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Page 42
'_I_ knew nothing about it. Aglaia never taught us the history of our
own country. She was so full of her ancient Greeks.
'"There is no hope for Rome," said the Pater, at last. "She has forsaken
her Gods, but if the Gods forgive _us_ here, we may save Britain. To do
that, we must keep the Painted People back. Therefore, I tell you,
Parnesius, as a Father, that if your heart is set on service, your place
is among men on the Wall--and not with women among the cities."'
'What Wall?' asked Dan and Una at once.
'Father meant the one we call Hadrian's Wall. I'll tell you about it
later. It was built long ago, across North Britain, to keep out the
Painted People--Picts, you call them. Father had fought in the great
Pict War that lasted more than twenty years, and he knew what fighting
meant. Theodosius, one of our great Generals, had chased the little
beasts back far into the North before I was born. Down at Vectis, of
course, we never troubled our heads about them. But when my Father spoke
as he did, I kissed his hand, and waited for orders. We British-born
Romans know what is due to our parents.'
'If I kissed my Father's hand, he'd laugh,' said Dan.
'Customs change; but if you do not obey your Father, the Gods remember
it. You may be quite sure of _that_.
'After our talk, seeing I was in earnest, the Pater sent me over to
Clausentum to learn my foot-drill in a barrack full of foreign
auxiliaries--as unwashed and unshaved a mob of mixed barbarians as ever
scrubbed a breastplate. It was your stick in their stomachs and your
shield in their faces to push them into any sort of formation. When I
had learned my work the Instructor gave me a handful--and they were a
handful!--of Gauls and Iberians to polish up till they were sent to
their stations up-country. I did my best, and one night a villa in the
suburbs caught fire, and I had my handful out and at work before any of
the other troops. I noticed a quiet-looking man on the lawn, leaning on
a stick. He watched us passing buckets from the pond, and at last he
said to me: "Who are you?"
'"A probationer, waiting for a command," I answered. _I_ didn't know who
he was from Deucalion!
'"Born in Britain?" he said.
'"Yes, if you were born in Spain," I said, for he neighed his words like
an Iberian mule.
'"And what might you call yourself when you are at home?" he said,
laughing.
'"That depends," I answered; "sometimes one thing and sometimes another.
But now I'm busy."
'He said no more till we had saved the family gods (they were
respectable householders), and then he grunted across the laurels:
"Listen, young sometimes-one-thing-and-sometimes-another. In future call
yourself Centurion of the Seventh Cohort of the Thirtieth, the Ulpia
Victrix. That will help me to remember you. Your Father and a few other
people call me Maximus."
'He tossed me the polished stick he was leaning on, and went away. You
might have knocked me down with it!'
'Who was he?' said Dan.
'Maximus himself, our great General! _The_ General of Britain who had
been Theodosius's right hand in the Pict War! Not only had he given me
my Centurion's stick direct, but three steps in a good Legion as well! A
new man generally begins in the Tenth Cohort of his Legion, and works
up.'
'And were you pleased?' said Una.
'Very. I thought Maximus had chosen me for my good looks and fine style
in marching, but, when I went home, the Pater told me he had served
under Maximus in the great Pict War, and had asked him to befriend me.'
'A child you were!' said Puck, from above.
'I was,' said Parnesius. 'Don't begrudge it me, Faun. Afterwards--the
Gods know I put aside the games!' And Puck nodded, brown chin on brown
hand, his big eyes still.
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