“I will,” said Cracis, firmly. “Yes, I am better now. My wounds are mere scratches, and once I get to-day and to-night over I shall be nearly myself again.”
“Nearly,” said Caius Julius, with a smile. “Well, we shall see. What do you say, nurse?”
Marcus flushed up at the term by which he was addressed.
“If my father says he will do a thing he will,” cried the boy.
“No doubt,” said the general; “but do you feel well enough to give me your counsel and make any suggestions about our return?”
“Yes, certainly,” was the reply. “First, then, tell me if you are fully aware of our position.”
“Yes,” said Julius, “we have scattered the Gauls in every direction, and as soon as we start they will take it for granted that we are so disheartened that we are hurrying back through the country in full retreat, and they will begin to flow back upon us like a great tide, fiercer and more venturesome than ever.”
“That is enough,” said Cracis. “I ought to have known your feelings, but nearly helpless as I am, I was afraid that last triumph would make you over confident, and that our followers would take their cue from their leader and become careless at a time when our position will be more hazardous than ever.”
“Trust me, Cracis; I shall be ready for the enemy at any moment. Now, Marcus, can I leave your father in your charge?”
“No,” said Cracis, before the boy could speak, “I am not going to be a burden to our men and join the train of litters and our wounded. My son Marcus and his old follower, Serge, will join one of the cohorts, and you will place him where I am sure he would like to be as his father’s son.”