Suddenly there rose an outcry among the soldiers. Vergilius
turned; the prince halted, breathing heavily, for he had run near a
hundred paces in the sea-sand. A roar of rage burst from his lips.
"Dog!" he shouted. "Bid them cheer me or I will run you through!" His
lance threatened.
"There shall be cheers in a moment, son of Herod," said Vergilius,
calmly and respectfully approaching him. Antipater, unaware of his
peril, stood with lance at rest. With a hand quick as the paw of a
leopard, Vergilius whirled it away and caught the wrist of the Jew and
flung him down. While Antipater struggled in his great robe the
tribune had disarmed him. Every man of the cohort was now cheering.
Antipater rose in terrible wrath and flung off his robe of gold and
purple.
"Put him in irons!" he shouted. "I, who shall soon be king of the
Jews, command you!"
The cohort began to jeer at him; Vergilius commanded silence.
"You lapdog!" Antipater hissed, turning upon the Roman. "Am I met with
treason?"
"You give yourself a poor compliment," said Vergilius.
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