“Why, it makes me feel ten years older,” he said, “even if I am but a boy! And here was I, before I began, shrinking and feeling that I should repent and be afraid to go. And now I am like this!”
He lifted his shield from where it lay upon the bed, took the short spear which he had leaned in a corner of the wall, and then, stiffened by his armour and far more by the spirit that seemed to thrill through every nerve and tendon, he stepped out into the court, to bend down and place his lips to the clear water in the fountain basin, drink deeply, and then stand up in the darkness to look round.
“Good-bye, old home!” he said, aloud, and his voice broke a little; but it hardened again the next moment, as he said, quickly:
“No, it isn’t home now that he has gone away. I am coming, father, and you must forgive me when we meet, for I cannot—I dare not stay.”
There was the quick, sharp tramp of the boy’s feet as he crossed the stone-paved court, with the arms he wore, and those he carried, making a slight crackling and clinking noise, while his bronze protected feet made his steps sound heavier than of old.
The next minute he was fighting against the desire to turn and look back, and, conquering, for he felt that it would be weak, he strode off with quickened pace away along the track that had been taken by his father and Caius Julius hours before.