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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Old Serge says what you said has cut him to the heart, and that you didn't forgive him properly, and that he is dishonoured and disgraced as a soldier." "Poor brave old Serge!" said Cracis, warmly. "Hah!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "I wish he were here to hear you speak like that." "Oh, nonsense, boy. Time is too valuable to waste by thinking over such troubles as that.
This being made known to Serge, he laughed softly. "There, you'll see how our generals will carry to-day's work out, my lad. That's it: Cracis has calculated upon its being like this, and this place will be instead of a retreat a masterly scheme which will end this war." "How?" said Marcus. "How? Why, in the way your father has arranged.
"Here we are," he cried, as he lifted out his own and Cracis' shields together, to stand them up on edge so that he could separate them, for the loops and handles were tightly wedged together so that they seemed loth to come apart. "How soon will he be coming here for me to gird him up?" "Directly, he said, Serge," replied the boy.
"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.
He had hardly finished speaking when the door was thrown open, and as if imbued by his old follower's feelings, Cracis, no longer in his movements the calm, grave student, but the general and leader of men once more, strode quickly into the room and stopped short as the old soldier drew himself up motionless in his helmet, stiffly awaiting his officer's next command.
"In your big chest, master, made out of the planks cut from the big chestnut that was hewn down four years ago." "Place them back there, Serge," said Cracis, gravely. "Fasten them in, and carry the chest and bestow it where it may stand beside my bed." "But father " began Marcus. "Silence, sir!" said Cracis. "I wish to think of all this, and not judge hastily.
"Stooped!" cried the other. "No, Cracis, that is an ill-chosen word. It is that I have mastered self and cast away all pride and weakness so that I might come to you and say: `For the sake of the old times, help me in this bitter pass, so fraught with peril as it is'; and say, `I forgive the bygones, and be to me as my brother once again."
"Yes, master, and my heart bled for you. That's why I came." "Yes," said Cracis, more gently, "and in my heart, Serge, I thank you for your fidelity; but my orders were that all traces of our old position in the Roman army should be destroyed." "Yes, master," said the man, humbly, "but they wouldn't destroy.
"No, not yet," said Cracis; "but do not mistake me. There is no bitterness or pride left in my breast. That died out years ago. I am only thinking." "Ha!" cried his visitor, with a sigh of relief, "and forgetting the courtesy due to a long-estranged friend." "Caius Julius, sit down. You are welcome to my simple, humble home.
Who was right now in keeping the swords sharp and the armour bright?" The next minute the great chest had been dragged out into the middle of Cracis' room and the old soldier was down upon his knees joyously unpacking the war-like equipments that he had so sadly stowed away so short a time before.
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