six to one.

So sudden and unexpected was the attack, which accompanied a loud
shout--one which made the prisoners join in and heave themselves up to
get free--that Marcus was jerked over, and, before he could gain his
feet, found himself the centre of a combined attack in which he rapidly
began to get the worst of it, for, while he fought bravely and pommelled
and banged enemies in front, getting on so well that he succeeded in
seizing two by the neck and hammering their heads together, two others
leaped on him from behind in his weak rear, in spite of his splendid
kicking powers, while two more attacked in front.

Marcus was a young Roman, and fought like the Romans of old; but then
the six young roughs were Romans too, and they fought like the Romans of
old, and six to one is rather long odds.

Breath began to come short, perspiration was streaming, and an unlucky
blow on the nose set another stream flowing, while, all at once, a dab
in the eye made the optic flinch, close its lid from intense pain, and
refuse to open again, so that one-eyed like a regular old Cyclops, and
panting like the same gentleman from the exertions of using his hammer--
two in this case, and natural--Marcus fought on, grinding his teeth,
rapidly weakening, but determined as ever, though he felt that he was
being thoroughly worsted by his foes.

"I'm about done," he said to himself; but he did not utter a sound save
his panting, while suddenly it began to grow dark; for, feeling that the
day was their own, the enemy combined in a final rush, closed him in,
hung on to him wherever they could get a hold, and were dragging him
down to take vengeance for the past--for they were old enemies, Marcus
and they--when, all at once, there was a fierce, deep, growling bark, a
rush, a man's deep voice as if encouraging a dog, and Marcus was free,
to stand there breathless and giddy, listening to the retreating steps
of his foes and the shouts to the dog of Serge, who had come to his help
in the nick of time.

CHAPTER TWO.

OLD SERGE.

Marcus, son of Cracis, was a good deal hurt, but his injuries were of a
temporary and superficial kind, and, as he stood listening, so little
importance did he attach to his injuries that a broad grin began to
gather upon his frank young face, and he uttered a low, chuckling laugh;
for, as he stood wiping his brow and listening, he could hear the sounds
of blows, yells and cries, the worrying growl of the dog, an