ad been
entangled.

To his great delight, as he approached, he heard the voice of the driver
talking to the horses, and, hurrying on, he found that he was
approaching the chariot from the opposite side to that he had left. The
next minute he was tugging his sword from its sheath, for an armed man
suddenly rose up from just in front, and as the boy's sword fell to his
side, caught him in his arms.

"And I thought you were dead--I thought you were dead!" came in a
familiar, deep, gruff voice, broken by sobs. "Oh, Marcus, my boy, where
have you been?"

"Looking for you, Serge."

"You have? Well, that's what I have been doing for you."

"But where were you?" cried Marcus.

"I d'know, boy, only that I have been fighting. I was hard at it when
there was a rush, and I was carried along with all the rest, getting a
hit now and then at one of the enemy, but not often, for they don't
fight fair. They all crowd at you together, and I got the worst of it
badly."

"Then you are wounded?" cried Marcus. "No, boy; but I lost my spear."

"Lost your spear?" cried Marcus, staring. "Yes, boy; this 'ere's only a
savage one."

"But you are not hurt?" cried Marcus again.

"Not hurt?" cried Serge. "Why, boy, I just am. Battered and banged and
hit all over. If it hadn't been for the goodness of my armour there
wouldn't have been no Serge--nothing left but a few bits. But you, my
boy?"

"Oh, I'm very sore and bruised and sprained, but nothing worse. But
that officer, Serge, that we went to help?"

"Ah!" cried Serge. "That officer we went to help! What about him? You
didn't let him be killed, boy?"

"No; I remember he got up and fought again."

"That's right, boy; but where is he now?"

"I don't know," cried Marcus. "I was trampled down and lost my senses.
Don't you know what became of him?"

"No," said Serge, "and I don't care, boy now that I have found you.
Here, don't let's stand talking, but help to get out that chariot. I
want to get up to the Roman camp."

"Can we? Did our people win?"

"Win? Why, of course, my lad! Romans never fail."

"Quick, then!" cried Marcus. "The chariot, and then up to the camp.
There's the message; and let's hope my father's there."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE GENERAL'S TENT.

The driver's face lit up as he saw Marcus and Serge come to his help,
for the battle was as nothing to him compared to the state of the
chariot and horses; and he eagerly set to work over