“Ah!” cried Serge, starting, and he raised his hand to sign to their driver to stop, before catching at one of the ponies’ reins. “What is it? Enemy?”
“I don’t know,” cried Marcus, excitedly. “Look!”
The old soldier shaded his eyes, and uttered a cry of joy.
“Enemy? No?” he cried. “It’s just as I said. Look, boy! Our people! Our army! Far off as it is, I know them by the standards, and the way they have gone to work. Look at them! Why they look no bigger than bees from here, and it is as I said. They are forming camp as if they meant to stop for days.”
“Oh, don’t, Serge,” cried the boy, huskily. “Don’t talk like this if you are not sure. It seems too good to believe, after all that we have gone through.”
“Not it, boy!” cried Serge, excitedly. “Not a bit too good. Look at all the bad we have had. Everything has another side, and there it is for us.”
“Are you sure?”
“As that I am here, boy. That’s the Roman army, or part of it, for I can’t be certain that Julius and Cracis are there. But if it’s only a part it will do for us, for the general who commands can receive our message and go to yon poor fellows’ help. Now, then, forward at once, for though that camp looks so near we have miles to travel before we can march up and be stopped by their sentries ready to challenge us in the good old Latin tongue. Why, boy, you said yesterday that all was bad and everything had failed. What do you say now?”
“Forward!” cried Marcus, “and at once!”
The ponies had done little work that day, for the advance had been made cautiously on account of the many bands of the enemy’s warriors which swarmed throughout the country, and the empty chariot had formed the load; but now without further conversation Marcus sprang in.