Chapter 4

That evening Vergilius went to feast with the young Herodian prince,
Antipater of Judea. The son of Herod was then a tall, swarthy, robust
young man, who had come to see life in Rome and to finish his
education. He would inherit the crown--so said they who knew anything
of Herodian politics; but he was a Jew, and deep in the red intrigue of
his father's house. So, therefore, he was regarded in Rome with more
curiosity than respect. Augustus himself had said that he would rather
be the swine of Herod than Herod's son, and he might have added that he
would rather be the swine of Antipater than his father. But that was
before Augustus had learned that even his own household was unworthy of
full confidence.

Antipater had brought many slaves to Rome, and some of the noblest
horses in the empire. He had hired a palace and built a lion-house,
where, before intimates, he was wont to display his courage and his
skill. It had a small arena and was in the midst of a great garden.
There he kept a lion from northern Africa, a tiger, and a black leopard
from the Himalayas. He was training for the Herodian prize at the
Jewish amphitheatre in Caesarea. These great, stealthy cats in his
garden typified the passions of his heart. If he had only fought these
latter as he fought the beasts he might have had a better place in
history.

Antipater had conceived a great liking for the sister of Appius. Her
beauty had roused in him the great cats of passion now stalking their
prey. He had sworn to his intimates that no other man should marry
her. His gallantry was unwelcome, he knew that, and Appius had assured
him that a marriage was impossible; but the wild heart of the Idumean
held to its purpose. And now its hidden eyes were gazing, catlike, on
Vergilius, the cause of its difficulty. In Judea he would have known
how to act, but in Rome he pondered.

It had been a stormy day in the palace of Antipater. He had crucified
a slave for disobedience and run a lance through one of his best horses
for no reason. He came out of his bath a little before the hour of his
banquet, and two slaves, trembling with fear, followed him to his
chamber. They put his tunic on him, and his sandals, and wound the
fillets that held them in place. One of the slaves began brushing the
dark hair of his master while the other was rubbing a precious ointment
on his face and arms.

"Fool!" he shouted. "Have I not told you never to bear upon my head?"

He jumped to his feet, black eyes flashing under heavy brows, and,
seizing a lance, broke the slave's arm with a blow and drove him out of
the chamber. A few minutes later, in a robe of white silk and a yellow
girdle, he came into his banquet-hall with politeness,