CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 Cony;,Sturgis 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1054.V12V4 
 
 Vergillusja tale of the coming of Christ 
 
 3 1924 022 113 678 
 
B Cornell University 
 E Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 9240221 1 3678 
 
Copyright, 1904, by Irving Bachbllbr. 
 
 AH rights reserved. 
 
 Published August, 1904. 
 
A SlaU nf % CUnmittg of CWfrtHt 
 
jlOME had passed the sum- 
 mits and stood looking into 
 the dark valley of fourteen 
 • htmdred years. Behind her 
 the graves of Caesar and 
 Sallust and Cicero and 
 Catullus and Vergil and 
 Horace; before her centuries of madness 
 and treading down; round about her a 
 multitude sickening of luxury, their houses 
 fiUed with spoil, their mouths with folly, 
 their souls with discontent; above her 
 only mystery and silence; in her train, 
 philosophers questioning if it were not 
 better for a man had he never been 
 bom — deeming life a misfortune and ex- 
 3 
 
tinction the only happiness; poets singing 
 no more of "pleasantries and trifles," but 
 seeking favor with poor obscenities. Soon 
 they were even to celebrate the virtue of 
 harlots, the integrity of thieves, the tender- 
 ness of murderers, the justice of oppression. 
 Leading the caravan were tjrpes abhorrent 
 and self-opposed — effeminate men, mascu- 
 line women, cheerful cynics, infidel priests, 
 wealthy people with no credit, patricians, 
 honoring and yet despising the gods, hating 
 and yet living on the populace. Here was 
 the spectacle of a republican empire, and an 
 emperor gathering power while he affected 
 to disdain it. 
 
 The splendor of the capital had attracted 
 from all nations the idle rich, gamblers, 
 speculators, voluptuaries, profligates, in- 
 triguers, criminals. To such an extreme 
 had luxury been carried that nothing was 
 too sacred, nothing too costly to be enjoyed. 
 Digestion had become a science, courtship 
 an art, sleep a , nightmare, comfort an ac- 
 complishment, and the very act of living an 
 4 
 
industry. Almost one may say that the 
 gods lived only in the imagination of the 
 ignorant and the jests of the learned. In 
 a growing patriciate home had become a 
 weariness, marriage a form, children a 
 trouble, and the decline of motherhood an 
 alarming fact. Augustus tried the remedy 
 of legislation. Henceforth marriage be- 
 came a duty to the state. As between men 
 and women, things were near a turning- 
 point. Woman cannot long endure scorn 
 nor the absence of veneration. A law 
 older than the tablets of stone shall be her 
 defence. Love is the price of motherhood. 
 Soon or late, unless it be mingled in some 
 degree with her passion, the wonderful 
 gift is withdrawn and men cease to be born 
 of her. Slowly, both the bitterness and 
 the understanding of its loss turn the world 
 to virtue. A new and lofty sentiment was 
 appearing. Woman, weary of her part 
 in the human comedy, had begun to in- 
 spire a love sublime as the miracle in which 
 she is born to act. 
 
 5 
 
Happfly, there were good people in Rome, 
 ^even noble families, with whom sacrifice 
 had stiU a sacred power, and who practised 
 the four virtues of honor, bravery, wisdom, 
 and temperance. In rural Latium, rich 
 and poor clung to the old faith, and every- 
 where a plebeian feared alike the assessor 
 and the gods, and sacrificed to both. 
 
 It is no wonder the gods were falling 
 when even Jupiter had been outdone by a 
 modest man who dwelt on the Palatine. 
 One might have seen him there any day — 
 a rather delicate figure with shiny blue 
 eyes and hair now turning gray. He flung 
 his lightning with unerring aim across the 
 great purple sea into Arabia, Africa, and 
 Spain, and northward to the German 
 Ocean and eastward to the land- of the 
 Goths. The genius of this remarkable man 
 had outdone the imagination of priest and 
 poet. A genius for organization, like that 
 of his illustrious uncle, gave to Augustus a 
 power greater than human hands had yet 
 wielded. 
 
 6 
 
A bit of gossip had travelled far and 
 excited his curiosity. It spoke of a new 
 king, with power above that of men, who 
 was to conquer the world. Sayings of 
 certain learned men came out of Judea into 
 the land of lost hope. They told of the 
 king of promise — that he would bring to 
 men the gift of immortal Hfe, that the 
 heavens would declare his authority. Super- 
 stitious to the blood and bone, not a few 
 were thrilled by the message. 
 
 The minds of thinking men were sad, 
 fearful, and beset with curiosity. " If there 
 be no gods," they were wont to ask, " have 
 we any hope and responsibility?" They 
 studied the philosophers Plato, Aristotle, 
 Zeno, Epicurus, and were unsatisfied. 
 
 The nations were at peace, but not the 
 souls of men. A universal and mighty war 
 of the spirit was near at hand. The skir- 
 mishers were busy — patrician and plebeian, 
 master and slave, oppressor and oppressed. 
 Soon all were to see the line of battle, the 
 immortal captains, the children of darkness, 
 7 
 
the children of light, the beginning of a great 
 revolution. 
 
 Rome was like a weary child whose toys 
 are gods and men, and who, being weary 
 of them, has yet a curiosity in their de- 
 struction. 
 
IHOSE days it was near 
 twelve o'clock by the great 
 I dial of history. One day, 
 ; about mid - afternoon, the 
 I old capital lay glowing in 
 I the sunlight. Its hills were 
 ; white with marble and 
 green with gardens, and traced and spot- 
 ted and flecked with gold ; its thoroughfares 
 were bright with color — white, purple, yel- 
 low, scarlet — like a field of roses and ama- 
 rantus. 
 
 The fashionable day had begun; knight 
 and lady were now making and receiving 
 visits. 
 
 Five litters and some forty slaves, who 
 
 9 
 
bore and followed them, were waiting in 
 the court of the palace of the Lady Lucia. 
 Beyond the walls of white marble a noble 
 company was gathered that summer day. 
 There were the hostess and her daughter; 
 three young noblemen, the purple stripes 
 on each angusticlave telling of knightly 
 rank ; a Jewish prince in purple and gold ; 
 an old philosopher, and a poet who had 
 been reading love lines. It was the age 
 of pagan chivalry, and one might imperil 
 his future with poor wit or a faulty epi- 
 gram. Those older men had long held the 
 floor, and their hostess, seeking to rally the 
 young knights, challenged their skill in 
 courtly compliment. 
 
 " O men, who have forgotten the love of 
 women these days, look at her!" 
 
 So spoke the Lady Lucia — she that was 
 widow of the Prasfect Publius, who fell 
 with half his cohort in the desert wars. 
 
 She had risen from a chair of ebony en- 
 riched by cunning Etruscan art — four 
 mounted knights charging across its heavy 
 
 lO 
 
back in armor of wrought gold. She 
 stopped, facing the company, between two 
 coltmms of white marble beautifully sculpt- 
 ured. Upon each a vine rose, Umberly and 
 with soft leaves in the stone, from base to 
 capital. Her daughter stood in the midst 
 of a group of maids who were dressing her 
 hair. 
 
 "Arria, will you come to me?" said the' 
 Lady Lucia. 
 
 The girl came quickly — a dainty creat- 
 ure of sixteen, her dark hair waving, imder 
 jewelled fillets, to a knot behind. From 
 below the knot a row of curls fell upon the 
 folds of her outer tunic. It was a fikny, 
 transparent thing — this garment — through 
 which one could see the white of arm and 
 breast and the purple fillets on her legs. 
 
 "She is indeed beautiful in the yellow 
 tunic. I should think that scarlet rug had 
 caught fire and wrapped her in its flame," 
 said the poet Ovid. 
 
 "Nay, her heart is afire, and its light 
 hath the color of roses," said an old phi- 
 II 
 
losopher who sat by. "Can you not see it 
 shining through her cheeks?" 
 
 "Young sirs," said the Lady Lucia, with 
 a happy smile, as she raised her daughter's 
 hand, "now for your ofifers." 
 
 It was a merry challenge, and shows how 
 lightly they treated a sacred theme those 
 days. 
 
 First rose the grave senator, Aulus 
 Valerius Maro by name. 
 
 "Madame," said he, stepping forward 
 and bowing low, " I offer my heart and my 
 fortune, and the strength of my arms and the 
 fleetness of my feet and the fair renown of 
 my fathers." 
 
 The Lady Lucia turned to her daughter 
 with a look of inquiry. 
 
 " Brave words are not enough," said the 
 fair Roman maiden, smiling, as her eyes 
 fell. 
 
 Then came the effeminate Gracus, in 
 head-dress and neckerchief, frilled robe and 
 lady's sandals. He was of great sires who 
 had borne the Roman eagles into Gaul. 
 
 12 
 
HfrgUttta 
 
 "Good lady," said he, " I would give my 
 life." 
 
 "And had I more provocation," said 
 Arria, raising a jewelled bodkin, " I would 
 take it." 
 
 Now the splendid Antipater, son of Herod 
 the Great, was up and speaking. "I of- 
 fer," said he, "my heart and wealth and 
 half my hopes, and the jewels of my mother, 
 and a palace in the beautiful city of Jeru- 
 salem." 
 
 "And a pretty funeral," the girl remark- 
 ed, thoughtfully. "Jerusalem is half-way 
 to Hades." 
 
 The Roman matron turned, and put her 
 arm around the waist of the girl and drew 
 her close. A young man rose from his 
 chair and approached them. He was Ver- 
 gilius, son of Varro, and of equestrian 
 knighthood. His full name was Quintus 
 VergiHus Varro, but all knew the youth by 
 his nomen. Tall and erect, with curly, 
 blond locks and blue eyes and lips deli- 
 cately curved, there was in that hall no 
 13 
 
ancestral mask or statue so nobly favored. 
 He had been taught by an old philosopher 
 to value truth as the better part of honor — 
 a view not common then, but therein was 
 a new light, spreading mysteriously. 
 
 "Dear Lady Lucia," said he, "I cannot 
 amuse you with idle words. I fear to 
 speak, and yet silence would serve me ill. 
 I offer not the strength of my arms nor the 
 fleetness of my feet, for they may fail me to- 
 morrow ; nor my courage, for that has never 
 been tried ; nor the renown of my fathers, 
 for that is not mine to give ; nor my life, for 
 that belongs to my country ; nor my fortune, 
 for I should blush to offer what may be used 
 to buy cattle. I would give a thing greater 
 and more lasting than all of these. It is 
 my love." 
 
 The girl turned half away, blushing pink. 
 All had flung off the mask of comedy and 
 now wore a look of surprise. 
 
 "By my faith!" said the poet, "this 
 young knight meant his words." 
 
 "A man of sincerity, upon my soul!" said 
 14 
 
the old philosopher. " I have put my hope 
 in him, and so shall Rome. A lucky girl 
 is she, for has he not riches, talent, honor, 
 temperance, courage, and the beauty of a 
 god? And was I not his teacher?'* 
 
 "My brave Vergilius," the matron an- 
 swered, "you are like the knights of old I 
 have heard my father tell of. They had such 
 a way with them — ^never a smile and a mel- 
 ancholy look in their faces when they spoke 
 of love. I give you the crown of gallantry, 
 and, if she be willing, you shall walk with 
 her in the garden. That is your reward." 
 
 Vergilius, advancing, took the girl's hand 
 and kissed it. 
 
 "Will you go with me?" said he. 
 
 "On one condition," she answered, look- 
 ing down at the folds of her tunic. 
 
 "And it is?" 
 
 "That you will entertain me with phi- 
 losophy and the poets," she answered, with 
 a smile. 
 
 "And with no talk of love," the matron 
 added, as Arria took his arm. 
 15 
 
They walked through the long hall of the 
 palace, over soft rugs and great mosaics, and 
 between walls aglow with tints of sky and 
 garden. These two bore with them a tender 
 feeling as they passed the figures of em- 
 battled horse and host in carven wood, and 
 mural painting and colored mosaic and 
 wrought metal — symbols of the martial 
 spirit of the empire now oddly in contrast 
 with their own. They came out upon a 
 peristyle overlooking an ample garden 
 wherein were vines, flowers, and fruit 
 trees. 
 
 "You have a way of words," said she. 
 "It is almost possible to believe you." 
 
 He stopped and for a long moment 
 looked into her eyes. "I love you, sweet 
 girl," he said, softly; "I love you. As I 
 live, I speak the truth." 
 
 "And you a man!" she exclaimed, in- 
 credulously. 
 
 "Ay, strange as it may be, a Roman." 
 
 "My mother has told me," said she, 
 looking down at her sandal," "that when a 
 i6 
 
man speaks, it is well to listen but never to 
 believe." 
 
 "They are not easy to xinderstand — 
 these men and women," said he, thought- 
 fully. "Sometimes I think they would be 
 nobler if they were dumb as dogs. Albeit 
 I suppose they would find a new way of 
 lying. But, O sweet sister of Appius, 
 try to believe me, though you believe 
 no other, and I — I shall believe you al- 
 ways." 
 
 "You had better not," said she, with a 
 merry glance. 
 
 "I must." 
 
 " But you will doubt me soon, for I shall 
 say that I do not love you." 
 
 For a little he knew not how to answer. 
 She turned away, looking off at the Capi- 
 toline, where the toil and art of earth had 
 wrought ,to show the splendor of heaven. 
 Its beautiful, barbaric temples were glowing 
 in the sunlight. 
 
 " Life would be too serious if there were 
 no dissimulation." She looked up at him 
 17 
 
as she spoke, and he saw a Httle quiver in 
 her curved Hps. 
 
 "That bow of your Hps— I should think 
 it fashioned by Praxiteles — and it is for the 
 arrows of truth." 
 
 "But a girl — she must deceive a little." 
 
 They were now among the vines. 
 
 "I do not understand you." 
 
 "Stupid fellow!" said she, in a whisper, 
 as she turned, looking up at him. " Son of 
 Varo, lovers are not ever to be trusted . Shall 
 I tell you a story ? One day I was in the Via 
 Sacra and a young man caught and held 
 me for a moment and tried to touch my 
 lips — that boy, Antipater, a good-looking 
 wretch!" 
 
 She gave her shoulders a little shrug and 
 drew her robe closer. " He had come out 
 of the Basilica Julia, and I am sure he had 
 been over - drinking. I cried 'Help!' and 
 quickly a man came and stood between us ; 
 and oh ! young sir, as I live, it was our great 
 father Augustus, and Antipater knelt be- 
 fore him. 
 
 l8 
 
"'Young man,' said the father — and 
 his eyes shone — ' rise and look yonder. 
 Do you see the citadel? Under its marble 
 floor there is a grave. It is that of one who 
 kissed a vestal and was buried alive. There 
 are sacred people in Rome, and among them 
 is this daughter of my beloved Publius. 
 Go you to your palace, son of Herod, and, 
 hereafter, forget not that you are in Rome.' 
 
 " He was angry, and I, so frightened ! 
 Then he took me home and said he would 
 be my father, and that in good time he 
 would choose a husband for me." 
 
 "The gods grant that he choose me." 
 
 "The gods forbid it, son of Varro." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 Slowly and with assumed severity she 
 spoke. ' ' Because — I — do — not — love — 
 you." 
 
 "Cruel one!" said he, turning and biting 
 his lips. "Your words are as the blow of 
 the pilum." 
 
 " Have they indeed wounded you ?" She 
 touched his hand with a look of sympathy. 
 19 
 
"They have made me sick at heart." 
 
 "Then would I not believe them," said 
 she, tenderly, slipping her slender fingers 
 into his. 
 
 He pressed her hand. "And do you, 
 then, love me?" 
 
 " No — I — do — ^not — love — you." 
 
 "You are a strange people — you maidens 
 of the capital," said he, taking her hand in 
 both of his. "Rome has conquered every- 
 thing save its women." 
 ' She parted her tunic and stood looking 
 down at her white bosom, and with her 
 delicate fingers brushed off a bit of dust 
 which had fallen from the vine above them. 
 
 "I do think much of love," said she, 
 thoughtfully, still looking down at her 
 breast. 
 
 "And of me," he insisted. 
 
 "Nay, not of you," she answered, with- 
 out delay. 
 
 "I shall know," said he, wistfully, "for 
 I shall consult the fates. I have here a 
 sacred coin. An old dame found it when 
 20 
 
she was digging in the side of Soracte. 
 See, it has on its face the head of Apollo, 
 and opposite is an arrow in a death- 
 hand. And the hag had an odd dream 
 of this coin, so she told me — that it fell 
 out of the sky, and was, indeed, from the 
 treasury of the gods, and had in it a won- 
 derful power in all mysteries. And one 
 might tell by tossing it in the air and noting 
 its fall, if he were loved or hated by the 
 first one he should see after learning its 
 answer. I have never known it to fail. 
 If the head is up you love me," said he, 
 tossing the disk of metal. 
 
 It fell and lay at his feet. 
 
 "The head!" he exclaimed, with joy. 
 
 "Is it really blest of the gods?" she in- 
 quired, eagerly, her cheeks aflame. " Is it 
 indeed blest?" 
 
 " So said the woman who gave it me." 
 
 " Now I shall toss it," said she, taking the 
 coin. 
 
 "Ah! you would know if I love you," he 
 answered. 
 
 21 
 
The coin leaped high and fell and rolled 
 along the marble walk. Both followed 
 eagerly, he leading, and, as it stopped, he 
 quickly covered the bit of metal with his 
 hand. 
 
 " Let me see !" said she, her hand upon his 
 wrist. 
 
 "Do not look." 
 
 "Let me see it!" she insisted. 
 
 "Sweet sister of Appius, I beg of you, 
 here on my knees, do not look at the coin ! 
 I will give you the white steeds from Cap- 
 padocia, but do not look." 
 
 " Let me see it, I say, son of Varro !" She 
 was tugging at his wrist, and now, indeed, 
 there was a pretty pleading in her voice. 
 The words were to him as pearls strung 
 on a silken thread. 
 
 "Wait a little." 
 
 "I shall not wait." 
 
 "Sweet flower of Rome," said he, look- 
 ing into her eyes, "I know that you are 
 mine now ! Your voice — it is like the love- 
 call of the robin!" 
 
 22 
 
"Stubborn boy! Do you think I care 
 for you?" She stopped and looked into 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Else why should you wish to see the 
 coin?" said he. "But, look! Upon my 
 soul it is false!" A little silence followed. 
 
 " 'Tis false!" he repeated. "I swear the 
 coin lies, for I do love you, dearly." 
 
 "It does not lie," she whispered. 
 
 He put his arm about her. 
 
 "And I know," he answered, "why you 
 think it cannot lie. It said, ,before, that 
 you love me, and it was right." 
 
 She thrust him away gently, and, rising, 
 as if stricken with sudden fear of him, ran a 
 few paces up the walk. She turned quick- 
 ly, and looked back at him as he approached. 
 Her face had grown pale. 
 
 " I — I shall never speak with you again," 
 she whispered. 
 
 "Oh, have mercy upon me, beautiful 
 sister of Appius!" said the young knight, 
 and there was a note of despair in his voice. 
 " Have mercy upon me !" 
 23 
 
"Young sir," said she, retreating slowly, 
 as he advanced, "I do not love you — I do 
 not love you." 
 
 She turned quickly, and ran to the per- 
 istyle, and, stopping not to glance back at 
 him, entered the great marble home of her 
 fathers. 
 
 He stood a moment looking at the sun- 
 glow behind roof and dome and tower. 
 A bridge of light, spanning the hollow of 
 the city, had laid its golden timbers from 
 hill to hill ; and for a little the young man 
 felt as if he were drowning in the shadows 
 under it. He turned presently and hurried 
 into the palace. 
 
SiE is more honored than 
 [Jupiter these days," the 
 -^v^ ¥Q$^ philosopher was saying as 
 f M ^^ VergiHus re-entered. 
 
 >M, "Who?" inquired the 
 young man. 
 
 "Who else but Caesar, 
 and it is well. The gods — who are they?" 
 "The adopted children of Vergil and 
 Homer," said Appius, brother of Arria, 
 who had just returned from the baths. 
 
 "But our great father Augustus — who 
 can doubt that he deserves our worship?" 
 said the philosopher, a subtle irony in his 
 voice. It was this learned man who had 
 long been the instructor of Vergilius. 
 3 25 
 
"Who, indeed?" was the remark of an- 
 other. 
 
 "But these gods!" 
 
 "At least they are not likely to cut off 
 one's head," said Aulus. 
 
 "Speak not lightly of the gods," said 
 Vergilius. "They are still a power with the 
 people, and the people have great need of 
 them. What shall become of Rome when 
 the gods fall?" 
 
 "It shall sicken," said the philosopher, 
 with a lift of his hand. "You that are 
 young may live to see the end. It shall be 
 like the opening of the underworld. Our 
 republic is false, our gods are false, and, 
 indeed, I know but one truth." 
 
 "And what may it be?" said another. 
 
 "We are all liars," he quickly answered. 
 
 "O temporal" said the Lady Lucia. "It 
 is an evil day, especially among men. 
 When Quinta Claudia went with her noble 
 sisters to meet the Idasan mother at Ter- 
 racina they were able to find in Rome 
 one virtuous man to escort them. But 
 26 
 
that was more than two hundred years 
 ago." 
 
 ' ' If one were to find him now, and he were 
 to go," said the philosopher, "by the gods 
 above us ! I fear he would return a sad rake 
 indeed." 
 
 "'Tis not a pleasant theme," said the 
 Lady Lucia, by way of introducing another. 
 
 "The dear old girl!" said young Gracus, 
 in a low tone, as he turned to the senator. 
 "Her hair is a lie, her complexion is a lie, 
 her lips are a lie." 
 
 "And her life is a He," said the other. 
 
 "You enjoyed your walk?" asked the 
 mother of Arria, addressing Vergilius. 
 
 "The walk was a delight to me and its 
 end a sorrow," he answered. 
 
 "And you obeyed me?" 
 
 "To the letter." It is true, he thought, 
 we are a generation of liars, but how may 
 one help it ? Then, quickly, a way seemed 
 to suggest itself, and he added: "Madame, 
 forgive me. I do now remember we had a 
 word or two about love ; but, you see, I was 
 27 
 
telling the legend of this coin. It has the 
 power to show one if he be loved." 
 
 "By tossing?" 
 
 "By tossing. Head, yes; the reverse, 
 no." 
 
 " Let me try." She flung it to the oaken 
 beams and it fell on the great rug beside 
 her. 
 
 " Madame, the hand is up," said Vergilius. 
 ■'I fear it is not infallible." 
 
 "Let me see," she answered, stooping 
 gravely to survey the coin. Something 
 passed between her and her pleasure, and 
 for one second a shadow wavered across her 
 face. 
 
 "It is Death's hand, of course," she re- 
 marked, sadly. " Love is for the yoimg and 
 death is for the old." 
 
 " Old, madame ! Why, your cheeks have 
 roses in them." 
 
 "Good youth, you are too frank," said 
 she, with a quick glance about her. "Did 
 the coin say that she loved you?" 
 
 "It did." 
 
 28 
 
Btrgiliua 
 
 And what did she say ?" • 
 
 The young man hesitated. 
 
 " Come, you innocent ! Of course, I knew 
 that you would talk of nothing but love. 
 What said she?" 
 
 "That she does not love me; but I am 
 sure it is mere coquetry." 
 
 " Dear youth ! You have a cunning eye. 
 This very day speak, my brave Vergilius — 
 speak to her brother Appius. To - night 
 take him to dine with you." 
 
 "I had so planned." 
 
 A gong of silver rang in the palace halls. 
 It was the signal to prepare for dinner, and 
 the guests made their farewells. Soon Ap- 
 pius and the young lover walked side by 
 side in the direction of the Palatine. 
 
 "And what have you been doing?" the 
 former inquired, presently. 
 
 "Only dreaming." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Of love and happiness, and your sis- 
 ter." 
 
 "My sister?" 
 
 29 
 
"Yes; I love her and wish to make her 
 my wife." 
 
 "You have wealth and birth and wit and 
 good prospects. I can see no objection to 
 you. But love — love is a thing for women 
 to talk about." 
 
 "You are wrong, Appius. I can feel it 
 in my soul. And, believe me, I am no 
 longer in Rome. I have found the gate- 
 way of a better world — like that heaven 
 they speak of in the Trastevere — full of 
 peace and beauty." 
 
 "You have, indeed, been dreaming," said 
 the other. "But, Vergilius, there is one 
 higher than I who shall choose her hus- 
 band — the imperator . Does he know you ? ' ' 
 
 " I have met him, of course, but do much 
 fear he would not remember me." 
 
 " We may know shortly. Every seventh 
 day this year he has sat, like a beggar, at 
 his gate asking for alms. To-day we shall 
 see him there." 
 
 "It is an odd whim." 
 
 " Hush ! you know the people as well as I, 
 30 
 
and he must please them," the other whis- 
 pered. "He must conceal his power if he 
 would live out his time. I will present you, 
 and perhaps he may be gracious — ay, may 
 even bid you to his banquet." 
 
 "A modest home," said young Vergilius. 
 
 Now they were nearing the palace of that 
 mild and quiet gentleman whose name and 
 title — Gaius Julius Csesar Octavianus Augus- 
 tus — had terrified the world ; whose delicate 
 hands flung the levin of his power to the 
 far boundaries of India and upper Gaul, to 
 the distant shores of Spain and Africa, and 
 into deserts beyond the Euphrates. 
 
 "Many a poor patrician has better fur- 
 niture and more servants and a nobler 
 palace," said Appius. " Rather plain wood, 
 divans out of fashion, rugs o'erwom; but 
 you have seen them. He alone can afford 
 that kind of thing," 
 
 "He has a fondness for old things." 
 
 "But not for old women, my dear fel- 
 low." 
 
 "Indeed! And he is himself sixty-one." 
 31 
 
"Hist — the imperator! There, by the 
 gate yonder." 
 
 An erect figure of a man rather above 
 medium height, in a coarse, gray toga, stood 
 by one of the white columns. Three Moor- 
 ish children were playing about his knees, 
 and a senator was talking with him. 
 
 " My public services are familiar to you," 
 said the senator, as the young knights wait- 
 ed some twenty paces off. "A gift of two 
 hundred thousand denarii would be fitting, 
 and, if you will permit me to say so, it 
 would delight the populace. Indeed, 'tis 
 generally believed you have already given 
 me a large sum." 
 
 " But see that you do not believe it," 
 blandly spake the strange emperor, for 
 albeit Rome was then a republic in name 
 it was an empire in fact, and Augustus, 
 wielding the power of an emperor, refused 
 the title. Turning, he began to play with 
 the children. 
 
 "Great and beloved father! I hope, at 
 least, you will consider my prayer." 
 32 
 
"Good senator, I have considered. You 
 ask for two hundred thousand denarii. I can 
 give you only the opportunity of earning 
 them. As to myself, I am poor. Look at 
 me. Even my time belongs to the people, 
 and it is passing, my dear senator — it is 
 passing." 
 
 The importunate man saw the subtle 
 meaning in these words and went his way. 
 
 The emperor sat down, a child upon each 
 knee, as the yoting men approached him. 
 His head was bare and his fair, curly locks, 
 growing low upon his forehead, were now 
 touched with gray. He looked up at the 
 two, his eyes blue, brilliant, piercing. 
 
 "My beloved Appius," said he, in a gen- 
 tle tone, as he rose. "And this — let me 
 think — ah, it is Vergilius, the son of Varro." 
 
 "It is wonderful you should remember 
 me," said Vergilius. 
 
 "Wonderful? No. I could tell your 
 
 age, your misdeeds, your virtues, and how 
 
 often you failed to answer the roll-calls in 
 
 Cappadocia. Well, I dare say they were 
 
 33 
 
HfrgUtua 
 
 pretty girls. But I forget; I am to-day 
 seeking alms, my good children, for the 
 poor of Rome. I am as ten thousand of 
 the hungry standing before you here and 
 asking for bread. In their name I shall re- 
 ceive, thankfully, what you may bestow." 
 Appius gave a handful of coins; Ver- 
 gilius emptied his purse. 
 
 " 'Tis not enough," said the latter. 
 "Your words have touched me. To-night 
 I shall send five thousand denarii to your 
 palace." 
 
 "Well given, noble youth! It is gener- 
 ous. I like it in you. Say that I may have 
 you to feast with me the first day before the 
 ides — both of you. Say that I may have 
 you." 
 
 "We humbly wait your commands," 
 said Vergilius, kissing his hand. 
 
 "Now tell me, handsome son of Varro, 
 have you found no pretty girl to your lik- 
 ing? Know you not, boy, 'tis time you 
 married?" He held the hand of the young 
 knight and spoke kindly, his cunning eyes 
 34 
 
aglow, and smiled upon him, showing his 
 teeth, set well apart. 
 
 "Such an one I have found, good sire. 
 Under the great purple dome there is none 
 more beautiful, and with your favor and 
 that of the gods I hope to make her my 
 wife." 
 
 "Ah, then, I know her?" 
 "It is Arria, sister of Appius." 
 "And daughter of my beloved praefect. 
 You are ambitious, my good youth." 
 
 The emperor stood a moment, looking 
 downward thoughtfully. He felt his re- 
 treating chin. His smooth - shaven face, 
 broad from bone to bone above the cheeks, 
 quickly grew stern. His mind, which had 
 the world for its toy and which planned the 
 building or the treading down of empires, 
 had tiuTied its thought upon that little 
 kingdom in the heart of the boy. And he 
 was thinking whether it should stand or fall. 
 "It may be impossible," said he, tiiming 
 to the young man. "Say no more to her 
 until — until I have thought of it." 
 35 
 
And. Appius observed, as he went away 
 with his friend: "You will be a statesman, 
 my dear Vergilius ; you gave him just the 
 right dose of religion, flattery, and silver." 
 
 " I must succeed or I shall have no heart 
 to live," said the other, soberly. 
 
^HAT evening Vergilius went 
 to feast with the young 
 Herodian prince, Antipater 
 ofjudea. The son of Herod 
 was then a tall, swarthy, ro- 
 bust young man, who had 
 come to see life in Rome 
 and to finish his education. He would in- 
 herit the crown — so said they who knew 
 anything of Herodian politics; but he was 
 a Jew, and deep in the red intrigue of his 
 father's house. So, therefore, he was regard- 
 ed in Rome with more curiosity than respect. 
 Augustus himself had said that he would 
 rather be the swine of Herod than Her- 
 od's son, and he might have added that 
 37 
 
he would rather be the swine of Antipater 
 than his father. But that was before Au- 
 gustus had learned that even his own 
 household was unworthy of full confidence. 
 
