ere flashing in. He saw now, on
every side, a gleam of helmet and cuirass. Men, retreating from the
lights, huddled in a dark corner. Some began to weep and cry to God.
The scene was awful with swiftness and terror. The crowding group
moved like caving sand. It sank suddenly, every man going to his
knees. Quick as the serpent, a line of soldiers 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, wrathful 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 heavily and leaning on the shoulder of
the 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 leaning upon the shoulder of
Vergilius, wept feebly. It seemed as if the infirmity of old age had
fallen suddenly upon him. He muttered, 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, listening.
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. Vergilius looked with pity at the terrified throng. There were
Lugar and two merchants he knew, and that chamberlain of 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
Caesarea, now thundered in the voice of power.

"Serpents, murderers, children of the devil!" he roared. "Soon shall
your souls wander in hell and your bodies rot in the valley of Hinnom.
Take them to the tortur