“Look yonder towards that patch of grey rock which glitters in the sun. That’s where our stout rear-guard is. If you look hard you will be just able to see something moving slowly and something like a dark cloud just behind. That’s the enemy’s, front just coming into action, driving our men on. Hark! Do you hear how the hum of the enemy’s troops’ sounds changed?”
“Yes, I think so. It comes echoing along the rocks.”
“Well, that’s the barbarians cheering the others on.”
“Oh,” cried Marcus, “the attack begun, when we haven’t even stirred to fetch the help! Serge, shall we reach the army to-night?”
“Nay, nor to-morrow night either, boy.”
“And the fight begun!” cried Marcus. “Why, before we can get to my father and Caius Julius our little force will be destroyed.”
“Bah! Don’t you get setting up for a prophet like that. Do you think our men are going to sit down and let themselves be swallowed up without striking a blow? What are you thinking of, boy? Isn’t our general marching his men into the narrow gorge again where he will be safely walled in, with only a little front to defend? You let him alone. He will stop and turn as soon as he has found a spot he likes, one that he can easily hold; and there he’ll be with his rear open for men to go over the pass and forage for food. He knows what he’s about, and we know what we have got to do.”
“Yes,” said Marcus, with a sigh; “we know, but—”
“But you needn’t watch the going on of the fight, boy, for at this distance it’s nearly all guess work and little see, and here as far as I can make out no one can notice us if we begin to move, so now’s the time to start.”
“Ah!” cried Marcus, triumphantly, as he turned to the horse’s head on his side.