e, and make it slow for such as give us no
further knowledge. Away 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 will of that graceful and voluptuous maiden had been well if only
partially expressed.

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 torture," 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 Vergilius, 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 arrived, he drove all save the young Roman. "Long ago I discovered
evidence of the treachery of the prince," said he. "To Antipater--foul
son of Doris--I despatched this letter."

He spread a sheet of vellum before Vergilius, bidding him read. It was
the copy of a letter addressed to his "dutiful and affectionate 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, Antipater 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 loaned forward with a savage leer, as if he saw the object of
his wrath. 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, presently:

"Be ready, my tribune, to go down to the sea with a cohort. There meet
him, as he comes, and let him f