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.
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