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Updated: May 26, 2025
Cracis, there is only one man in whom I could trust like that, one only who would bare his sword and fight bravely by my side, and you are he." Cracis was silent as he shook his head slowly and turned his eyes away from his visitor, to let them rest upon his son's upturned face, as the boy gazed at him in wonder and astonishment at what he heard. "You do not believe me," cried Julius.
Cracis was silent, and stood drawing his son closer to him so that he could rest his arm upon the boy's shoulder, while his visitor stood before him with his white robe gathered up so as to leave free his extended arm. For a few minutes neither spoke, and from the garden there came loud and clear the joyous trilling of the birds. "You do not take my hand," said Caius Julius, passionately.
Serge's jaw dropped. "Not going too, master?" cried Serge, as soon as he could recover himself from a verbal blow which had, for the moment, seemed to crush him down; and, as Marcus heard the hopeless despair in the poor fellow's tones, the feeling of malicious triumph in his breast died away. "No," said Cracis, firmly; "your duty lies here." "Lies here, master?" stammered Serge. "Yes, man, here.
"Send off messenger at once on to the generals in front, telling how you are fixed, and asking for help at once." "Hah!" cried the captain. "That is what I was waiting for you to say. Now for the messenger I must send to Julius and Cracis." "Someone who knows the country." "There is no one," said the captain, sharply. "Whoever goes must find his way by the traces left by the generals."
He must understand that I have reproved him for a fault and forgiven him." "But he won't understand, father. He's as obstinate as a bull." "He is, and always was, Marcus," said Cracis, smiling; "but no man is perfect, and Serge's good qualities more than balance all his bad. But there, boy, what does he want me to do?" "I don't know, father.
The speech Cracis made when he recovered from the fainting fit brought on by emotion when he was weak and prostrate from his wounds, and found Marcus by his side bathing his face, was very short, setting the boy's heart at rest and telling him that the past was entirely forgiven; and the stern Roman judge merged once more in the loving father. For the speech was this: "My own brave boy!"
In plain English, Marcus, the Roman boy, son of Cracis, the famous senator, tired out by the heat, had gone to sleep over his studies, snoring like an English lad of this year of grace, nearly two thousand years later on in the progress of the world.
In my ignorance and pride it was only after we had parted that I learned all that I had lost in my separation from my bravest colleague, my truest and wisest counsellor." "And now," said Cracis, coldly, "you have found out the truth and have tracked me to my home to accuse me with some base invention to my son." "Believe me, no!" cried Julius, warmly, and he held out his hand.
You must take me with you after all." Cracis frowned heavily. "Is this my son speaking?" he said, harshly. "After the commands I have given you after the way in which I have arranged for you to represent me here, and take my place in all things? Where are all my teachings about duty have all flown to the winds?" "No, no, father," cried the boy, passionately; "but you cannot tell how I feel.
If you are not followed hasten slowly for your horses' sake. Remember that he who goes softly goes far, and I want sureness more than speed." "But he can't get out yonder, captain," growled Serge, fiercely. "You are going to kill the boy." "Well," said the captain, with a peculiar smile, "could I honour the son of great Cracis more than by letting him die for the sake of his country?"
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