# The Sweet-Scented Name/Slayers of Innocent Babes

original title: Отрок Лин
Slayers of Innocent Babes
HAVING with great success quelled the rebellion of those who had refused to offer sacrifice and bow before the effigy of the god-like emperor, the detachment of Roman horse returned to camp. Much blood had been shed, many of those disrespectful unto Caesar had been slain, and the tired soldiers looked forward impatiently to the joyful hour when they could get to their tents, where they could without disturbance take delight in the company of the wives and daughters that they had borne off from the villages of the rebellious.
These women and maids, seized at the very moment of the slaying of their husbands and fathers, at the moment of the burning of their farms, lay bound on straw at the bottom of the heavy carts drawn by stout horses, and they had been sent on in advance by the direct road to the camp.
The horsemen themselves had chosen a ​roundabout road home, for, according to the Centurion, several of the insurgent villagers had taken to flight and hidden themselves in out-of-the-way parts, and he thought to come up with some of them and despatch them. For though their swords had been made into long-toothed saws by the fighting and were covered with blood, though their spears were blunted with hard work, their Roman appetite still craved the fresh hot blood of further victims.
It was a sultry day, and the hottest hour of the day, just afternoon. The sky was cloudlessly and mercilessly bright. The fiery Dragon of the sky quivering with fury poured streams of fierce rage into the vast and tired emptiness. The withered grass held to the thirsting and parched earth, and grieved with her, and lay stifling under the hot dust.
Smoke of dust rose from the horses' feet and remained a cloud in the still air. The dust settled on the armour of the tired horsemen and gave a dull glimmer of velvet to their accoutrements. Through the clouds of their own dust the country through which they passed seemed portentous, gloomy, melancholy.
Earth herself, burned up by the fierce ​Dragon, lay submissive under the horses' hoofs. The empty road trembled and jingled under the blows of the iron horseshoes.
At rare intervals they came upon poor villages and collections of wretched huts, but the Centurion, overcome by the heat, relented in his purpose of searching out those who might be in hiding. As he sat in his saddle, jogging rhythmically with his horse's movement, he thought merely of the end of the journey, the escape from the heat, the cool tent, the night tide, the new bride.
A young soldier, however, interrupted his thoughts, saying:
"Over there by the roadside I see a crowd of people. Order us, Marcellus, and we will whirl down upon them and scatter them. The wind which our horses will make will disperse the stupor into which the heat has cast us, and will fan away the dust and tiredness from both you and us."
The Centurion cast his sharp gaze in the direction indicated by the soldier, and looked attentively.
"No, Lucillus," said he, smiling, "that crowd is a crowd of children playing by the roadside. It's not worth chasing them. Let them look at our fine horses, at our ​gallant troop, and so gain in early years a strong impression of the grandeur of the Roman arms and the fame of our unconquerable and godlike Caesar."
Young Lucillus did not dare to object to the Centurion's words. But his face grew dark. He dropped back into his accustomed position in the troop and said in a whisper to his neighbour, also a young man:
"These children are perhaps the offspring of that same rebellious gang. I'd cut them up with joy. Our Centurion has become too sensitive and is losing the true valour of a soldier."
But his friend replied in displeasure: "Why should we fight with children? What glory would there be in that? It is enough for us to fight with those who can defend themselves."
Lucillus thereupon turned red and was silent.
The soldiers approached the children. The children ceased their game and stood at the side of the road and gazed at the soldiers, wondering at their fine horses, at their shining armour, their sunburnt faces. They wondered, lisped, stared—stared with widely-opened eyes.
Suddenly one of the children, the beautiful ​boy Lin, cried out an unexpected word, and his black eyes glowed with sacred rage:
"Murderers!"
And he pointed his little hand at the Centurion, who for his part went past gloomily, not hearing what the child said.
The children, frightened at the words of little Lin, crowded round him and implored him not to say anything more. And they whispered:
"Let's run, else they'll kill us all."
