“Why, you went out and walloped them, of course,” cried the man. “Quite nat’ral. What boy wouldn’t who had got any stuff in him at all? There, don’t you fret yourself about it, lad. The master will grumble at you a bit, of course, same as he does at me; but he’s a right to, and it’s only his way as he’s got into now since he took to his books and writing. But there was a time—ah! And not so very long ago, my lad—when if he’d caught those ragged young cubs tearing down his vines, he’d have stood and laughed and enjoyed seeing you thrash ’em, and helped you with his stick. And done them good too, made men of them, knowing what was right. But there, those days have all passed away. No more marching in the legion with the men’s plumes dancing in the sunshine, and every man’s armour as bright and clean as hands can make it. Ah, Marcus, my boy, those were grand old days, when we marched out to conquer, and came back and made grand processions, and the prisoners carrying all the spoil. I did hope to have seen you as fine a young centurion, growing into a general, as your father was before you. But—but— There, don’t stand staring at me with your eyes shining, your face red, and your mouth half open like that. Be off at once and have a good wash, and bathe those cuts and bruises till they look better.”
“Yes! I had better go,” said the boy, with a sigh. “It was a great bother for those boys to come. I meant when you came back for us to have some practice with the shield and spear, and then for you to show me again how to use the sword.”
“Hah, yes,” growled the old man, drawing a deep breath through his dilating nostrils, and unconsciously he whirled up his crook with one hand, and as he dropped into a picturesque attitude with one foot advanced and let the stout staff drop into his extended left hand, “that’s the way,” he cried. “Fancy, boy, a thousand spears presented all at once like that to the coming barbarians, and then the advance slowly and steadily, driving them scattered back, while the trumpets sounded and the ground quivered like a coming earthquake beneath the army’s tramp. That’s how we conquered and made the fame of grand old Rome. Bah! What an old fool I am!” he cried, as he stamped the end of his crook down once more, “I forget I’m not a soldier now, boy, only Cracis’ man who tends his farm and keeps his swine.”
“Never mind, Serge; we are very nice and happy here. The place is so beautiful. Father likes you.”
“Bah! Not he! He only looks upon me as a slave.”
“That he doesn’t!” cried the boy, indignantly. “Why, only the other day he was talking about you.”
“About me?”
“Yes, and saying what a happy, peaceful place this was.”
“Peaceful! Bah!”
“And that it didn’t matter what came to pass, he had me with him.”