 Antipater had brought many slaves to 
 Rome, and some of the noblest horses in the 
 empire. He had hired a palace and built 
 a lion-house, where, before intimates, he 
 was wont to display his courage and his 
 skill. It had a small arena and was in the 
 midst of a great garden. There he kept a 
 lion from northern Africa, a tiger, and a 
 black leopard from the Himalayas. He was 
 training for the Herodian prize at the 
 Jewish amphitheatre in Caesarea. These 
 great, stealthy cats in his garden typified th6 
 passions of his heart. If he had only fought 
 these latter as he fought the beasts he might 
 have had a better place in history. 
 
 Antipater had conceived a great liking 
 for the sister of Appius. Her beauty had 
 roused in him the great cats of passion 
 now stalking their prey. He had sworn to 
 his intimates that no other man should 
 38 
 
marry her. His gallantry was unwelcome, 
 he knew that, and Appius had assured him 
 that a marriage was impossible; but the 
 wild heart of the Idumean held to its pur- 
 pose. And now its hidden eyes were gaz- 
 ing, catlike, on Vergilius, the cause of its 
 difficulty. In Judea he would have known 
 how to act, but in Rome he pondered. 
 
 It had been a stormy day in the palace of 
 Antipater. He had crucified a slave for 
 disobedience and run a lance through one 
 of his best horses for no reason. He came 
 out of his bath a httle before the hour of 
 his banquet, and two slaves, trembling 
 with fear, followed him to his chamber. 
 They put his tunic on him, and his 
 sandals, and wound the fillets that held 
 them in place. One of the slaves began 
 brushing the dark hair of his master while 
 the other was rubbing a precious ointment 
 on his face and arms. 
 
 "Fool!" he shouted. "Have I not told 
 you never to bear upon my head ?" 
 
 He jumped to his feet, black eyes flash- 
 39 
 
ing under heavy brows, and, seizing a lance, 
 broke the slave's arm with a blow and 
 drove him out of the chamber. A few 
 minutes later, in a robe of white silk and a 
 yellow girdle, he came into his banquet- 
 hall with politeness, dovelike, worshipful, 
 and caressing. 
 
 ' "Noble son of Varro!" said he, smiling 
 graciously, "it is a joy to see you. And 
 you, brave Gracus; and you, Aulus, child 
 of Destiny; and you, my learned Manius; 
 and you, Carus, favored of the Muses: I do 
 thank you all for this honor." 
 
 It was a brilliant company — ^gay youths 
 all, who could tell the new stories and loved 
 to sit late with their wine. As they wait- 
 ed for dinner many tempting dishes were 
 passed among them. There were oysters, 
 mussels, spondyli, fieldfares with aspara- 
 gus, roe-ribs, sea-nettles, and purple shell- 
 fish. When they came to their couches, 
 the dinner-table was covered with rare and 
 costly things. On platters of silver and 
 gold one might have seen tunny fishes from 
 40 
 
Chalcedon, muraenas from the Straits of 
 Gades, peacocks from Samos, grouse from 
 Phrygia, cranes from Melos. Slaves were 
 kept busy bringing boar's head and sow's 
 udder and roasted fowls, and fish pasties, 
 and boiled teals. Other slaves kept the 
 goblets full of old wine. Soon the banquet 
 had become a revel of song and laughter. 
 Suddenly Antipater raised a calix high 
 above his head. 
 
 "My noble friends," he shouted, "I bid 
 you drink with me to Arria, sister of Ap- 
 pius, and fairest daughter of Rome — " 
 
 Vergilius had quickly risen to his feet. 
 "Son of Herod," said he, with dignity, "I 
 am in your palace and have tasted of 
 your meat, and am therefore sacred. You 
 make your wine bitter when you mingle 
 it with the name of one so pure. Good 
 women were better forgotten at a midnight 
 revel." 
 
 A moment of silence followed. 
 
 "My intention was pure as she," Antip- 
 ater answered, craftily. ' ' Be not so jealous. 
 4 41 
 
my noble friend. I esteem her as the best 
 and loveliest of women." 
 
 "Nay, not the loveliest," said the young 
 Manius, an assessor in Judea. " I sing the 
 praise of Salome, sister of our noble prince. 
 Of all the forms in flesh and marble none 
 compare with this beautiful daughter of 
 the great king." 
 
 " May fairest women be for the best men," 
 said Antipater, drinking his wine. 
 
 In a dim light along the farther side of 
 the dining-hall was a row of figures, some 
 draped, some nude, and all having the look 
 of old marble. Two lay in voluptuous at- 
 titudes, one sat on a bank of flowers, and 
 others stood upon pedestals. 
 
 There were all the varying forms of Venus 
 represented in living flesh. None, save 
 Antipater and the slaves around him, knew 
 that imder each bosom was a fearful and 
 palpitating heart. They were beautiful 
 slave -girls captured on the frontiers of 
 Judea. In spite of aching sinew and 
 muscle, they had to stand like stone to 
 42 
 
escape the observation of evil eyes. There 
 was a cruelty behind that stony stillness of 
 the maidens, equal, it would seem, to the 
 worst in Hades. 
 
 Slaves kept the wine foaming in every 
 goblet, and fought and danced and wrestled 
 for the pleasing of that merry company, 
 and the hours wore away. Suddenly the 
 sotmd of a lyre hushed the revels. All 
 heard the voice of a maiden singing, and 
 turned to see whence it came. A sweet 
 voice it was, trembling in tones that told of 
 ancient wrong, in words full of a new hope. 
 Had life and song come to one of those 
 white marbles yonder? Voice and word 
 touched the heart of Vergilius — he knew 
 not why ; and this in part is the chant that 
 stopped the revels of Antipater: 
 
 " Lift up my soul ; let me not be asham.ed — I trust 
 
 in Thee, God of my fathers; 
 Send, quickly send, the new king whose arrows 
 
 shall fly as the lightning, 
 Making the mighty afraid and the proud to bow 
 
 low and the wicked to tremble. 
 
 43 
 
Soon let me hear the great song that shall sound 
 
 in the deep of the heavens; 
 Show me the lantern of light hanging low in 
 
 the deep of the heavens." 
 
 The voice of the singer grew faint and 
 the lyre dropped from her hands. They 
 could see her reeling, and suddenly she fell 
 headlong to the rug beneath her pedestal. 
 Antipater rose quickly with angry eyes. 
 
 "The accursed girl!" said he. "A Gal- 
 ilean slave of my father. She is forever 
 chanting of a new king." 
 
 Hot with anger and flushed with wine, 
 he ran, cursing, and kicked the shapely form 
 that lay fainting at the foot of its pedestal. 
 
 "Fool!" he shouted. "Know you not 
 that I only am your king ? You shall be 
 punished; you shall enter the cage of the 
 leopard." 
 
 He went no further. Vergilius had rush- 
 ed upon him and flung him to the floor. 
 Antipater rose quickly and approached the 
 young Roman, a devil in his eyes. Vergilius 
 had a look of wonder and self-reproach. 
 44 
 
TafrgtltMfl 
 
 "What have I done?" said he, facing the 
 Jew. "Son of Herod, forgive me. She is 
 your slave, and I — I am no longer master of 
 myself. I doubt not some strange god is 
 working in me, for I seem to be weak- 
 hearted and cannbt bear to see you kick 
 her." 
 
 The declaration was greeted with loud 
 laughter. Antipater stood muttering as he 
 shook the skirt of his toga. 
 
 " 'Tisodd, mygood fellows," said Vergilius, 
 "but the other day I saw a man scourging 
 his lady's-maid. Mother of the gods! I felt 
 as if the blows were falling on my own back, 
 and out went my hand upon his arm and I 
 begged him — I begged him to spare the 
 girl." 
 ■.Jdl laughed again. 
 
 "You should have a doll and long hair," 
 said Antipater, in a tone of contempt. 
 
 The proud son of Varro stood waiting as 
 the others laughed, his brows and chin lift- 
 ing a bit with anger. When silence came 
 he spoke slowly, looking from face to face : 
 45 
 
" If any here dare to question my courage, 
 within a moment it shall be proved upon 
 him." 
 
 None spoke or moved for a breath. 
 Antipater answered, presently: 
 
 " I doubt not your courage, noble Ver- 
 giKus, but if you will have it tried I can 
 show you a better way, and one that will 
 spare your friends. Come, all of you." 
 
 As they were rising, the young Gracus 
 remarked: "By Apollo! I have not taken 
 my emetic." 
 
 "To forget that is to know sorrow," said 
 another. 
 
 Slaves brought their outer robes and 
 they followed the young prince. He led 
 them, between vines and fruit trees and beds 
 of martagon and mirasolus, to the lion-house 
 in his garden. Vergilius now understood 
 the test of courage to be put upon him. 
 The great beasts were asleep in their cages, 
 and Antipater prodded them with a lance. 
 A thunder in their throats seemed to fill 
 the air and shake the flames in the lampa- 
 46 
 
daria. With sword and lance Antipater 
 entered the arena, a space barred high, 
 about thirty feet square, upon which all the 
 cages opened. 
 
 "The tiger!" he commanded. 
 
 Keepers lifted a metal gate, and the huge 
 cat leaped away from their lances, backed 
 snarling to the end of his cage, and with a 
 slow, creeping movement put his head and 
 fore-paws into the arena ; then a swift step or 
 two, a lowering of the great head, and side- 
 long he stood, with eyes aglow and fangs 
 uncovered, a low mutter in his mouth, like 
 the roar of a mighty harp - string. Some 
 fifteen feet away stood the son of Herod, 
 his lance poised. 
 
 "Never strike while your beast has a 
 foot to the ground," said he, keeping his 
 gaze on the face of the tiger. "He will 
 be quick to move and parry. Wait until 
 he is in the air, and then thrust your 
 lance." 
 
 He made a feint with his weapon; the 
 tiger darted half his length aside, with a 
 
 47 
 
great, bursting roar, and, crouching low, 
 stealthily felt the ground beneath him. 
 
 "Watch him now," said the tall Antip- 
 ater. " He will leap soon." 
 
 Again he drove him forward, and then 
 the beast turned, facing his tormentor, and 
 crouched low. There, in a huge setting of 
 bone and muscle strangely fitted to its 
 fierceness, with eyes of fire and feet of 
 deadly stealth, its back arched like a drawn 
 bow, the wild heart of the son of Herod 
 seemed to be facing him. 
 
 " Look!" a slave shouted. " He has bent 
 his bow." 
 
 The haired lip of the beast quivered; 
 great cords of muscle were drawn tense. 
 Like a flash the bow sprang and the col- 
 umns of bone beneath him lifted, flinging 
 his long, striped body in the air. With cat- 
 like swiftness Antipater stepped aside, and 
 while the huge beast was in mid-air, thrust 
 the lance into his heart. He bore with all 
 his strength and rushed away, seizing another 
 weapon . The big cat fell and rose and struck 
 48 
 
Sit the clinging lance, and stood a second 
 flooding the floor with blood . Then down he 
 went shuddering to his death. The young 
 men shouted loud their applause in honor 
 of Herod's son. While the beast was dying 
 slaves came and sanded the floor. Then, 
 presently, they swept up the red sand, and 
 tying a rope to the legs of the limp tiger, 
 dragged him away. They had done this 
 kind of work before, and each knew his 
 part. Presently Antipater called two of 
 them. 
 
 " Bring that girl Cyran — she that chants 
 of her new king," said he, as they ran to do 
 his bidding. 
 
 "Noble prince, the strange god is again 
 at work in me," said Vergilius, with rising 
 ire. " I could not bear to see you put her 
 with the leopard ; I should rather face him 
 myself." 
 
 "You!" said the other, tauntingly, and 
 
 with a shrewd purpose. The youths turned 
 
 to see if Vergilius would really accept the 
 
 challenge. No man had ever faced a blacl<. 
 
 49 
 
leopard at close quarters without suffering 
 death or injury. 
 
 "I," said Vergilius, promptly. "If it 
 is amusement you desire, I can supply 
 it as well as she. Surely I have more 
 blood in me. If you wish only to feed 
 the leopard — will I not make a better 
 feast?" 
 
 A sound hushed them. It was the slave- 
 girl, singing as she came near: 
 
 " Send, quickly send, the new king whose arrows 
 
 shall fly as the lightning, 
 Making the mighty afraid and the proud to bow 
 
 low and the wicked to tremble. 
 Soon let me hear the great song that shall sound 
 
 in the deep of the heavens; 
 Show me the lantern of light hanging low in 
 
 the deep of the heavens." 
 
 She was fair to look upon as she came, 
 led by the camifex, her form, draped in soft, 
 transparent linen, like that of a goddess in 
 its outline, her face lighted even with that 
 light of which she sang. 
 
 " The girl against a hundred denarii that 
 5° 
 
you cannot live an hour in the arena with 
 him," said Antipater, hotly. 
 
 "I accept the wager," Vergilius calmly 
 answered, laying off his robe and seizing 
 a lance. He entered the arena and closed 
 its gate behind him. " Drive the beast in 
 upon me, son of Herod; and you, Gracus, 
 be ready to hand me another lance." 
 
 The black leopard spat fiercely and struck 
 at the points that were put upon it, the 
 deep rumble in its throat swelling into 
 loud crescendos. Of a sudden it bounded 
 through the gateway and stood a moment, 
 baring great fangs. The animal threatened 
 with long hisses. Vergilius held its eye, 
 his lance raised. The hissing ceased, the 
 growl diminished, the stealthy paws moved 
 slowly. Soon it rolled upon its side, 
 purring, and seemed to caress the floor 
 with head and paws — a trick to divert 
 the gaze of Vergilius. The Satanic eyes 
 were ever on its foe. As the beast lay 
 there, twisting and turning, the black fur 
 seemed to wrap it in the gloom of Tar- 
 51 
 
tarus, and the fire of the burning lake to 
 shine through its eyes. While Vergilius 
 stood motionless and alert, a slave hurried- 
 ly entered the lion-house and spoke to An- 
 tipater. 
 
 "The imperator!" whispered the slave. 
 " He cannot wait ; he must see you quickly." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In the palace hall." 
 
 Antipater hurried away. 
 
 The slave-girl went close to the barred 
 arena. 
 
 "Young master," said she, in quick and 
 eager words, "the lamps are burning dim- 
 mer. They will go out soon. It is a trick. 
 You will not be able to see and the leopard 
 will rend you." 
 
 Antipater ran to the banquet-hall of his 
 palace, where sat the emperor, his chin rest- 
 ing thoughtfully on his hand. The great 
 Augustus did not look up nor even change 
 his attitude as the son of Herod came near 
 and bowed low and called him father. 
 
 "I have a plan," said the emperor. 
 52 
 
thoughtfully, " — a pretty plan, my young 
 prince of — of — " 
 
 "Judea?" suggested the young prince. 
 
 "Oh, well, it matters not," the great 
 father went on. "You know that fair 
 Vergilius, son of Varro? A headstrong, 
 foolish youth he is, and I fear much that 
 he is like to die shortly. What think 
 you?" 
 
 The piercing eyes of Augustus were look- 
 ing into those of the young man. 
 
 " My great father," said the latter, " I do 
 not know." 
 
 " 'Tis gross ignorance and unworthy of 
 you," said Augustus, quickly, as he rose. 
 "Well, I have bethought me of a pretty 
 plan. Your funeral and his shall occur on 
 the same day — a fine, great, amusing fu- 
 neral," he added, thoughtfully. "It shall 
 be so. Do not worry, I shall see you well 
 buried. Ah, you are most impolite. Why 
 do you not ask me to drink your health? 
 My pretty prince, you look most ill and 
 have need of my good wishes."^ 
 S3 
 
"Dominus!" said the other, trembling 
 with anxiety. 
 
 "Dominus!" the old emperor shouted, 
 angrily. "Call me ass, if you dare, but 
 never call me ' Dominus.' " 
 
 "You honor me, great father," said the 
 young man, .his eyes staring with terror, 
 "but I beg you to excuse me for a little 
 time." 
 
 "Ah, so you would leave me," said the 
 sly emperor, in his mildest tones. "A 
 most inhospitable wretch, indeed." 
 
 The tall Jew was now pale with fright. 
 His feeling showed in great beads of per- 
 spiration. He dared not to stay; he dared 
 not to go. He was in a worse plight than 
 Vergilius, now standing in the leopard's 
 cage. 
 
 "A most inhospitable prince," the bland 
 emperor repeated, smiling with amusement. 
 "You are in a hurry?" 
 
 " I am ill." 
 
 The emperor stood smiling as Antipater 
 glided away. 
 
 54 
 
UtrgtUuH 
 
 "Run, you knave!" said the former to 
 himself, with a chuckle of satisfaction. 
 " Upon my soul ! the Jew has already set 
 his snare." 
 
 Then the gentle and cunning man, Gaius 
 Julius Caesar Octavianus Augustus, made 
 his way to the entrance where lecticarii were 
 waiting with his litter. 
 
 "Can you hear the sotmd of running 
 feet?" he inquired of the lady who sat be- 
 side him as they went away. 
 
 "Yes. What means it?" 
 
 He turned with a smile and a move- 
 ment of his hand. Then he answered 
 calmly : 
 
 "Death is chasing a man through the 
 garden yonder." 
 
 While Antipater was running towards the 
 lion-house, that small tragedy of the arena 
 was near its end. 
 
 The lights are burning low. Two have 
 flickered for a little and gone out. The 
 young men are watching with eager eyes. 
 
 " I can bear it no longer," says one, rush- 
 55 
 
ing to the gate of the arena, only to find 
 that he could not open it. 
 
 The slave -girl utters a cry and steps 
 forward and is caught and held by the 
 camifex. 
 
 Vergilius urges the leopard. He steps 
 quickly, feinting with his lance; the cat 
 darts along the farther side of the arena, 
 roaring. Its eyes glow fiery in the dusk. 
 The beast is become furious with continued 
 baiting. Half the lamps are out and the 
 light rapidly failing as Antipater rushes 
 through the door. He falls beside the arena, 
 rises and opens the gate. 
 
 "A lance," he whispers, and it is quickly 
 put in his hands. ' ' Come, come quickly, son 
 of Varro," he whispers again. "The light 
 is failing. He will tear you into shreds. 
 Come through the gate here." 
 
 Vergilius had stopped, facing the leopard 
 with lance raised. 
 
 "Not unless I have the wager," says he, 
 calmly. 
 
 "You have won it," Antipater answers. 
 56 
 
"Come, good friend, be quick, I beg of 
 you!" 
 
 Both moved backward through the gate, 
 and before it closed there came a fling 
 of claws on the floor. A black ball, bound 
 hard with tightened sinew, rose in the air 
 and shot across the arena and shook the 
 gate which had closed in time to stop it. 
 
 "You are living, son of Varro, and I tha,nk 
 the God of my fathers," Antipater shouted, 
 as he flung himself on a big divan, his 
 breath coming fast. "I forgot the lights. 
 I thought of them suddenly, and ran to 
 save you. If I had been running in the 
 games I should have won the laurel of 
 Caesar." 
 
 " I was wrong — he could not have meant 
 to slay me," thought Vergilius. "Not by 
 the paws of the leopard." 
 
 Cyran stood near the door, weeping. An- 
 tipater rose and led her to Vergilius. 
 
 "The girl is yours," said he. "I am 
 glad to be done with her. Come, all." 
 They followed him to the palace, and 
 s 57 
 
Vergilius bade the girl dress and be ready to 
 join his pedisequi in the outer hall. She 
 knelt before him and kissed the border of 
 his tunic. 
 
 "Oh, my young master!" said she, "I 
 shall be of those who part the briers in 
 your way." Then she hurried to obey him. 
 
 "I would speak with you, noble son of 
 Varro," said Antipater, beckoning. 
 
 Vergilius followed to the deep atrium of 
 the palace, where they stood alone. 
 
 " You have one thing I desire, and I will 
 pay you five thousand aurei to relinquish 
 it — five thousand aurei," the Jew whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "And what is it you would buy of me, 
 noble prince?" 
 
 "A mere plaything! A bouquet that 
 will fade shortly and be flung aside. The 
 thing happens to suit my fancy, and — and I 
 can afford it." 
 
 In the moment of silence that followed 
 this remark a stem look of inquiry came 
 into the face of Vergilius. 
 58 
 
" Man, do you not know ? 'Tis the sister 
 of Appius," Antipater added, lightly. 
 
 "Ctir of Judea!" hissed the knight, his 
 sword flashing out of its scabbard, " J. shall 
 cut you down and fltiig you out to the 
 dogs. Fight here and now. I demand 
 it!" 
 
 The young Roman spoke loudly and stood 
 waiting. Those others had heard the chal- 
 lenge and were now coming near. Antip- 
 ater stood silent, glaring, as had the leop- 
 ard, with an evil leer at his foe, and think- 
 ing no doubt of the warning of Augustus. 
 The stiff, straight hairs in his mustache 
 quivered as he turned slowly, watchfully, 
 towards the others, who were now standing 
 near. Since his funeral should occur on 
 the same day, how could he fight with 
 Vergilius ? 
 
 "You dare not," the latter added, fierce- 
 ly;" and before these men I denounce you as 
 a coward — a coward who fears to raise a 
 hand." 
 
 His arm was extended, his finger at the 
 S9 
 
face of the Jew, now white with passion. 
 Half a moment passed in which there was 
 no word. 
 
 "You living carrion!" said the young 
 knight, turning and walking away. " I am 
 done with you." 
 
 He took tlie hand of the poor slave 
 Cjrran, and walked to the farther side of 
 the atrium. He turned, still white with 
 anger as if unsatisfied. 
 
 "Pet of harlots!" said he, fiercely. "It 
 is time for some one to stand for the honor 
 of good women. If you do but speak her 
 name again before me I will run you 
 through." 
 
 Receiving no answer, he departed with 
 Cyran, while the others gathered about 
 their host. 
 
 There was a heavy rumble in the throat 
 of Antipater — a tiger-like, Herodian trait — 
 and then a volley of oaths came out of it. 
 He trembled with rage and flung his sword 
 far across the dim atrium with a shout of 
 anger. Like the great cats in his rage, he 
 60 
 
was like them also in his methods of attack 
 — sly and terrible, but with a deep regard 
 for the integrity of his own skin. Sure of 
 his advantage, he could be as brave as 
 when he faced the tiger. 
 
 He sat awhile muttering, his face between 
 his hands. Soon, having calmed his passion, 
 he rose and snarled: "Good sirs, never 
 quarrel with the pet of an emperor, for if 
 one spares you the other wiU not." 
 
i'RRIA and her mother sat 
 with the emperor. He was 
 i ^ IJ^' at home and in a playful 
 { ^A ?^^ humor. The hour of his ban- 
 ^^ ^'^£-||, quet was approaching. Soon 
 '" "^ he would be summoned to 
 receive his guests. 
 " Nay, but I am sure he loves me," the 
 girl was saying. 
 
 The cunning emperor smiled and spoke 
 very gently. "Think you so, dear child? 
 I will put him to the test. Soon we shall 
 know if he be worthy of so great a prize. 
 I will try both his wit and his devotion, but 
 you — you cannot be here." 
 "And why, great father?" 
 62 
 
" Think you it could be a test with your 
 eye upon him?" 
 
 "Oh, but I must see it," said the girl. 
 " Unless I see it I shall not know. Let me 
 be your slave and stand behind you in 
 gray cloth. Beloved father, I implore you, 
 let me see the test." 
 
 "Ah, well," said the emperor, rising, with 
 a smile. "I shall know nothing but that 
 you have gone above-stairs to find Clia, 
 mistress of the robes. Tell her to give you 
 a box of tablets, and when I raise my 
 finger — so — they are to be delivered. 
 Away with you." 
 
 Arria left with a cry of joy, and present- 
 ly Augustus went with the Lady Lucia to 
 meet his guests. 
 
 The "commands" of the emperor had 
 given the hour of the banquet and pre- 
 scribed the dress to be worn. Vergilius 
 had waited anxiously for the moment when 
 he should again see the great god of Rome, 
 who could give or take away as he would. 
 Standing at the door of Csesax, he wondered 
 63 
 
whether he were nearing the end of all pleas- 
 ure or the gate of paradise. A .plate of pol- 
 ished brass hung on its lintel, bearing in large 
 letters the word Salve. A slave opened the 
 door and took his pallium. Julia, that way- 
 ward, daughter of Augustus, now three times 
 married, but yet beautiful, met him in the 
 inner hall, and. together they walked to the 
 banquet-room. There the emperor, limping 
 slightly, came to meet VergUius, and there, 
 also, were the guests, seven in number: 
 Appius and his mother, the Lady Lucia; 
 Terentia, wife of the late Maecenas ; Manius, 
 an assessor in Judea ; Hortensius, legate of 
 Spain; Antipater, son of Herod the Great; 
 and Aulus Valerius Maro, the senator. 
 
 ' ' It enters my thought to say to you, ' ' said 
 the emperor, aside, as he put his hand upon 
 the shoulder of Vergilius, "keep the num- 
 ber one in your mind, so that by-and-by 
 you can tell me what you make of it." 
 
 Slaves had covered the table with fish 
 and fowl in dishes of unwrought silver. 
 The guests reclined upon three great divans 
 64 
 
set around as many sides of the table. 
 They ate resting on their elbows, and were 
 so disposed that each could see the host 
 without turning. The emperor asked only 
 for coarse bread, a morsel of fish, two 
 figs, and a bit of cheese. 
 
 "My good friends," said he, in a low 
 voice, when the wine was served, "we have 
 with us an able officer in this young Manius, 
 one of our assessors in Jerusalem. I ask 
 you to drink his health. Though I can 
 drink no wine, I can feel good sentiments." 
 
 One could not help remarking his fixed 
 serenity of face and voice and manner as he 
 went on: 
 
 "Some time ago it came to my ear that 
 he thought me a tyrant wallowing in vulgar 
 and ill-gotten luxury." 
 
 There was a little stir in those heads 
 around the table, and in every hand and 
 face one might have seen evidence of quick- 
 ened pulses. The young officer was now 
 staring through deathly pallor. 
 
 "My friends, it is not strange," said the 
 65 
 
great Augustus, mildly. "To Jerusalem 
 is quite two thousand miles; and, then, 
 he was very young when he left the 
 home of his fathers. Am I not right, 
 Manius?" 
 
 "Your words are both true and kindly," 
 said the yotmg man. 
 
 "And you are discerning," said the em- 
 peror, with a smile. " Now, good people, ob- 
 serve that I have invited oiir young officer 
 to Rome for two purposes: to show him, 
 first, that I live no better than the poorest 
 nobleman; secondly, that I am only a ser- 
 vant of the people ; for, since he is an able 
 officer, I shall resist my own will and keep 
 him in the public service." 
 
 " Bravo!" said they all, and clapped their 
 hands. 
 
 A strange, inscrutable man was the em- 
 peror at that moment, the mildness of a 
 lamb in his voice and manner, the gleam 
 of a serpent's eye under his brows. And 
 that right hand of his, clinched now and 
 quivering a little, had it grasped a reach- 
 06 
 
ing, invisible serpent within him ? Kindly ? 
 Yes, but with the kindness of a deep and 
 subtle character who saw in forbearance the 
 best poUtics and the most effective disci- 
 pline. Lights were now aglow in a great 
 candelabrum over the table and in many 
 tall lampadaria. 
 
 A slave, who was a juggler, came near 
 and began to fill the gloom above him 
 with golden disks. From afar came the 
 music of flutes and timbrels. Julia retired 
 presently, and returned soon with her pet 
 dwarf Cenopas. She stood him on a large, 
 round table, and the guests greeted him 
 with loud laughter as he looked down. 
 He had a hard, unlovely face, that little 
 dwarf. He suggested to Vergilius unwel- 
 come thoughts of a new sort of Cupid — de- 
 formed, evil, and hideous — typifying the 
 degenerate passions of Rome. There were 
 in the quiver of this Cupid arrows which 
 carried the venom of the asp. Some at the 
 table mocked his grinning face and made a 
 jest of his deformity. When he could be 
 67 
 
heard he mimicked the speech and manners 
 of public men. 
 
 "A Cupid with a knot in his back," said 
 one. 
 
 "And if I were to aim an arrow at you," 
 said the dwarf, quickly, "I'm sure you'd 
 have a pain in yours." 
 
 "My dear," said the gentle - mannered 
 emperor, when the laughter had died away, 
 " I think we shall now give him the crown 
 of folly and let him go." 
 
 "Between the greatest and the least of 
 Romans," said his daughter, rising and 
 pointing at her father and then at the dwarf, 
 "I am lost in mediocrity." 
 
 A slave took the little creature in his 
 arms and bore him away as if he had been 
 a pet dog. 
 
 "Tell me, young men," said the em- 
 peror, "have you no lines to read us — 
 you that have youth and beauty and 
 sweethearts? How is it with you, good 
 Vergilius?" 
 
 The young man shook his head. " No," 
 68 
 
said he; "I have youth and a sweetheart, 
 but not the gift of poesy." 
 
 "No Knes! What are we coming to in 
 this Rome of ours? Are there no more 
 poets? My dear friends, tell me, in the 
 baths or the forum or the theatre, or wher- 
 ever the people congregate, do you hear of 
 no youth that has the divine gift of song?" 
 
 He paused for a little, but there was no 
 reply. 
 
 "Then Rome is in evil days," said the 
 great father, sadly. 
 
 "Why ?" It was the question of Gracus. 
 
 "Why, young man? Because in every 
 land there should be those who can cherish 
 the fear of the gods and make honor beau- 
 tiful and love sacred and valor a thing of 
 imperishable fame. I assure you, good peo- 
 ple, one poet is better," he paused, thought- 
 fully — "than ten thousand soldiers," he 
 added. "Who will bring me a poet ?" 
 
 The gods are indeed helpless, thought 
 Vergilius. They must have poets to do 
 their work for them ? But he said nothing. 
 69 
 
"The streets are full of poets," said 
 Gracus. 
 
