“Something that took place in the fight last night?” faltered Marcus, wearily. “But tell me, did the Romans win the battle?”
“Oh, yes, of course; but don’t stop to talk. I must make haste back. You haven’t been murdering and plundering the people, have you?”
“No, of course not,” cried Marcus, sharply.
“So much the better for you,” said the officer, shortly. “Come along.”
He gave orders to some of his men to form up behind the chariot, and with the rest he placed himself in front, and gave the order to march, leading off at once to the left of the route in which the chariot had been moving when it was stopped.
“Why, anyone would think that we were prisoners,” said Marcus, who felt annoyed, but, satisfied that they were being taken to the camp, he thought of his message and was content. He, however, reached over the front of the chariot and called to the young officer, asking who was in command of the army.
The young man looked at him superciliously.
“What is it to you?” he said, shortly. “Ask the general himself when you come before him, and then perhaps you will be able to explain why you who are Romans have come to be fighting on the side of the Gaul.”
“What!” said Marcus. “Do you know that—”
“Never mind what I know, my lad,” said the officer, shortly, “and don’t speak to me again in that free off-hand tone. Please to understand that I am an officer and you a prisoner. Forward, and mind this: any attempt to escape will be followed by a shower of spears.”