“Then what is to be done?”
“What the chief likes, boy; but if I were he I should stand fast and let the enemy hammer at us till he grows tired of losing men.”
“Then you think we can beat them off?”
“Yes, boy, for a time; but we’ve got no stores to speak of, and even Romans can’t, as I said before, or something like it, go on fighting for ever. But we shall do our best.”
“Yes,” said Marcus, with a sigh, as he looked thoughtfully round, unconsciously playing with the dog’s ears the while, to that animal’s great satisfaction. “But I don’t like it, Serge.”
“You don’t? Well, you’re a queer sort of a boy, then,” growled the old soldier. “I never met a boy before who said that he didn’t like fighting.”
“I did not say so,” cried Marcus, sharply. “I was talking about our position here.”
“Oh, I see!” growled Serge. “What about it? Strong enough for anything.”
“Perhaps so, but here we are shut in amongst all these rocks, with no room for the horsemen or the chariots to be of any use. How could we gallop along here, or how could the cavalry attack?”
Serge took off his great helmet, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and stared hard at his young companion for some moments, till the boy noticed the heavy, fierce look, and coloured.