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Page 46
(the voice seemed very cheerful about it),
'And I've lost Rome, and, worst of all,
I've lost Lalage!'
They were standing by the gate to Far Wood when they heard this song.
Without a word they hurried to their private gap and wriggled through
the hedge almost atop of a jay that was feeding from Puck's hand.
'Gently!' said Puck. 'What are you looking for?'
'Parnesius, of course,' Dan answered. 'We've only just remembered
yesterday. It isn't fair.'
Puck chuckled as he rose. 'I'm sorry, but children who spend the
afternoon with me and a Roman Centurion need a little settling dose of
Magic before they go to tea with their governess. Oh�, Parnesius!' he
called.
'Here, Faun!' came the answer from Volaterrae. They could see the
shimmer of bronze armour in the beech crotch, and the friendly flash of
the great shield uplifted.
'I have driven out the Britons.' Parnesius laughed like a boy. 'I occupy
their high forts. But Rome is merciful! You may come up.' And up they
three all scrambled.
'What was the song you were singing just now?' said Una, as soon as she
had settled herself.
'That? Oh, _Rimini_. It's one of the tunes that are always being born
somewhere in the Empire. They run like a pestilence for six months or a
year, till another one pleases the Legions, and then they march to
_that_.'
'Tell them about the marching, Parnesius. Few people nowadays walk from
end to end of this country,' said Puck.
'The greater their loss. I know nothing better than the Long March when
your feet are hardened. You begin after the mists have risen, and you
end, perhaps, an hour after sundown.'
'And what do you have to eat?' Dan asked promptly.
'Fat bacon, beans, and bread, and whatever wine happens to be in the
rest-houses. But soldiers are born grumblers. Their very first day out,
my men complained of our water-ground British corn. They said it wasn't
so filling as the rough stuff that is ground in the Roman ox-mills.
However, they had to fetch and eat it.'
'Fetch it? Where from?' said Una.
'From that newly invented water-mill below the Forge.'
'That's Forge Mill--_our_ Mill!' Una looked at Puck.
'Yes; yours,' Puck put in. 'How old did you think it was?'
'I don't know. Didn't Sir Richard Dalyngridge talk about it?'
'He did, and it was old in his day,' Puck answered. 'Hundreds of years
old.'
'It was new in mine,' said Parnesius. 'My men looked at the flour in
their helmets as though it had been a nest of adders. They did it to try
my patience. But I--addressed them, and we became friends. To tell the
truth, they taught me the Roman Step. You see, I'd only served with
quick-marching Auxiliaries. A Legion's pace is altogether different. It
is a long, slow stride, that never varies from sunrise to sunset.
"Rome's Race--Rome's Pace," as the proverb says. Twenty-four miles in
eight hours, neither more nor less. Head and spear up, shield on your
back, cuirass-collar open one hand's breadth--and that's how you take
the Eagles through Britain.'
'And did you meet any adventures?' said Dan.
'There are no adventures South the Wall,' said Parnesius. 'The worst
thing that happened me was having to appear before a magistrate up
North, where a wandering philosopher had jeered at the Eagles. I was
able to show that the old man had deliberately blocked our road; and the
magistrate told him, out of his own Book, I believe, that, whatever his
Gods might be, he should pay proper respect to C�sar.'
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