“Not you! You only fancy that because you’re down in the dumps. You’ll be all right as soon as ever there’s anything wants doing and we have tumbled by accident near to one of those parties of the enemy, who all seem to be moving the same way as we are to surround the army.”
“Yes, Serge, and that’s what I am afraid they are doing, and keeping us outside. It’s all desperate and bad.”
“Oh, I don’t know. We shall get to them some time,” said Serge.
“Some time!” cried Marcus, mockingly. “Our poor general with his followers must have been utterly destroyed by this time.”
“Tchah! Not he! You don’t know what a Roman general can do. He’ll hold out for months, or kill those who are attacking him. Give it up your fashion!”
“What do you mean by my fashion?” cried Marcus, sharply.
“Give it up in despair sort of way when there’s no need.”
“No need!” cried Marcus, bitterly. “You seem to be blind to the danger. Why, the main army, as you must see perfectly well, has penetrated so far into the enemy’s country that it is completely surrounded by the tribes that have gathered together, and are only now waiting for a favourable opportunity to fall upon it and crush it.”
“Well, the army’s no worse off than we are. They’ve surrounded us—parties of them—only we wouldn’t be crushed. It’s just the same with the Roman army; it won’t be crushed. I’ve taught you times enough, boy, what our generals can do—lock their men together, shield to shield, cohort to cohort, all facing outwards and bristling with spear and sword. These barbarians are brave enough and they rush at our men meaning to crush them and sweep them out of the country; and so they keep on at it, losing more and more, before they roll back beaten.”
“Yes, Serge, but only to try again.”