The Battle Continued—Mark Antony.
They had found the oak empty, and were returning along the shore to search the quarry. The wind brought their voices out over the water.
“Mind, he’ll fight if he’s there.”
“Pooh! we’re ten to one.”
“Well, he hits hard.”
“And he can run. We shall have to catch him when we find him; he can run like a hare.”
“Look!”
“The punt’s loose.”
“So it is.”
“Serves the old rascal right. Hope it will sink.”
“It’s sure to sink in those big waves,” said Crassus. “Come on,” and down he went into the quarry, where they looked behind the stone heaps and every place they could think of, in vain. Next some one said that perhaps even now Bevis might be in the sycamores, up in the boughs, so they went there and looked, and actually pushed a soldier up into one tree to see the better. After which they went down to the lower ground and searched along the nut tree hedge, some one side, some another, and two up in the mound itself.
“Wherever can he be?” said Crassus. “It’s extraordinary. And Pompey, too.”
“Both of them nowhere.”
“I can’t make it out. Thrust your sword into those ferns.” So they continued hunting the hedge.
Now the way Val Crassus and his cohort came to hunt for Caesar Bevis was like this: At the moment when Pompey pounced on Caesar, the rest of the Pompeians, a little way off, were scattering before Mark Antony and Scipio Cecil, who had attacked them front and rear. Mark Antony, though he had (to him unaccountably) missed Ted, saw the eagle which he had lost before him, and, calling to Cecil, pursued with fury. So terrific was their onslaught, especially as Scipio’s cohort was quite fresh, that the Pompeians gave way and ran, not knowing where their general was, and some believing they had seen him fly the combat. This pursuit continued for a good distance, almost down to the group of elms to which Bevis and Mark used to run when they came out from their bath.
As the Pompeians ran, Val Crassus, driven along by the throng, caught his foot against one who had tumbled, and fell. When he got up he found the rest had gone on and left him behind with several stragglers who had escaped at the side of the crowd. As he stood, dubious what to do, and looking round for Pompey, several more stragglers gathered about him, till by-and-by he had a detachment. Still he was uncertain what to do, whether to go after Mark and endeavour to check the rout, or whether to stay there and rally the Pompeians, if possible, to him.
By this time the fugitives, with Antony and Scipio hot on their rear, had gone through the gate to which the hollow way or waggon-track led, and were out of sight. Val Crassus moved towards the rising ground to view what happened in the meadows beyond, when two Pompeians came running to him, and said that Pompey had got Caesar Bevis prisoner.
These were the two who had been hoisted up into the sycamore-tree, at Pompey’s order, to slash down at the four defenders. So long as Bevis stood there afterwards watching Scipio drive his recent assailants away, they dared not descend. They had seen Bevis fight like a paladin; and though he was alone they dared not come down. But when Pompey pounced on him, and they went fencing at each other, past the tree, and some distance, they slipped out of the tree, which was very large, but equally short, so that they had not half the depth to fall that Charlie had.
They dreaded to go near the two leaders, for the moment, but watched the main fight, and hesitated to go near it, too, as their friends were in distress. When they turned, Pompey and Caesar were both gone: they looked the other way, and the Pompeians were in full flight. They hid for a few minutes in the bowl-like hollow, where the moor-cock was cooked; and when they ventured to peep out, saw Val Crassus, with the soldiers who had rallied around him. They ran to him with the story of Caesar’s capture, and that Ted was holding him, and could but just manage it.
Val Crassus immediately hastened to the sycamores, but when he arrived, found no one, for Pompey had fled, and Bevis was on the flake. Val turned angrily on the two who had brought him this intelligence, but they maintained their story, and being now in for it, added various other particulars; how Caesar had got up once, and how Ted pulled him down again, so that, most likely, Bevis had got away again, and Ted was chasing him.
Crassus shouted, but received no answer; then he went through the firs, and came back to the sycamores, and next to the quarry, where he stood within a yard or two of Bevis without seeing him. Unable to discover either Pompey or Bevis, Crassus was now minutely searching the broad mound of the nut tree hedge.
While he had been thus engaged, Antony and Scipio followed close in the rear of the fugitives across two meadows, Mark forgetting Bevis in his eagerness to recover his standard. As they ran, presently Phil Varro stopped, sat down on the grass, and was instantly taken prisoner. He was short and stout and so overcome with his exertions that he could make no resistance, as they tied his hands behind him.
Antony still continued to pursue, shouting to the soldier with the eagle to surrender. He did not do so, but, looking back and seeing Varro taken, threw it down, the better to escape. So Antony recovered it, and at last, pausing, found himself alone, having outstripped all the rest. He now returned to where Varro was prisoner, and Scipio Cecil came up with another eagle, which he had taken, and which had been carried before Phil Varro.
“Hurrah!” shouted Mark, sitting down to recover breath; and they all rested a minute or two.
“Wreaths!” said Cecil, panting. “Wreaths for the victors!”
