before his eyes. There was a curious
feeling of sickness troubling him and an intense longing for a draught
of water, while his thoughts were all, so to speak, broken and confused
and mingled together with a selfish feeling that he must be very badly
hurt.

By degrees, though, the various objects began to settle down, and the
roar of battle and clash of arms gave place slowly to a dull, singing
noise in his ears. Then, as if by a sudden jump, his power of thinking
lucidly came back, and he looked round for the officer he had tried to
help.

But he was not there. Some twenty or thirty dead and wounded men were
scattered about as they had fallen, some few of whom wore the armour of
Roman soldiers, but for the most part they were Gauls, and Marcus looked
in vain for the object of his search.

Then he turned giddy again, for a mental cloud seemed to close him in,
and he snatched at his helmet and dragged it off, when the cool night
wind that played upon his heated brow brought with it a sense of relief,
and he thought clearly again, not of self but of Serge, and with a cry
of horror he ran from where he had stood, to bend over each of the
prostrate Roman soldiers in turn, uttering a sigh of relief as he raised
himself up, replaced his helmet, and looked round, fully conscious now
that the tide of war had swept right away to a distance. The fighting
was still going on, and the cries and the clashing of weapons were
strangely commingled, but faintly heard. One side had evidently won the
battle and was driving its enemies before it. But were was Serge?

Marcus turned to where the driver was still soothing the horses, but he
could give him no information. He had not seen Serge since he leapt
from the chariot and was lost directly in the crowd of fighting men.
Marcus stepped back to the spot where his own encounter had taken place,
and looked round again for a few moments, but though he could see
several prostrate bodies Serge's was not one, and going on and on in the
dim starlight he was to some extent able to follow the course of the
fighting men by those they had left behind, till he grew confused as to
his position and began to retrace his steps.

It was not easy, for he had nothing to guide him, and some considerable
space of time had elapsed before, utterly worn out and disheartened, he
made out a clump of trees, towards which he now directed his steps in
the hope that it might be the one in which the chariot h