 "Those old men with long beards and 
 stilted rubbish!" said Augustus, "with 
 tragedies that slay the hero and the hear- 
 er! Bring me a poet, and, remember, I 
 shall honor him above all men. Once I 
 invited Horace to dine with me, and got no 
 answer. He was a proud man" — this with 
 a merry smile. "Again I invited him, and 
 then he deigned to write me a sentence, 
 merely, and said : ' Thanks, I am happy out 
 here on my farm.' I did not know what 
 to do, but I wrote a letter and said to 
 the great man: 'You may not desire my 
 friendship, but that is no reason for my 
 failing to value yours.' I am proud to 
 say that he was my friend ever after. But 
 I weary you." 
 
 A female slave, thickly veiled, stood be- 
 hind him. He made a signal and she 
 quickly put in his hand a little box of ivory, 
 finely wrought. 
 
 "I have here," said the great father, 
 70 
 
" nine disks of wax. You see they are very- 
 small, but so they shall serve my purpose 
 the better. Will each of you take one and 
 retire from the table and write upon it the 
 thing he most desires? Now, my dear 
 friends, brevity is ever as the point of the 
 lance. Wit is blunt and Truth half armed 
 without it. I lay a test upon you." 
 
 All retired quickly, and, soon returning, 
 dropped their wishes in the box. The play- 
 ful emperor closed and shook it and with- 
 drew a disk. 
 
 " I find here the word ' preference, ' " said 
 he, and all observed that his keen eyes were 
 calmly measuring the prince Antipater. "It 
 is a poor word, and does you little honor, my 
 young friend. In mere preference there is 
 no merit. Here is another, and it says ' more 
 wine.' Keep his goblet full," he added, 
 pointing to that of the senator, as all 
 laughed. "Here is one says 'rest.' Have 
 patience, my good daughter, I shall soon 
 "be done talking. Another has on it the 
 words "your health' — a charming compli- 
 71 
 
ment, dear Lady Lucia. 'Courage,' 'wis- 
 dom,' 'success,'" he added, reading from 
 the tablets. "Naturally, and who, indeed, 
 does not desire those things ? Here is one 
 that says 'help' — a great word, upon my 
 soul! He that prays for help and not for 
 favor, if he do his best, may have many 
 good things — even ' courage,' ' wisdom,' ' suc- 
 cess.' Keep at work and you shall have 
 my help, Appius, and, I doubt not, that of 
 the gods also. Here is one — I like it best 
 of all — it is that of the modest young Ver- 
 gilius. He would have a priceless thing. 
 And do you," he inquired, turning to the 
 young knight, " desire this above all things ? 
 Think ; there is the distinction of place and 
 power and honor- — the ring of a legate 
 would become you well!" 
 
 " But, above all," said Vergilius, " I desire 
 that I have written." 
 
 "Beautiful boy!" said the cunning em- 
 peror. " 'Tis so great a prize, give me an- 
 other test of your quality. With one word 
 you ask for one thing. To try your wit, I 
 72 
 
give you a theme so small it is next to 
 naught — the number one. Tell us, and 
 briefly as you may, what is in it." 
 
 The yo\ing man rose and bowed low. 
 " One is in all numbers," said he, "and un- 
 less all numbers are as one they are noth- 
 ing. I desire one mistress for my heart, one 
 purpose for my conduct, and one great 
 master for my country." 
 
 "The gods grant them!" said Augustus, 
 leading the applause. 
 
 "And now I shall proclaim the word he 
 has written. It is 'Arria,' and stands, I 
 know well, for the sister of Appius." 
 
 He turned quickly to the still and silent 
 figure of the slave behind him. All eyes 
 were now watching her. 
 
 "Are you content?" he inquired. 
 
 Gray veil and robe fell away, revealing 
 the beautiful sister of Appius. Vergilius 
 went quickly to her side. 
 
 "I declare them for each other!" said 
 the emperor, as all rose and gathered 
 around the two. He took the boy's hand. 
 6 73 
 
"Come to me at ten to-morrow," he 
 added. 
 
 "But, O father of Rome!" said Arria, 
 looking up at the great man, "how long 
 shall you detain him?" 
 
 "Give me half an hoiir, you love-sick 
 maiden," said Augustus. "He shall be at 
 your palace in good time." 
 
 "Come at the middle hour," said the 
 Lady Lucia, her hand upon the arm of Ver- 
 gilius. 
 
 "The gods give you sleep," said the 
 great father, as he bade them good-night. 
 
 Beneath the laurels on their way to the 
 gate, Gracus, who rode with Antipater, 
 said: 
 
 "And what of your oath, son of Her- 
 od?" 
 
 "But they are not yet married," the 
 other answered, malevolently. "Vergilius! 
 Bah ! He is the son of a praetor and I am 
 the son of a king. Curse the old fox! 
 He never spoke to me after greetings, 
 and once when I glanced up at him I 
 74 
 
thought his keen eyes were looking through 
 me." 
 
 "Those eyes! Jupiter!" said Gracus, 
 "they drop a plummet into one." 
 
OW there were few barriers 
 between the emperor and 
 the people. He went to 
 work in his study at an early 
 hour and gave a patient 
 hearing to any but foolish 
 men. This morning he had 
 been reading a long address from the legate 
 of Syria. He had a way of dividing his 
 thought between reading and small affairs 
 of the state. His legate recited all he had 
 been able to learn of the new king they were 
 now expecting in Judea. He told also of a 
 plot which had baffled all his efforts and 
 which aimed to take the life of Herod and 
 crown the king of prophecy and divine power. 
 76 
 
"We must have a spy of noble blood 
 and bearing, of unswerving fidelity and 
 honor, and with some knowledge of the 
 religion of Judea," said the legate. "Of 
 course, you will not be able to find him, 
 for where in all the world, save yourself, 
 good father, is there such a man?" 
 
 Augustus dropped the sheet of vellum 
 and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 
 
 "How about this young Vergilius — the 
 handsome, clever, woman-loving Vergilius ?" 
 he thought. Then for a moment the cun- 
 ning emperor laughed silently. 
 
 Ever since he began to read the letter he 
 had been conversing with his daughter 
 JuHa. 
 
 "If you can propose a better candidate 
 for the girl, I — " he paused, looking intently 
 at the letter — "I shall consider him," he 
 added, presently. 
 
 "She is beautiful," his daughter whis- 
 pered. "I know one who will give to the 
 state many thousand aurei." 
 
 " No need of hurry. The young Vergilius 
 77 
 
will give what is better than money, and 
 then—" 
 
 The emperor paused again. 
 
 "And then?" it was the inquiry of Julia. 
 
 " He will forget her and she will grow 
 weary and yield. There's time enough, 
 and time" — he took a Httle mirror from 
 the table and looked down upon it — "can 
 accomplish many things," he added. "It 
 will have the assistance of fame and honor 
 and new faces. Now go, I beg of you, and 
 leave me to my work." 
 
 A delegation of Jews — petty merchants of 
 the Trastevere — were leaving as Vergilius 
 entered. The emperor, now alone save 
 for his young caller, rose and gave him 
 a sprig of laurel. 
 
 " Sit here," said he, resuming his seat and 
 pausing for a little to study a sheet of vel- 
 lum in his hands. He continued, without 
 raising his eyes : " I have another test for you, 
 my fair son. You shall be assistant pro- 
 curator in Jerusalem, with rank of tribune. 
 78 
 
It may be you shall have command of the 
 castle. Three days from now take the 
 south road with Manius and a troop of 
 horse. This coirrt of Herod — of coiirse, I 
 am speaking kindly, my dear Vergilius— 
 but, you may know, it is a place of mys- 
 teries, and there are many things I do not 
 need to say to you." 
 
 The old emperor, leaning forward, touch- 
 ed the arm of the young man and gave him 
 a cunning glance. 
 
 "A cipher," he added, passing the sheet 
 of vellum. "It will be known to you and 
 to me only. You will understand what I 
 wish to know. You shall have command 
 of a cohort." 
 
 Vergilius thought for a second of that 
 strange overhauling of Manius the night be- 
 fore, and of the shrewdness of the great 
 father in returning him, kindly, to his 
 task, with a pair of eyes to keep watch of 
 him. 
 
 "With all my heart I thank you," said 
 the yotmg knight. " But — my beloved 
 79 
 
father — I was hoping to marry and — and 
 know the path of peace." 
 
 "But I am sure you will wait two 
 years — only two years," said the other, 
 rising with extended hands. "There is 
 time enough ; and remember, whether to 
 peace or war, your path is that of duty. 
 Farewell!" 
 
 It was a way he had of commanding, 
 kindly but inexorable, and Vergilius knew 
 it. Again he spoke as the knight turned 
 away. 
 
 "This young Antipater — do you know 
 him?" 
 
 "Not well." 
 
 "But, possibly, well enough," said the 
 emperor, with a knowing look. Then, 
 casually: " Oh, there is yet a little matter — 
 that new king the Jews are looking for — 
 if he should come, I suppose he will report 
 to me, but — ^but let me know what you 
 learn. Study the Jewish faith and discover 
 what this hope is founded upon." Then 
 he turned quickly and went away. 
 80 
 
This "little matter" counted much with 
 the shrewd emperor. Kings were his pup- 
 pets, and if there were to be a new one 
 he must, indeed, consider what to do with 
 him. Yet he had shame of his interest in 
 "that foolish gossip" of an alien race. 
 Therefore he put it only as a trifling after- 
 thought. But he had a way of talking with 
 his eyes, and the alert youth read them 
 well. 
 
 That elation of the young lover now had 
 its boundary of thoughtfulness. Going 
 down the Palatine, he was also descending 
 his hiU of happiness. Below him, in the 
 Forum, he could see the golden mile-stone 
 of Augustus, now like a pillar of fire in the 
 sunlight ; he could see the beginning of those 
 many roads radiating from it to far periph- 
 eries of the empire. Tens of thousands 
 had turned their backs upon it, leav- 
 ing with slow feet, some to live in dis- 
 tant, inhospitable lands, some to die of 
 fever and the sword, some to return for- 
 gotten of their kindred, and some few 
 8i 
 
with laurels of renown; but all of these 
 many who went away were leaving, for 
 long or forever, love and home and 
 peace. 
 
 " The army is sucking our blood, and Hate 
 grows while Love is starving," Vergilius re- 
 flected, as he went along, while a hideous, 
 unwelcome thought grew slowly, creeping 
 over him. This golden mile-stone was the 
 centre of a great spider-web laced by road 
 and sea way to the far comers of the empire ; 
 and that cunning, alert man — who was he 
 but the spider? 
 
 "And I^what am I, now, but one of his 
 flies caught in the mighty web ?" he thought. 
 "Love and its peace have come to me and 
 I shall know them — for three days — and 
 perhaps no longer." 
 
 His wealth and rank and influence might, 
 if used with diplomacy, have kept him at 
 home, for, after all, he was a Varro; but 
 Arria had been used to press him into 
 bondage. 
 
 "Another test!" he said to himself. "Ah, 
 82 
 
what a cunning old fox! He needed a spy, 
 and one of character and noble blood. 
 How well he tested my cleverness! And 
 now I am his, body and soul." 
 
HILE Vergilius, going slowly, 
 was thinking of these things, 
 Vanity, the only real god- 
 
 dess who, in Rome, managed 
 
 m the great theatre of fashion, 
 *^^' had her stage set for a love 
 scene. It was to occur in 
 the triclinium, or great banquet-hall, of a 
 palace — that of the Lady Lucia. There 
 were portrait-masks and mural paintings 
 on either wall; ancestral statues of white 
 marble stood in a row against the red wall ; 
 there were seats and divans of ebony en- 
 riched by cunning hands ; lamp-holders of 
 wrought metal standing high as a man's 
 head, and immense violet rugs on the floor. 
 84 
 
The heroine wore a white robe banded low 
 with purple, and her jewelled hair was in 
 fillets of gold. There was always a pretty 
 artftilness in the match-making of a pa- 
 trician beauty and her mother. Indeed, 
 life had groTAm far from elemental emotions. 
 
 "Now, when he enters," said the girl, 
 turning to the Lady Lucia, "I shall bring 
 him here at once and sit down by this heap 
 of cushions, and then — Oh, god of my heart ! 
 What shall I do with that big man — what 
 shall I say to him?" 
 
 "My dear, he will speak, and then you 
 will know what to say," said the matron. 
 "Only do not let him know that you love 
 him — at least, not for a time yet." 
 
 "Too late; I fear he knows it now — the 
 wretch!" said Arria, rubbing her cheeks to 
 make them glow. 
 
 " But mind you hold him off, and do not 
 let him caress you for an hour at least. 
 One kiss and one only." 
 
 "One!" the girl repeated, with contempt. 
 "How xmgenerous are the old!", 
 85 
 
"Hard to count are a lover's kisses," her 
 mother answered, with a sigh. " But you 
 can use them up in a day. Really, you can 
 use them up all in a day." 
 
 "A day full of kisses! Oh, heart of me! 
 Think of it!" said the beautiful girl, cover- 
 ing her face a moment. " I will not have 
 the yellow cushions," she added, quickly. 
 "Here, take these and bring me two violet 
 ones, and that cushion of gauze filled with 
 rose leaves. I will have that in my lap 
 when we are sitting here. Now what do 
 you think of the colors?" she demanded. 
 
 " Beautiful ! And best of all that in your 
 cheeks. I doubt not he will worship you." 
 
 " Or he is no kind of a man," said Arria, 
 thoughtfully. " Oh, son of Varro ! come, I 
 am waiting. If he takes me in his arms, 
 what shall I do?" 
 
 "Thrust him aside — tell him that you do 
 not like it." 
 
 "And what shall I do if he does not?" 
 
 " Bid him go at once. We have no need 
 of any half -men." 
 
 86 
 
"But he will," said the girl, with a wor- 
 ried look. ' ' He shall embrace me — he shall, 
 or — or I will bid my brother kill him. Oh, 
 wretch!" She jtimped to her feet with a 
 merry cry. "I have an idea," she added, 
 clapping her hands. "When the sunlight 
 falls on the floor yonder, I will get up and 
 dance in it." 
 
 "A pretty trick!" said her mother. 
 
 "Oh, son of Varro! why do you not 
 come?" said the girl, impatiently. "I love 
 him so I could die for him — I could die for 
 him! Perhaps he loves me not and I shall 
 never see him again." 
 
 She hurried to the outer court, whispering 
 anxiously: " Come, son of Varro. Oh, come 
 quickly, son of Varro!" 
 
 When Vergilius arrived Arria was wait- 
 ing for him there in the court of the palace. 
 Her white silk rustled as she ran to meet 
 him. Her cheeks had the pink of roses 
 and her eyes a glow in them like that 
 of diamonds. She stopped as he came 
 near, and turned away. 
 87 
 
"MiVQxUtxB 
 
 'Tears?" said he, leaning down, with his 
 arms about her. "Oh, love, let me see your 
 face!" 
 
 She turned quickly with a little toss of 
 her head and took a step backward. 
 
 "You shall not call me love," said she — 
 "not yet. You have not told me that you 
 love me." 
 
 " I told all who were at the palace of the 
 great father." 
 
 " But you have not told me, son of Varro." 
 
 "I do love you." He was approaching. 
 
 ' ' Hush ! Not now, ' ' she answered, taking 
 his hand in hers — temporizing. "Come, I 
 will race with you." 
 
 She ran, leading him, with quick, pattering 
 feet through an inner hall and up the long 
 triclinium. There, presently, she threw her- 
 self upon the heap of cushions. 
 
 "Now, sit," said she, draping her robe 
 and then feeling her hair that was aglow 
 with jewels. 
 
 A graceful and charming creature was this 
 child of the new empire, a noble beauty 
 88 
 
in her face and form, the value of a small 
 kingdom on her body. " Not so near," said 
 she, as he complied. "Now, son of my 
 father's friend, say what you will and 
 quickly." 
 
 "I love you," he began to say. 
 
 "Wait," she whispered, stopping him as 
 she turned, looking up and down the great 
 hall. " It is for me alone. I will not share 
 the words with any other. Now tell me — 
 tell me, son of Varro," she whispered, mov- 
 ing nearer; "tell me at once." 
 
 "I love you, sweet girl, above gods and 
 men. You are more to me than crowns of 
 laurel and gold, more than all that is in the 
 earth and heavens. My heart bums when 
 I look at you." 
 
 He hesitated, pressing her hand upon his 
 lips. 
 
 " Is that all ?" said she, with a pretty sad- 
 ness, looking down at the golden braces on 
 her fan. "Now, say it again, all, slowly." 
 
 She might as well have told a bird how 
 he should sing. 
 
 7 89 
 
He went on all unconscious of her com- 
 mand, his words lighted by the fire in his 
 heart. They were as waters rippling in 
 the sun-glow. 
 
 "Without you there is no light in the 
 heavens, no beauty in the earth, no hope or 
 glory in the future, no joy in my heart. My 
 sword threatens me, dear love, when I think 
 of losing you." 
 
 She turned, quickly, with almost a look 
 of surprise. 
 
 "It is beautiful," said she, with a sigh; 
 "but is there no more? Think, dear, noble 
 knight; do think of more!" 
 
 She was near forgetting her plan. He 
 took her in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 "Think — ^think of more," said she, "and 
 I will dance the tourina." 
 
 There was a note of gladness in her voice. 
 It rang merry as a girdle of silver bells. 
 Now, on the floor near them was a golden 
 square of sunlight, and, tabret in hand, 
 she sprang up and began to dance in it. 
 She moved swiftly back and forth, her 
 90 
 
arms extended, her white robe flowing 
 above the sapphires in each purple fillet 
 on her ankles 
 
 "Now, dear Vergilius, tell me, why do 
 you love me?" she said, throwing herself 
 upon the cushions near him with glowing 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Because you are Arria. Because Arria 
 is you. Because I must, for your pure and 
 noble heart and for your beauty," said 
 he. "When I look upon you I forget my 
 dreams of war and conquest; I think only 
 of peace and love and have no longer 
 the heart to slay. Oh, sweet Arria! I feel 
 as if I should fling my swords into the 
 Tiber." 
 
 "Oh, my love! could I make you throw 
 your swords into the Tiber I should be very 
 happy." Her eyes had turned serious and 
 thoughtful. Her girlish trickery had come 
 to an end. Vanity retired, now, and Love 
 had sole command. 
 
 He put his arms about her and rained 
 kisses upon her face, her hair, her eyes. 
 91 
 
" Say it all again, dear VergUius — say it 
 a hundred times," she whispered. 
 
 "My dear one, I love you more than I 
 can say. Now am I prepared to speak in 
 deeds, in faithfulness, in devotion." 
 
 "But, once more, why do you love me? 
 Why me?" said she, moving aside with an 
 air of preoccupation, her chin resting upon 
 her hand, her elbow upon the gauze pillow 
 of rose leaves in her lap. " Is it my beauty 
 more than myself?" 
 
 "No," he answered; "your beauty is in- 
 toxicating, and I thank the gods for it, but 
 your sweet self, your soul, is more, far more 
 to me than your grace and all your loveli- 
 ness." 
 
 She had dreamed of such love but never 
 hoped for it, and now all the pretty tricks 
 she had thought of had become as the 
 mummery of fools. She sat in silence for 
 a little space, her eyes upon her girdle, 
 and a new and serious look came into her 
 face. 
 
 "I shall try, then," said she, presently — 
 92 
 
" I shall try to be noble. But shall you — 
 shall you truly throw your swords into the 
 Tiber?" 
 
 " Would I might," said he, sadly. " And 
 now I must tell you — " He paused, and 
 Arria turned quickly, her lips trembling as 
 her color faded. 
 
 "In three days I go to Jerusalem," 
 he added, " by command of the em- 
 peror." 
 
 " For how long?" she whispered, her eyes 
 taking years upon them as the seconds 
 flew. 
 
 "For two years." 
 
 Quickly she hid her face in the cushions 
 and her body quivered. That old, famil- 
 iar cry, which had in it the history and 
 the doom of Rome, rang in the great 
 halls around them — that cry of forsaken 
 women. 
 
 "The iron foot is upon us," said he. 
 "Do not let it tread you down as it has 
 other women. Be my vestal and guard the 
 holy fire of love." 
 
 93 
 
Then he told of Cyran, the slave-girl, and 
 added : " I leave her in your care. Every 
 day she will cause you to think of me." 
 
 ^ 
 
■ lur iMi m m m m w m imi m m m im M m im w m 0,1 w lu, m iji i ' 
 
 T was near the middle hour 
 of the night. Many, just out 
 of banquet-hall, theatre, and 
 circus, thronged the main 
 thoroughfares of the capi- 
 tal. Cries of venders, ribald 
 songs, shouts of revelry, the 
 hurrying of many feet roused the good 
 people who, wearied by other nights of dis- 
 sipation, now sought repose. They turned, 
 uneasily, reflecting that to-morrow they 
 would have their revenge. 
 
 Antipater had dined with but a single 
 
 guest — a young priest, who, arriving that 
 
 very day from Damascus, had sought the 
 
 palace of his cotmtryman. The service at 
 
 95 
 
HfrgUtWH 
 
 his table had not pleased the prince. 
 Leaping from his couch, he struck down 
 a slave and ordered his crucifixion. It was 
 a luckless Arab, who many times had un- 
 wittingly offended his master. 
 
 Now the son of Herod lay asleep where, 
 a little time ago, he had been feasting. 
 Manius, who had just entered the palace 
 of his friend, came into the banquet-hall. 
 He touched the arm of Antipater, who 
 started with a curse and rose with an 
 apology. 
 
 "I was dreaming of foes and I see a 
 friend," he muttered. "Forgive me, noble 
 Manius." 
 
 The prince pulled a golden bell-cord that 
 shone against the green pargeting of the 
 wall. 
 
 "Now to our business," he whispered, 
 turning to the officer. 
 
 They crossed the atrium, descended a 
 
 stairway, and threw open a barred door. 
 
 They were now in a gloomy passage between 
 
 walls of marble. Antipater halted, pres- 
 
 96 
 
ently, and tapped with his seal ring on a 
 metal door. Then a rattle of bolts and the 
 door swung open. 
 
 " Now," Antipater whispered, " are you of 
 the same mind?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "And again you swear secrecy?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 Without more delay they entered a room 
 walled with white marble and lighted by 
 candles. A bearded Jew, in a scarlet 
 cloak embroidered with gold, rose to greet 
 them. 
 
 "To John ben Joreb I present the noble 
 Manius," said Antipater. 
 
 " Blessings of the one God be upon thee," 
 said Ben Joreb, bowing low. 
 
 "And the favor of many gods on thee," 
 said the assessor. "From Jerusalem?" 
 
 "Nay, from Damascus." 
 
 Antipater stirred the fire in iron braziers 
 on either side of the room, and then bade 
 them recline beside him at a small table 
 whereon a supper waited. 
 97 
 
"Ben Joreb has good news of our plan," 
 said he, turning to Manius. 
 
 "It prospers," said the priest. "Our 
 council is now in thirty cities." 
 
 "And the king is better," said Manius. 
 " He will not soon perish of infirmity." 
 
 " But you tell me that my father suffers?" 
 
 Antipater started nervously. A long, 
 weird wail from the Arab dying on a 
 cross in the garden flooded down the 
 flues. 
 
 "A hundred deaths a day," said Ben 
 Joreb. 
 
 " I have been talking with Manius," An- 
 tipater answered. " He thinks it would be 
 a mercy to — " 
 
 He was interrupted again. That trem- 
 ulous, awful cry for mercy found its way 
 to his ear. It seemed to mock the sacred 
 word. Antipater jumped to his feet, curs- 
 ing. 
 
 " I win put an end to that," said he, rush- 
 ing to the door and flinging it back and 
 running down the passage. 
 98 
 
Manius turned to Ben Joreb. 
 
 "What is there in the howling of that 
 slave?" he whispered. "I am weak-heart- 
 ed." 
 
 " I take it for a sign," the other answered, 
 gravely. "It is written, ' Thy spirit shall 
 be as the candle of the Lord,' and, again, 
 ' Thoti shalt hearken to the cry of anguish.' " 
 
 In a few moments Antipater returned. 
 
 "I have summoned the camifex," said 
 he, bolting the door and resuming his place 
 at the table. "I was saying to you, good 
 Manius, that my friend here, Ben Joreb, 
 would think it a great mercy to remove 
 him." 
 
 "A great mercy!" Ben Joreb answered; 
 "a man's mercy to him; a Qod's mercy to 
 his people." 
 
 "And what think you?" said Antipater, 
 turning to Manius. 
 
 " I agree ; 'twould be a mercy, but a risky 
 enterprise," said the Roman. 
 
 " I would risk my head to save him a day 
 of pain," said the treacherous son of Herod. 
 99 
 
"You love him not as I do or you would 
 brave all to end his misery." 
 
 There was now half a moment filled with 
 a long, piercing cry from beyond the walls 
 of the palace until Antipater spoke, a tiger 
 look in his face again. " Put the lance into 
 him, my good camifex," he growled, strik- 
 ing with clinched fist. "Again, now; and 
 again, and again." 
 
 He listened for a breath, and as silence 
 came he added, "There, that will do." 
 
 Neither spoke for a little time. 
 
 " I wish I could make you feel how dearly 
 I love my father," he went on, addressing 
 his friends now and hiding his claws with 
 revolting guile and all unconscious that he 
 had shown them. 
 
 Again a breath of silence, in which Manius 
 thought of the black leopard when he lay 
 making those playful and caressing move- 
 ments on the floor. And there came to 
 the heart of Ben Joreb a fear that this 
 man might prove more terrible than his 
 father. 
 
 lOO 
 
BfrsUtua 
 
 "We feel it," said Manius, with inner 
 smiles that showed not upon his face. 
 
 "Then be servants of my love." 
 
 " And of our own welfare ?" 
 
 ' ' Certainly ! You shall each have a palace 
 in Jerusalem and fifty thousand aurei ; and 
 you, Manius, shall command the forces on 
 land and sea, and you, John ben Joreb, of 
 the tribe of Aaron, shall be high-priest." 
 
 "I agree," said Manius, an overwhelming 
 cupidity in the words. 
 
 "And I agree," said the Jew, who had 
 entered upon this intrigue with motives of 
 patriotism, and now, although suspicious 
 of the result, was committed beyond a 
 chance of turning. 
 
 "Angels of mercy!" Antipater exclaimed, 
 rising and taking a hand of each in his. 
 " My love shall be ever a shield and weapon 
 for you. One other thing. The couriers 
 who bring to Rome news of my father's 
 death — ^bid them hurry and take with them, 
 also, word of the illness of that dog Ver- 
 gilius. After they leave let him not linger 
 
 lOI 
 
in needless pain — do you understand me? 
 For that, I say, each of you shall have five 
 thousand aurei added to his wealth." 
 
 The others nodded. 
 
 "Now take this — ^it may be useful," 
 whispered the prince of Judea, handing 
 a little golden box to the assessor. " There 
 is something in it will hasten the effect 
 of wine — a fine remedy for a weary 
 land, good Manius. He that makes it a 
 friend shall have no enemies. Hold, let 
 me think. That old fox on the hill yonder 
 has a thousand eyes and his ears are every- 
 where. Not a word, Manius, after we leave 
 this door. In yon passage turn to the 
 right. Walk tintil your head touches the 
 ceiling, then creep to the door. Open it 
 and use your ears. If no one is passing, go 
 straight ahead. You will come to a gate on 
 the Via Sacra. You," he added, turning 
 to Ben Joreb, "shall leave by the main 
 gate." 
 
 When both had gone, this prince of Judea 
 walked .across the inner hall of his palace 
 
 I02 
 
and flung himself on the cushions of a great 
 divan. 
 
 A swarthy eunuch came near him on tip- 
 toe. 
 
 " Begone !' ' The word burst from the Hps 
 of Antipater in a hoarse growl, and, like 
 a tiger's paw, his hand struck the cush- 
 ions in front of him. As he lay blinking 
 drowsily, his chin upon his hands, there 
 was still in his face and attitude a sugges- 
 tion of the monster cat. 
 
 And he thought fondly of his wreaking 
 of vengeance when he should be crowned 
 the great king of prophetic promise — of the 
 fury of armies, of the stench of the slain, 
 of the cry of the ravished, of "mountains 
 melting in blood." 
 
T was the fifth anniversary 
 of that resolution of the 
 senate fathers to consecrate 
 the altar of Peace. Pilgrims 
 i^' , thronged the city, and some 
 '*-'' had journeyed far. Tens 
 of thousands surrotmded the 
 great monument, immense and beautiful 
 beyond any in the knowledge of men. 
 It signalized a remarkable state of things 
 — the world was at peace. More than 
 seven centuries before that day an idea 
 had entered the heart of a .prophet; now 
 it was in the very heart of the world. 
 This heap of marble, under pagan gods, 
 had given it grand, if only partial, ex- 
 104 
 
pression. There was no symbol of war 
 in the long procession of its upper frieze, 
 and its lower was like a sculptured song 
 of peace wrought in fruits and bees and 
 birds and blossoms. Here was a mighty 
 plant flowering twice a year and giving 
 its seed to the four winds. Every July 
 and January its erection was celebrated 
 in the imperial republic. 
 
 Vergilius stood beside the emperor that 
 day when, at the Ars Pacis Augustas, he 
 addressed the people. 
 
 "I have been reading," he said, "the 
 words of a certain dreamer of Judea, who, in 
 the olden time, wrote of a day when swords 
 should be beaten into ploughshares and 
 spears into pruning-hooks, and when peace 
 should reign among the nations of the earth. 
 Well, give me an army for a hundred years, 
 good people, and then I may voice the will of 
 the gods that iron be used no more to plough 
 its way in living flesh, but only to turn the 
 furrow and to pnme the tree. Meanwhile, 
 believe me, every man must learn to love 
 8 105 
 
honor and virtue, and to respect his neigh- 
 bor, and the gods above all." 
 
 A hundred years! The playful emperor 
 knew not how quickly a man passes and 
 how slowly, how exceeding slowly, moves 
 the great procession of mankind. But so 
 it befell ; the very right hand of Jupiter had 
 helped in the sowing of that seed which, 
 as it grew, was to lift the foundations of his 
 power. 
 
 Vergilius left the scene with Augustus. 
 They rode away in the royal litter. 
 
 " In all the great cities men are speaking 
 to-day of the value of peace and honor," 
 said the subtle emperor — a sceptic in re- 
 ligion, a cynic in philosophy, a rake in pri- 
 vate life, and a conqueror who commanded 
 "peace" with a trained army of four hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand men. 
 
