Part 14 (1/2)

Some had seen him wandering about the palace at night with a candle, mourning over his loss and raging at his own folly. Some had seen him so shaken by remorse that he roared like a lion goaded by hunger and the lance. At such a time it was, indeed, a peril to come before him.

Plots against his life had worried him, and, distrusting his helpers, he was wont to go about the city in disguise seeking information.

Twice he had forgiven Antipater, his favorite son, for crimes in the royal household.

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.

Powers of darkness ruled the city of Jerusalem. 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 amus.e.m.e.nt; 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 born 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.

CHAPTER 13

In travel-worn garb Vergilius went early to see the king. Accustomed to the grandeur of Rome itself, he yet saw with astonishment the beautiful groves, the lakes, ca.n.a.ls, 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 terrible 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 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 n.o.ble.

For one moment their eyes held each other. A chamberlain approached Vergilius, 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.”

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, Babylonian 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 Octavia.n.u.s 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 pa.s.sion had roughened his face with wrinkles. His manner was alert and watchful.

”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 born 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 attendant 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--crucify 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 returning with him who had retired as Vergilius entered the king's chamber.