The festival of games, in honor of Augustus, were about to begin at
Caesarea. Lately the highway from north to south, which passed the
gates of Jerusalem, had been as a fair of the nations. A host had
journeyed 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 teeming with catlike gods. Here were they to be
lifted up by the power of love--the heathen, the debased. What a
gathering of the enemies of God and man! Crowding 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, musicians, 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 Vergilius.
"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 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 Herod'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,
transparent veil of water-drops lighted by rainbow 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 harpers smote their
strings, flooding the scene with music. Slowly each circumference
began to move. Step and measure increased 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, vanished
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 paced up and down. Two hundred mounted 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.
"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 Bethlehem. 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. Incautiously 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 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 lion!" said he, his voice trembling. "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 prisoners 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 golden rail before him and muttered hoarsely. 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 Scythian 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 recognized 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
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 unfortunate 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 adversary, and, choking him down, secured the net over his head.
Swiftly he began to drag the fallen youth. Vergilius, angered by the
prince's cruelty, could no longer hold his peace.
"'Tis unfair," said he, pointing at Antipater. "In the name of the
fatherly Augustus, I protest."
The prince, still dragging his foe, answered with insulting threats.
The young commander leaped from his horse and ran to the side of
Antipater. The latter released his captive and drew sword. Swiftly
Vergilius 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 shrieking like fiends of
hell. Hand and foot grew weary; their speed slackened. Slowly, now,
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 moment
Vergilius, who had been giving quarter, 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, O my beloved! Rise quickly! He
will slay you!"
"Cyran!" he whispered.
Antipater had gained his feet and now ran to glut his anger. Cyran
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. Vergilius 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 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
forward 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.
"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."