 " It is a great thing to do," said the young 
 knight. 
 
 "Give me men enough to say it, and if 
 they grow not weary I will bring the world 
 to believe that the stm is only the breast- 
 io6 
 
plate of Jupiter," said Augustus. "Honor 
 and peace are good things — do not forget 
 that, my young friend. Give the words to 
 your tongue, not flippantly, but with a sober 
 eye, and often, my brave knight — often. 
 You leave to-morrow — have you made 
 ready?" 
 
 "Ready but for the leave-taking;" this 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "It ill becomes you to be cast do"wn. 
 Shake your heart with laughter — it will roll 
 away the stone of regret. Buy a fool, my 
 young friend. For five thousand denarii 
 you may obtain a most excellent fool." 
 
 He knew the price of all, from the hewer 
 of wood to the crowned king, but only he 
 could afford a slave like that. 
 
 "I should prefer a wise man," said the 
 young knight. 
 
 "Philosophers are more expensive," the 
 father continued, craftily — "twenty thou- 
 sand denarii, and dear at that. They will 
 teach you little but discontent. I recom- 
 mend a grammarian." 
 107 
 
The old emperor turned his cunning eyes 
 upon the face of Vergilius. 
 
 "Forty thousand, at least, for a good 
 one," he added ; " but a youth of your talent 
 should remember the value of immortal 
 fame." Word and look were a hint to the 
 yotmg man that he should prepare himself 
 with all diligence for an active career in the 
 senate. The youth understood their mean- 
 ing and was a trifle comforted. There was 
 no promise nor the least warrant for a claim 
 — ^it was only the emperor's way of guiding. 
 
 They were now passing a row of shops on 
 the Via Claudia. The emperor, putting 
 his hand out of the door, motioned to his 
 lecticarii and they halted. 
 
 "Come with me," said the great man. 
 
 They left the litter and entered a large 
 shop. There Augustus bought many gifts 
 for the young man — ^new arms, a beautiful 
 corselet, a girdle of the look of knitted gold 
 — ^for the Roman wore a girdle in Judea — 
 articles of apparel suited to the climate of 
 the Far East. The shop had filled with 
 1 08 
 
people, who tried to cover their curiosity 
 by the purchase of trifles. 
 
 "This cloth would make a fine toga," 
 said the shopkeeper. 
 
 The emperor surveyed it closely. 
 
 " Let me hold it up to the light and then 
 you will see its texture," the other con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "You are a hard master," said Augustus. 
 "You would have us walk on the house- 
 tops to show the fineness of our togas ? It 
 is enough. Let us pass, good people." 
 
 A cheer, starting at the shop door, went 
 to the far sides of the city. It signified 
 that the emperor was out among the people 
 and in his best mood. 
 
 Their nomenclator cleared a way for them 
 to the litter and they sat down again, facing 
 each other, the emperor and the boy. 
 
 "If I had your riches," the great man 
 remarked, as they went on, "I wonder 
 what I should do with them." 
 
 "You jest with me, good father," said 
 Vergilius. 
 
 109 
 
" Nay, but I envy you ; for have you not 
 youth and love and the beauty of Apollo?" 
 
 He laid his hand upon the arm of the boy, 
 and there was in his voice and manner a 
 gentleness to make one regret that he lived 
 not in a better time ; for, perhaps, after all, 
 he was what he had to be as the ruthless 
 conqueror of a savage world. 
 
 " And I — ^what have I but burdens I dare 
 not lay aside? When I sleep, even, they 
 press upon me. I am weary — but if I 
 should let them fall, what, think you, would 
 happen?" 
 
 His keen eyes, seeing before them, possi- 
 bly, the great down-rush to madness, pressed 
 a glance into the very soul of the young 
 man. The latter started to reply, but with 
 a look the emperor forbade him. 
 
 "Think, good youth — learn to think. It 
 will profit you — there is so little competi- 
 tion. By-and-by Rome will need you." 
 
 Gently, forcefully this teacher of states- 
 men had given the young knight his first 
 lesson. It was n earing its end now. The 
 no 
 
litter had stopped hard by the gate of 
 the Lady Lucia. 
 
 "I wonder how you knew my destina- 
 tion," said Vergilius. 
 
 "You credit me with small discernment. 
 Learn to know things that are not told you 
 — it is the beginning of wisdom." 
 
■^•^^^^^jg-g^gj^^^^^-o 
 
 IRRIA met them in the 
 atrium. She saw not the 
 great father of Rome, but 
 only her lover, and ran to 
 him with a little cry of de- 
 !:' light. 
 
 The playful emperor 
 mounted a chair and stood looking down at 
 them. 
 
 "I am so small here in the presence of 
 this great king," said he, as they turned to 
 him. " Were my head as high as the ceiling 
 I am sure I should not be seen." 
 
 "What king, good father?" said Arria, 
 bowing low. 
 
 "Love! 'Tis better, I have heard, to be 
 
 112 
 
ruler of one than of many. You give him 
 kisses, little tyrant, and me not a glance." 
 
 He looked down, smiling at the pretty 
 maiden. 
 
 " Because 'tis he I love," said she, her 
 cheeks red with blushes, her eyes upon her 
 sandals. "You — you have been cruel." 
 
 " I am sadly out of favor," said Augustus, 
 playfully, stepping to the floor. "If the 
 great king dared, I am sure he would cut 
 off my head, now. Let him not condemn me 
 without trial. Remember the law of Rome. ' ' 
 
 "You are sending my love away." Her 
 voice trembled as she spoke. 
 
 " And happy are you, sweet girl, to have 
 so much to give to your country." 
 
 There was a moment of silence. Then 
 said the emperor: " Be merry. 'Tis not for 
 long." 
 
 " 'Tis a thousand years!" said she, sadly. 
 
 He was fond of the young, and her frank 
 innocence appealed to all best in the heart 
 of the old emperor. He turned to greet the 
 Lady Lucia. 
 
 113 
 
"Come with me, son of Varro," said 
 Arria, taking the arm of her lover and lead- 
 ing him away. "It will soon be to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "And I am acquitted?" So spoke the 
 emperor. 
 
 "You are condemned to the company of 
 my mother," said Arria, quickly. 
 
 She wore a ttinic of the color of violets, 
 with not a jewel. Now she led her lover 
 to a heap of yellow cushions in the tri- 
 cUniiun. 
 
 "Dear VergiUus," said she, turning to 
 him with a serious look as they sat down ; 
 "tell me again — say to me again how you 
 love me." She held his hand against her 
 cheek and her eyes looked into his. 
 
 "Oh, my beloved! I have thought of 
 naught else since I saw you. I have heard 
 your pretty feet and the rustle of your tunic 
 in my dreams; I have felt the touch of 
 your hands ; every moment I have seen your 
 face — now glowing with happiness, now 
 white and lovely with sorrow. And, dear, 
 114 
 
I love its sorrow — I confess to you that I 
 love its sorrow better than its happiness. 
 I saw in your sad eyes, then, a thing dearer 
 than their beauty. It told me that you 
 felt as I feel — that you would live and, if 
 need be, die for the love of me." 
 
 The girl listened thoughtfully, and moved 
 close to her lover; he took her in his arms. 
 She had dreamed of many things to say, but 
 now she only whispered to him, her lips 
 against his ear, the simple message : " I love 
 you, I love you, I love you." Then: " But 
 I forgot," said she, pushing him away, a 
 note of fear in her voice. She straightened 
 the folds of her timic, and drew the trans- 
 parent silk close to her full, white bosom. 
 It was all unconscious as the trick of a 
 wooing bird. 
 
 "And what did you forget?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " That you are you, and a man," said she, 
 sighing. " In some way it is — it is such a 
 pity. I dare not suffer you to caress me. 
 And yet — and yet, I do love it." 
 IIS 
 
" And your lips," said he, embracing her, 
 "they are to me as the gate of Elysium!" 
 
 " It may be we are now in the islands of 
 the blest and know them not, ' ' she whispered. 
 
 She tried to draw herself away. 
 
 " I will not let you go. Indeed, I cannot 
 let you go." 
 
 "And I am glad," she answered, with a 
 little laugh, her hand caressing his brow. 
 " I do love the feel of your arms and your 
 lips— beautiful son of Varro!" • 
 
 "I will not let you go until — until you 
 have promised to be my bride. Think, the 
 term is only two years." 
 
 " Be it one or many, I will be your bride," 
 said she. "And although you were never 
 to return, yet would I always wait for you 
 and think of this day." 
 
 She drew herself away and sat thoughtful, 
 her chin upon her hands. 
 
 "Now are you most beautiful," said he, 
 "with that little touch of sorrow in your 
 face. It gives me high thoughts to look 
 at you." 
 
 ii6 
 
BfrgtlittB 
 
 While they were thus sitting a woman, 
 well past middle age, came into their pres- 
 ence. She stopped near the feet of Arria. 
 It was her grandmother, the Lady Claudia, 
 once a beauty of the great capital, now gray 
 and wrinkled, but still erect with patrician 
 pride. 
 
 Vergilius had risen quickly, bowed low, 
 and kissed her hand. 
 
 " I often saw you, son of my friend, when 
 you were a child," said she. " I remember 
 when you were young you went away with 
 the legions." 
 
 "To learn the art of war," he answered. 
 
 "Sit down, dear grandmother," said the 
 girl, as he brought a chair. " Now let her 
 hear you tell me why it is that you have 
 chosen me, dear Vergilius — let her hear 
 you." 
 
 "I know not. Perhaps because your 
 beauty, sweet girl, is like the snare of the 
 fowler and brought me to your hand. Then 
 something in your eyes captured the heart 
 of me — something better than beauty. It is 
 117 
 
the light of your soul. Love and peace and 
 innocence and gentleness and all good are in 
 it. That is why." 
 
 The two embraced each other. The 
 Lady Claudia rose and came and put her 
 hands upon them, and her voice trembled 
 with emotion. 
 
 "They are beautiful," said she, "the 
 kisses of the young, and their words are as 
 the music of Apollo's lyre. I thank the 
 gods I have seen it all again. But you are 
 going away to-morrow. Son of Varro, be 
 not as other men. Remember it is not well 
 for women to Uve apart from the men they 
 love." 
 
 "I leave at daybreak," said the young 
 knight. " 'Tis for two years, so said the 
 emperor; for ' only ' two years." 
 
 "She shall not be as others I have 
 known," said the Lady Claudia. " It is an 
 evil time, good youth; but, remember, as 
 men are so are women. Last night I 
 dreamed a wonderful dream of you two, 
 and of a sweet, immortal love between men 
 ii8 
 
and women. Some say the dreams of men 
 are, indeed, the plans of the gods. Pray to 
 them. It may be they will give you this 
 great love." 
 
 "It is here — it is in her soiil and mine!" 
 the youth declared, his arm about Arria. 
 " It has prepared us for any trial — even 
 parting." 
 
 " I have so much happiness already," said 
 the girl. " So much — it will keep me 
 through many years." 
 
 " Then it is the great love, and I thank the 
 gods I have seen it," said the Lady Claudia. 
 "Who may say where it shall end?" She 
 came near them as she spoke and offered 
 her cheek to the boy. He kissed her, and 
 she went away with tears upon her face. 
 
 " Now you are brave and strong with this 
 great love in you," said Vergilius. " Let it 
 bear you up as I leave the palace. Promise 
 you will not cry out. If you do, my be- 
 loved, I shall hear always the sound of 
 mourning when I think of you." 
 
 "Then I shall not weep," said she, 
 119 
 
bravely, but with a little quiver in her 
 voice. 
 
 She knew the old story of a young man's 
 love — ^how often he went away with sweet 
 words, to return, if ever, hardened to stem 
 trials and bloody work, his vows long for- 
 gotten. 
 
 " For your sake, dear Vergilius, I will be 
 calm," she added. 
 
 " Now sit here," said he, as he led her to 
 the heap of cushions, "just as I saw you a 
 little time ago. Rest your chin upon your 
 hands. There; now your soul is in your 
 eyes. Let me see only this picture as 
 I go." 
 
 He took a handful of her curls and let 
 them fall upon her shoulders. Then he 
 crowned her with a sprig of vervain from 
 a vase near by. 
 
 "I will not weep — I will not weep," she 
 repeated, her voice trembling as he touched 
 her hair. 
 
 He moved backward slowly, as one might 
 leave a queen. Her eyes followed him, and 
 
 I20 
 
Tliprgtltua 
 
 suddenly she rose and flew to his arms 
 again. 
 
 " I will not weep — I will not weep," said 
 she, brokenly. Again he held her to his 
 breast. 
 
 "Though you get fame and glory, forget 
 not love," she whispered. 
 
 "Dear one," he exclaimed, kissing her, 
 "this hour shall be in every day of my 
 life." 
 
 " But with adventures and battles and 
 the praise of kings it is so easy to forget." 
 
 " But with one so noble and so beautiful 
 at home it will be easy to remember. Let 
 us be brave. I am only a woman myself 
 to-day. Help me to be a man." 
 
 He led her again to the cushions, and she 
 sat as before — a picture, now, beyond all 
 art, sublime indeed with love and sorrow 
 and trustfulness and repression. It was 
 that look of abnegation upon her that he 
 remembered. 
 
 " I shall not rise nor speak again, dear son 
 of Varro," said she. " You shall know that 
 
 9 121 
 
my love for you has made me strong. See, 
 dear love. Look at my face and see how 
 brave I am." Her voice, now calm, had 
 in it some power that touched him deeply. 
 It was the great, new love between men 
 and women — forerunner of the mighty 
 revolution. 
 
 He stood silent, looking down at her. 
 The song of a nightingale rang in the 
 great halls. He turned and brought a 
 lyre that lay on a table near them. She 
 took it in her hands. Then it seemed as if 
 her isorrow f6ll updn/the strings, diid in 
 their music was the voide of her souL ; 
 
 He bowed before her, whispering a prayer ; 
 he put all his soul into one lohg lool^ and 
 quickly went away. : '■ ;' ; , 
 
 Then she rose and ran to tbe end; of the 
 banquet-hall. ' ' I can hear his voice, ' "■ she 
 whispered. " No, I: must not go— I must 
 not go." 
 
 A moment followed in which there came 
 to her a sound of distant voices. She stilled 
 her sobs and listened. She ran towards the 
 
 122 
 
loved voice and checked her eager feet. 
 She stood a moment with arms extended. 
 The sound grew fainter and a hush fell. 
 She ran to the white statue of the little 
 god Eros, and, kneeling, threw her arms 
 around the shapely form and wept bitterly. 
 
?HE dark was lifting as Ver- 
 gilius entered the Field of 
 Mars. There were lanterns 
 about his litter, and far and • 
 near, in lines and clusters, he 
 could see lights on the plain, 
 some moving, some standing 
 still. Hard by the Tiber he joined a small 
 troop of horse, and vaulting on the shaft of 
 his lance, mounted a white charger. Manius 
 wheeled into place beside him at the head of 
 the column. A quaestor called the roll. 
 
 "Ready?" Vergilius inquired, turning to 
 Manius. 
 
 "All ready," the other answered. 
 Then a trumpet sounded and those many 
 124 
 
feet had begun the long journey to Jeru- 
 salem. They made their way to the Forum. 
 Scores of women and children of the families 
 of those departing had gathered by the gold- 
 en mile - stone. The troop halted. Those 
 who had been waiting in the dank, chill air 
 sought to press in among the horses. It 
 was hard to keep them back. VergHius, 
 full of his own sorrow, felt for them and 
 gave them good time. A little group, in 
 gray paenula and veils, were watching from 
 without the crowd. He moved aside, beckon- 
 ing to them. 
 
 " Make your farewells," said he, as they 
 came near. ' ' We shall be off in a moment. ' ' 
 
 A beautiful white hand was extended to 
 him. He took it in his, and then quickly 
 pressed it to his lips. 
 
 "Farewell, dear love!" he whispered. 
 
 A quick pressure answered him, and the 
 veiled figure turned away. Then a trump- 
 et-call, a flash of blue vexilla and silver 
 eagles in the air, and, a moment later, some 
 eighty hoofs were drumming in the Appian 
 
 I2S 
 
Way. For a little the horsemen heard them 
 that were left behind, wailing. 
 
 " It is like a sticking of pigs to leave a lot 
 of plebeian women," said Manius, when the 
 soimd was far out of hearing. 
 
 " An arrow in the heart of the soldier, but 
 I think it good," said Vergilius. "For a 
 time, at least, Rome will be dear to him." 
 
 There were forty men riding in the troop, 
 all lancers, saving a few slingers and bow- 
 men. They rattled over the hard Way at 
 a pace of fifteen miles an hour. It was an 
 immense, rock-paved road — this Appian 
 Way — straight, wide, and level, flinging its 
 arches over fen, river, and valley, and break- 
 ing through hill and mountain to the dis- 
 tant sea. No citizen might bring his horse 
 upon it unless a diploma had been granted 
 him—it was, indeed, for the larger purposes 
 of the government. After two hours they 
 drew up at a posting - house and changed 
 horses. They rode this mount some forty 
 miles, halting at a large inn, its doors flush 
 with the road. A transport and postal train 
 126 
 
bound for Rome was expected shortly, and, 
 before eating, Vergilius wrote a letter and 
 had it ready when the wagons came rattling 
 in a deep-worn rut, behind teams of horses 
 moving at a swift gallop. There were five 
 wagons in the train, bearing letters and 
 light merchandise from the south. Hard by 
 was one of the wheelwright-shops that lined 
 the great thoroughfare. The train stopped 
 only a moment for water and a new wheel, 
 then rushed along on its way to the capital. 
 A light meal of bread and porridge, half an 
 hour of rest, and again, with new horses, 
 the troop was in full career. A sense of 
 loneliness grew in the heart of the youth 
 as he journeyed. Lover and soldier had 
 fought their duel, and the latter was out- 
 done. But the lover's courage was now 
 sorely tried. Every mounted courier has- 
 tening to Rome on the south road bore a 
 letter from the young man to her he loved. 
 He met a legion of infantry going north, 
 and envied every soldier, sweating vinder a 
 set pace of four miles to the hour and a bur- 
 127 
 
den of sixty pounds — shield, helmet, breast- 
 plate, pilum., swords, intrenching tools, 
 stakes for a palisade, and com for seven- 
 teen days. 
 
 A trireme was waiting for them on the 
 Adriatic Sea, and Vergilius, Manius, and 
 their escort sailed to northwestern Mace- 
 donia, mounted horses again, galloping over 
 the great highway to Athens ; crossed by tri- 
 reme to Ephesus, thence to Antioch by the 
 long sea - road, and, agreeably with orders, 
 they began to leave their men at forts along 
 the frontier. 
 
 Events on the way filled him with con- 
 tempt for his country and for himself. Here 
 and there he met people travelling under 
 imperial passes that gave them the use of 
 the road and a right of free levy for sub- 
 sistence, often much abused. These trav- 
 ellers were people of leisure from the large 
 cities, wont to stretch their power to the 
 point of robbery. He saw them seizing 
 slaves and cattle from terrified agrarians; 
 he saw Manius strike a man down for re- 
 128 
 
senting insults to his daughter; he saw the 
 deadly toil of the oarsmen, the bitter pun- 
 ishment of the cross. 
 
 His heart was now sore and sensitive. 
 Was it the new love which had flung off its 
 shield of sternness and left it exposed to 
 every lash that flew ? The misery of others 
 afflicted him. Thoughts of injustice grew 
 into motives of action, the loss of faith 
 into the gain of unutterable longing. Who 
 were these gods who heard not the cry 
 of the weak and were ever on the side 
 of the strong? Were they only in those 
 hands of power that flung their levin from 
 the Palatine? Could he, who had learned 
 to love innocence and purity, love also 
 the foul harpy which Rome had become? 
 It seemed to him difficult to reconcile the 
 love of Arria and the love, of Rome. Was 
 the time not, indeed, overdue when the 
 wicked should tremble and the proud 
 should bow themselves, according to that 
 song of the slave-girl? 
 
 From Antioch they turned southward, 
 129 
 
passing the cloistered plain paved with 
 polished marble, and hurried to Damascus. 
 Thence they rode to Jerusalem. The troop 
 had dwindled to a squad of six, and came 
 slowly into the ancient capital at dawn. 
 From afar they could hear bugles at the 
 castle of Antonia. 
 
 "They are changing the guard," Manius 
 remarked. 
 
 Having entered the city gates, they passed 
 throngs of cattle and their drivers and many 
 worshippers hurrying to the temple. One 
 of the latter stopped, and, pointing to the 
 eagles and the medallion of Augustus on 
 their signa, shouted loudly: 
 
 " I thank Thee, O God, and the God of 
 my fathers, that I am not of them who 
 provoke Thine anger with the graven 
 image." 
 
 A chant of many voices from the temple 
 roof floated over the plain, saying : 
 
 "The light has come as far as Hebron." 
 
 VergUius turned, looking up at the splen- 
 did Doric temple of Jerusalem. As he 
 130 
 
looked, the stm's rays fell on a great, golden 
 lantern before a thicket of high colunms in 
 its eastern portico. It was the signal for 
 another outburst of trumpets. 
 
 "They are now making incense for the 
 nostrils of Jehovah," said Manius. "Soon 
 they will offer him one of the most beautiful 
 lambs in Judea." 
 
 In a few moments they drew up at the 
 castle of Antonia. News of their coming 
 had reached Jerusalem by courier, three 
 days before. The captain of the guard re- 
 peated part of the introduction. 
 
 " Vergilius, son of Varro, sent by the great 
 father?" said he, in a tone of inquiry. 
 
 "And worn with much riding," said the 
 young knight. 
 
 " I have a message for you. It is from the 
 king." 
 
 "He would see me at once," said Ver- 
 gilius, having read it. 
 
 "The sooner you go the more gracious 
 you will be like to find him," said Manius, 
 with a smile. 
 
 131 
 
" My apparel! It is on the transport and 
 has not yet arrived." 
 
 "But you have arrived, and forget not 
 you are in the land of Herod — a most im- 
 patient king." 
 
 " He will not know, however, that we have 
 come," Vergilius answered. 
 
 "Friend of Caesar," said the captain of 
 the guard, "within an hour he will know 
 everything you have done since you entered 
 the city — whither you went, to whom you 
 spoke, and what you said, and perhaps 
 even what Vou thought." 
 
,'^rr>rWm<:?Si::^ 
 
 X 
 
 taviTKl mi lUl IM HI HI lUf M l»r M M M M HI m m 11,1 im m m l u i 
 
 ^HE characters of Herod and 
 Augustus were as far apart 
 as their capitals. Extremes 
 of temperament were in 
 these two. The Roman was 
 cold, calm, of unfailing pru- 
 dence; the Jew hot-blooded, 
 reckless, and warmed by a word into startling 
 and frank ferocity. The one was keen and 
 deUcate, the other bltint and robust. The 
 emperor was a fox, the king a Hon. Herod 
 and his people were now worried with 
 mutual distrust. He had no faith in any 
 man, and no man — not even the emperor 
 by whose sufferance he held the crown — 
 had any faith in him. The king feared 
 133 
 
HfrgiltttiB 
 
 the people and the people feared the 
 king. 
 
 Herod began his career with good pur- 
 poses. An erect, powerful, and handsome 
 youth of Arabic and Idumsean blood, brave 
 with lance and charger, he raided the ban- 
 dit chieftain Hezekias and slew him, with 
 all his followers. The Sanhedrim thought 
 not of his valor but only of the ancient law 
 he had broken. They put him on trial for 
 usurping the power of life and death. In 
 the midst of his peril he escaped, taking with 
 him the seed of those dark revenges which, 
 when he got the crown, destroyed all save 
 a single member of the old court of justice 
 and the confidence of his people. 
 
 His household became the scene of bloody 
 intrigues which even stirred the tongue of 
 Caesar with contempt. Herod became the 
 dupe of a designing sister, of base flatterers, 
 and of an evil and ambitious son. They 
 undermined his confidence in all who de- 
 served it. His beloved wife Mariamne, his 
 two sons Alexander and Aristobulus, and 
 134 
 
many others of exceptional good repute in 
 the kingdom were tinjustly put to death. 
 Then, swiftly, as he penetrated the maze 
 of plot and counterplot, those who had fooled 
 him began to fall before his wrath. He was 
 now, indeed, a forlorn, loveless, and terrible 
 creature. 
 
 Many thought him afflicted with mad- 
 ness. There were noble folk in Jerusalem 
 who said they had seen the body of Mari- 
 amne embalmed in honey, above the 
 king's chamber, where every day he could 
 look upon it. Some had seen him wander- 
 itig about the palace at night with a candle, 
 mourning over his loss and raging at his own 
 folly. ; S-bme had seen him so shaken by 
 i"emorse that he roared like a lion goaded 
 by hunger and the lance.^ At such a time it 
 was^ ilideed, a , peril to come before him. 
 Plots, against hislife had worried him, and, 
 distrusting his helpers, "he was wont to go 
 about the city in disguise seeking informa- 
 tion. Twice he had forgiven Antipater, his 
 favorite son, for crimes in the royal household . 
 135 
 
Now, in his seventy-sixth year, the king 
 was, indeed, sorely pressed with trouble. 
 Jerusalem was the centre of a plot formidable 
 and far-reaching. Its object was, in part, 
 clear to him, or so he thought, and with 
 some reason. It seemed to aim at his 
 removal and the crowning of a mysterious 
 king of prophecy, who, many said, was now 
 waiting the death of Herod. It baffled him. 
 He saw signs that many had their heads 
 together in this plot. So far, however, he 
 had not been able to lay hands upon them. 
 There were many theories about the new 
 king. They were strange and conflicting 
 and zealously put forth. They differed as 
 to whether he were yet born and as to his 
 divinity, his character, and his purposes. 
 The Sanhedrim held that when he came 
 into the world there would be certain signs 
 and portents seen of all men. This conflict 
 of authority increased the confusion of 
 Herod. When Vergilius came to his capital 
 the king was mired on the very edge of the 
 great mystery. 
 
 136 
 
Powers of darkness ruled the city of Jeru- 
 salem. The sword, the lance, the dagger, 
 and the wheel were wreaking vengeance 
 and creating new perils while they were 
 removing old ones. The king had tried 
 vainly to repair the past. He gave freely 
 to the poor; he erected gorgeous places of 
 amusement; he built the new temple 
 and a great palace in the upper city. 
 The splendor of the latter structures had 
 outdone the imperator. No shape bom 
 of barbaric dreams, to be slowly spread 
 upon the earth in marble and gold, had so 
 taxed the cunning and the patience of 
 human hands. Such, in brief, were the 
 character, the troubles, the home, and the 
 city of Herod. 
 
j/N travel-worn garb Vergilius 
 went early to see the king. 
 /mfg |r^|/'- Accustomed to the grandeur 
 11 ^^ °^ Rome itself, he yet saw 
 ^-^ L nM with astonishment the beau- 
 tiful groves, the lakes, canals, 
 and fountains sparkling in 
 the sunlight which surrounded the great 
 marble palace of Herod. In the shadow of 
 its many towers, each thirty cubits high, 
 Vergilius began to feel some dread of this ter- 
 rible king. At least fifty paces from the door 
 of his chamber, in the great hall above- 
 stairs, he could hear the growl of the old lion. 
 In Herod was the voice of wrath and revenge 
 and terror. His words came rolling out in 
 138 
 
a deep, husky, guttural tone, or leaped 
 forth hissing with anger. Some officials 
 stood by the king's door with fear and 
 dread upon their faces. A young woman 
 of singular beauty was among them. 
 
 "O Salome, daughter of Herod," said 
 one, "the king would have you come to- 
 morrow. He is in ill humor with the 
 plotters." 
 
 "And I with him," said she, stamping 
 her foot. 
 
 An usher had presented Vergilius at the 
 door. As Herod's daughter proudly turned 
 away, she came face to face with the young 
 Roman noble. For one moment their eyes 
 held each other. A chamberlain approach- 
 ed Vergihus, whispered a few inquiries, and 
 then led him before the king. Herod was 
 having a bad day. 
 
 "Traitors!" he hissed. In a voice like 
 the menacing growl of a savage beast he 
 added : " May their eyes rot in their heads ! 
 Go! I have heard enough, bearer of evil 
 tidings." 
 
 139 
 
Far down the great chamber in which 
 half a cohort could have stood comfortably, 
 in a carved chair on a dais, under a vault 
 and against a background of blue, Baby- 
 lonian tapestry, sat the king. A priest had 
 bowed low and was now leaving his presence. 
 The chamberlain announced, in a loud voice, 
 "Vergilius, son of Varro, of Rome, and 
 officer of the fatherly and much-beloved 
 Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus Augustus." 
 
 The king sat erect, a purple tarboosh and 
 crown of wrought gold upon his head. As 
 Vergilius approached, the dark, suspicious 
 eyes of Herod were surveying him from 
 under long, quivering tufts of gray hair. 
 His great body, in its prime, must have 
 been like that of Achilles. 
 
 " Stand where you are, son of Varro," said 
 the king, as he moved nervously. His 
 broad shoulders were beginning to bend a 
 little under their burden of trouble and 
 disease. The harrow of pain and passion 
 had roughened his face with wrinkles. His 
 manner was alert and watchful. 
 140 
 
"Have you seen my son?" he inquired, 
 quickly. 
 
 "Yes, great sire, and he was well." 
 
 "And is he not comely?" 
 
 "Ay, and brave with his lance." 
 
 "And a bom king," said Herod. "I 
 have fixed my heart upon him. I have no 
 other to love — ^but the great imperator. 
 And how is he?" 
 
 " I left him well, good sire." 
 
 " Stand a moment, son of Varro," said the 
 king, with an impatient gesture. An at- 
 tendant approached him and spoke in a 
 low tone. Herod snarled like a huge cat 
 when the lance threatens. 
 
 "Break him on the rack," he muttered; 
 "and unless he tell, crucify him — cru- 
 cify him. He shall do me no further 
 injury. That priest Lugar, bring him 
 back to me. Quickly now, bring him to 
 me!" 
 
 The attendant hurried away, soon re- 
 turning with him who had retired as Ver- 
 gilius entered the king's chamber. 
 141 
 
" Saw you the men of learning in Asca- 
 lon?" the king demanded. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "What said they?" 
 
 There was a moment of silence. 
 