And the girls began to cry. But beautiful Lin got free of the little crowd and fearlessly shook his fist in the faces of the soldiers, and once more cried out:
"Executioners! Torturers of innocent people!"
His black eyes glowed with rage and he repeated his cries:
"Executioners! Executioners!"
The children wailed aloud in order to smother the sound of the boy's words, and several of them took him by the arms and drew him away, but he broke away from them and turned to the horsemen of the emperor and cursed them once more.
The horsemen stopped, and the youngest of them exclaimed:
​"Spawn of unbelievers. They've got the taint in their hearts. They ought to be destroyed. There's no room in the world for those who insult the Roman warrior."
And even the older soldiers went to the Centurion and said:
"The impudence of these rascals deserves condign punishment. Command us to go after them and slaughter them. We should destroy the unbelievers whilst they are young and weak, for when they grow up they will be capable of combining and doing much damage."
And the Centurion yielded and said:
"You go after them, kill those who shouted at us and punish the rest, so that they may remember to the end of their days what it means to insult the Roman soldier."
And the Centurion and the troop of horse turned back and galloped through the dust after the children.
Lin saw the soldiers coming after them and cried to the others:
"Leave me. You cannot save me, but if we all flee together then we shall all be killed by this dishonourable and pitiless troop. I will go and meet them. They will kill me only, and I have no wish to go on ​living in a world where such ugly things are done."
Lin stopped, and his tired and frightened companions could not drag him further. They all came to a standstill and the horsemen quickly came up and surrounded them.
The drawn swords gleamed in the sunlight. The children trembled, burst into sobs, and clung close together in a bunch.
The fiery Dragon of the sky urged the soldiers to murder, inflamed their blood, and was ready even to kiss the innocent blood of the children and to breathe his sultry heat upon their dismembered bodies. But the boy Lin came bravely forth from the crowd and thus addressed the Centurion:
"Old man, it was I who called your men murderers and executioners, I who cursed you and called down vengeance from the true lord upon you. These others are only children trembling and weeping. They are afraid that your wicked men will kill them and that they will follow and kill our fathers and mothers. They are submissive unto you. Therefore, if you are not yet sated with murder, kill me only. I am not afraid of you; I hate you. I despise your sword and your unjust sway over our country. I do not wish to live on the earth which is ​trampled by the horses of your false troops. My hands are weak, and I am not yet tall enough to fight you or I would. So kill me whilst you have the chance."
The Centurion listened in astonishment, but answered:
"No, cockatrice, not as you will but as I will. You shall die, but not you only."
And to the troops he said:
"Kill them all. Don't leave one of the serpent brood alive. The words of this bold boy will have fallen as seed in their hearts. Kill them all without mercy, big and little, babes also."
The soldiers fell upon them and cut them to bits with their merciless swords. The gloomy valley and the dusty road became tremblingly vocal with children's shrieks. The misty horizon echoed painfully, and echoed again and was silent. The horses deflated their nostrils and smelt the smoking blood, and with their iron-shod hoofs they trod on the poor bodies.
Then the warriors returned to the road laughing joyfully and cruelly. They hastened homeward to their camp conversing and rejoicing.
But the road went on, still went on dusty as ever, ravaged by the fiery eyes of the ​Dragon. Afternoon turned to evening and the Dragon effaced himself in shadow, but there came no evening coolness. The wind, as if enchanted by silence and fear, lay asleep. The sultry Dragon sinking into darkness looked in the eyes of the Centurion and seemed to smile a calm and dreadful smile. The twilight was calm and sultry and shadowy; the beat of the horses' feet was even and rhythmical and drowsy, and the Centurion felt sad at heart.
So measured was the beat of the sounding hoofs, and so grey, so hopeless and unlifting was the column of dust in which they moved, that it seemed as if they were on an endless journey. The greyer became the night the more lonely and remote they seemed, and the empty clangour of their beating hoofs resounded in the far distance of the wilderness. A sense of dread came over him, a dread to which as to his tiredness he saw no term.
