“Well,” said Serge, “you see all clearly enough now, don’t you, boy?”
“I’m not quite sure,” said Marcus, thoughtfully, “though I think our army must have won the day.”
“There’s no doubt about that, boy, and in such a fight as it has been they could not help losing heavily; but I haven’t seen the body and arms of a single Roman soldier, and that is a sure sign that they won the day, and then stopped to carry away their wounded and bury their dead.”
Marcus shuddered, and they rode on for a time in silence, passing here and there a little mound, and as soon as they had cleared one the old soldier swept the distance with his eyes in search of another.
Marcus looked at him questioningly.
“Yes, boy,” said the old fellow, softly; “an ugly way of tracking our road, but a sure. Those hillocks show where they’ve laid some of our poor fellows who fell out to lie down and die, and there their comrades found them.”
“War is very horrible,” said Marcus, after a pause.
“Well, yes,” replied Serge, “I suppose it is; but soldiers think it’s very glorious, and as a man’s officers say it is, why, I suppose they’re right. But there; that’s not for us to think about. It’s not horrible for our Roman soldiers to stop and bury their slain, and their doing this has made it easy for us to follow the track of the army.”
“Yes,” said Marcus, who was gazing straight before him; “and look there.”
Serge shaded his eyes, and gazed in the direction pointed out.