 "Out with it," said the king, fiercely. 
 "Must I put every man upon the rack? 
 Speak, and that you may tell the truth I 
 shall not demand their names." 
 
 "They, also, look for the new king," said 
 Lugar. " Many believe he is already bom. 
 They say that on your death he will declare 
 himseM." 
 
 "And they, too, pray for my death?" 
 
 "Most earnestly, my beloved king." 
 
 "Traitors!" said Herod, and as he spoke 
 his powerful hands were tearing his ker- 
 chief into rags. "I shall soon change the 
 burden of their prayers. Go tell them this : 
 the day I die two of the wisest men from 
 every city in the kingdom shall die also. 
 Go everywhere, and tell these learned doc- 
 tors they had best pray for my good 
 health." 
 
 142 
 
The priest bowed before his king and 
 retired. The pagan noble looked up at 
 this ruler of the land of the one God and 
 felt a thrill of horror. Herod, turning 
 quickly, beckoned to the young knight, his 
 wrinkles quivering with anger. Now, in- 
 deed, he was like a lion at bay. 
 
 "Ha-a!" he roared, and his head bent 
 slowly and his voice fell to a low rumble as 
 he continued. " 'Tis an evil time in Jeru- 
 salem. I weary of this long fight with 
 traitors. They grind their points; they 
 stir poison; they swarm in the streets. 
 They rob me of my friends, and now — ^now 
 they seek alliance with Jehovah to rob me 
 of my throne. 'Tis well you should know 
 and beware. I have a plan which will make 
 them desire my good health. Report to 
 Quirinus, and remember" — he took a hand 
 of the youth in both of his with a fawning 
 movement — " I have need of friends." 
 
 That very day an order went forth that 
 certain of the learned men of every city be 
 assembled in the amphitheatre at Jericho, 
 143 
 
and be there confined to wait the further 
 pleasure of the king. It was a bold plan 
 through which Herod hoped to confound 
 his enemies and insure his safety. He 
 decreed that on the day of his death all 
 these men should be executed. 
 
IMONG the orderlies at the 
 castle was one David, a 
 young Jew, whose face and 
 bearing had attracted the 
 eye of Vergilius. There 
 was in both something 
 admirable and familiar. 
 Straightway the tribune chose the young 
 Jew for his own service, and soon held 
 him in high esteem. Together they set 
 out one morning, with a troop of horse, 
 bound for the southern limit of Samaria. 
 Thus quickly orders had arrived from the 
 emperor. They sent Vergilius on a journey 
 to inspect roads and report "as to hopes, 
 plans, and theories of import to the king." 
 145 
 
That morning as they left the old city, 
 Vergilius and the young Jew rode abreast. 
 
 "Tell me," said the former, presently, 
 "what know you of the new king?" 
 
 " Of him I have thought much and know 
 little," said David. "My mother taught 
 me to look for him. That was before the 
 evil days." 
 
 "And you learned what of her?" 
 
 "Little save the long hope. She taught 
 me an old chant of the coming. If you 
 wish, I will sing it." 
 
 Being bidden, he sang, as she had sung 
 who hushed the revels of Antipater, of 
 signs and fears and of arrows to fly as the 
 lightning. Words, melody, emotion, the 
 note of inveterate wrong, were those of the 
 slave-girl. 
 
 " The same nose and blue eyes, and fair, 
 curly locks — the same feeling and chant of 
 faith," said Vergilius, thoughtfully. "Did 
 you not live in Galilee and suffer ill fortune ?" 
 
 "We lived in Galilee, and, by-and-by, 
 were as those hurled into Gehenna." 
 146 
 
"And have you a sister in Rome?" 
 
 " I have a sister, but know not where she 
 may be. Cyran the Beloved, so my mother 
 called her." 
 
 Then Vergilius told his companion how 
 he had won her from the son of Herod and 
 left her in the keeping of Arria. David 
 wept as he listened. 
 
 When the tale was finished he spoke 
 bitterly: '"Twas she — the Beloved. My 
 father was put to death, his property seized, 
 his wife and children dragged to captivity. 
 My heart is faint with sorrow. God! I 
 weary of thy slowness. 
 
 " Send, quickly send the new king, whose arrows 
 shall fly as the lightning, 
 Making the mighty afraid and the proud to bow 
 low and the wicked to tremble." 
 
 For a moment they rode in silence. 
 David was first to speak. 
 
 "Forgive me," said he, with fear of his 
 imprudence. "My tongue has gone too 
 far. I am true to Herod, being his debtor, 
 147 
 
for he gave me freedom. But I am of the 
 house of David." 
 
 " Fear not," said Vergilius. " Never shall 
 I betray the broken hearted. I give you 
 friendship." 
 
 "And I give you gratitude," was the 
 answer of the Jew. 
 
 " I am as a child here in Judea and seek 
 understanding. You shall be my teacher." 
 
 For a time neither spoke ; soon David 
 asked : " Will you tell me of her my sister 
 is now serving?" 
 
 "Of all the daughters of Rome she is 
 noblest. We love each other. Ah, friend! 
 'Tis a wonder — this great love. My tongue 
 halts when I think of it." 
 
 He paused, in meditation. 
 
 " I have heard much of it here in Judea — 
 a love that exalts the soul," said David. 
 
 "And changes the heart of man with all 
 that is in it. My love has filled me with a 
 tender feeling for all women; it has made 
 me to hate injustice and even to complain 
 of the gods." 
 
 148 
 
"To complain of the gods!" said David, 
 turning and looking into the face of his 
 friend. 
 
 "It does seem to me they set a bad 
 example and are too childish for the work 
 they have to do, but still — still I bow before 
 them." 
 
 "I do not understand you," said David. 
 
 "They are given to spite, anger, vanity, 
 lust, revenge, and idleness. Caesar is greater 
 than they. He has learned self-control. 
 And this new king of your faith, who, you 
 tell me, is to conquer the world — he is no 
 better." 
 
 "And why think you so?" 
 
 " He is to conquer the world. Good sir, 
 it has been conquered — how many times! 
 He shall make the mighty afraid — have they 
 not often trembled with fear and perished 
 by the sword ? He shall fling arrows of just 
 revenge, as if our old earth were not al- 
 ready soaked in the blood of the wicked. 
 Ah, my David, I wonder not you long for a 
 king of the sword and the arrow. Revenge 
 149 
 
is ever the dream of the oppressed. But 
 I have dreamed of a greater king." 
 
 "Tell me who?" 
 
 "He would be like this love in me," said 
 Vergilius. "If it were to go abroad — 
 if it were only to find the hearts of the 
 mighty — what, think you, would happen?" 
 
 "Ay, if it were to go from friend to 
 friend and from neighbor to neighbor," said 
 the young Jew, "it would indeed conquer 
 the world." 
 
 "And there would be neither war nor 
 injustice." 
 
 "Tell me," said David. "Are there 
 many lovers like you in Rome?" 
 
 "Some half a score that I have heard of, 
 and I doubt not there be many." 
 
 " 'Tis the candle of the Lord — the prep- 
 aration of the heart of man," said David. 
 "I do believe his arrow shall be that of 
 love." 
 
 "This feeling in me has kindled a great 
 desire," said VergiUus. " I burn for knowl- 
 edge." 
 
 150 
 
Then said the young Jew: "Let tis 
 find my kinsman, Zacharias — a priest of 
 holy life and great learning. Through his 
 aged wife a miracle has been accomplished. 
 I learn that she has given birth, and many 
 have journeyed far to see the child. There 
 be some who say that he is, indeed, the king 
 of promise, albeit I have no such opinion." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "There shall be signs in the deep of the 
 heavens, and we have not seen them." 
 
 "Where may we find the priest?" 
 
 "In the village of Ain Karim, yonder." 
 
 They could see its low dwellings and the 
 dome of its synagogue. The Roman halted 
 near the abode of Zacharias, while David 
 took their followers to the inn. Suddenly 
 the young Roman saw an aged priest ap- 
 proaching with a child in his arms. 
 
 " I have a message for you," said the man 
 of God, stopping near the Roman officer. 
 
 "And I seek it," said Vergilius, looking 
 at the long, gray beard of the venerable 
 priest. 
 
 151 
 
" It is borne in upon me to say to you 
 that the kingdom of heaven is at hand." 
 
 "Tell me of the king," said Vergilius. 
 "I do thirst for knowledge." 
 
 " He shall be the prince of peace." 
 
 Vergilius looked thoughtfully at the old 
 priest, who now sat down as if weary. 
 
 "And he shall conquer with the sword?" 
 
 " Nay, but as it is written, ' he shall judge 
 among the nations and shall rebuke many 
 people; and they shall beat their swords 
 into ploughshares and their spears into prun- 
 ing-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword 
 against nation, neither shall they learn war 
 any more.'" 
 
 Now the Roman was alert to hear. His 
 ideal, which had taken form at the altar of 
 peace and grown with his love, was being 
 set up before him. 
 
 " But the nations are stubborn," said he. 
 "Tell me, O wise and learned man, how 
 shall he subdue them?" 
 
 " By the love of God, almighty and ever- 
 lasting." 
 
 152 
 
"God, almighty and everlasting," said 
 Vergilius. "I know him not." 
 
 "I do but defile myself to speak with 
 you, worshipper of idols," sternly spake 
 the priest. " And yet I am constrained to 
 instruct you. Listen — there is a power 
 which even Rome has not been able to 
 conquer. Know you what power it is?" 
 
 The young tribune was recounting the 
 peoples of the earth, when Zacharias con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " 'Tis the God of the Jews. Rome has 
 conquered his people, but mark how he 
 stands. And what is there of wrong that 
 his law cannot remedy ? Tell me, is there 
 no injustice in your land?" 
 
 "There is much," said the young Roman. 
 
 "And so I know — but name it." 
 
 " Well, for one thing, men torture and 
 kill their slaves." 
 
 "And in the law of the one God 'tis writ- 
 ten, 'Thou shalt not kill.'" 
 
 After a thoughtful moment Vergilius add- 
 ed: "And the strong prey upon the weak, 
 153 
 
seizing their property and holding it for 
 their own." 
 
 "And the one God commands, 'Thou 
 shalt not steal ' ; and again, ' Thou shalt not 
 covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not 
 covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his man- 
 servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his 
 ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thj?- 
 neighbor's.'" 
 
 " But you have injustice, also, in Judea." 
 
 "Ay, because there be evil men who obey 
 not 'the law of God. But presently they 
 shall be put to shame. Here is he that is 
 come to prepare the way of the Lord." 
 
 The child was now asleep, his head on his 
 father's knee. 
 
 "John," said the priest, tenderly looking 
 down. 
 
 But the Httle one continued to sleep, and 
 a wonderful peace and beauty had come 
 upon him. 
 
 "And this new king — whence shall he 
 come and how shall we know him?" the 
 young Roman persisted. 
 IS4 
 
"Conceived of God, he is now in the 
 womb of his mother," said the priest. 
 "Soon — very soon, he shall enter the gate 
 of the world. The ground is ready and he 
 shall be Hke a sower, and his seed shall 
 be love, and peace shall be his harvest. If 
 ye would know him, behold this face." 
 
 He touched the brow of the child. " Son 
 of darkness," he continued, "look upon the 
 son of light! The faith of Mizraim or the 
 wisdom of Hillel could show you no more. 
 Do you see the new light shining within this 
 lovely veil of flesh? Look, and you shall 
 know the fashion of his countenance, and 
 that his hand shall make no wound." 
 
 The priest rose, and, lifting the child in 
 his arms, went away, saying, "His peace be 
 with you." 
 
 The young Roman stood looking at the 
 sweet face that lay on the shoulder of him 
 departing. The great hope of Judea had 
 entered his heart — the hope of a just 
 king to rule the nations and point the 
 way to eternal life. 
 
 155 
 
On his return he bought a statue rep- 
 resenting a beautiful young boy. He set 
 it up in his chamber, and, kneeling, prayed 
 to it as the one God who forbade killing 
 and theft and every evil practice of men. 
 He prayed for understanding; he prayed, 
 also, that he might see her he loved. But 
 this new God seemed as deaf to his entreaty 
 as had been those of ^ the pagan temples. 
 Groping for light, he turned to the young 
 David. Then first he learned that God, be- 
 ing jealous, hated the image of everything 
 that has the breath of life. His understand- 
 ing had diminished, for, in this matter, the 
 one God was like the many. He questioned 
 the Jew. "Wonder not," said his friend, 
 "that God hates the symbol of ancient 
 error. It has been as a cloud upon the 
 sun." 
 
 Vergilius had taken a palace and filled 
 it with treasures, for, possibly, he had 
 thought, some day she would see all. Now 
 its noble statues were sent away — a kind of 
 sacrifice to the God of the Jews. But 
 156 
 
there was one he could not part with — a 
 copy of the lovely Venus of Alcamenes 
 which his mother had sent to him. He 
 concealed her in a closet, contenting him- 
 self with a furtive glance at her now and 
 then. He set up in his fancy a giant of 
 benevolent face, and humbly sought his 
 favor. Still he had no success. 
 
 Lying at table one night with Manius and 
 Ben Joreb, he sought counsel of the latter. 
 
 "He that hath his prayer hath prayed 
 wisely," said the priest. "You have much 
 to learn." 
 
 " How, and of whom?" said Vergilius. 
 
 " There is in Jerusalem a council of learn- 
 ed men. They expound the Scripture and 
 study all mysteries of the faith." 
 
 "And who are they?" 
 
 "I would I knew. Being wise, they are 
 unknown." 
 
 "Unknown!" 
 
 "So I have heard. They have knowl- 
 edge of him who is to come, and Herod is 
 very jealous." 
 
 157 
 
" True," said Vergilius. " I would I were 
 of them who know." 
 
 " If it may be so you shall have word to- 
 morrow," said the priest. 
 
 Promptly Manius relieved the tension of 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Vergilius, I drink to you — the new 
 commander of the cohorts," said he, rising. 
 
 " I reserve my thanks for more informa- 
 tion," said VergiUus. 
 
 " It will come," said Manius, who then left 
 with the priest in his company. 
 
 Soon the former added, in a low tone: 
 " He may be of some value before he dies." 
 
 "Ah, yes, but he will die young," said the 
 other. 
 
J^EXT day among his letters 
 were two of value in the 
 ^VT^^ history of Vergilius — one 
 4-4J 1^^ from the procurator, ap- 
 art prising him of his appoint- 
 ment to command the 
 cohorts, the other a com- 
 munication with no signature, the source 
 of which was, in his view, quite apparent. 
 This latter one gave him the greater satis- 
 faction. It conveyed, in formal script, the 
 following message: 
 
 "To One Seeking Wisdom in Prayer 
 
 " If you would share in the deliberations of 
 the Council of the Covenant, be at the well of 
 Nicanor, which is opposite the tenth column in 
 
TBT^rgtlttta 
 
 the king's portico of the temple, at the second 
 sounding of the sacred horns on the Day of Atone- 
 ment. There wait until one shall come and ask 
 what you are seeking, and you shall answer, 
 ' Knowledge of the one God. ' Then, if he turns 
 away, follow him and do as he bids you." 
 
 His Opportunity had come. He waited 
 with the curiosity of a child. Soon, pos- 
 sibly, he should see the face of the great 
 Lawgiver and learn of things beyond the 
 valley of death. If all went well he would 
 amaze the people of Rome with wonder 
 stories and give them assurance of im- 
 mortal life. 
 
 The city had been thronged with pilgrims 
 that day of the ancient festival. It was 
 turning dusk when Vergilius made his way 
 through crowded streets to the well of 
 Nicanor. Suddenly he heard a trumpet 
 signal, and then followed that moment of 
 silence when every tongue and foot and 
 wheel stopped, quickly, and all stood listen- 
 ing for the awful name spoken but once a 
 year. 
 
 Presently the shout of the high priest 
 i6o 
 
rang like a trumpet - peal above the roofs 
 of the city. Then Jerusalem was all be- 
 girt and overfiooded with song. Maidens, 
 white robed, were singing in distant vine- 
 yards; people were singing in the streets; 
 trained devotees were whirling and dancing 
 and chanting psalms in the court of the 
 Temple, while priest and Levite followed, 
 blowing, with all their power of lung, upon 
 the sacred horns. 
 
 In the midst of this outbreak a stranger 
 approached Vergilius at the well, saying, 
 "What seek you?" The young Roman 
 gave his answer, but was unable to see the 
 face of him who questioned. The stranger 
 turned away and bade him follow. With- 
 out more ceremony Vergilius walked be- 
 hind him through narrow streets, wholly 
 unfamiliar, and presently descending a 
 stairway, came into a dark passage. They 
 halted, after a few paces, whereupon a loud 
 rap startled the new-comer. Soon he could 
 hear a door open. The stranger, taking his 
 hand, led him into some dark place. It 
 i6i 
 
was all very strange, and like tales long 
 familiar, relating to the city of mysteries. 
 Standing there in the dark and silence, he 
 had some misgivings which gave way when 
 a voice addressed him as follows: 
 
 "You are now in the council-chamber of 
 the Covenant. We meet in darkness, so 
 that no shape or form or image may turn 
 our thought from the contemplation of him 
 who is most high and who hath his dwell- 
 ing in black darkness. Moreover, those 
 who are not seen shall have neither vanity 
 nor the will to deceive. Would you share 
 in our deliberations?" 
 
 Vergilius answered yes, and one of the 
 council then took his hand and adminis- 
 tered the oath of secrecy, and led him to 
 what seemed to be a large divan, where he 
 sat, shoulder to shoulder, between other 
 members of the council. He listened long 
 to the casuistry of learned men touching 
 prayer, atonement, and sacrifice. It led at 
 last to some discussion of the new king. 
 
 " Is there one here can tell me where and 
 163 
 
when he shall be bom?" was the query of 
 Vergilius. 
 
 " We believe the Messiah is already bom," 
 said a councillor. "Moreover, some here 
 have beheld his face." 
 
 "And where, then, does he dwell?" Ver- 
 gilius inquired. 
 
 "That you shall know some day. At 
 the next meeting of the council it may be 
 told. We wait only for the fulness of 
 time. He dwells in a distant city, and not 
 long ago I spoke with him. He sent his 
 love and greeting to every member of our 
 council. He bids you wait his time, when 
 all your prayers shall be answered." 
 
 " Shall there be signs of his coming ?" So 
 spoke Vergilius. 
 
 "There shall be signs, and you shall hear 
 of them in this chamber." 
 
 " And what shall be the aim of the king ?' ' 
 
 "To establish the reign of justice." 
 
 Vergilius queried much regarding the gov- 
 ernment of the new king, and got replies add- 
 ingmore to his curiosity than to his knowledge. 
 163 
 
HfrgtUua 
 
 It was near the middle hour of the 
 night when a voice announced : " The keep- 
 er of the new door will now leave the 
 council." 
 
 Vergilius heard a stir coming near him 
 in the darkness. Hands were laid upon 
 him, and, presently, one took his arm and 
 led him away. The two climbed a long 
 flight of stairs and made hastily across a 
 broad roof. At a railed opening they came 
 to other stairs, and, descending, entered a 
 passage, dark as had been the chamber. 
 At its end the Roman received a password. 
 Then a door swung and again he was on the 
 pavements of Jerusalem, and, far away, 
 could see the lights of Temple Hill. 
 
 His conductor, returning, announced the 
 departure of "the new voice." 
 
 "We will now hear from the keeper of 
 records," said one. 
 
 A voice quickly answered: "He secured 
 a lock of his hair." 
 
 "And what says the keeper of the hidden 
 light?" 
 
 164 
 
Then said another voice: "He now sees 
 but one obstacle." 
 
 "And what says the Angel of Death?" 
 
 A low, deep tone broke the silence in which 
 aU waited. "The sixth day before the kal- 
 ends, he shall claim his own," so it answered. 
 
 "Enough," said the questioner. "The 
 ways lead to safety. I bid you go." 
 
 One by one the councillors began to 
 leave. There was no treading upon heels, 
 for one was well out of the way before an- 
 other was allowed to go. So cunningly was 
 their room devised that half the exits led to 
 one thoroughfare and half to another; and 
 so many were they, it was said, no more than 
 two councillors came or went by the same 
 door. And of all who came, so say the rec- 
 ords, not one knew another to be sure of him. 
 
OR the king there were 
 three great perils: the peo- 
 ple, Cassar, and his own 
 family. The descendant of 
 old John Hyrcanus of 
 Idumasa — a Jew only by 
 compulsion — had no un- 
 derstanding of the children of Moses. He 
 tripped every day on the barriers of an- 
 cient law, and often his generosity was 
 taken for defiance. Ceesar was not so 
 hard to please. He had vanity and laws 
 not wholly inflexible. Herod's family, 
 with its evil sister, its profligate sons, 
 its voluptuous daughters, its wives, of 
 whom it is enough to say they were nine, 
 i66 
 
its intrigues and jealousies, gave him 
 greater trouble than either the kingdom 
 or the emperor. He built a city near 
 Jerusalem, on the sea. Magnificent in 
 marble and gold, Csesarea stood for a 
 monument of Herodian troubles. Therein 
 he sought to amuse the people, to pacify 
 his kindred, and to flatter Cassar. Its vast 
 breakwater; its great arches through which 
 the sea came gently in all weather; its 
 mosaic pavements washed daily by the salt 
 tide ; its palaces of white marble ; its great, 
 glowing amphitheatre — these were unique 
 in their barbaric splendor, albeit, in the 
 view of the people, an offence to God. 
 
 Among those who dwelt in Caesarea was 
 Elpis, eighth wife of the king, with her 
 daughter Salome, whose praises had been 
 sung at the banquet of Antipater. Both 
 were renowned for beauty and the splendor 
 of their dress. Salome had the colors of the 
 far north, and that perfect and voluptuous 
 contour found only in marble figures of 
 Venus, above the great purple sea, and, 
 167 
 
below it, in the daughters of men. She was 
 tall, shapely, full blooded. They called her 
 Salome, child of the sun, because she had 
 the dark of night in her large eyes, the 
 tints of morning in her cheeks, and the gold 
 of noonday in her hair. 
 
 When Manius' came to seek her hand the 
 king said, with a smile: "My noble youth, 
 she is for the like of Achilles — a man of 
 heroic heart and size. Have you no fear of 
 her?" 
 
 Quickly Manius replied: " Know you not, 
 O king! my fathers fought with Achilles?" 
 
 "But they had the protection . of the 
 gods," said Herod, with a smile. "How- 
 ever, you may find her favor sufficient. I 
 have heard her speak fair of you." 
 
 Now a quarrel had arisen between Elpis 
 and a sister of Herod. So, therefore, to 
 calm a tempest, the adroit king had sent his 
 eighth wife to live by the sea. 
 
 It was a day near the nones of October, 
 when the tribune went to Csesarea with 
 Manius. There in a great palace, erected by 
 i68 
 
the king, they met the two renowned women. 
 It was a f^te day and the gay people of 
 Herod's court were in attendance. Salome 
 was dancing, tabret in hand, her form show- 
 ing through a robe of transparent silk as the 
 two entered. Once before, at the door of 
 the king, Vergilius had seen her. 
 
 "See the taper of arm and leg," said 
 he, addressing his companion. "She is 
 wonderful!" 
 
 A lithe and beautiful creature, she swayed 
 and bent, with arms extended, her feet, 
 now slow as the pinions of a sailing hawk, 
 now swift as the wings of a tilting sparrow. 
 She stopped suddenly, her form proudly 
 erect, looking at her lover. Now she had 
 the dignity of a wild deer in the barrens. 
 With one hand she felt her jewelled hair, 
 with the other she beckoned to him. The 
 young men approached her. 
 
 "Children of -.Sneas, I give you wel- 
 come," said she. Then turning to Vergil- 
 ius: "Did Manius tell you that I bade 
 him bring you here?" 
 „ 169 
 
" I knew not I was so honored." 
 
 "He is jealous. He will not permit me 
 to embrace my little page. I have wished 
 to meet you, noble tribune, ever since I 
 saw you in my father's palace." 
 
 Her eyes were playful, as if they would 
 try the heart of her lover. 
 
 "And when I saw you," said Vergilius, 
 " I — I knew you were the betrothed of the 
 assessor." 
 
 "And why?" she besought, with a smile. 
 
 " Because I heard him say in Rome that, 
 of all the daughters of Judea, you were 
 most beautiful." 
 
 Her eyes looked full upon his and he saw 
 in them a glint of that fire which, had begun 
 to bum within her. He said to himself, as 
 he came away, "Here is another Cleopatra 
 — a woman made to pull down the mighty." 
 
 Next day from the daughter of Herod 
 came a letter to the young tribune: 
 
 " Noble son op Varro, — I have much to say 
 concerning your welfare, and I doubt not you 
 will desire to hear it. If I judge you rightly, 
 170 
 
come to the palace of my m.other the second 
 evening before the nones. An hour after sunset 
 I will meet you at the gate of bronze. Say 
 naught to Manius of your coming or of this 
 letter." 
 
 "Temptress!" said he, crushing the sheet 
 of scented vellum. " But she is beautiful," 
 he added, wistfully. " She is like the Venus 
 of Alcamenes. I would love well to look 
 upon her again." 
 
 He smoothed out the crumpled vellum. 
 
 " ' Say naught to Manius,' " he read again. 
 " I Hke it not. I shall write to her that I 
 have other business." 
 
 And so did he, although in phrases of 
 regret, as became one addressing a daughter 
 of the great king. 
 
 Sorely vexed, she thought ever of the 
 noble beauty of the Roman youth, and 
 became more eager to gain her purpose. 
 It may be the girl bore for him a better 
 feeling than she had ever known. She 
 wished, if possible, to win him , knowing that 
 her father would not be slow to help him 
 171 
 
forward. The handsome youth had pleased 
 her eye. and might, also, gratify her ambi- 
 tion. Those days the art of intrigue was 
 the study of a king's daughter; so, straight- 
 way, she invented a cunning plan. Know- 
 ing the great desire of VergiHus, she bribed 
 the priest Lugar to give him crafty counsel. 
 On the very morning of that second day 
 the priest came to him. 
 
 "How fares your soul, noble tribune?" 
 said Lugar. 
 
 " I feel it strong in me," said Vergilius. 
 
 " And you would know if it be strong unto 
 salvation?" 
 
 "That would I gladly know." 
 
 " Come with me this night and you shall 
 see your soul in the balance." 
 
 "And whither shall we go?" 
 
 "To the palace of Laban, steward of the 
 king. I shall come for you soon after the 
 ninth hour." 
 
 "And thereby increase my debt to you," 
 said Vergilius. "Remember my soul may 
 not be rejected for lack of gratitude." 
 172 
 
Now in that hour which follows the 
 beginning of night, Lugar and VergiKus 
 were come to the place appointed. Slaves 
 led them through a great hall to the ban- 
 quet-chamber. There were the daughters 
 of Laban, reclining in graceful ease. The 
 banquet -table had been removed. Now 
 they were taking their feast of old tales and 
 new gossip. They rose and came to meet 
 the young men. Tunics of jewelled gauze 
 covered without concealing forms lovely as 
 the sculptures of immortal Greece and 
 redolent of all rare perfumes. 
 
 "And you would see a maidens' frolic?" 
 said one to Vergilius. 
 
 Then said he: "Maidens are ever a 
 delight to me." 
 
 "Ay, they make you to forget," said the 
 
 girl- 
 He thought a moment before answering. 
 
 "It may be true," said he. "But they 
 
 keep you in mind of the power of woman." 
 
 Strains of the lyre broke in upon them. 
 
 Suddenly the centre of the great room was 
 
 173 
 
thronged with maidens. The young tribune 
 was full of wonder, knowing not whence 
 they had come. There was a wreath of 
 roses on each brow, and as they gathered 
 in even rank with varicolored robes upon 
 them, they reminded the knight of garden 
 walls in Velitrae. Quickly they began to 
 mingle, with feet tripping lightly, with 
 bodies bending to display their charms. 
 Threadlike, wavering gleams of ruby, pearl, 
 and sapphire seemed to weave a net 
 upon them. Such a scene appealed to the 
 love of beauty in Vergilius. It awoke dy- 
 ing but delightful memories of the pagan 
 capital — splendors of form and color, glow- 
 ing eyes and pretty frolic. 
 
 "O Venus, mother of love!" he whis- 
 pered, turning to admire a statue in the 
 dim -lit comer where he stood. Now the 
 eyes of Venus were covered with an arm. 
 Out went his hand to feel the shapely mar- 
 ble. It was warm, and slowly Venus began 
 to move, as did the strains of music, and, 
 presently, whirled away. 
 174 
 
"How beautiful!" he said. '"Tis the 
 magic of a dream." 
 
 His eyes were upon the form of Venus, 
 taller than the others and more nobly 
 fashioned. 
 
 " 'Tis the great goddess come to earth," 
 said he, turning to Lugar. 
 
 The music had ceased. The maidens, 
 save two, had flung themselves upon rugs 
 and couches. Venus and another were ap- 
 proaching the Roman. 
 
 "Daughter of Herod," said he, going 
 to meet her, "I knew you not." 
 
 She took his arm and led him to one of the 
 couches. 
 
 "You are very stubborn," said she, 
 looking into his eyes. "You had 'busi- 
 ness.'" 
 
 " So have I. We came here, as I thought, 
 to confer with — ^with wise men." 
 
 "And not with wise women?" 
 
 " It may be. I had not learned to look 
 for wisdom where there is beauty." 
 
 "And have I not wisdom? Ah, son of 
 
Varro, my mother has taught me many 
 mysteries. I can read the future and the 
 past." 
 
 She leaned close to his ear and whispered, 
 her arm against his: "I believe in the 
 power of fate. I had much to say and you 
 had not the will to listen. It has brought 
 you and me together." 
 
 "To enchant me with your beauty?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 "Nay," said she, her cheek touching his 
 shoulder. "But to instruct you with my 
 wisdom. I see much in your face." 
 
 "And what see you?" 
 
 "Apollo!" she whispered, with a sigh; 
 "and the power to be great." 
 
 It flattered him, but he knew the sound 
 of fair words. 
 
 "In Rome," said he, laughing, "we be- 
 little with compliments." 
 
 " In Jerusalem we fill them with sincerity, 
 and often — " 
 
 He listened as the daughter of Herod 
 drew closer. 
 
 176 
 
"They convey our love," she added, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " I learn wonderful things every day. But 
 why think you I am to be great?" 
 
