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 noble.
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.
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