SLAYERS OF INNOCENT BABES
The Centurion looked round on his soldiers. The shadow of night lay on their bowed faces, distorted with dust, sunken with tiredness, and a look of confused terror hung on their countenances.
The parched lips of Lucillus whispered nervously, "Oh that the camp were in sight."
"What is it, Lucillus?" asked the Centurion looking fixedly into the tired face of the young soldier.
And Lucillus whispered in reply:
"I am in dread."
And then, blushing to have confessed to fear, he added in a louder voice:
"It's terribly hot."
And then relapsing into a whisper, he shuddered and went on.
"That accursed boy is on my conscience, his face pursues me. He was in league with sorcerers, and though we cut him down we could not lay him, he was enchanted …"
The Centurion scanned the dark landscape. There was not a soul to be seen, near or far.
"Have you lost the amulet you received from the old priest at Carthage? I remember it was said that he who wore that amulet was immune from the
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