 "I know the mysteries of fate," she 
 answered, quickly, and with a little re- 
 sentment of his coldness. "But there is 
 one thing in your way." 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 "Your work is to be in Judea, and you 
 love, or think you love, a Roman maiden." 
 
 "I know that I love her," said he, 
 quickly. 
 
 " But love is a great deceiver. You shall 
 not take her for your wife." 
 
 "Why?" he demanded, turning and look- 
 ing into the face of Salome. 
 
 Her dark eyes were now gazing into his, 
 her hand softly stroking his bare arm. 
 
 "Because," she whispered, and now he 
 could feel the motion of her shapely red lips 
 upon his ear, "here, in Judea, you shall 
 find one who loves you with a greater love." 
 
 His pulses were quick with passion. He 
 177 
 
rose, turning from the daughter of Herod. 
 To his amazement the others had all de- 
 parted. He and this living Venus of Judea 
 were alone. 
 
 She rose and spoke rapidly, her heart's 
 fire in her words ! " Here the love of wom- 
 en is longer than their lives— greater than 
 their prudence or their hope of heaven." 
 
 She stood erect before him, her beauty- 
 striving with the ardor of her words. 
 
 He looked down at her with a kind of fear 
 in his eyes. 
 
 She took his hand in hers. "My father 
 is fond of you," she continued. "Shall I 
 tell your future ?' ' 
 
 "And I knew it for a moment hence I 
 should know all," he answered, covering 
 his eyes. She came near, and, caressingly, 
 put an arm about his neck. He could hear 
 a nightingale singing somewhere in the 
 great palace. It seemed to fling open the 
 gates of memory. He thought of his love 
 — sacred now above all things. His fear 
 of it was like as the fear of the gods had 
 178 
 
been to his fathers. For a moment honor, 
 wisdom, and love trembled in the balance. 
 Suddenly he stood erect and put his hand 
 upon the shoulder of Salome and gently- 
 pushed her aside. 
 
 He turned away, his left arm covering 
 his eyes and his right moving in a gesture 
 of protest. He staggered as one drunk 
 with wine. Slowly he crossed the chamber, 
 struggling to defend his soul. 
 
 " I dare not look upon your face again," 
 said he, sternly. 
 
 She ran before and tried to stop him. 
 "Hear me, son of Varro," said she. "It is 
 my will to help you." 
 
 " I will not look upon your face again," he 
 repeated. 
 
 She struck at his hand fiercely, her foot 
 stamping on the floor. Now was she of the 
 catlike tribe of Herod. 
 
 "Go, stupid fool!" The words came 
 hissing from her Hps. "I hate you!" She 
 ran away, with impassioned laughter. He 
 passed the door. 
 
 179 
 
HfrgtUua 
 
 "To the evil honor is ever stupid," he 
 said, to himself, as he left the palace. By- 
 and-by he added, thoughtfully, '"Tis a 
 mighty friend — this great love in me." 
 
 And said David, who was waiting when 
 he returned: "They kept you long, , my 
 master." 
 
 "Yes; I have been fighting!" 
 
 "Fighting?" 
 
 "For the prize of heaven in the am- 
 phitheatre of hell. My love was my shield, 
 the power of God my weapon." 
 
 "Friend, what mean you?" 
 
 "That an evil woman has tried to put 
 the leash of fate upon me." 
 
 "How fared the battle?" 
 
 "It was my victory," said Vergilius; 
 "and I do feel a mighty peace in me." 
 
JERGILIUS had thought 
 wisely of his temptation. 
 ^Yf^ ^iM F^'te rules them only who 
 Irl )^^ ^^^ *°° weak to rule them- 
 ^^ P^A selves, and the great leash 
 of fate is the power of evil 
 women. It was now to 
 hasten the current of history in the old 
 capital. 
 
 Salome sat with Manius in the great pict- 
 ure-room of her mother's palace. Guests 
 had left the banquet-hall and gone to their 
 homes. It was near the middle hour of the 
 night and Herod's daughter was alone with 
 the young assessor of Augustus. 
 
 "You shall choose," said she, "between 
 i8i 
 
the daughter and the son of Herod. My 
 brother hates me, and I fear him. When he 
 is king, what, think you, would happen to 
 the husband of Salome, and what to her? 
 I should have to train my tongue to praise 
 him and my knees to bend. I should 
 need to bow my head for fear of losing it. 
 Know you not of Alexander and Aristo- 
 bulus and the dear, beloved Mariamne — 
 how they died? You — poor fool! — you 
 would be lucky jf he made you master of 
 the stables!" 
 
 " But he has promised — " 
 
 "Promised! If you care to Hve a day 
 after he is king remind him not of his 
 promises." 
 
 " Think you Antipater would dare to take 
 my life? I am an officer of Augustus." 
 
 " Oh, beautiful boy !" she laughed. " He 
 would be no toy of Caesar. He dreams of 
 conquest. He will gather an army in Judea, 
 Parthia, and Arabia. He will attack Caesar, 
 and Caesar is growing old. Do you not 
 know it is long since Actium?" 
 182 
 
Alarm had risen to the eyes of the young 
 Roman, his lips were now trembKng. 
 "What is your plan?" he whispered. 
 
 "Betray the council," said she. "Tell 
 the king and write to Cssar about it. So 
 you will prove your faithfulness and devo- 
 tion. Loving Caesar, you have been a spy 
 self-appointed. Antipater shall be put to 
 death, and we — ^we shall have honor and 
 glory and, maybe, a palace of many 
 towers." 
 
 She put her arms about his neck and gave 
 him a look whose meaning he understood. 
 
 "By all the gods! you are worthy to be 
 the wife as well as the daughter of a king," 
 he whispered, his cheeks red with en- 
 thusiasm. " But they will think me a poor 
 spy if I give not the names of the con- 
 spirators, and how may I?" 
 
 "But the God-fearing fool, Vergilius — 
 you know he is of them?" 
 
 " I am sure — I heard his voice, but I have 
 not seen him." 
 
 "You shall see him," said she, with 
 183 
 
rising fury in her eyes; "and I shall see 
 him" — she paused, her hands clinched, 
 her tongue sorting hot words — "melting in 
 fire," she added, fiercely. She clapped her 
 hands; she leaned forward, her body shak- 
 ing with a silent, horrible laughter of the 
 spirit. 
 
 A moment she seemed to dwell upon the 
 awful picture. Then, turning to Manius: 
 "Give the password to my father and let 
 him go and listen. I promise you their 
 names shall not be long a secret. He must 
 hear all. Give him plans of that chamber 
 so he may guard the exits." 
 
 " I will do my part, dear and wonderful 
 daughter of Herod! To-morrow I shall 
 begin the good work." So saying the 
 Roman embraced Salome and spoke his 
 farewell. 
 
 Having left her, he went to his own 
 palace and sat awhile pondering. 
 
 "But if Herod is there," said he to him- 
 self, "and the soldiers come in with lights 
 and the council members see me, they will 
 184 
 
learn that I have betrayed them. And 
 
 some may be there who know of my part 
 
 in other enterprises. By showing proof — 
 
 Jupiter! they would bring confusion or 
 
 death upon me. I must not be there, and 
 
 yet — and yet I must. They wait for the 
 
 shrill voice to declare the fulness of time. 
 
 Unless I be there the king may be no wiser 
 
 for his coming. I will go, but I will not 
 
 tell Herod of the long way underground to 
 
 the street of tombs. I will announce the 
 
 fulness of time and quit the council before 
 
 its proclamation is made. Then the old 
 
 lion may spring his trap, and who, save Ben 
 
 Joreb, will know that I ever sat with 
 
 traitors. And as for the priest, I shall warn 
 
 him. I know that he is weary of Antipater 
 
 and will take a share in the new enterprise." 
 13 
 
Lgf^^^^ 
 
 maker. 
 
 It was the day before the 
 nones of November in 
 Rome. The emperor had 
 returned to his palace after 
 opening the Ludi Plebeii. 
 |I>The people had hailed him 
 as father, forgiver, peace- 
 A softened spirit, sweeping over the 
 world, was come upon them. That day they 
 had put in his hands a petition for new laws 
 to limit the power of men over slaves. But 
 in that matter he was bound to ancient cus- 
 tom by fetters of his own making. Once — 
 he was then emperor of Rome but not of his 
 own spirit — he had punished a slave by cru- 
 cifixion for killing a pet quail. For that 
 i86 
 
act, one cannot help thinking, he must have 
 been harassed, with regret. The sting of 
 it tempered his elation that November day. 
 He was, however, pleased with the spirit of 
 the people and his heart was full of sym- 
 pathy and good-will. 
 
 On his table were letters from the south. 
 He lay comfortably in his great chair and 
 began to read them. Presently his body 
 straightened, the wrinkles deepened in his 
 brow. Soon he flung the letter he had been 
 reading upon his table and leaned back, 
 laughing quietly as he remarked to himself: 
 
 ' ' Innocent, beautiful son of Varro ! He is 
 making progress." 
 
 An attendant came near. 
 
 "Find my young Appius at once and 
 bring him to me," said the emperor, as he 
 went on reading his letters. 
 
 Appius, quickly found, came with all 
 haste to the great father of Rome. 
 
 "I have news for you," said the latter, 
 quietly, with a glance at his young friend. 
 He continued to read his letters. 
 187 
 
"News!" said Appius. 
 
 "'Tis of Vergilius — the apt and youth- 
 ful Vergilius. How swift, industrious, and 
 capable is he ! How versatile ! How varied 
 his attainments!" 
 
 "I am delighted." 
 
 The emperor turned his keen eyes on the 
 young man, with a smile of amusement. 
 Then he spoke, gently: 
 
 " 'Tis only four months, and he has be- 
 come a conspirator, and also a prophet, and 
 is likely soon to be — ^what is that word they 
 use in Judea ? — an angel. You will start for 
 Jerusalem to - morrow, my good Appius. 
 And when you arrive there convey to him 
 my congratulations." 
 
 " Your congratulations !" 
 
 " That he is upon earth to receive them," 
 said the great man. He resumed his letters 
 and continued speaking, slowly: "Tell him 
 I have been asked to consider whether he 
 should keep his head upon his shoulders, 
 and that I have decided to refer the ques- 
 tion to him. It will not come back to me. 
 i88 
 
Say, also, that he should have more light 
 upon his friends, and that I have withdrawn 
 my consent to his marriage." 
 
 The young man rose, a look of astonish- 
 ment in his face. 
 
 " But shall I be in time?" said he, with 
 some excitement. 
 
 "Learn composure, my good Appius. 
 Herod may not be extremely polite to him, 
 but — ^but he will wait." 
 
 That odd man, Gaius Julius Caesar Oc- 
 tavianus Augustus, laughed silently as the 
 youth was leaving. He beckoned to a slave, 
 who halted Appius and turned him back. 
 
 "An escort will be on the campus at 
 dawn," said the emperor. "I wish you a 
 pleasant journey and will write you when to 
 return." 
 
 Now there had been no changes of mo- 
 ment in the palace of the Lady Lucia, save 
 one. The slave-girl, Cyran, had brought to 
 Arria the inspiration of a new faith. The 
 sister of Appius had begun to try it in secret 
 prayers. Her mother had fallen ill of a 
 189 
 
deadly fever so that none had hope of her 
 recovery, and the girl had prayed, and, lo ! 
 her prayer had been answered. Letters from 
 Vergilius, full of the new Hght in him, had 
 confirmed her faith. And Arria confided 
 to her family and intimates knowledge of 
 her devotion to the one God. Soon the 
 religion of Judea had become a topic of 
 patrician Rome. 
 
 When Vergilius had left the capital, An- 
 tipater came every day for a time to the 
 palace of the Lady Lucia, and brought with 
 him many beautiful gifts. But Arria re- 
 fused to see him or to accept the gifts he 
 had brought. Now the stubborn prince 
 had faith that when he was made king she 
 would no longer be able to resist him. If 
 he ■ failed with splendor, he was beginning 
 to consider what he might do with power. 
 
 That day of the interview between 
 youth and emperor a letter came to Arria 
 from her lover. It began as follows : 
 
 " Dear Love, — It lias been a day illumined 
 with new honor and the praises of a king. Now, 
 190 
 
before sleeping, I send these words to tell you 
 that I have not forgotten. Every day I think of 
 you, and my love grows. I see your face full of 
 honor and the will to give all for me. Because 
 it is in you, I love honor beyond all my hope of it, 
 and — that look in your eyes — oh, it has made me 
 to think gently and be kind! Now I tell you 
 of a wonderful thing — this feeling is the very 
 seed of friendship. The legate, the procurator, 
 the high priest, and Herod himself, are my 
 friends. I had only the will to serve, and now 
 they insist that I shall command. After all, it is 
 in no way remarkable — there be so few here who 
 forget themselves for the good of the service. It 
 all leads to a new and a great law — think of the 
 good of others and you need have no thought of 
 yourself. Consider this, my beloved, if every 
 man loved a good woman as I love you a new 
 peace would fill the world." 
 
 Then he told her of his discovery of David, 
 the brother of Cyran, and their friendship. 
 
jiHEN Appius told his 
 mother and his sister what 
 Augustus had said to him, 
 they were greatly distress- 
 ed. But Arria would not 
 believe that Vergilius had 
 been guilty of dishonor. 
 Such were her anxiety and her fear of 
 injustice falling upon her lover, the girl 
 would have it that she must go to Jerusa- 
 lem with Appius. She would neither be 
 turned away nor bear with dissuasion. 
 Her brother told her not of the bitter 
 message of Augustus, and, fearing the wiles 
 of the Jewish prince, determined to take 
 her with him. So, therefore, as the sun 
 192 
 
rose on the nones of November in that 
 year of the birth of Jesus, they set out 
 with a troop of horse on the Appian Way. 
 
 They were midland in Thrace on their 
 way to Pirffius, where a ship waited them, 
 when they were overtaken by the cavalcade 
 of Antipater. The prince, summoned by 
 Herod, was now returning, under royal 
 banners, to receive his inheritance of glory 
 and power. A letter had started him, 
 which, according to the great historian of 
 that time, was warm with affectionate 
 greeting. Antipater, also, was to take ship 
 for Judea. He had learned of the depart- 
 ure of Appius and Arria, and had pushed 
 his horses to the limit of their speed in 
 order to overtake them. When he first 
 saw the troop of the young Roman, he left 
 his column and came rushing on to greet 
 them. 
 
 The troop of Appius quickly faced about 
 and stood with raised lances. 
 
 "Proud son and daughter of Publius," 
 said Antipater, drawing rein, "my heart, 
 193 
 
my horses, and my men are at your service !' ' 
 He was now splendid in royal vestments 
 of purple and gold. 
 
 " Our gratitude is not less than our sur- 
 prise," said Appius. "How came you fly- 
 ing out of the west like a bluebird?" 
 
 " 'Tis a winged foot that goes to meet a 
 friend," said the prince. "I left Rome far 
 behind you and I go to Jerusalem." 
 
 "We took you for a bandit." 
 
 "And I am only a king," said Antipater, 
 proudly. "I am summoned to take the 
 crown of my father." 
 
 "And is he dead?" 
 
 "Nay, but ill and weary of his burden." 
 
 Appius removed his helmet as he made 
 answer : 
 
 "The gods give you health, honor, and 
 wisdom, O king! Will you ride with us?" 
 
 "Already the gods give me honor," said 
 the prince, bowing politely as the troop 
 made way for him. " I doubt not they will 
 add health and wisdom. But there is a 
 blessing I put above either." 
 194 
 
They started slowly, Antipater riding 
 between Arria and her brother in advance 
 of the troop. 
 
 "And shall we ask the gods to grant it?" 
 said Arria. 
 
 "Yes, for it is your favor, sweet girl. 
 I adore you, and shall have no other 
 queen." 
 
 " I cannot give you my heart," said she, 
 frankly. "It is impossible — I cannot bear 
 to speak of it." 
 
 " And you would not share my power and 
 glory with me?" said Antipater, turning, 
 with a look of surprise. 
 
 Appius answered: 
 
 " Once before I have told you, my worthy 
 prince, that whom the emperor chooses she 
 will wed." 
 
 "Think not of that — I shall make terms 
 with him," said Antipater. "She shall 
 never wed a weak-hearted tribune." 
 
 "You speak Hghtly of my friend," said 
 Appius. "I like it not, good sire." 
 
 "Son of Herod," said Arria, drawing 
 195 
 
rein, " we cannot longer enjoy your com- 
 pany." , 
 
 Appius halted the troop. 
 
 For a little Antipater was dumb with 
 astonishment. He drew, aside, and when 
 he spoke his voice trembled with ire, it 
 was near bursting into fury. 
 
 "Sweet girl," said he, caressing the neck 
 of his horse, "not even the power of Rome 
 shall forbid me to love you, and I swear, 
 by the god of my fathers, no man shall live 
 between us!" He turned quickly, and a 
 fierce look came into his eyes and he added, 
 in a hoarse half -whisper, "You shall be my 
 wife, sister of Appius." 
 
 The young Roman wheeled his horse 
 between them. Antipater backed away,- 
 threatening with his lance. He shouted to 
 his trumpeter, his troop being hard by, and 
 quickly a call sounded. Then spur went 
 to flank, and the followers of the Jew 
 passed in a quick rush and went thunder- 
 ing off, Antipater at the head of their 
 column. He rode to Athens in ill humor 
 196 
 
and was at Piraeus three hours in advance 
 of Arria and Appius. The sun had set 
 and the sea lay calm in a purple dusk. 
 He went aboard his trireme at once and 
 called his pilot to him. 
 
 " Go find the vessel waiting here for one 
 Appius of Rome," he commanded. 
 
 "It is she that lies near us," said the 
 other. 
 
 "And you know her pilot?" 
 
 " Ay, 'tis Tepas the Idumsean. He knows 
 the broad sea as one may know his own 
 vineyard." 
 
 " Bring him to me." 
 
 When Tepas came, Antipater took him 
 aside and spread before him a chart of 
 the vast, purple sea which beat upon the 
 shores of Hellas. He put his finger on a 
 little spot some leagues from the coast of 
 Africa. 
 
 "Know you the Isle of Doom?" said he. 
 
 "Ay, 'tis a lonely heap of rocks." 
 
 "A roost of sea-birds," said the prince of 
 Judea. "Know you who am I?" 
 197 
 
"You are the son of Herod." 
 
 " And I go to be king of tfie Jews." 
 
 Antipater took from a bag many pieces 
 of gold and heaped them on the chart above 
 the Isle of Doom. 
 
 " Would you earn this money, and much 
 more?" he whispered. 
 
 "If you will but show me how," said 
 Tepas, the fire of greed now burning in his 
 heart. 
 
 "Sail close to the Isle of Doom. There 
 your trireme shall be leaking and you shall 
 desert her and seek refuge on the isle and 
 wait for me. You shall have ample store of 
 provisions, and this treasure, and when I 
 come you shall have, also, three talents 
 more and a home in Jerusalem, and my 
 favor as long as you live." 
 
 " But how long must I wait ?" 
 
 "Not beyond the ides of January, good 
 man." 
 
 "Then I agree," said Tepas. 
 
 So was it with an evil man those days. 
 If he were armed with power he halted not 
 198 
 
between his plan and his purpose. There 
 were, indeed, few things so valued as to be 
 above price. 
 
 But the cunning of the tempter was to 
 lead his prey into further depths of infamy. 
 The prince took the hand of the sailor and 
 whispered to him: 
 
 "If you would be a friend to me, then 
 my enemies should be your enemies." He 
 paused a moment, looking into the eyes of 
 the pilot and tenderly patting his shoulder. 
 It was like the guile of the black leopard. 
 Presently he continued : 
 
 "Now this young Roman is my enemy. 
 If by any chance he, Appius, should die 
 before I come, you shall have six instead of 
 three talents. He is fond of wine, and for 
 such the sea has many perils. Do you un- 
 derstand me?" 
 
 " I do," said Tepas, nodding his approval, 
 and then that heap of gold, lying on the 
 chart, was delivered to him, and without 
 more dela}^ he went to his own vessel. 
 Antipater sat in silence, thinking for a mo- 
 199 
 
ment, his chin upon his breast. Soon the 
 thought of his enemies and their doom 
 brightened his eyes and lifted the comers 
 of his mouth a little and set his lips quiv- 
 ering. He leaned forward upon a table, 
 softly, as if in fear that some eye would 
 observe him. One might have heard then 
 that menacing, Herodian rumble in his 
 throat. He seemed to caress the table with 
 his hands. 
 
 ' ' Dear Appius ! Good Vergilius !" he mut- 
 tered, seizing a piece of vellum and crush- 
 ing it in his hand. " Soon my power shall 
 close upon you. And Arria, my pretty 
 maiden, you shall repair my heart with 
 kisses." 
 
 A pet kitten leaped upon the table. It 
 seemed to startle him, and he struck it dead 
 with his hand. 
 
 Then he sprang up suddenly and looked 
 about, a feline stealth upon him, and ran 
 with catlike paces to the deck. 
 
 "Get to work, you sea-rats!" he roared. 
 "Every man to his place. If we are not 
 200 
 
gone to sea before the moon is up, some of 
 you will be gone to Hades." 
 
 In half a moment slaves were up in the 
 rigging and rushing across the deck and 
 tumbling into the galley. 
 
 And that night Antipater pushed his 
 prow into the deep sea. 
 
 Meanwhile Arria and Appius, fearing the 
 power of this new king of Judea, and 
 thinking also of the peril of Vergilius, 
 travelled slowly, considering what they 
 should do. Appius feared either to go 
 or to return, but Arria was of better 
 courage. 
 
 "I must go to him," said she. "You 
 know not this love in me, dear brother. I 
 would give up my life to be with him. If 
 he is dead I shall never see the seven hills 
 again. I shall go — " she paused, covering 
 her eyes a moment. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " To the city of God," she whispered. 
 
 "May all the gods protect us," said her 
 brother. . 
 
 '4 _ 
 
 20I 
 
And the day after Antipater had set 
 sail, they, too, with Cyran, the slave-girl, 
 were moving southward in the great, mid- 
 dle sea. 
 
^GAIN the council of the 
 covenant was in session. 
 Herod, unknown to all, sat 
 in the darkness of the 
 council chamber. The in- 
 trigue of Salome and the 
 treachery of Manius had 
 led the Lion of Judea to his prey. Swords 
 of fate were in the gloom that surrounded 
 the traitors. 
 
 Now there had been, that night, a great 
 discussion of the new king, and suddenly 
 a man sitting by the side of Vergilius 
 had risen. He began speaking in a strange 
 voice, which had, however, some quality 
 familiar to the young Roman. Shrill and 
 203 
 
trembling with emotion, it thrilled many 
 with a feeling of religious awe. 
 
 "The time is upon us," said he, "when 
 the judges of the council have come to the 
 end of their deliberations. It is for me, 
 therefore, to reveal it to you in part. If 
 there be any here who give not full ap- 
 proval, let them freely express their 
 minds." 
 
 He did not explain that such were, then 
 and there, to be won by argument or put 
 out of the way by daggers. 
 
 "I speak of great things, but he that is 
 to follow me shall speak of greater. After 
 weighing all the promises of Holy Writ, and 
 enforcing their wisdom by the counsel of 
 other learned men," he continued, "your 
 judges declare the fulness of time." 
 
 The speaker paused. He heard a little 
 stir of bodies, a rustle of robes in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 The speaker went on : 
 
 " When Herod dies you shall see a rider 
 go swiftly through the streets bearing a red 
 204 
 
banner and ciying, 'The king is dead.' 
 Then shall the commander of the cohorts 
 go quickly and take possession of the royal 
 palace and await the new king." 
 
 VergiUus ttimed quickly in the direction 
 of the fateful voice. He had begun to sus- 
 pect a plot. In a moment he saw to the 
 very depths of its cunning. Here was a 
 band of conspirators meeting in the dark- 
 ness and speaking in disguised voices. 
 Probably no member had ever seen the 
 face of another, and the betrayal of a name 
 was, therefore, impossible. Vergilius, now 
 commander of the castle, heard with 
 consternation of his part in the pro- 
 gramme. By some movement of the speak- 
 er's body an end of his girdle was filing 
 against the hand of Vergilius. Imme- 
 diately the young Roman laid hold of the 
 silken cord. Tracing it stealthily, to make 
 sture of its owner, he drew his dagger and 
 cut the girdle in twain, hiding an end of it 
 in his bosom. 
 
 "The new king is in Rome," the speaker 
 205 
 
added. "Presently you. shall hear the 
 voice of his herald, whose face I know not, 
 but of whose fidelity and wisdom I have 
 long been sure. He will give you further 
 revelation of our purposes." 
 
 It was cunningly said, for the speaker 
 knew that such a promise would delay the 
 vengeance of Herod. 
 
 A little silence followed the ceasing of 
 "the shrill voice." VergiUus could hear its 
 owner moving away in the darkness. Fear- 
 ful possibilities had begun to suggest them- 
 selves to the new convert. Now had he the 
 flinty heart and the cunning mind of his 
 fathers. The darkness had begun to smoth- 
 er and sicken him. 
 
 " Hear me now, good friends," said a low, 
 calm, but unfamiliar voice, "and let my 
 words enter your hearts and be there cher- 
 ished in secret, for I shall tell you a name, 
 and for its safe-keeping you shall answer 
 to the Most High. Know you, then, that 
 the new king is no other than the son of 
 Herod and his name is Antipater — a man 
 206 
 
of great valor, learned in all wisdom and all 
 mystery, who loves the people of God. His 
 heart has suffered, feeling the wrongs of 
 Israel. He has the voice of wrath, the hand 
 of power, and the claim of a just and 
 natural inheritor. I have his word that 
 we who are bound in this cotincil of the 
 covenant shall share in the glory of his 
 reign." 
 
 Vergilius, hot with anger, rose to his 
 feet. 
 
 "Good sirs," said he, in a piping voice 
 very unlike his own, "let us not approve 
 without full understanding. There may 
 be some here who in their zeal have been 
 deceived. Let us be fair, and warn them 
 that all who approve this plan are traitors. 
 I came here to study the mysteries of the 
 one God, and I am learning the mysteries of 
 an evil plot. 'Tis a great surprise to me. 
 I like it not, and shall have no part in it. I 
 know not your names or your faces, but I 
 know your plan is murder, and if the one 
 God favor it, I can no longer honor Him." 
 207 
 
He paused, but there came no answer. 
 Again he heard a rustle of garments in the 
 dark chamber, and, also, a stealthy and 
 suggestive grating of steel upon scabbard. 
 He perceived now the imminence of his 
 peril. He could hear no sound in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 He stepped quickly aside, hearing not the 
 feet which followed, nor feeling him who 
 clung to the skirt of his toga. He stood 
 silent, with dagger drawn. As he felt 
 about him, he touched a pair of great, 
 trembling hands. He stood motionless, ex- 
 pecting every breath to feel a point plung- 
 ing into his flesh. Suddenly some one 
 blew a sharp whistle close beside him. 
 Then, for a little, it seemed as if the doors 
 were being rent by thtmderbolts. Crowding 
 forms and cries of terror filled the darkness. 
 The young Vergilius kept his place after 
 the first outbreak. Men, rushing past him, 
 had torn the toga from his back. The 
 hands which had clung upon him now held 
 his wrist with a grip immovable. Doors 
 208 
 
fell and lights were flashing in. He saw 
 now, on every side, a gleam of helmet and 
 cuirass. Men, retreating from the lights, 
 huddled in a dark comer. Some began to 
 weep and cry to God. The scene was aw- 
 ful with swiftness and terror. The crowd- 
 ing group moved like caving sand. It 
 sank suddenly, every man going to his 
 knees. Quick as the serpent, a Kne of sol- 
 diers flung itself around them. Vergilius, 
 with the man who clung to him, stood 
 apart near the middle of the chamber. 
 
 Suddenly he heard an impatient, wrath- 
 ful shout close beside him : ' ' Lights here, 
 ye laggards!" 
 
 Vergilius jumped as if he had felt the 
 prick of steel. He turned, looking at the 
 man who held his arm. A squad with 
 torches came swiftly, forming about them. 
 The powerful hands let go; a cloak and 
 hood fell upon the floor. 
 
 "The king!" said Vergilius, bowing low. 
 
 "And you," said Herod, breathing heav- 
 ily and leaning on the shoulder of the 
 209 
 
young man, " you are the only friend of the 
 king. To save you from the fate of those 
 dogs yonder, I would not let you go." 
 
 This unloved and terrible man, still lean- 
 ing upon the shoulder of Vergilius, wept fee- 
 bly. It seemed as if the infirmity of old age 
 had fallen suddenly upon him. He mut- 
 tered, in a weak and piping tone, of his 
 great life weariness. Then he seemed to 
 hear those low cries of terror from beyond 
 the line of guards. He lifted his head, lis- 
 tening. He turned quickly, crouching low, 
 and seemed to threaten the soldiers near 
 him with his hand. They stepped aside 
 fearfully. Then was he, indeed, the old 
 lion of Judea, ready to spring upon his 
 prey. 
 
 ' ' Stand them here before me, ' ' he growled, 
 fiercely. 
 
 The conspirators were drawn up in line. 
 Torches were held before their faces. Ver- 
 gilius looked with pity at the terrified 
 throng. There were Lugar and two mer- 
 chants he knew, and that chamberlain of 
 
 2IO 
 
Herod's palace who had taken him before 
 the king. There was also a famous young 
 Roman athlete, whom Vergilius had first 
 seen and admired at the circus in Rome, 
 and who had lately been a member of 
 the castle guard. But none wore the 
 girdle which Vergilius had cut in twain. 
 
 The king stood before them, raging like 
 a man possessed of demons. Fate, which 
 had whispered through lips of beauty in 
 the palace at C^sarea, now thundered in 
 the voice of power. 
 
 "Serpents, murderers, children of the 
 devil!" he roared. "Soon shall your souls 
 wander in hell ifcd your bodies rot in the 
 valley of Hinnom. Take them to the tort- 
 ure, and make it slow for such as give us no 
 further knowledge. A way with them ! Let 
 their food be fear and their drink be the 
 sweat of agony and their end be death at 
 the games of Caesar!" 
 
 The win of that graceful and voluptuous 
 maiden had been well if only partially 
 expressed. 
 
 211 
 
A guard of soldiers led the unfortunate 
 men away. 
 