“How many did you have made?”
“Two or three. Hurrah! we’ll put them on presently.”
“Where’s Bevis?” said Mark, as he got over his running.
“I haven’t seen him,” said Cecil.
“Nor I!”
“It’s curious.”
“Have you seen him?”—to the others.
“Not for a long time.”
“No—nor Pompey.” Every one remarked on the singular absence of the two leaders.
“Crassus,” said Mark. “Bevis is hunting Crassus and Pompey: that’s it. Come on. Let’s help. March.”
He marched along the winding hedge-row towards the Plain, and, turning round a corner, presently came to the gate in the nut tree mound just as Crassus, who had been searching it, opened the gate.
“Charge!” shouted Mark, and they dashed on the Pompeians. Crassus drew back, but before he could get quite through, Mark jammed him with the gate, between the gate and the post.
“Fred! Bill!” For Crassus struggled, and was very strong. Bill rushed to Mark’s assistance: together they squeezed Val tight.
“O! My side! You dogs!” Crassus hit at them with his sword: they pressed him harder.
“Give in,” said Bill. “You’re caught—give in.”
“I shan’t,” gasped Val. “If I could only reach you,”—he hit viciously, but they were just an inch or two beyond his arm.
“Charge, Cecil!—Scipio, charge!” shouted Mark. Scipio had charged already, and the Pompeians, being divided into three parties, one on each side of the mound, and the third up in it, were easily scattered. Scipio himself found their eagle in the brambles, where the bearer had left it, as he jumped out of the hedge to run.
“Yield,” said Bill. “Give in—we’ve got your eagle.”
“All the eagles,” said Scipio, returning. “Every one—our two and Pompey’s two.”
“And Varro’s a prisoner—there he is,” said Mark. “Give in, Val.”
“I won’t. Let me out. Come near and hit then. If I could get at you!”
“But you can’t!”
“O!”—as they pressed him.
“Give in!”
“No! Not if I’m squashed:—no, that I won’t,” said Val, frantically struggling.
“What’s the use?” said Scipio. “You may just as well—the battle’s won, and it’s no use your fighting.”
“Where’s Pompey?” asked Val Crassus.
“Run away,” said Mark promptly.
“Then where’s Bevis?”
“After him of course,” said Mark.
“I don’t believe it; did any one see Pompey run? Phil, did you?”—to the prisoner.
“Don’t know,” said Varro, sullenly. “Don’t care. If he had done as I said he would have won. Yes, I saw him leave the fight.”
“Now will you give in?” said Mark. “Or must we chop you till you do.”
“Chop away,” said Val defiantly.
“Don’t hit him,” said Scipio. “Val, really it’s no good, you’ve lost the battle.”
“I suppose we have,” said Val. “Well, let some one take Varro on the hill, and let him tell me if he can see Pompey anywhere.”
They did so. Cecil and three others as guards took Varro on the rising ground; Varro was obliged to own that Pompey was not in sight.
“Take it then,” said Crassus, hurling his sword at them. “Well, I never thought Ted would have run. If he had not, I would not have given in for fifty of you.”
“But he did run,” said Mark, unable to suppress his joy.
“You won’t tie me,” said Crassus, as they let him out. Mark did not tie him, and then as they were now ten to one they loosened Varro too. Mark led them up on the higher ground towards the sycamores, fully expecting to see Bevis every moment. When he got there, and could not see him anywhere, he could not understand it. Then Crassus told him of the search he had made. Mark went to the quarry and looked down—no one was there. He halted while two of his men ran through the firs shouting, but of course came back unsuccessful.
“I know,” said Scipio, “he’s gone to the camp.”
“Of course,” said Mark. “How stupid of us—of course he’s at the camp. Let him see us come properly. Two and two, now—prisoners two and two half-way down, that’s it. Eagles in front. Right. March.”
He marched, with Scipio beside him, the four eagles behind, and the prisoners in the centre. Never was there a prouder general than Mark at that moment. He had captured both the enemy’s eagles, recovered his own, and taken Pompey’s lieutenants captive. Pompey himself and all his soldiers had fled: looking round the Plain there was not one in sight. Mark Antony was in sole possession of the battlefield. Proudly he marched, passing every now and then broken swords on the ground, and noticing the trampled grass where fierce combats had occurred. How delighted Bevis would be to see him! How he looked forward to Bevis’s triumph! All his heart was full of Bevis, it was not his own success, it was Bevis’s victory that he rejoiced in.
“Bevis! Bevis!” he shouted, as they came near the camp, but there was no answer. When they entered the camp, and found the fire still smouldering, but no Bevis, Mark’s face became troubled. The triumph faded away, he grew anxious.
“Where ever can he be?” he said. “I hope there’s nothing wrong. Bevis!” shouting at the top of his voice. The gale took the shout with it, but nothing came but the roaring of the wind. The sun was now sinking and cast a purple gleam over the grass.