“No,” was whispered back, and the next moment there was the heavy trampling of feet, but not towards them; and they had proof directly that they were no friends by the strange yell of defiance which suddenly rang out in response to a challenge given in the unmistakable Roman tongue.
“Oh!” whispered Marcus, excitedly. “Our people, and so near! We must go forward now.”
“No, not yet, boy. Hark! Yonder are our people speaking out, and the fight is beginning.”
“A night attack,” whispered Marcus, hoarsely, and with his heart beating heavily.
“Yes, boy, and as far as I can make out the hill and camp have been surrounded. Now, then, the darkness may prove to be our friend. What do you say? Shall we try to join our people, or fall back till morning, when we can see what is best for us to do?”
“Try and join the army,” said Marcus, firmly. “If the hill is surrounded we shall be getting into fresh danger by attempting to fall back.”
“Yes,” said Serge, in a low, deep voice, and no further word was uttered. Lupe gave vent to an impatient growl, and the ponies from time to time stamped uneasily as if eager to advance, while away to right and left rose, all the more horrible for the darkness, the clash of arms and roar of voices, mingled with the loud braying of trumpets, followed by the responsive shouts of the soldiery. There were moments when the tide of battle seemed to flow in the direction of the chariot, but only to be beaten back and sway to and fro.
Then, Marcus never afterwards knew how it happened—all he could recall was a fragment or two of their situation—Serge had just almost shouted in his ear, having to raise his voice to make himself heard, that they must at all costs make a dash to get away, and he himself had laid his hand on their driver’s shoulder to bid him drive on, when he found that he was too late. For all at once he discovered that the battle was raging close at hand, right in front of the horses’ heads, and directly after as they were swung round in the opposite direction for the occupants of the chariot to seek safety, there was a rush of armed men. These came into contact with another body, and so it was that whichever way they turned there was the wild turmoil and fury of the fight going on, while as far as Marcus could make out, one minute the Roman soldiers were driving the barbarians back and carrying all before them, but only to be overwhelmed in turn by some tremendous wave of the enemy in the shape of reinforcements, which raged and swirled round the more disciplined men, carrying them back by sheer weight of numbers in the direction from which they had come.
Both Marcus and Serge seemed to bear a charmed life. They made no attempt to use their weapons, and their position in the car had something to do with their escape from injury as they held on to the front, to be borne here and there by their frantic horses, while naturally enough Roman and Gaul, where they were crowded together in contention, yielded and made way for the plunging and rearing steeds, whose hoofs seemed to them for the time being more dangerous than the weapons of a foe.
How long all this lasted Marcus never knew.