Again the council of the covenant was in session. Herod, unknown to
all, sat in the darkness of the council chamber. The intrigue 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 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
approval, 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 darkness.
The speaker went on:
"When Herod dies you shall see a rider go swiftly through the streets
bearing a red banner and crying, '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."
Vergilius turned quickly in the direction of the fateful voice. He had
begun to suspect a plot. In a moment he saw to the very depths of its
cunning. Here was a band of conspirators meeting in the darkness 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 programme. By some movement of the speaker's body an end
of his girdle was flung against the hand of Vergilius. Immediately the
young Roman laid hold of the silken cord. Tracing it stealthily, to
make sure 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 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." Vergilius
could hear its owner moving away in the darkness. Fearful
possibilities had begun to suggest themselves to the new convert. Now
had he the flinty heart and the cunning mind of his fathers. The
darkness had begun to smother 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 cherished 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 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 council 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."
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 darkness.
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, expecting every breath to feel a
point plunging 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 thunderbolts. 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 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 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 torture, 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 leaned 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 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
thinking of that girdle's end in his bosom. Although 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 young
tribune drew 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.