"I do love you." He was approaching.

"Hush! Not now," she answered, taking his hand in hers--temporizing.

"Come, I will race with you."

She ran, leading him, with quick, pattering feet through an inner hall and up the long triclinium. There, presently, she threw herself upon the heap of cushions.

"Now, sit," said she, draping her robe and then feeling her hair that was aglow with jewels.

A graceful and charming creature was this child of the new empire, a n.o.ble beauty in her face and form, the value of a small kingdom on her body. "Not so near," said she, as he complied. "Now, son of my father's friend, say what you will and quickly."

"I love you," he began to say.

"Wait," she whispered, stopping him as she turned, looking up and down the great hall. "It is for me alone. I will not share the words with any other. Now tell me--tell me, son of Varro," she whispered, moving nearer; "tell me at once."

"I love you, sweet girl, above G.o.ds and men. You are more to me than crowns of laurel and gold, more than all that is in the earth and heavens. My heart burns when I look at you."

He hesitated, pressing her hand upon his lips.

"Is that all?" said she, with a pretty sadness, looking down at the golden braces on her fan. "Now, say it again, all, slowly."

She might as well have told a bird how he should sing.

He went on all unconscious of her command, his words lighted by the fire in his heart. They were as waters rippling in the sun-glow.

"Without you there is no light in the heavens, no beauty in the earth, no hope or glory in the future, no joy in my heart. My sword threatens me, dear love, when I think of losing you."

She turned, quickly, with almost a look of surprise.

"It is beautiful," said she, with a sigh; "but is there no more?

Think, dear, n.o.ble knight; do think of more!"

She was near forgetting her plan. He took her in his arms and kissed her.

"Think--think of more," said she, "and I will dance the tourina."

There was a note of gladness in her voice. It rang merry as a girdle of silver bells. Now, on the floor near them was a golden square of sunlight, and, tabret in hand, she sprang up and began to dance in it.

She moved swiftly back and forth, her arms extended, her white robe flowing above the sapphires in each purple fillet on her ankles.

"Now, dear Vergilius, tell me, why do you love me?" she said, throwing herself upon the cushions near him with glowing cheeks.

"Because you are Arria. Because Arria is you. Because I must, for your pure and n.o.ble heart and for your beauty," said he. "When I look upon you I forget my dreams of war and conquest; I think only of peace and love and have no longer the heart to slay. Oh, sweet Arria! I feel as if I should fling my swords into the Tiber."

"Oh, my love! could I make you throw your swords into the Tiber I should be very happy." Her eyes had turned serious and thoughtful.

Her girlish trickery had come to an end. Vanity retired, now, and Love had sole command.

He put his arms about her and rained kisses upon her face, her hair, her eyes. "Say it all again, dear Vergilius--say it a hundred times,"

she whispered.

"My dear one, I love you more than I can say. Now am I prepared to speak in deeds, in faithfulness, in devotion."

"But, once more, why do you love me? Why me?" said she, moving aside with an air of preoccupation, her chin resting upon her hand, her elbow upon the gauze pillow of rose leaves in her lap. "Is it my beauty more than myself?"

"No," he answered; "your beauty is intoxicating, and I thank the G.o.ds for it, but your sweet self, your soul, is more, far more to me than your grace and all your loveliness."

She had dreamed of such love but never hoped for it, and now all the pretty tricks she had thought of had become as the mummery of fools.

She sat in silence for a little s.p.a.ce, her eyes upon her girdle, and a new and serious look came into her face.

"I shall try, then," said she, presently--"I shall try to be n.o.ble.

But shall you--shall you truly throw your swords into the Tiber?"

"Would I might," said he, sadly. "And now I must tell you--" He paused, and Arria turned quickly, her lips trembling as her color faded.

"In three days I go to Jerusalem," he added, "by command of the emperor."

"For how long?" she whispered, her eyes taking years upon them as the seconds flew.

"For two years."

Quickly she hid her face in the cushions and her body quivered. That old, familiar cry, which had in it the history and the doom of Rome, rang in the great halls around them--that cry of forsaken women.

"The iron foot is upon us," said he. "Do not let it tread you down as it has other women. Be my vestal and guard the holy fire of love."

Then he told of Cyran, the slave-girl, and added: "I leave her in your care. Every day she will cause you to think of me."

CHAPTER 8

It was near the middle hour of the night. Many, just out of banquet-hall, theatre, and circus, thronged the main thoroughfares of the capital. Cries of venders, ribald songs, shouts of revelry, the hurrying of many feet roused the good people who, wearied by other nights of dissipation, now sought repose. They turned, uneasily, reflecting that to-morrow they would have their revenge.

Antipater had dined with but a single guest--a young priest, who, arriving that very day from Damascus, had sought the palace of his countryman. The service at his table had not pleased the prince.

Leaping from his couch, he struck down a slave and ordered his crucifixion. It was a luckless Arab, who many times had unwittingly offended his master.

Now the son of Herod lay asleep where, a little time ago, he had been feasting. Manius, who had just entered the palace of his friend, came into the banquet-hall. He touched the arm of Antipater, who started with a curse and rose with an apology.

"I was dreaming of foes and I see a friend," he muttered. "Forgive me, n.o.ble Manius."

The prince pulled a golden bell-cord that shone against the green pargeting of the wall.

"Now to our business," he whispered, turning to the officer.

They crossed the atrium, descended a stairway, and threw open a barred door. They were now in a gloomy pa.s.sage between walls of marble.

Antipater halted, presently, and tapped with his seal ring on a metal door. Then a rattle of bolts and the door swung open.

"Now," Antipater whispered, "are you of the same mind?"

"I am."