Next day from the daughter of Herod came a letter to the young tribune: 

“Noble son of Varro,—­I have much to say concerning your welfare, and I doubt not you will desire to hear it.  If I judge you rightly, come to the palace of my mother the second evening before the nones.  An hour after sunset I will meet you at the gate of bronze.  Say naught to Manius of your coming or of this letter.”

“Temptress!” said he, crushing the sheet of scented vellum.  “But she is beautiful,” he added, wistfully.  “She is like the Venus of Alcamenes.  I would love well to look upon her again.”

He smoothed out the crumpled vellum.

“‘Say naught to Manius,’” he read again.  “I like it not.  I shall write to her that I have other business.”

And so did he, although in phrases of regret, as became one addressing a daughter of the great king.

Sorely vexed, she thought ever of the noble beauty of the Roman youth, and became more eager to gain her purpose.  It may be the girl bore for him a better feeling than she had ever known.  She wished, if possible, to win him, knowing that her father would not be slow to help him forward.  The handsome youth had pleased her eye, and might, also, gratify her ambition.  Those days the art of intrigue was the study of a king’s daughter; so, straightway, she invented a cunning plan.  Knowing the great desire of Vergilius, she bribed the priest Lugar to give him crafty counsel.  On the very morning of that second day the priest came to him.

“How fares your soul, noble tribune?” said Lugar.

“I feel it strong in me,” said Vergilius.

“And you would know if it be strong unto salvation?”

“That would I gladly know.”

“Come with me this night and you shall see your soul in the balance.”

“And whither shall we go?”

“To the palace of Laban, steward of the king.  I shall come for you soon after the ninth hour.”

“And thereby increase my debt to you,” said Vergilius.  “Remember my soul may not be rejected for lack of gratitude.”

Now in that hour which follows the beginning of night, Lugar and Vergilius were come to the place appointed.  Slaves led them through a great hall to the banquet-chamber.  There were the daughters of Laban, reclining in graceful ease.  The banquet-table had been removed.  Now they were taking their feast of old tales and new gossip.  They rose and came to meet the young men.  Tunics of jewelled gauze covered without concealing forms lovely as the sculptures of immortal Greece and redolent of all rare perfumes.

“And you would see a maidens’ frolic?” said one to Vergilius.

Then said he:  “Maidens are ever a delight to me.”

“Ay, they make you to forget,” said the girl.

He thought a moment before answering.  “It may be true,” said he.  “But they keep you in mind of the power of woman.”