“But I tell you, captain,” raged out Serge, “that it would be like murder to send the boy like that.”
“Silence, old madman,” cried the captain. “Why, I should be as mad as you even to think of doing such a thing. Listen, boy; be ready, and when the rest of the chariots are moved off towards the upper part of the track along with the rest of the force, you will keep back amongst the rocks. I shall lead the men myself and make a feigned attack as if I were going to retreat back by the way we came; and in the excitement and confusion, when the enemy yonder have drawn off to go to their companions’ assistance and take me in the rear, you will watch your chance and escape.”
“Yes, I see,” cried Marcus, excitedly; and the captain went on:
“The chances are that if you are noticed no one will try to stop you. It will be thought that you are deserting and seeking your safety in flight.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Marcus; “and now I shall be sure to succeed.”
“Yes, captain, that’s better,” growled Serge, in his deepest tones. “I like that.”
“Then take good heed to his safety, man,” cried the captain, warmly, “and die for him if there is need, for I would rather lose a hundred men such as you than one like him.”
“But—but—” stammered Serge, “you don’t mean—”
“I don’t mean!” cried the captain. “Why, the boy is right: you are an old madman to think that I would send that brave boy alone when he has such a faithful old follower as you at his side. No, no; go with him, and bring him back safely to me, along with the help I ask, or never see my face again.”
Before he had finished, rough old Serge, with the big tears standing in his eyes, was down upon one knee catching at the leader’s hand and carrying it to his lips.