 Herod, now weak and trembling, took the 
 arm of Vergilius. 
 
 "To my palace!" said he, and they made 
 their way to his litter. 
 
 " It will do no good to put them to tort- 
 ure," said Vergilius. " You have heard all. 
 They have met in darkness and the leaders 
 have disguised their voices. No member 
 could be sure of the identity of any save 
 himself. Only two or three, perhaps, could 
 have betrayed other members of the order." 
 
 "Fool! were they not sure of Vergil- 
 ius, the commander of the cohorts?" said 
 Herod. 
 
 " But the plot is uncovered, and now, 
 great sir, I implore you, try the remedy of 
 Caesar." 
 
 Herod ceased muttering and turned with 
 a look of inquiry. 
 
 "Forgive them," Vergilius added. 
 
 The king answered with curses. Then 
 from his chamber, where they had now ar- 
 
 212 
 
HfrgtUua 
 
 rived, he drove all save the young Roman. 
 "Long ago I discovered evidence of the 
 treachery of the prince," said he. "To An- 
 tipater — foul son of Doris — I despatched 
 this letter." 
 
 He spread a sheet of velliim before Ver- 
 gihus, bidding him read. It was the copy 
 of a letter addressed to his " dutiful and af- 
 fectionate son Antipater." It recited that, 
 whereas he (Herod) was now become ill and 
 weary under his many cares, and needed 
 the companionship of them he loved, An- 
 tipater should ask, in the name of his 
 father, for a goodly escort of cavalry and 
 proceed at once to Jerusalem, there, shortly, 
 to receive his inheritance. 
 
 "Foul son of Doris!" the king growled, 
 hoarsely, as the young Roman turned. 
 Then his voice broke into a shrill, piping 
 laugh. ' ' Ha, ha ! He is coming — even now 
 he is coming to take the crown of his loving 
 father!" 
 
 Then he leaned forward with a savage 
 leer, as if he saw the object of his wrath. 
 213 
 
His lips were parted, his mouth open, his 
 breath came hissing from his throat. 
 
 " Foul son of Doris!" he repeated, beating 
 the floor with his feet. "Your lies have 
 drowned me in the blood of those I love. 
 Swamp plant! creeping asp! Soon shall I 
 put my foot upon you!" 
 
 Turning to Vergilius, he continued, pres- 
 ently : 
 
 " Be ready, my tribune, to go down to 
 the sea with a cohort. There meet him, as 
 he comes, and let him fall quickly from his 
 height of greatness, and chain him, hand 
 and foot, and bring him hence. You may 
 go now." 
 
 Vergilius bowed and left the home of 
 Herod. As he went away he fell to think- 
 ing of that girdle's end in his bosom. Al- 
 though it was past the middle hour of 
 night, he hastened to the palace of Manius. 
 The assessor, distraught and pale, started 
 as he met him, and Vergilius saw at once 
 that an end of the other's girdle had 
 been cut away. The yotmg tribune drew 
 214 
 
that piece of braided silk from under his 
 tunic. 
 
 " It is yours ? ' ' said he, tossing it to Manius. 
 
 " I — I had not observed," said the other, 
 nervously. " It is part of the girdle I wear 
 in deference to the people among whom I 
 live. How came you by it ?" 
 
 "Fox! Your cunning will not save you. 
 Tell me first how you escaped the peril into 
 which you had drawn me." 
 
 " I do not understand you." 
 
 "But I understand you," said Vergilius, 
 with anger. "There are but two places in 
 the world for you. One is beyond the 
 boundaries of Rome, the other is the valley 
 of Hinnom." Having said which, he turned, 
 quickly, and left the assessor's palace. 
 
ilRRIA and her brother were 
 far from the shores of 
 
 A j^/"- Hellas and near the Isle of 
 1^3 Doom. Tepas knew that a 
 ViWit few leagues more would 
 bring him in sight of the 
 familiar cliffs. Brother and 
 sister were reclining on the deck of their 
 trireme. The tenth day of their journey 
 was near its end. The sun had sunk 
 through misty depths of purple, and now 
 seemed to melt and pour a flood of fire 
 upon the waters. 
 
 "I am weary," said the girl, looking 
 thoughtfully at the calm sea. 
 "Of me?" said her brother. 
 216 
 
" Nay, but of that groaning of the rowers. 
 It tells me of aching arms in the galley. I 
 cannot sleep at night, hearing it." 
 
 Appitis laughed with amusement. " Lit- 
 tle fool !" said he. " The slaves of Tepas are 
 all Jews." 
 
 ■ "But they are men," said the beautiful 
 girl; "and do you not understand, dear 
 brother? I love a man." 
 
 "Love!" exclaimed Appius, with con- 
 tempt. " 'Tis only as the longing of the 
 bird for its mate." 
 
 "Nay, I would give all for him I love." 
 
 "Not all," said he, with a look of sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Yes, all — even you, and my mother, and 
 my home, and my country, and my life — I 
 am sick with longing. And when I think 
 of him I cannot bear to see men suffer." 
 
 "You are gone mad," said Appius, "and 
 I pray the gods to bring you back. It may 
 be the fair Vergilius forgets you." 
 
 She turned, quickly, and her voice trem- 
 bled as she whispered: "Nay, he also has 
 
 IS 
 
 217 
 
the great love in him. He could not for- 
 get." 
 
 Cyran, the pretty slave -girl, came soon 
 with their evening repast. Arria bade her 
 sit beside them. 
 
 "Tell us, dear Cyran," said the Roman 
 beauty — "tell us a tale of old Judea." 
 
 " Beloved mistress," said Cyran, kneeling 
 by the side of Arria and kissing the border 
 of her robe, "listen; I will tell you of the 
 coming of the great love. Long ago there 
 was a maiden of Galilee so beautiful that 
 many came far to see her. Now, it so 
 befell, there came a certain priest, young 
 and fair to look upon, who did love her 
 and seek her hand in marriage. And 
 she loved him, even as you love, but 
 would not wed him. O my good mistress! 
 She knew that a mighty king was com- 
 ing, and she was held of a great hope 
 that God would choose her for the blessed 
 mother. And, still loving the priest, she 
 kept herself pure in thought and deed. 
 Every day they saw each other, but stayed 
 218 
 
apart, and their love grew holier the 
 more it was put down. And oh, it was 
 a wonder ! for it filled their hearts with kind- 
 ness and sent their feet upon errands of 
 mercy. And many years passed, and one 
 day they sat together. 
 
 "'My beloved, you are grown old and 
 feeble, and so am I,' said she. 'We have 
 pitied every child of sorrow but ourselves.' 
 And they rose and put their arms about 
 each other and went into the dark valley 
 of death, heart to heart, that very day, and 
 were seen no more of men. And they in 
 the hiUs of Galilee, where the lovers dwelt, 
 made much accotmt of them, for while she 
 had not borne the great king, still was she 
 long remembered as the blessed mother of 
 holy love. Now, maidens, with youth and 
 love and beauty strong upon them, gave all 
 for the great hope. And wonderful stories 
 went abroad, and women were more sacred 
 in the eyes of men, seeing that one of them, 
 indeed, must be mother of the very Son of 
 God." 
 
 219 
 
The slave-girl covered her face and her 
 body shook with emotion. 
 
 " Cyran, why are you crying ?" said Arria. 
 
 "Because," Cyran replied, her voice 
 trembling — "because I can never be the 
 blessed mother." 
 
 "Tell me," said Arria, "have you never 
 felt the great love?" 
 
 Cyran rose and looked down at her 
 mistress. 
 
 "I have felt the pain of it," said she, 
 sadly. "And my heart — Oh, it is like the 
 house of mourning where Sorrow has 
 hushed the Children of Joy. But the sweet 
 pain of love is dear to me." 
 
 "Tell me of it." 
 
 "Good mistress, I cannot tell you." 
 
 "Why, dear Cyran?" 
 
 "Because — " the slave -girl hesitated; 
 then timidly and with trembling lips she 
 whispered, "because, dear nlistress, I — I 
 love you." She seemed to bend beneath 
 her burden and knelt beside her mistress 
 and wept. 
 
 220 
 
" Go — ^please go," said Appius, ttiming to 
 Cyran. "You irritate me, and I cannot 
 understand you." 
 
 But Arria divined the secret of the poor 
 slave-girl, and pitied her. 
 
 Cyran rose and left them. 
 
 "The great love may come to you, and 
 then you shall understand," said Arria to 
 Appius. 
 
 "The great madness!" her brother ex- 
 claimed. "I like not these Jewish cattle. 
 The gods forgive me that we have fallen 
 among them. With a Jew for a pilot we 
 should make a landing in Hades." 
 
 Something in his manner alarmed the 
 girl. 
 
 "What mean you?" she inquired. 
 
 "I will tell you to-morrow," said her 
 brother. " 'Tis time you went to your 
 couch and I to mine. Have no fear." 
 
 Now, the young Roman had begun to sus- 
 pect the pilot of some evil plan. After the 
 girl had left him he sat drinking wine for 
 hours. Soon he was in a merry way, sing- 
 
 221 
 
ing songs and jesting with all who passed 
 him. Long after the dark had come, when 
 Tepas only remained upon deck, Appius 
 reeled up and down, singing, with a flask 
 in his hand. The moon had risen. East- 
 ward her light lay like hammered silver on 
 the ripples. 
 
 Appius neared the tall, rugged form of 
 Tepas. Against the illumined waters he 
 could see the long, bent nose, the great 
 beard, the shaggy brows, the large, hairy 
 head of his pilot. Tepas, who ruled his 
 men with scourge and pilum, had made 
 himself feared of all save the young Roman 
 noble. Appius halted, looking scornfully 
 at the Jew. Then he shouted: 
 
 "A knave, upon my honor! 'Tis better 
 to be drunk, for then one has hope of re- 
 covery. You long-haired dog! Here is 
 something would make you bay the moon. 
 Drink and howl. You weary me with si- 
 lence." 
 
 Tepas, familiar with the contempt of 
 Romans, took the flask, and, pouring into 
 
 222 
 
his cup, drank of the rich wine. Then 
 Appius held the flask above his head, and 
 with a word of scorn flung it into the sea. 
 He started to cross the deck and fell heavily. 
 Now, after striving, as it seemed, to regain 
 his feet, he lay awhile muttering and help- 
 less and soon began to snore. The deck 
 was deserted by all save him and the pilot. 
 Tepas looked down at the young Roman. 
 Already, far off in the moonlight, he had 
 seen cliffs and knew they were on the Isle of 
 Doom. He must be about his business. 
 He went to where Appius lay and bent 
 over him. The pilot drew his dagger; the 
 youth rolled drowsily and his hands were 
 now upon the feet of Tepas. The latter 
 leaned to strike. A sound startled him. 
 It was a footfall close behind. The Jew 
 rose, turning to listen. Suddenly his feet 
 went from under him and he fell head- 
 long ; quickly two seamen leaped upon 
 him, seizing his head and hands. One 
 disarmed him, the other covered his 
 mouth. Appius clung upon the feet of 
 223 
 
the Jew. A Roman slave had taken the 
 wheel. 
 
 " Shall we bind him ?" said one of the sea- 
 men. 
 
 "No," said Appius, breathing heavily as 
 the pilot tried to shake him off. " Give the 
 dog a chance. Yonder is an island. We 
 shall soon be near it, and by swimming 
 he may save his life." 
 
 "The gold is upon him," said a seaman; 
 " I can feel it under his tunic." 
 
 " But we shall not rob him," was the an- 
 swer of Appius. 
 
 "It is heavy. It will be like a stone to 
 sink him." 
 
 "However, we shall not rob him," the 
 young Roman repeated. 
 
 Now, when they were come as near the 
 isle as they dare bring their ship, Appius 
 gave a command. They lifted the body 
 of that cursing wretch. Back and forth 
 they swung it as one counted. Then over 
 it went with reaching hands and fell upon 
 the moonlit plane of water. They could 
 224 
 
see him rise and turn towards the isle, 
 swimming. Weighted by his burden, he 
 swam not twice his length before the sea 
 closed above him. 
 
 " I thought he had stmck you with his 
 dagger," said one of the seamen. 
 
 " It woiild have done no harm," Appius 
 replied. " I have a corselet under my tunic. 
 Is the ship still leaking?" 
 
 "A little, good sire. We found a wedge 
 ia the planks. He would have driven it 
 through, no doubt, if all had gone well 
 with him. I know not why, unless he 
 meant to beach her under the cliffs yon- 
 der." 
 
 The young Roman stood silent for a lit- 
 tle time. Presently his thought came in a 
 whisper to his lips: "And hold my sister 
 until Antipater should come." 
 
 He called the seamen to his side. 
 
 "I, who am a friend of the great father 
 of Rome," said he, " shall see you well re- 
 warded. The little I gave you is not 
 enough. Without your help and warning 
 
 225 
 
worse luck than death might soon have 
 come to us." _ 
 
 A Kght wind was now blowing, and the 
 sails began to fill. 
 
 Suddenly all rushed forward, falling upon 
 the deck. Their trireme had lost half her 
 headway and was now crashing over rocks 
 and trembHng as her bow rose. She 
 stopped, all her timbers groaning in the 
 shock, and rolled sideways and lay with 
 tilted deck above the water. Cries of 
 alarm rose from her galley. Men fought 
 their way up the ladders and scrambled 
 like dripping rats to every place of vantage. 
 After the shock, Appius had leaped to the 
 upper rail, and, rushing forward to the door 
 of Arria's deck-house, found her and the 
 slave -girl within it, unharmed. The two 
 were crying with fear, and he bade them 
 dress quickly and await his orders. Then 
 he took command. Soon a raft and small 
 boats were ready alongside the wreck. 
 Within half an hour Appius and the two 
 maidens and part of the crew landed. 
 226 
 
Before daylight all were safely carried to 
 the bare, lonely rocks, with a goodly store 
 of food and water. 
 
^^=g^''S^^5f='^ ^^^ 
 
 |T was a clear morning and 
 the tenth day before the 
 kalends of January. Since 
 the ides, Vergilius had been 
 lying in camp with a co- 
 hort, near the port of As- 
 calon. Night and day on 
 the headland velites had been watching for 
 the trireme of Antipater. A little before 
 dawn their beacon - fires had flamed up. 
 Since daylight all had been watching the far- 
 come vessel of the son of lierod, and, as she 
 came near, they could see the pattern of 
 gold upon the royal vestments of Antipater. 
 Now, presently, he would set foot upon the 
 unhappy land of his inheritance. The co- 
 228 
 
hort had formed in a long arc at the landing. 
 Before now, on his return, the king's horse- 
 men had greeted him with cheers; to-day- 
 he greeted them with curses. Vergilius, 
 hard by, faced the cohort, his back turned 
 to the new-comer. Antipater halted as he 
 came ashore, looking in surprise at the 
 tribune. He seized a lance, and, crouching 
 as he ran, with sly feet approached the 
 Roman officer. He was like the cat nearing 
 its prey. Vergilius, now seeming unmind- 
 ful of his pursuer, walked in the direc- 
 tion of the cohort. Swiftly, stealthily, the 
 prince came near, intending to plunge his 
 lance into the back of the yoimg tribune. 
 Suddenly there rose an outcry among the 
 soldiers. Vergilius turned*; the prince halt- 
 ed, breathing heavily, for he had rvm near 
 a hundred paces in the sea-sand. A roar of 
 rage burst from his lips. 
 
 "Dog!" he shouted. "Bid them cheer 
 me or I will run you through!" His lance 
 threatened. 
 
 "There shall be cheers in a moment, son 
 229 
 
of Herod," said Vergilius, calmly and re- 
 spectfully approaching him. Antipater, 
 unaware of his peril, stood with lance at 
 rest. With a hand quick as the paw of 
 a leopard, Vergilius whirled it away and 
 caught the wrist of the Jew and flung him 
 down. While Antipater struggled in his 
 great robe the tribune had disarmed him. 
 Every man of the cohort was now cheering. 
 Antipater rose in terrible wrath and Aung 
 off his robe of gold and purple. 
 
 "Put him in irons!" he shouted. "I, 
 who shall soon be king of the Jews, com- 
 mand you!" 
 
 The cohort began to jeer at him; Ver- 
 gilius commanded silence. 
 
 "You lapdog!" Antipater hissed, turning 
 upon the Roman. "Am I met with trea- 
 son?" 
 
 "You give yourself a poor compliment," 
 said Vergilius. " Better call me a lion than 
 a lapdog." He turned to an officer who 
 stood near and added: "You will now obey 
 the orders of the king." 
 230 
 
Forfhwith, Vergilius went aboard the new- 
 come vessel and seized the goods of Antip- 
 ater and put them on their way to the king. 
 Meanwhile, the soldiers, many of whom had 
 borne with the cruelty and insolence of 
 their prisoner, were little inclined to mercy. 
 He struggled, cursing, but they bore him 
 down, binding him hand and knee to an 
 open litter, so he stood, like a beast, upon all 
 fours, for such, indeed, was the order of the 
 king. Then they put on him the skin of a 
 wild ass and carried him up and down, jeer- 
 ing as the long ears flapped. Vergilius, re- 
 turning, removed the skin of the ass and 
 loosed the fetters a little, and forbade the 
 soldiers any further revenge. 
 
 "The skin of a leopard would become 
 you better," said Vergilius to Antipater, as 
 he tinlashed the coat of shame. 
 
 The wrathful Jew, still cursing, tried to 
 bite the friendly hand of his keeper. "My 
 noble prince," said Vergilius, "you flatter 
 me; I am not good to eat." 
 
 Those crowding near laughed loudly, but 
 231 
 
Vergilius hushed them and signalled to the 
 trumpeter. Then a call and a rush of 
 horses into line. The litter was lifted 
 quickly and lashed upon the backs of two 
 chargers. In a little time the cohort was 
 on its way to Jerusalem. 
 
 Arriving, it massed in front of the royal 
 palace. Vergilius repaired to the king's cham- 
 ber. The body of Herod was now become as 
 an old house, its timbers sagging to their fall, 
 its tenant trembling at dim windows while 
 the storm beat upon it. Shame and sorrow 
 and remorse were racking him down. King 
 and kingdom were now swiftly changing., 
 
 " At last!" he piped, with quivering hands 
 uplifted. "Slow -footed justice! come — - 
 come close to me." 
 
 Eagerly he grasped the hands of the 
 young Roman and kissed them. Then he 
 spoke with bitter irony, his words coming 
 fast. "You met the great king?" 
 
 "Yes, good sire." 
 
 "You put him in chains and brought him 
 hither?" 
 
 232 
 
"And I commend him to yotir mercy." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" the king shrieked, caressing 
 the hand of the Roman. Now his head 
 rose, and for a little his old vigor and men- 
 acing voice returned to him. " He has run 
 me through with the blade of remorse and 
 put upon me the chains of infirmity," he 
 complained, an ominous, croaking rattle in 
 his throat. "To-day, to-day, my wrath 
 shall descend upon him and my gratitude 
 upon you! These forty years have I been 
 seeking a man of honor. At last, at last, 
 here is the greatest of men! I, Herod, sur- 
 named the Great, king of Judea, con- 
 queror of hosts, builder of cities, bare 
 my head before you!" 
 
 He removed his jewelled crown ; he drew 
 off his purple tarboosh, and bowed before 
 the yotmg tribune. Tenderly Vergilius re- 
 placed them on the gray head. 
 
 "O king," said he, bowing low, "you do 
 me great honor." 
 
 Herod closed his eyes and muttered 
 feebly. Again remorse and age had flung 
 '" 233 
 
their weight upon him. His hard face 
 seemed to shrink and wither, and the 
 young man thought as he looked upon it, 
 "What a great, good thing is death!" 
 
 The king opened his eyes and piped, 
 feebly : " Help me ; help me to win the favor 
 of my people! You shall be proctirator, 
 commander of the forces, coimsellor of 
 kings, priest of God." 
 
 The king waited, but Vergilius made no 
 reply. Now, indeed, was he living in a 
 great and niemorable moment. He thought 
 of the power offered him — power of doing 
 and undoing, power of raising up and put- 
 ting down, power over good and evil. 
 
 "Well," said Herod, impatiently, "what 
 say you?" 
 
 "O king!" said Vergilius, "I had hoped 
 soon to return to Rome and marry and 
 live in the land of my fathers." 
 
 "Hear me, good youth," said Herod, 
 
 sternly, seizing the hand of the young man. 
 
 "There is a wise proverb in Judea. It is: 
 
 'Speak not much with a woman.' Had I 
 
 234 
 
obeyed it, then had I saved tny soul and 
 happiness. Women have been ever false 
 with me — an idle, whispering, and mis- 
 chievous crew! O youth, give not your 
 heart to them! For five years let Judea 
 be yovtr bride. She woos you, son of Varro, 
 and she is fair. She asks for love and jus- 
 tice, and she will give you immortal fame." 
 
 The king fondly pressed the hand of the 
 Roman, who stood beside him, grave and 
 thoughtful. For the young man it was a 
 moment of almost overwhelming tempta- 
 tion. Love and ambition wrestled in his 
 soul. He stood silent. 
 
 "For only five years," the king pleaded. 
 ' ' For five years give me your heart. Man !" 
 he shouted, impatiently, "will you not 
 answer?" 
 
 "I will consider," said Vergilius, calmly. 
 
 "Go!" said Herod, in a burst of ire. 
 Then, presently: "Now, now I will attend 
 to the son of Doris." 
 
 And Vergilius hastened away. 
 
 Within the hour, Antipater, son of Herod 
 
 235 
 
the Great, was dragged to that strong 
 chamber in a remote end of the vast home 
 of Herod whence were to come cries for 
 mercy by night such as he had often heard 
 from his own victims. 
 
?0W in Vergilius and in 
 many of that time the 
 ^^jSTOj human heart had dropped 
 *La| ^^B its plummet into new 
 ^^ K'M depths of feeling, the hu- 
 man mind had made a 
 reach for nobler principles. 
 A greater love between men and women, 
 spreading mysteriously, had been as the 
 uplift of a mighty wave on the deep 
 of the spirit. It had broadened the 
 sympathy of man; it had extended his 
 vision beyond selfish limits. Vergilius and 
 Arria had crossed the boundary of barbaric 
 evolution under the leadership of love. The 
 yotmg man was now in the borderland of 
 237 
 
new attainment. He was full of the joy 
 and the wonder of discovery. He was like 
 a child — eager for understanding and im- 
 patient of delay. Now he thought with the 
 pagans and now with the Jews. 
 
 At his palace a letter had been waiting 
 for the tribune. It was from his friend 
 Appius. "My excellent and beloved Ver- 
 gilius," it said, " I address you with a feeling 
 of deep concern for your safety. To-night 
 by tabellarius, my letter shall go down to 
 the sea on its way to Jerusalem. And now 
 to its subject. This morning I went to the 
 public games, and, returning, I was near my 
 palace when a messenger, bearing the com- 
 mand of Augustus, overtook and stopped 
 me. Quickly I made my way to The Laurels. 
 Our great imperator was in his chamber and 
 reading letters. He gave me a glance and 
 greeted me. I saw he wished me to come 
 near, and I stood close beside him. Then, 
 with that slow, gentle tone, he hurled his 
 lightning into me — you remember his way. 
 He told me, as he read, that you were mak- 
 238 
 
ing rapid progress in Jerusalem; that you 
 had become a conspirator, a prophet, and 
 were likely soon to be an angel. And he 
 bade me go to you with his congratulations 
 that you have succeeded so long in keeping 
 your head upon yotir shoulders. Oh, deep 
 and cunning imperator ! Said he : ' I cannot 
 tell you the name of my informant; and 
 really, my good son, why — why should I ?' 
 There, spread before me on the table, so I 
 knew he wished me to see it, was a letter 
 which bore the signature of Manius and 
 gave information of a certain council. I 
 cotdd not make out the name, but I was 
 able to recall how the great father had 
 said to me, once, that when a man secretly 
 puts blame upon another, the infamy he 
 charges shall be only half his own. Our 
 imperator is no fool, my friend. 'A ship 
 will be leaving the seventh day before the 
 ides,' said he. ' You will not be able to make 
 it.' His meaning was clear. It could bear 
 my warning, if not me, and here it is. With 
 the gods' favor, soon, also, I shall be able 
 239 
 
to say to you, here am I. To-morrow at 
 dawn I leave for Jerusalem." 
 
 Beneath the signature these words were 
 added: "As soon as possible I wish to 
 know all and to speak my heart to you. 
 The emperor has withdrawn his consent to 
 your marriage with Arria. I shall explain 
 everything but the purpose of the emperor, 
 and who may understand him? If it be 
 due to caprice or doubt or anger he will 
 do you justice. But if a deeper motive is 
 in his mind who knows what may hap- 
 pen?" 
 
 This letter kindled a fire in the heart of 
 Vergilius. It burned fiercely, so that pru- 
 dence and noble feeling were driven out. In 
 spite of the warning of the young tribune, 
 Manius had remained in Jerusalem. Ver- 
 gilius had delayed action, dreading to bring 
 the wrath of Rome upon one so young, so 
 well bom, so highly honored, and possibly 
 so far misled. Therefore, he had held his 
 peace and waited patiently for more knowl- 
 edge. Now the evil heart of the assessor 
 240 
 
was laid bare, his infamy proven. Vergilius 
 reread the letter with flashing eyes. Then 
 he summoned his lecticarii and set out for 
 the palace of the plotter. Manius ap- 
 proached him, a kindly greeting on his 
 lips. 
 
 "Liar!" Vergilius interrupted, his hand 
 upon his sword. " Speak no word of kind- 
 ness to me!" 
 
 "What mean you, son of Varro?" the 
 other demanded. 
 
 "That, with me, you have not even the 
 right of an enemy. You are a deadly ser- 
 pent, bom to creep and hide. Shame upon 
 you — murderer! If there be many Hke 
 you, what — God tell me! — what shall be the 
 fate of Rome?" 
 
 Vergilius stepped away, and, lifting his 
 hands, gave the other a look of unspeakable 
 scorn. Manius made no reply, but stood 
 as still and white as marble, with sword in 
 hand. 
 
 " It was I who sat beside you that night," 
 said the other, his voice aglow with feeling. 
 241 
 
" When I heard you speak treason I cut off 
 the end of your girdle. But you left by 
 some unguarded way and escaped the fate 
 of your fellows. You have not seen them 
 since, and shall not. When you see them die 
 in the arena think what you escaped, al- 
 though deserving it more than they. Vile 
 serpent! you brought the king, and hoped 
 to send me also to Hades. You are a 
 traitor, and that I know. Traitor to 
 friend and country! Dare to provoke me 
 further and I shall slay you!" 
 
 "What would you, son of Varro?" said 
 the other, sullenly. 
 
 "Wretch! If you would save your life, 
 hide as becomes the asp. Creep away from 
 them who would put their feet upon you. 
 Go live and die with the wild men of the far 
 deserts." 
 
 "Traitor to the gods!" said Manius, 
 threatening with his sword. " Roman Jew ! 
 I am of noble birth, and claim the right of 
 combat." 
 
 "I give it, though you have no better 
 242 
 
right than dogs. Well, it would please my 
 hand to slay you. I know the name and 
 father you have dishonored, and you are 
 grandnephew of the good Lady Claudia — 
 noble mother of Publius. For their sake I 
 give you the right of combat. By the way- 
 side near Bethlehem are lonely hills. There, 
 the seventh day before the kalends, in the 
 middle hour of the night, you shall see a 
 beacon-fire and near it my colors. Three 
 friends may go with each, and you and I 
 will draw swords in the fire-light." 
 
 "I shall meet you there," said Manias. 
 
 Vergilius, putting away his weapon, 
 turned quickly, and, without speaking, left 
 the traitor's palace with firm faith in the 
 one God — that he was ever on the side of 
 the just who humbly sought his favor. 
 
im Mr mr mi M m im m lui iw m irir lur wr wi nr w m ihi w, w. lur i.i 
 
 24 
 
 ^HE festival of games, in 
 honor of Augustus, were 
 about to begin at Csesarea. 
 Lately the highway from 
 north to south, which 
 passed the gates of Je- 
 rusalem, had been as a 
 fair of the nations. A host had jour- 
 neyed far to amuse the great king or to 
 enjoy his holiday. Gayer and more given 
 to proud speech than they who came to the 
 festivals of the Temple, beneath the skull- 
 bone there was yet a more remarkable 
 unlikeness. 
 
 These were mostly the children of Hatred, 
 each heart a lair of wild passions, each brain 
 244 
 
teeming with catlike gods. Here were 
 they to be lifted up by the power of love — 
 the heathen, the debased. What a gather- 
 ing of the enemies of God and man ! Crowd- 
 ing at the gates were gladiators from 
 Greece and Rome ; Arab chiefs upon camels, 
 with horses trained for the race; troops of 
 rich men with armed retainers; hunters 
 bringing wild beasts in cages lashed upon 
 heavy carts; squads of Roman cavalry; 
 gamblers, peddlers, thieves, bandits, musi- 
 cians, dancers, and singers, some walking, 
 some riding horse or camel. Many had 
 travelled far for one purpose — to behold the 
 great king. Now solemn whispers of gossip 
 had gone to every side of the city. Herod 
 was ill, so said they, and had not long to 
 live. That morning of the day before the 
 games the old king had summoned Ver- 
 gilius. 
 
 " I will not be cheated by God or man," 
 
 said he, fiercely. "Tell the master of the 
 
 games that I will have him entertain me 
 
 here to-day, after the middle hour, in my 
 
 245 
 
palace court. Bid him bring beast and 
 gladiator and the strong men of the prisons. 
 Let him not forget the traitors. I would 
 have, also, a thousand maids to,, sing and 
 dance for me." 
 
 The king looked down, impatiently, at 
 his trembling hands. He flung a wrathful 
 gesture, and again that bestial voice : " Go, 
 bid him bring them!" 
 
