Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 4

"No, he must not."

"What!"

"He was so quiet and thoughtful yesterday evening, and again this morning, that he hardly looked at me at breakfast time; and when we went into the study he took up the new volume he is reading, and hardly raised his head again."

"Then you haven't been scolded for fighting?"

"Not in the least."

"So much the better for you."

"But I say, what in the world is the meaning of all this?" cried the boy, as he stepped to the rough table, upon which, bright with polis.h.i.+ng, was a complete suit of armour such as would have been worn by a Roman man-at-arms if he had joined the army when a mere youth.

There lay the curved, brazen helmet with its comb arching over and edged with its plume, the scaled cheek-straps that held it in its place, the leathern breast and back-piece moulded and hammered into the shape of the human form, brazen shoulder-pieces, ornamentations and strengthening, the curved, oblong s.h.i.+eld and short sword with lion's head to its hilt and heavy sheath.

There were two more helmets and suits of armour hanging from the walls, the one rich and ornamental, such as an officer would have worn, the other plain, and every indication visible of the old soldier having had a general clean up, the result of his polis.h.i.+ng being that every piece of metal glistened and was as bright as hands could make it.

"Come in time?" said Serge. "What for? I didn't want you here."

"No, but I wanted to come. How beautiful it all looks!"

These words softened the old soldier's next remarks. He uttered a satisfied grunt as he said:

"Yes, I have had a good turn at them; but it seems a pity, don't it?"

"What seems a pity?"

"To wrap all that tackle up and put it away so as it shan't be seen, till I think it wants cleaning again."

"Yes, of course. But you are not going to put mine away."

"Oh, yes, I am," said the old man. "I didn't sleep all last night for thinking about it. I don't mean for us to get into any trouble with the master, so remember that."

"Look here, Serge!" cried the boy, angrily, "you can put your armour and father's away, of course, but this is mine, and I didn't save up the money father gave me and let you buy what was wanted and pay those old workmen, the smith and armourer, to cut down and alter and make all these things to fit me, to have them all wrapped up and put away where I can't see them."

"But you must, boy. You are not going to fight."

"Never mind that. I am not going to have them put away."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to put them on sometimes."

"Bah! To go and strut about like a full-plumaged young c.o.c.kerel in the spring, and look at yourself in a bit of gla.s.s!"

"No; I'm not so vain," said the boy; "but I've got that armour and those weapons, and you have been teaching me how to use a sword and spear, and a lot more besides, and I mean to go on learning--so mind that."

"Ho!" cried the old man. "And who's going to teach you?"

"You are, till I'm perfect."

"Can't ever get perfect in using a sword and spear. It arn't to be done, no matter how you practise."

"Well, I mean to get as perfect as I can, and you are going on teaching me."

"Nay," said the old man; "once a fool don't mean always a fool. I am going to put all these away, and you have got to forget it."

"No!" cried the boy, angrily. "I shall never forget what you've taught me, Serge--never; and I'm not going to have my things put away. You shall keep them here, as you have since you fetched them home one after the other as they were made."

"And all too big for you, so that you might fill up and grow into them,"

said the old soldier, with a sigh of regret.

"And I have grown, ever so much, Serge."

"You have, lad; and you're big-boned, and you'll make a big man one of these days. You were framing finely for a soldier, my boy. But that's all over now."

"No, it isn't," cried the boy, impatiently, "and you shall go on teaching me about all the fighting and the men's s.h.i.+elds being all linked together so that the enemy shouldn't break through the serried ranks."

"Nay, my lad," sighed the old warrior; "that was all very grand, but I don't know what I could have been thinking about to let you persuade me to teach you what I did, all going against the master's orders as it was. I suppose I liked it, for it put me in mind of the old days; but I seem to have come to myself like and know better now. You tempted me, my lad, and I'm afraid I tempted you; but no more of it. I'm sorry for what's done, and the best way to be sorry for it is to own up and never do so any more."

"Then you mean that you're to leave off teaching me?"

"Yes, my lad; that's so."

"And suppose I say, as your master: 'you shall go on.' What then?"

"I should say: 'you're not going to disobey your father's orders any more, but to give all this soldiering up like a man.'"

"Serge!"

"That's right, my lad, and I know you aren't going to set your face against what the master says I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes, Serge," said the boy, sadly; "but it seems very hard."

"It do, boy, very, very hard; but orders are orders, and I forgot to teach you what is the first thing a soldier has to learn."

"What's that, Serge? How to use his sword and s.h.i.+eld? You did teach me that."

"No, that's not what I meant. What a soldier has to learn first is to obey orders, and I want to teach you that now."

Marcus was silent for a while, as he stood looking wistfully at the speaker, then at the bright soldierly accoutrements, back at the old man, and lastly, as if the bright weapons and armour fascinated him, he stood frowning fixedly down at everything that was spread out upon the rough table.

The boy's looks and actions affected the old man, who said sadly:

"It do seem hard, lad, eh?"

"Yes, very, very hard, Serge," replied Marcus.