“Well, but that’s nothing to grumble at, my boy. That’s soldiering; that is what I always told you. A soldier must be ready to fast and go without sleep, and be always prepared to fight. Now, didn’t I teach you that?”
“Yes, Serge, but I didn’t quite understand it then.”
“But you do now?”
“Oh, yes, I know now; and I wouldn’t care a bit if we could only overtake them. Three times over during the past week we have been so close that half a day’s march must have brought us to the army.”
“That’s true,” said Serge; “and each time we were cut off by parties of the enemy, and driven back, just as we thought we could march in, find the master and Caius Julius, and deliver our message. Fortune of war, my lad; fortune of war.”
“Misfortune of war,” cried Marcus, angrily. “Here, I don’t know how many days it is since we started, for days and nights and time all seem to have grown mixed up together.”
“Yes, we have had rather a muddled and worrying time of it, Marcus, lad.”
“And now we are just as far off as ever.”
“Well, not quite, my lad.”
“I feel weak for want of food, and confused for want of sleep.”