“The girl against a hundred denarii that you cannot live an hour in the arena with him,” said Antipater, hotly.

“I accept the wager,” Vergilius calmly answered, laying off his robe and seizing a lance.  He entered the arena and closed its gate behind him.  “Drive the beast in upon me, son of Herod; and you, Gracus, be ready to hand me another lance.”

The black leopard spat fiercely and struck at the points that were put upon it, the deep rumble in its throat swelling into loud crescendos.  Of a sudden it bounded through the gateway and stood a moment, baring great fangs.  The animal threatened with long hisses.  Vergilius held its eye, his lance raised.  The hissing ceased, the growl diminished, the stealthy paws moved slowly.  Soon it rolled upon its side, purring, and seemed to caress the floor with head and paws—­a trick to divert the gaze of Vergilius.  The Satanic eyes were ever on its foe.  As the beast lay there, twisting and turning, the black fur seemed to wrap it in the gloom of Tartarus, and the fire of the burning lake to shine through its eyes.  While Vergilius stood motionless and alert, a slave hurriedly entered the lion-house and spoke to Antipater.

“The imperator!” whispered the slave.  “He cannot wait; he must see you quickly.”

“Where?”

“In the palace hall.”

Antipater hurried away.

The slave-girl went close to the barred arena.

“Young master,” said she, in quick and eager words, “the lamps are burning dimmer.  They will go out soon.  It is a trick.  You will not be able to see and the leopard will rend you.”

Antipater ran to the banquet-hall of his palace, where sat the emperor, his chin resting thoughtfully on his hand.  The great Augustus did not look up nor even change his attitude as the son of Herod came near and bowed low and called him father.

“I have a plan,” said the emperor thoughtfully, “—­a pretty plan, my young prince of—­of—­”

“Judea?” suggested the young prince.

“Oh, well, it matters not,” the great father went on.  “You know that fair Vergilius, son of Varro?  A headstrong, foolish youth he is, and I fear much that he is like to die shortly.  What think you?”

The piercing eyes of Augustus were looking into those of the young man.

“My great father,” said the latter, “I do not know.”

“’Tis gross ignorance and unworthy of you,” said Augustus, quickly, as he rose.  “Well, I have bethought me of a pretty plan.  Your funeral and his shall occur on the same day—­a fine, great, amusing funeral,” he added, thoughtfully.  “It shall be so.  Do not worry, I shall see you well buried.  Ah, you are most impolite.  Why do you not ask me to drink your health?  My pretty prince, you look most ill and have need of my good wishes.”

“Dominus!” said the other, trembling with anxiety.

“Dominus!” the old emperor shouted, angrily.  “Call me ass, if you dare, but never call me ‘Dominus.’”