Now his
head rose, and for a little his old vigor and menacing voice returned
to him. "He has run me through with the blade of remorse and put upon
me the chains of infirmity," he complained, an ominous, croaking rattle
in his throat. "To-day, to-day, my wrath shall descend upon him and my
gratitude upon you! These forty years have I been seeking a man of
honor. At last, at last, here is the greatest of men! I, Herod,
surnamed the Great, king of Judea, conqueror of hosts, builder of
cities, bare my head before you!"
He removed his jewelled crown; he drew off his purple tarboosh, and
bowed before the young tribune. Tenderly Vergilius replaced them on
the gray head.
"O king," said he, bowing low, "you do me great honor."
Herod closed his eyes and muttered feebly. Again remorse and age had
flung their weight upon him. His hard face seemed to shrink and
wither, and the young man thought as he looked upon it, "What a great,
good thing is death!"
The king opened his eyes and piped, feebly: "Help me; help me to win
the favor of my people! You shall be procurator, commander of the
forces, counsellor of kings, priest of God.
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