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Cyran rose upon her knees and put her beautiful body between the steel and him she loved. The sword seemed to spring at her bosom. She seized it, clinging as if it were a thing she prized. Vergilius had risen. Swiftly sword smote upon sword. The young Roman pressed his enemy, forcing him backward.
"Did you not live in Galilee and suffer ill fortune?" "We lived in Galilee, and, by-and-by, were as those hurled into Gehenna." "And have you a sister in Rome?" "I have a sister, but know not where she may be. Cyran the Beloved, so my mother called her." Then Vergilius told his companion how he had won her from the son of Herod and left her in the keeping of Arria. David wept as he listened.
They stopped, conscious only of the great silence of the night. Vergilius felt for the arm of his friend. "What think you?" said he, his voice full of wonder. "I doubt not the sound is in our fancy." "See! The star! It grows!" said David, eagerly. "'Tis like a mighty lantern hung in the dome of the sky."
He was Vergilius, son of Varro, and of equestrian knighthood. His full name was Quintus Vergilius Varro, but all knew the youth by his nomen. Tall and erect, with curly blond locks and blue eyes and lips delicately curved, there was in that hall no ancestral mask or statue so nobly favored.
The son of Herod was near the pit. He seemed to tempt the Roman to press him. Suddenly he leaped backward to the very edge. The Roman rushed upon him. Before their swords met, Antipater sprang aside with the quickness of a leopard. In cunning he had outdone his foe. Unable to check his onrush, Vergilius leaped forward and fell out of sight.
PUBLIUS VIRGILIUS, or more correctly, VERGILIUS MARO, was born in the village or district of Andes, near Mantua, sixteen years after the birth of Catullus, of whom he was a compatriot as well as an admirer.
"To learn the art of war," he answered. "Sit down, dear grandmother," said the girl, as he brought a chair. "Now let her hear you tell me why it is that you have chosen me, dear Vergilius let her hear you." "I know not. Perhaps because your beauty, sweet girl, is like the snare of the fowler and brought me to your hand.
The young men approached her. "Children of Aeneas, I give you welcome," said she. Then turning to Vergilius: "Did Manius tell you that I bade him bring you here?" "I knew not I was so honored." "He is jealous. He will not permit me to embrace my little page. I have wished to meet you, noble tribune, ever since I saw you in my father's palace."
Vergilius answered yes, and one of the council then took his hand and administered the oath of secrecy, and led him to what seemed to be a large divan, where he sat, shoulder to shoulder, between other members of the council. He listened long to the casuistry of learned men touching prayer, atonement, and sacrifice. It led at last to some discussion of the new king.
You are a deadly serpent, born to creep and hide. Shame upon you murderer! If there be many like you, what God tell me! what shall be the fate of Rome?" Vergilius stepped away, and, lifting his hands, gave the other a look of unspeakable scorn. Manius made no reply, but stood as still and white as marble, with sword in hand.
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