He seemed to hear the sounds of wailing somewhere afar.
The earth trembled and murmured under the beat of the horses' hoofs.
Some one was running towards them.
A dim voice, a voice like that of the boy began to cry.
​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 ​spells of night enchantments," said the Centurion.
"I am wearing it now," said the young man. "But it is burning into my chest. There are earth-fiends after us; I hear the murmur of the earth disgorging the hurrying fiends."
"Oh, you make a mistake," said the Centurion, seeking to reassure him by reasonable words. "The earth fiends are mightily beholden unto us for giving them a rich feast to-day. In any case, fear should find no place in the heart of a valiant soldier, not even the fear engendered by the moaning of sprites in the night in the wilderness."
"Oh, I fear, I fear," cried Lucillus. "I hear the voice of that strange child following us."
Then suddenly in the sultry silence of the night a moaning and maledictory voice broke forth:
"Curses … curses upon the heads of the murderers."
The soldiers shuddered, spurred their horses and clattered along more quickly. But the voice of an unseen spirit pursued them and cried out all about them, now in front of them, now behind, now at one side, now another, sharply, distinctly:
"Murderers! Slayers of innocent babes! ​Merciless soldiers; ye yourselves shall not receive mercy!"
The soldiers took fright and spurred their steeds and hastened. But the old Centurion was angry and scolded them, crying:
"For shame! Of whom are you afraid. Are soldiers of the mighty and godlike Emperor afraid of shadows. From whom do you flee? From a boy whom you killed, from a dead body raised to life by unclean charms! Pull yourselves together, men, and remember that the Roman arms triumph not only over our enemies, but over the enchantments of the enemy also."
The soldiers took shame. At the bidding of the Centurion they came to a halt. They were still and listened to the noises of the night. Some one was distinctly on their tracks following after them, waiting and denouncing. No shape was seen in the darkness or upon the vague shadowiness of the landscape, but a small intense voice of a child cried out incessantly.
"Let us find out who it is," said one soldier, and the troop spurred their horses across the waste in the direction of the sound. And when they had lost sight of the road they came suddenly upon a strange child running on the heath, his garments ​torn, his dark hair dabbled in blood. And the child streaming blood as he ran, moaned and shouted and threatened with a maledictory hand.
With wild rage the soldiers drew their swords and dashed at the boy and slew him again, hacking him into a hundred bits and trampling the flesh under their horses' feet. And before they resumed their journey they scattered the remains of the dead child's body and flung portions north, south, east, and west.
Then they wiped their swords in the grass, got into their saddles, and hastened once more onward on the long roundabout homeward road. But hardly had they resumed their journey than the moody silence that was between them and around them was broken by a sharp exclamation: "Murderers!" and once more they were assailed by a running accompaniment of curses and denunciation from an unseen child.
They turned their horses in terror and rage, and sought the spirit out again, and away in the darkness once more they saw the strange boy running with torn garments and black hair dabbled in blood, with blood streaming from his hands. And once more ​they set upon him and cut him down, and stamped upon the body and scattered the severed limbs and galloped away.
But again and again the wailing child came after them. And in the rage of murder that had no end and of wails and denunciations that never ceased the troop missed the way to the Camp and went round and round the wild district where the children had been slain by them. The grandeur of night spread over the valley and the stars glimmered, sinless, innocent, remote.
The soldiers followed on their own tracks, and the cries of the boy on the heath were heavy on their souls. Round and round they wandered and killed in fury and yet could not kill.
At last, just before sunrise, with madness at their heels the troop galloped on to the shore of the sea. And the waves boiled under the frenzied onrush of the horses.
So perished all the horsemen and with them the Centurion Marcellus.
And to the far silent spot where by the roadway lay the bodies of the boy Lin and the other children, blood-stained, unburied, wolves came creeping stealthily, fearfully, and they sated themselves with the innocent and sweet bodies of the children.