“That is the truth,” cried Marcus, quickly.
“I helped, of course, but it was him, master, who made that cut at the Gaul’s spear and knocked him over. But we neither of us knew that it was you.”
“But you, Marcus, my boy,” said Cracis, as he gazed wonderingly in his son’s face, while Caius Julius watched them both in turn—“you knew me, of course?”
“No, father,” replied Marcus, whose face was scarlet now with excitement. “I only saw that it was a Roman officer.”
“And you dashed at once to his help,” said Caius Julius, smiling. “Well, it was a brave act then, while now I scarcely know what to call it. Why, Marcus, you must feel very proud of what you have done.”
“Stop!” cried the boy, quickly, eager to end the words of praise and compliment.
“Yes, stop,” said Cracis, sternly. “You here, Marcus, in a soldier’s armour, and Serge as well! Is this the way my commands are obeyed? Why are you here?”
“To bring the message of the general commanding the rear-guard, father. He is shut in on the snowy pass that crosses the mountain, and held there by many times his number of the enemy; and he sent me and Serge to the army here to ask for help.”
“He sent you, boy?” cried Cracis, quickly.
“Yes, father,” replied Marcus, “and I was to say that at all cost he would hold out till help was sent.”