plains it only rains, but up here it snows; and here it comes, and someone else too. I expect things are going wrong in the rear, or else he has heard the attack in front, and has come to see.”
For a blinding and dense squall of snow came raging through the pass, leaving horsemen and chariots as white as their chief, whose horse came churning its way through the hail-like coating that stood half way up the wheels, close to which its rider reined in.
“Find it cold, my lads?” he cried cheerily, and was answered by a chorus of assent.
“Well, I’ve brought you up news to warm you. The men below are holding the enemy in check, and they have begun to retire, which means to support us and drive those back who are trying to stop us at the head of the pass. Make ready. Ah, my boy, you there? Well, are you tired of seeking your father?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Well,” said the captain, “tired or not there is no going back, for you could not cut through two or three thousand of the enemy alone. There, we shall soon be through this frozen pass, and making our way down into the sunny plains. Winter now, and summer this time to-morrow. Ready there, advance!”