Part 35 (2/2)

The p.r.i.c.kles of the thistle dug deep into his hand, causing exquisite pain.

He clung to the thistle, biting his lips, till he had got his other foot on. One glance showed him his position.

The moment he had his balance he let go of the thistle, and ran along the ledge, which widened to about nine inches or a foot, tending downwards. Running kept him from falling, just as a bicycle remains upright while in motion.

In four yards he leapt down from the ledge to a much broader one, ran along that six or seven yards, still descending, sprang from it down on a wide platform, thence six or eight feet on to an immense heap of loose sand, into which he sank above his knees, struggled slipping as he went down its yielding side, and landed on his hands and knees on the sward below, while still the wavelets raised by the fall of the flake were breaking in successive circles against the sides of the pool.

He was up in a moment, and stamped his feet alternately to shake the sand off; then he pulled out some of the worst of the thistle points stuck in his hand, and kicked his heels up and danced with delight.

Without looking back he ran up on the narrow bank between the excavation and the New Sea, as the nearest place to look round from. The punt was just there inside the headland. He saw that the waves, though much diminished in force by the point, had gradually worked it nearly off the sh.o.r.e. He could see nothing of the battle, but remembering a place where the ascent of the quarry was easy, and where he and Mark had often run up the slope, which was thinly grown with gra.s.s, he started there, ran up, and was just going to get out on the field when he recollected that he was alone, and had no sword, so that if Pompey had got a party of his soldiers, and was looking for him, they could easily take him prisoner. He determined to reconnoitre first, and seeing a little bramble bush and a thick growth of nettles, peered out from beside this cover. It was well that he did so.

Val Cra.s.sus, with a strong body of Pompeians, was coming from the sycamores direct towards him. They were not twenty yards distant when Bevis saw them, and instantly crouched on hands and knees under the brambles. He heard the tramp of their feet, and then their voices.

”Where can he be?”

”Are you sure you looked all through the firs?”

”Quite sure.”

”Well, if he isn't in the firs, nor behind the sycamores, nor anywhere else, he _must_ be in the quarry,” said Cra.s.sus.

”So I think.”

”I'm sure.”

”Ted's got him down somewhere.”

”Perhaps he's hiding from Ted.”

”Can you see him now in the quarry?”

They crowded on the edge, looking over Bevis into the excavated hollow beneath. Now Bevis had not noticed when he crouched that he had put his hand almost on the mouth of a wasp's nest, but suddenly feeling something tickle the back of his hand, he moved it, and instantly a wasp, which had been crawling over it, stung him. He pressed his teeth together, and shut his eyes in the endeavour to repress the exclamation which rose; he succeeded, but could not help a low sound in his chest.

But they were so busy crowding round and talking they did not hear it.

”I can't see him.”

”He's not there.”

”He may be hidden behind the stone-heaps. There's a lot of nettles down there,” said Cra.s.sus.

”Yes,” said another, and struck at the nettles by Bevis, cutting down three or four with his sword.

”Anyhow,” said Cra.s.sus, ”we're sure to have him, he can't get away; and Mark's a mile off by this time.”

”Look sharp then; let's go down and hunt round the stone heaps.”

”There's the old oak,” said some one; ”it's hollow; perhaps he's in that.”

”Let's look in the oak as we go round to get down, and then behind the stones. Are there any caves?”

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