“Steady, steady!” cried Serge to the driver.  “Mind that great block.”

For as they tore on, with more and more traces of an engagement teaching them that they were going right, the driver seemed to be sending the fiery little pair he drove straight for a low mass of stone, contact with which must have meant wreck.

Startled by the old soldier’s angry shout, the driver drew one rein sharply, making the ponies swerve right for another far more dangerous obstacle and but for Marcus’ readiness in snatching at the other rein, a worse mishap would have occurred.

They were saved from this, but the shouts had scared the fiery little steeds, sending them dashing frantically off in quite a fresh direction, while to Marcus’ horror, he saw that it was into another danger in the shape of a vast body of the enemy who, as the flying ponies drew near, sprang to their feet from where they were lying behind a ridge.

Getting the ponies once more well in hand, the driver, who saw nothing but death for himself if they were taken, wrenched the heads of the pair round once more, just when they seemed about to plunge into the thick ranks of the enemy, along whose front they tore in the intent of sweeping round their line.

But the hope was vain, for another body of men came into sight, rising from the earth where they had been lying, to form up at right angles to the first body, and once more the direction of the chariot had to be changed, then altered again and again, for to Marcus’ horror foes sprang up in every direction they took, the country seeming alive with the enemy, and all prospect of getting through them and continuing their dash for the Roman army at an end.

“What’s to be done, Serge?” cried the boy, at last.

“Steady the ponies and let them get their wind again.”

This was done, the gallop being turned into a gentle trot and from that into a walk, while the fugitives watched the slow, steady advance of the barbarians, who in their way, in spite of the name they received, appeared to be nearly as civilised as the Romans themselves.

Their intent now seemed to be to make sure of the capture of the chariot and its occupants as they kept on closing up and gradually narrowing the extent of the open plain about which the galloping evolutions had taken place.

“It’s just as if they knew that we were the bearers of an important message, Serge,” said Marcus.

“Seems like it, boy, but it is not,” was the reply.  “We’re enemies and invaders on their lands, and they mean to take us at all costs.  It looks bad too.”

“What does?” said Marcus, sharply.

“The country being up like this.  It looks bad for our army, boy.  I’m beginning to think that Julius has had to fight every step of the way he has come, and if our message was not what it is I should say it was our soldierly duty to give up attempting to get through with it.”

“What!” cried Marcus, with a look of horror, as he turned from watching the approaching enemy spreading out more and more over the open plain.

“I said if it wasn’t what it is,” said Serge, quietly.

“But you wouldn’t give up, Serge, come what may?”

“Do I look the sort of man to give up when I have work to do?”

“No, no,” cried Marcus, warmly.  “It was wrong of me to think it even for a moment.  But now, Serge, our way lies away to the left.”

“No, boy; I’ve been watching every turn we took, and if we kept on as we are now we should about be in the line our army took.”

“Then we must make a brave dash now and with lowered spears gallop right through them.”

“And come down before we were half through their line, boy.”

“Oh, don’t oppose what seems to be the only plan, Serge!” cried the boy, appealingly.

“I oppose it because it means being killed or taken prisoners.”

“Then what can we do?” cried Marcus.

“I’ll tell you what’s best, boy,” said the old soldier, thoughtfully.  “They’re a long way off us, both in front and on the left.”

“Ah, try and trick them?” cried Marcus.  “I know!”

“That’s right, then, boy,” said Serge, with a smile.  “How would you do it?”

“Why like this,” cried Marcus, excitedly ­“Pull up!” he cried to the driver.

The man obeyed, and the ponies stopped short, looking full of go, but with their sides marked heavily with sweat and foam.

“Now,” cried Marcus, laying down his spear and leaping out of the chariot, “out with you both.  Lie down, Lupe!  Quiet, sir!”

The driver and Serge sprang from their places and followed Marcus to the heads of their steeds, to begin patting and caressing them in the full sight of the army.

“Now,” continued Marcus, “you get back into the car,” and the driver stepped into his place.

“Take hold of the reins and hold them ready, but sit down as if your work was done.  You, Serge, lead one pony; I’ll lead the other, and we’ll walk them slowly towards the enemy away here to the left.”

“So as to let them think we have given up trying to escape, and are going to surrender?” said Serge, quickly.  “Well done, boy!  That’s just about what I was going to say.”

“Then,” continued Marcus, “when we have slowly walked the ponies as near to the enemy as we dare, resting them all the while, I’ll give the word to gallop off, and as the ponies are turned we two spring into the chariot as it passes, and we’ll tear away for liberty.  No stopping this time, but use our spears.”

“That’s right,” said Serge, rubbing his hands softly; “and I think they will be so taken by surprise that we shall get through; and if we don’t ­”

“Well, Serge, finish what you were going to say,” said Marcus, sadly.

“It will be because it couldn’t be done.”

“But it must be done.”

Just then a faint burst of cheering came to the adventurers’ ears and began to run along the line upon their left, towards which they now began to move at a walk.

The next instant it was taken up in front to their right and rear.

“They think we’ve surrendered, Marcus, boy,” said Serge, with a chuckle.  “Here, do as I do; take off your helmet and pitch it into the chariot.  It will look better.”