 So at the middle hour a wonderful scene 
 was beginning in the great court of Her- 
 od's palace. The king sat on a balcony 
 with Salome, Elpis, Roxana, Phaedra, and 
 others of his kindred. On the circular 
 terraces of a great fountain below and in 
 front of them were rows of naked maidens. 
 Circle after circle of this living statuary 
 towered, with diminishing radii, above the 
 court level, to an apex, where a stream of 
 cool, perfumed water, broken to misty 
 spray, rose aloft, scattering in the sunlight. 
 So cunningly had they contrived to enhance 
 the charm of the spectacle, those many 
 graceful shapes were under a fine, trans- 
 246 
 
parent veil of water-drops lighted by rain- 
 bow gleams and sweet with musky odor. 
 Circles were closely massed around the base 
 of the fountain. They stood in silence, all 
 looking down. The old king surveyed 
 them. Within the palace a hundred harp- 
 ers smote their strings, flooding the scene 
 with music. Slowly each circumference 
 began to move. Step and measure in- 
 creased their speed. The circles were now 
 revolving, one around another, with swift 
 and bewildering motion. At a signal the 
 silent figures broke into song. They sang 
 of the glories of Jerusalem and the great 
 king. Herod's hand was up — he would 
 have no more of it. The song ceased, the 
 circles, one by one, rolled into helices 
 which, unbending into slender lines, van- 
 ished quickly beneath a great arch. Then 
 a trumpet peal and a rattle of iron wheels. 
 Brawny arms were pushing a movable 
 arena. Swiftly it came into that ample 
 space between the king and the great 
 fountain. Behind its iron bars a large lion 
 247 
 
paced up and down. Two hundred mount- 
 ed men of the cohort stood in triple rank 
 some fifty paces from the scene. Vergilius, 
 on a white charger, was in front of the 
 column. 
 
 While Arab slaves pushed the arena into 
 place, David came and touched the arm of . 
 the young tribune. He whispered, eagerly: 
 "My sister, Cyran the Beloved, is here. 
 She is waiting at the castle." 
 
 "Whence came she?" said the tribune, 
 with astonishment. 
 
 "From the port of Ascalon, where she 
 arrived by trireme with Appius. They 
 were wrecked, finding shore in a far country. 
 There the friend of Caesar, Probus Sulpicius 
 Quirinus, discovered them on his way from 
 Carthage, and brought them hither." 
 
 Appius, fearing Antipater, had waited by 
 the sea while Cyran came to find her 
 brother and Vergilius. The prince's threat 
 and the words of Caesar had checked his 
 feet with caution. He forbade Cyran to 
 tell any one of the presence of Arria. 
 248 
 
"And where is my friend?" Vergilius 
 demanded. 
 
 " He waits on the ship to hear from you 
 — whether it be safe to come. It seems 
 Antipater has threatened him." 
 
 "Tell Cyran I would have her come to 
 me. Then find my orderly and bid him 
 bring Appius hither by the way of Bethle- 
 hem. If he arrives there before the end of 
 the third watch he will see my fire-light on 
 the hill." 
 
 David left the scene as a powerful 
 Thracian, standing by the arena's gate, 
 saluted the king. Entering, the gladiator 
 engaged the lion with his lance. In- 
 cautiously he pressed his weapon too far, 
 drawing blood. Before he could set his 
 lance the wild foe was upon him. A leap 
 into the air, a double stroke of the right 
 fore-paw, and down fell the beast, while the 
 man reeled, with rent tunic, and caught the 
 side of the arena. In a twinkling, as he 
 clung feebly, he reddened from head to toe. 
 Three bestiarii had thrust in their lances 
 '' 249 
 
and held the lion back; others opened a 
 gate and removed the dying gladiator. 
 Herod, leaning over, beckoned to the master 
 of the games. 
 
 "A noble Hon!" said he, his voice trem- 
 bling. " Save him for the battle of the pit." 
 
 Now, in pursuance of the order of the 
 king, a pit had been dug and walled with 
 timber near that place where the fighter 
 had met his death. A score of slaves 
 forthwith lowered the arena into the pit 
 with ropes. Herod and all who sat with 
 him could see the open top of the barred 
 space, but the beast was beyond their 
 vision. 
 
 Another trumpet-call. A band of prison- 
 ers have entered the court. Antipater, tall 
 and erect in exomis of plain gray, right 
 arm and shoulder bare, walked in the 
 centre of the front rank. Traitors of the 
 betrayed council were there beside him. 
 Slowly they about to die came forth and 
 stood in even rank and bowed low before 
 the king. Herod beat his palms upon the 
 250 
 
golden rail before him and muttered hoarse- 
 ly. Then with raised finger and leering 
 face he taunted them. 
 
 " Outlaws !' ' he croaked. " I doubt not ye 
 be also cowards." 
 
 All drew back save Antipater and a huge 
 Scjrthian bandit. They drew broadswords 
 and rushed together, fighting with terrific 
 energy. The Scythian fell in a moment. 
 One after another four conspirators came 
 to battle with their chief, but each went 
 down before his terrible attack. Some 
 asked for mercy as they fell, but all perished 
 by the hand of him they had sought to 
 serve. Held for the battle of the pit, the 
 young Roman whom Vergilius had rec- 
 ognized in the council chamber advanced 
 to meet Herod's son. He had won his 
 freedom in the arena and lost it in the 
 conspiracy of the prince. He was a tall, 
 lithe, splendid figure of a man. The heart 
 of the young commander was touched with 
 pity as he beheld the comely youth. This 
 game, invented by Antipater himself, was 
 251 
 
a test of strength and quickness. Nets 
 were the only weapons, strong sinews and a 
 quick hand the main reliance of either. 
 Each tried to entangle the other in his net 
 and secure a hold. Then he sought to rush 
 or drag his adversary to the edge of the pit 
 and force him down. Weapons lay on 
 every side of the arena below. The un- 
 fortiuiate had, therefore, a chance to defend 
 himself against the lion. 
 
 On the signal to begin, Jew and Roman 
 wrestled fiercely, their weapons on their 
 arms, but neither fell. Suddenly Antipater 
 broke away and flung his net. Nimbly the 
 other dodged. Down came the net, grazing 
 his head. Swiftly he sprang upon the Jew, 
 striving to entangle him. Antipater pulled 
 away. Again the Roman was upon his 
 enemy and the two struggled to the very 
 noses of the cohort. Hard by the centre 
 of the column, where sat Vergilius on his 
 charger, the powerful prince threw his ad- 
 versary, and, choking him down, secured 
 the net over his head. Swiftly he began 
 252 
 
to drag the fallen youth. Vergilius, an- 
 gered by the prince's cruelty, could no 
 longer hold his peace. 
 
 " 'Tis unfair," said he, pointing at Antip- 
 ater. " In the name of the fatherly Augus- 
 tus, I protest." 
 
 The prince, still dragging his foe, an- 
 swered with insulting threats. The young 
 commander leaped from his horse and ran 
 to the side of Antipater. The latter re- 
 leased his captive and drew sword. Swiftly 
 VergiHus approached him and the two met 
 with a clash of steel. 
 
 Now the first battle in that war of the 
 spirit, which was to shake the world with 
 fury had begun. 
 
 Back and forth across the court of Herod 
 they fought their way — the son of light and 
 the son of darkness. Sparks of fire flew from 
 their weapons while a murmur in the cohort 
 grew to a loud roar and the old king and his 
 women stood with hands uplifted shriek- 
 ing like fiends of hell. Hand and foot grew 
 weary ; their speed slackened. Slowly, now, 
 253 
 
they moved in front of the cohort and back 
 to the middle space. They were evenly 
 matched; both began to reel and labor 
 heavily, their strength failing in like degree. 
 The end was at hand. Now the angel of 
 death hovered near, about to choose between 
 them. Suddenly Antipater, pressing upon 
 his man, fell forward. At the very mo- 
 ment Vergilius, who had been giving quar- 
 ter, reeled a few paces and was down upon 
 his back. Prince and tribune lay apart 
 some twenty cubits. Both tried to rise and 
 fell exhausted. Half a moment passed. 
 Antipater had risen to his elbow. Slowly 
 he gained a knee, while the other lay as one 
 dead. He rested, staring with vengeful 
 eyes at his enemy. Stealthily he felt for 
 his weapon. The right hand of Vergilius 
 began to move. A hush fell upon the 
 scene. Swiftly, from beside the cohort a 
 fair daughter of Judea, in a white robe, ran 
 across the field of battle. She knelt beside 
 Vergilius and touched his pale face with 
 her hands. Then she called to him : " Rise, 
 254 
 
O my beloved! Rise quickly! He will 
 slay you!" 
 
 "Cyran!" he whispered. 
 
 Antipater had gained his feet and now 
 ran to glut his anger. Cjrran rose upon her 
 knees and put her beautiful body between 
 the steel and him she loved. The sword 
 seemed to spring at her bosom. She seized 
 it, clinging as if it were a thing she prized. 
 VergiHus had risen. Swiftly sword smote 
 upon sword. The young Roman pressed 
 his enemy, forcing him backward. From 
 dying lips he heard again the old chant of 
 faith : 
 
 " Let me not be ashamed — I trust in Thee, God 
 of my fathers; 
 Send, quickly send the new king "... 
 
 The words seemed to strengthen his 
 arm. He fought as one having power above 
 that of men. On and on he forced his foe 
 with increasing energy. He gave him no 
 chance to stop or turn aside. Yells of fury 
 drowned the clash of steel. The tumult 
 255 
 
grew. The son of Herod was near the pit. 
 He seemed to tempt the Roman to press 
 him. Suddenly he leaped backward to the 
 very edge. The Roman rushed upon him. 
 Before their swords met, Antipater sprang 
 aside with the quickness of a leopard. In 
 cunning he had outdone his foe. Unable 
 to check his onrush, Vergilius leaped for- 
 ward and fell out of sight. A booming 
 roar from the startled lion rose out of the 
 pit and hushed the tumult of the people. 
 Herod, pointing at his son, shrieked with 
 rage as he bade the soldiers of the cohort to 
 seize and put him in irons. 
 
 A score of slaves hastened to the mouth 
 of the pit. They caught the ropes and 
 quickly lifted the arena. As it came into 
 view the tumult broke out afresh. There, 
 far spent, resting on his bloody weapon, 
 near the middle of the arena stood Vergilius, 
 and the lion lay dead before him. 
 
 Slaves opened the iron gate. Vergilius 
 ran to the still form of the slave-girl. He 
 knelt beside her and kissed her lifeless hand. 
 256 
 
" Poor child of God !" he whispered. " If 
 indeed you loved me, I have no wonder that 
 you knelt here to die." 
 
 The master brought a wreath of laurel 
 to the young tribune, saying: "'Tis from 
 the king." Vergilius seemed not to hear. 
 Tenderly he raised the lifeless body of Cyran 
 in his arms. The spectators were cheering. 
 "Hail, victor!" they shouted. 
 
 " Hail, victor!" he whispered, looking into 
 the dead face. "Blessed be they who 
 conquer death." 
 
S'HE day was near its end. 
 Soldiers of the cohort, bear- 
 ^^i^K^'-ers of the dead, harpers 
 11 i ^^ ^^^ singers filed through 
 ^^ i^l^' ^^^ ^^^^ °^ Herod's palace. 
 ^*-" Hard by, in Temple Street, 
 were many people. An old 
 man stood among them, his white beard 
 falling low upon a purple robe, his face 
 turned to the sky. He sang as if uncon- 
 scious of all around him. Often he raised 
 his hand, which trembled like a leaf in the 
 wind. Horses, maidens, and men halted to 
 hear the words : 
 
 "Now is the day foretold of them who dwell in 
 the dust of the vineyard. 
 258 
 
Hfrgxltufl 
 
 Bow and be silent, ye children of God and ye of 
 far countries. 
 
 Consider how many lie low in the old, imme- 
 morial vineyard. 
 
 Deep — fathom deep — is the dust of the dead 
 'neath the feet of the living. 
 
 "Gone are they and the work of their hands — 
 all save their hope and desire have per- 
 ished. 
 
 Only the flowers of the heart have endured — 
 only they in the waste of the ages. 
 
 Ay — ^they have grown, but the hewn rock has 
 crumbled away and the temples have fallen. 
 
 Bow, haughty people; ye live in the day of 
 ftdfilment — the day everlasting. 
 
 Soon the plough of oppression shall cease and 
 the ox shall abandon the furrow. 
 
 Ready the field, and I sing of the sower whose 
 grain has been gathered in heaven. 
 
 " Now is he come, with my voice and my soul I 
 declare him. 
 Wonderftd Counsellor, Mighty God, the Ever- 
 lasting Father, the Prince of Peace." 
 
 The flood of inspiration had passed. The 
 singer turned away. "It is Simeon," said 
 a voice in the crowd. "He shall not die 
 259 
 
until his eyes have beheld the king of 
 promise." 
 
 Those departing from the games of 
 Herod resumed their march. At the gate 
 of the castle of Antonia, Vergilius, with 
 David and two armed equites, one bear- 
 ing colors, left the squadron. They rode 
 slowly towards the setting sun. Now 
 there was not in all the world a city so 
 wonderful as Jerusalem. Golden dome and 
 tower were gleaming above white walls on 
 the turquoise blue of the heavens. 
 
 "Good friend, I grieve for her who is 
 dead," said VergiHus to David. 
 
 "She died for love," the other answered 
 as one who would have done the same. 
 
 Vergilius looked not to right nor left. 
 His dark, quivering plume was an apt 
 symbol of thought and passion beneath it. 
 His blood was hot from the rush and wrath 
 of battle, from hatred of them who had 
 sought his life. He could hear the cry of 
 Cyran: "Rise, rise, my beloved!" Again, 
 he was Hke as he had been there on the 
 260 
 
field of battle. He could not rise above 
 his longing for revenge. He hated the 
 emperor whose cruel message had wrung 
 his heart ; he hated Manius, who had sought 
 to destroy him; he despised the vile and 
 stealthy son of Herod, who had plotted to 
 rob him of love and life; he had begun to 
 doubt the goodness of the great Lawgiver. 
 No sooner had he foimd an enemy than 
 his God was become a god of vengeance. 
 The council, the continued failure of his 
 prayers, the cruelty of impending mis- 
 fortune, the death of Cyran had weakened 
 the faith of Vergilius. He had begun to 
 founder in the deep mystery of the world. 
 The voice of the old singer had not broken 
 the spell of bitter passion. Vergilius trem- 
 bled with haste to kill. He feared even 
 that his anger would abate and leave him 
 unavenged. There were memories which 
 bade him to forgive, and of them was the 
 gentle face of Arria, but he turned as one 
 who would say "Begone!" He had not 
 time even to consider what he should do 
 261 
 
to oppose the will of the emperor. As they 
 rode on, his companion addressed the young 
 commander. 
 
 "Saw you Manius in the balcony of 
 Herod?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " As I passed beneath it I saw him by the 
 side of Salome, and I heard her say: 'Not 
 until you slay him shall I be your wife.' 
 I fear she means you ill, good friend." 
 
 " She-cat!" exclaimed Vergilius. " 'Tis a 
 yowling breed that haunts the house of 
 Herod." 
 
 They came soon to where a throng was 
 gathered thick, so for a little they saw not a 
 way to pass. In the midst were three men 
 sitting upon tall, white camels, their trap- 
 pings rich with colored silk and shining 
 metal. 
 
 "They speak to the people," said David. 
 " It must be their words are as silver and 
 gold." 
 
 "I doubt not they be story-tellers from 
 the desert," said one behind. 
 262 
 
The press parted; the camels had begun 
 to move slowly. One of their riders hailed 
 the young commander, saying, in a voice 
 that rang like a trumpet: 
 
 "Where is he that is bom king of the 
 Jews?" 
 
 "I would I knew," was the answer of 
 Vergilius. 
 
 "So shall ye soon," said the stranger. 
 " We have seen his star in the east and have 
 come to worship him." 
 
 The camels passed with long, stately 
 strides. The horsemen resumed their jour- 
 ney. 
 
 "Strange!" thought Vergilius, turning his 
 charger and looking back. " They be sure- 
 ly those who have travelled far." 
 
 The squad of cavalry, under plume and 
 helmet, moved on, passing the Joppa gate 
 and riding slowly down a long hill. 
 
 "See the glowing clouds yonder," said 
 Vergilius, pointing westward. 
 
 "Ay, they be fair as the tents of Kedar," 
 was the answer of David. 
 263 
 
There is a great beauty in the sky and 
 the blue hills," Vergilius remarked, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "And you would kill, look not upon them 
 — they are so fair." 
 
 " If I close my eyes, then, I do see a'thing 
 more fair." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The face of one I love. It is a love 
 greater than all other things — fame or king 
 or fatherland." 
 
 "Or revenge?" inquired David. 
 
 For a little Vergilius made no answer; 
 but presently he said: "I am a Roman; 
 who seeks my life shall lose his own." 
 
 They came upon a ewe lying in the road- 
 way. She looked up with a mute appeal, 
 but moved not. She seemed to reckon upon 
 the kindness of them approaching. The 
 squad parted, passing on either side. All 
 drew rein, and one, dismounting, stood a 
 moment looking down at her. Then laying 
 hold of her fleece, he moved the ewe tenderly 
 aside. 
 
 264 
 
HfrgtltuH 
 
 "A sign and a wonder!" said the Roman 
 knight, as they continued their journey. 
 " That old fighter has no hand for kindness." 
 
 "But mark this miracle of God," said 
 the friend of Vergilius. "He softens the 
 heart of those with young and makes gentle 
 the hand that touches them. Ay, has he 
 not softened the heart of the world ? 'Tis 
 like a mother whose time is near." 
 ' Soon a purple dusk had overflooded the 
 hills and risen above the splendor of Jeru- 
 salem. The old capital was now hke a 
 dim, mysterious, golden isle in a vast, 
 azure sea. Vergilius thought, as he went on, 
 of those camel-riders. He seemed to hear 
 in the lift and fall of hoofs, in the rattle of 
 scabbards, that strange cry: "Where is he 
 that is bom king of the Jews?" 
 
 Darkness fell upon those riding in silence 
 on the lonely road. Suddenly they drew 
 rein, listening. 
 
 Said Vergilius, whispering : " I thought I 
 heard voices." 
 
 "And I," said David, his words touched 
 '8 265 
 
with awe. " 'Twas like tens of thousands 
 singing in some distant place." 
 
 Again they listened, but the song, if song 
 it was, had ceased. 
 
 Then, boldly, as one who would put down 
 his fear, the color-bearer spoke up: "'Tis 
 a band of shepherd folk on some far 
 hill. Never saw I so dark a night. By 
 the curtains of Solomon, I cannot see my 
 horse!" 
 
 "There is no star in the sky," said an- 
 other. 
 
 Then said the young commander, whist 
 with awe: "Look yonder! A light on 
 the hills! I saw it appear." --^f- i 
 
 Amazement was in the tone of David: 
 " Nay, 'tis a window of paradise! Or may- 
 be that time is come when the three great 
 stars should gather side by side. Do you 
 not remember the talk of the astrologers?" 
 
 "I say 'tis a light on the hills." Ver- 
 gilius now spoke in a husky, solemn whisper. 
 "See, 'tis larger; and I would think it near 
 the village of Bethlehem." 
 266 
 
After a moment of silence he added, with 
 a laugh : " Why stand we here and whisper, 
 like a lot of women ? Let us move on." 
 
 Again he seemed to hear peals of song in 
 the sky and their rhythm in hoof ard scab- 
 bard. It put him in mind of that strange, 
 mysterious chant of the old singer. 
 
 Soon he drew rein, saying: "Halt and 
 listen!" They stopped, conscious only of 
 the great silence of the night. Vergilius 
 felt for the arm of his friend. 
 
 "What think you?" said he, his voice 
 fuU of wonder. " I doubt not the sound is 
 in our fancy." 
 
 " See ! The star ! It grows !' ' said David, 
 eagerly. " 'Tis like a mighty lantern hung 
 in the dome of the sky." 
 
 Then said Vergilius, a pagan fancy filling 
 his mind : " It may be God is walking upon 
 the earth." 
 
 A moment they rode on , looking up at the 
 heavens. Suddenly Vergilius bade them 
 halt again, saying: "Hist! . What is that 
 cry?" 
 
 267 
 
Now they could hear a faint halloo far 
 behind them. 
 
 Then the bearer of the colors remarked: 
 " It might be the squad of Manius." 
 
 " God curse him!" said Vergilius, quickly, 
 his heart fiUing with passion dark as the 
 night around. He heard no more the 
 great song, but only the smite of steel in 
 deadly combat. He seemed to see his 
 enemy fall bleeding at his feet. "I will 
 take what Herod offers," he thought. "I 
 will make war on the cats and the ser- 
 pents." 
 
 He had forgotten everything now save 
 his bitterness. 
 
 "See! 'Tis gone!" said his friend, in a 
 loud whisper. " The star is gone ! I saw it 
 disappear as if a cloud were suddenly come 
 over it." 
 
 All drew rein, looking into the sky. Many 
 stars were now uncovered in the vault above 
 them. 
 
 " 'Twas a light on the hills," said Ver- 
 gilius, with a vague fear in him. "Yon- 
 268 
 
der I can see a smaller one. 'Tis a lantern. 
 Look! It moves." 
 
 Suddenly they were startled by a mighty 
 voice that seemed to travel far into dark 
 and lonely caverns of the sky. Like a 
 trumpet-call it resounded over the gloomy 
 hiUs — that cry of the camel-rider: 
 
 "Where is he that is bom king of the 
 Jews?" 
 
 Vergilius whispered, his awe returning: 
 "They are coming — those men who rode 
 the camels." 
 
 Said David, his voice trembling: "They 
 are like many who have gone abroad with 
 that ancient hope in them." 
 
 The horsemen now stood, breathing low 
 as they listened. Vergilius was full of won- 
 der, thinking of the awe which had fallen 
 upon him and the others. He tried to 
 throw it off. "We waste time," said he, 
 starting his charger. "Come, good men, 
 we have work to do." 
 
 Awhile they rode in silence, their eyes 
 on the light of the lantern. Slowly they 
 269 
 
came near, and soon saw its glow falling 
 upon rocks and moving shadows beneath it. 
 
 Then said David, turning to Vergilius: 
 "The battle — suppose it goes ill with 
 you?" 
 
 "111!" said the Roman, with rising ire. 
 "Then Jehovah is no better than Mars." 
 
 They could now see people standing in 
 the light of a lantern which hung above the 
 entrance of a cave. Its opening was large 
 enough to admit a horse and rider. 
 
 "Soldiers of Csesar!" — the whisper went 
 from mouth to mouth there in the light of 
 the lantern. 
 
 The horsemen halted. 
 
 "I shall soon be done with this traitor 
 to friend and king," thought the tribune, 
 dismounting and approaching the cave. 
 
 That group of people under the light, see- 
 ing symbols of Roman authority and hear- 
 ing its familiar voice, fell aside with fear in 
 their faces. A woman standing in the en- 
 trance of the cave addressed Vergilius, her 
 voice trembling with emotion. 
 270 
 
"Good sir," said she, "if you mean harm 
 to those within I pray you go hence." 
 
 " I know not who is within," he answered, 
 as both he and David passed her. Fear- 
 ing treachery, they drew their swords. Just 
 beyond the entrance of the cave both 
 halted. A man stood before them, his 
 face full of high authority, his hand 
 raised as if to command silence. He 
 was garbed like a toiler and somewhat 
 past middle age, his beard and eyebrows 
 long and gray. A lantern hung near his 
 head, and well beyond him, resting peace- 
 fully on the farther floor of the cave, were 
 horses, sheep, and oxen. The man spoke 
 not save by the beckon of his hand. With- 
 out a word they followed him. The 
 light of the lantern seemed now to glow 
 with exceeding brightness. They stop- 
 ped. On the straw before them lay a beau- 
 tiful young maiden, a child upon her breast. 
 Her arms, which encircled the babe, her 
 hands, her head, her whole body, and the 
 soul within had a glow of fondness. Nature 
 271 
 
had clothed her for its great event with a 
 fukiess of beauty wonderful and yet familiar. 
 In her soft, blue eyes they saw that peace 
 and love which are a part of the ancient, 
 common miracle of God. They saw more, 
 even the hght of the world, but were not 
 able to understand. Calmly she looked up 
 at them. Waving strands and masses of 
 golden hair lay above her shoulders and 
 about the head of the child upon her bosom. 
 It was lustrous, beautiful hair, and seemed 
 to glow as the bearded man came near 
 with the lantern. What was there in the 
 tender, peaceful look of the mother, what 
 in her full breasts, what in the breathing of 
 the child, what in the stir of those baby 
 hands to make the soldier bare and bow 
 his head ? He leaned against the rock wall 
 of the cave and covered his eyes and 
 thought of his beloved Arria, of his dream 
 of home and peace and little children. 
 The sword fell from his hand. A great 
 sickness of the soul came on him as he 
 thought of those evil days in Jerusalem and 
 272 
 
of his part in their bloody record. There 
 and then he flung ofE the fetters of king 
 and emperor. 
 
 He knew not yet who lay before him. 
 
 As he looked through tears upon them 
 they seemed to be covered with light as 
 with a garment. David knelt before the 
 mother and child in adoration. 
 
 Vergilius, full of astonishment, turned to 
 look around him, and saw Manius, who 
 stood near, trembling with superstitious awe. 
 The wonders of the night, the great star and 
 song in the heavens, the glowing cave, the 
 mysterious child and mother had wrought 
 upon him. Were they omens of death ? 
 
 "Apollo save me!" he whispered, turn- 
 ing to go. 
 
 David rose and approached Manius, and 
 spoke with lifted hand. 
 
 "Apollo cannot save you," said he. 
 "Kneel! kneel before the sacred mother 
 and put all evil out of your hearts!" 
 
 Vergilius knelt, and then his enemy. 
 Manius began to weep. 
 273 
 
"O God! who hast softened the heart 
 of the world, give us peace!" said David. 
 
 Again they heard that voice which had 
 greeted their ears in Jerusalem. It spoke 
 now at the entrance of the cave, saying 
 again : " Where is he that is bom king of the 
 Jews?" 
 
 David, going to the door of the cave, 
 answered: "Here, within." 
 
 "'Tis he — the new king!" the tribune 
 whispered. " I thought kings were bom in 
 palaces, and here are they so near the 
 beasts of the field." 
 
 Soon came David, and behind him, follow- 
 ing in single file, three men, a God-sent 
 majesty in step and countenance. Ver- 
 gilius and Manius moved aside, saluting 
 solemnly as the men passed. The young 
 tribune turned to his friend and to Manius. 
 
 " Come," he whispered. " The Judge of all 
 the earth is here, and, as for me, I dare not 
 remain." 
 
 Softly, silently, they departed, their 
 hearts lifted to that peace none may under- 
 ?74 
 
stand. Gently, gently, Vergilius took the 
 hand of him who had been his enemy. They 
 had forgotten their bitterness and the 
 touch of awe had made them kin. 
 
 "All debts are paid, my brother," said 
 Vergilius. "I forgive you." 
 
 He struck his sword deep in the earth. 
 " Henceforth it shall be for a ploughshare," 
 he added. 
 
 The assessor bowed low, kissing the hand 
 of Vergilius, who quickly mounted horse. 
 
 Then said the latter, turning to his fol- 
 lowers: "Come, let us make haste. Before 
 the gold is shining in the great lantern of 
 Shushan I must be on my way to the sea." 
 
 "On your way to the sea!" said his 
 friend. 
 
 As he answered, the voice of Vergilius 
 had a note of longing and beloved memo- 
 ries : " Yes, for the day is come when I re- 
 turn to the city of Caesar. Nothing shall 
 separate me longer from my beloved. But 
 come, let us seek Appius at the beacon- 
 fire.'/ 
 
 275 
 
On all sides the great shadow was now 
 thick-sown with stars. The group of horse- 
 men, with colors flying, rode swiftly down 
 the broad way to Jerusalem. Suddenly 
 they drew rein. Great surges of song were 
 rolling in upon this rounded isle from off 
 the immeasurable, mighty deep of the 
 heavens. Beating of drums, and waving 
 of banners, and trumpet-sounds, and battle- 
 cries of them unborn were in that new song 
 — so it seemed to those who heard it. 
 Winding over the gloomy hills near them 
 under the light of the great star, they 
 could see a long procession of shepherds 
 bearing crooks. Awhile the horsemen look- 
 ed and listened. The host of the dead 
 now seemed to cry imto the host of the 
 living : 
 
 "Glory to God in the highest and on 
 earth peace, good-will towards men." 
 
 Slowly the song diminished. 
 
 "The everlasting gates are lifted up," 
 said David, thoughtfully. Then, thinking 
 of the perils of the new king, he added : " I 
 276 
 
beseech you, say nothing of these things 
 abroad." 
 
 The song had ceased. A cloud, with all 
 its borders bright, now curtained the great 
 star. Another band of horsemen were de- 
 scending the hill from Bethlehem. Swiftly 
 they came near and halted. 
 
 " God send you peace," said the voice of a 
 maiden. " We seek one Vergilius, officer of 
 the cohort." 
 
 "And who is he that you should seek 
 him?" said the young tribune, dismounting 
 quickly. 
 
 " My lover," said she, a note of trouble in 
 her voice, " and I do fear his life is in peril." 
 
 Vergilius was at her side. Now the Ught 
 of the great star shone full upon them. 
 
 " Blood of my heart!" he whispered, lift- 
 ing the maiden from her horse. 
 
 "Oh, you that have made me love you 
 with the great love!" she cried, pressing her 
 cheek upon his. " I have been as one lost 
 in the desert, and I thank the one God he 
 has led me to you." 
 
 277 
 
A moment they stood together and all 
 were silent. 
 
 "God has answered my prayer," said he. 
 "But how came you here?" 
 
 Then she whispered: "I came with 
 Appius, and the emperor has written that 
 we are to bring you home." 
 
 "And we shall live no more apart," said 
 he. " 'Tis a night of ten thousand years, 
 dear love. The Christ is come." 
 
 "The Christ is come!" she repeated. 
 " How know you ?" 
 
 "Have you not seen his light in the 
 heavens nor heard the mighty song?" 
 
 "Yes, and all the night we have been 
 full of wonder. Listen!" 
 
 Again the air trembled with that peal of 
 song: 
 
 "Glory to God in the highest, and on 
 earth peace, good-will towards men." 
 
 Slowly it sank into silence. Vergilius 
 
 drew the maiden close and touched her 
 
 ear with his lips and whispered: "Love 
 
 has opened our hearts to the knowledge 
 
 278 
 
of mighty things. It has led us to the 
 Prince of Peace." 
 
 Then said the maiden: "Let us build a 
 temple wherein to worship him, and make 
 it a holy place." 
 
 "And call it home," said the young 
 knight, as he kissed her. 
 
 THE END