Marcus followed his companion’s example, and leading the ponies, the adventurers advanced slowly towards the enemy on their left, still about a quarter of a mile away, and Marcus had the satisfaction of seeing that the men had all halted, and those on the left were awaiting their approach, while all ideas of order or discipline were at an end, the lines breaking up and becoming so many loose crowds of armed men, instead of roughly-formed Greek-like phalanxes ready for action.

Those were exciting moments, and as the time neared for giving the order for action, Marcus’ heart did not fail, for it beat as strongly as ever, but a feeling of doubt began to grow as he glanced along the line of the army he was approaching, and then at the loose mass standing or moving about at right angles, and thought how impossible it would be to dash through them.

At last, when the chariot was about fifty yards from the line, and a couple of the enemy who seemed to be leaders stepped forward as if to take their weapons, Marcus, without turning his head, whispered softly: 

“Ready, Serge?”

“Ready!” was the reply.

“Then drop your rein when I say Now.  You, driver, turn their heads at the same moment and gallop away.”

For answer the charioteer gathered up the reins a little, when, startled at the touch, the ponies threw up their heads.

What followed looked so natural upon the movement of the steeds that when Marcus gave the word, and he and Serge stepped back together it seemed to the enemy as if the horses had snatched the reins from their hands, and when the chariot was turned rapidly, to dash off, the actions of Marcus and Serge in catching at the sides and swinging themselves in were looked upon as attempts to help the driver check the endeavours of a restive pair of horses which had taken fright and galloped away at full speed.

Consequently a burst of laughter arose, to travel down the line, every man watching the progress of the supposed runaways with delight, while the body of men, now a disorderly crowd, instead of taking the alarm and closing up with presented spears to receive and impale the runaways, caught the contagion of laughter and separated, tumbling over one another in their haste to escape the expected shock, and leaving a wide opening through which the horses tore, urged to their utmost speed by their driver’s excited cries.

Seeing this, Marcus shouted to Serge, who was ready with the spears and holding out one to Marcus.

“No, no,” he cried, and seeing no danger he bent over the front of the chariot, making believe to snatch at the reins, and grasping his idea Serge seemed to be seconding his efforts as they tore by, and it was not until the last of the enemy was left behind that any attempt was made to follow, while even then the idea that it was a ruse went home but slowly.

“Hurrah!” said Marcus, softly, for he did not dare to shout.  “They may think what they like now; we have got the start and ought to be able to drive clear away for the army again, eh, Serge?”

“I hope so, boy, but after what I’ve seen I’m afraid that the passage of our army has roused up the whole country, and that we shall be meeting enemies every step of the way.”

“Oh, don’t say disheartening things after this escape, Serge,” cried the boy, excitedly.  “That’s right, lad; keep them going for a bit longer, and then steady down again to give them breath.  Look at the beautiful beasts, Serge.  I wish we were mounted upon them, instead of letting them drag this heavy chariot.”

“I’m looking at the enemy, my boy,” cried Serge.  “They don’t seem to know the truth yet, but scores of them are coming after us at a run.  I don’t think they’ll catch us though, for we are going four feet to their one.”

“Yes, but we must not distress the horses.  Steady!  Steady!  An easy gallop now.  That’s better.  A quarter of an hour like this, and we can laugh at them, unless old Serge is right and enemies are ready to spring up everywhere in our way.”

“Ah!” shouted Serge, at that moment, and the ponies took his cry to mean faster, and increased their speed.  “No, no,” he cried.  “Steady, steady!  Look, Marcus, boy, we are going right,” and the old soldier pointed to another of the grim traces of war in the shape of an overturned chariot, with the skeletons of the horses that had drawn it looking ghastly and strangely suggestive of what might have been their fate, or might happen even yet.

Before long the crowded together lines of the enemy began to grow more and more confused; then the idea of distance manifested itself more and more, and those who had pursued melted away into the main body, while the gallant little steeds, whose pace had been slackened down into a steady hand gallop, were eased more and more, to proceed at a gentle trot such as they could easily keep up, till they were checked in the midst of a green slope that ran along by a pine wood, pleasant indications of the mountain land being left behind.

Here a clear cool stream ran prattling along, towards which the ponies stretched out their necks and were allowed to drink, their example being followed by those they had drawn, a short distance higher up, and Marcus rose looking eager and refreshed.

“We shall do it, Serge,” he cried; “but I have seen no signs lately of the army having passed this way.  Have you?”

Serge gave him a peculiar look.

“Yes,” he said, roughly; “there has been fighting just yonder, if you look for it; but don’t, boy.  I want to get on gently again, and to find some sign of a farm, or peasants’ hut.  We must have food of some kind if we are to do our work.  Let’s get a little farther on, and then I must forage.”

“Yes,” said Marcus, sadly.  “It seems waste of time, but it must be done, I suppose.  But why not let the ponies browse a little here?  See, they have already begun.”

“Because it will be of no use for us to look about here.”

“Of course not,” said Marcus, hastily, and he stood looking hurriedly round, to see for the first time that all along the edge of the forest which should have been bordered with fresh green bushes, was broken down and trampled, while not far from where he stood fire had been doing its work, and a large portion was blackened stump and skeleton-like stem.