While Arab slaves pushed the arena into place, David came and touched the arm of the young tribune.  He whispered, eagerly:  “My sister, Cyran the Beloved, is here.  She is waiting at the castle.”

“Whence came she?” said the tribune, with astonishment.

“From the port of Ascalon, where she arrived by trireme with Appius. 
They were wrecked, finding shore in a far country.  There the friend of
Caesar, Probus Sulpicius Quirinus, discovered them on his way from
Carthage, and brought them hither.”

Appius, fearing Antipater, had waited by the sea while Cyran came to find her brother and Vergilius.  The prince’s threat and the words of Caesar had checked his feet with caution.  He forbade Cyran to tell any one of the presence of Arria.

“And where is my friend?” Vergilius demanded.

“He waits on the ship to hear from you—­whether it be safe to come.  It seems Antipater has threatened him.”

“Tell Cyran I would have her come to me.  Then find my orderly and bid him bring Appius hither by the way of Bethlehem.  If he arrives there before the end of the third watch he will see my fire-light on the hill.”

David left the scene as a powerful Thracian, standing by the arena’s gate, saluted the king.  Entering, the gladiator engaged the lion with his lance.  Incautiously he pressed his weapon too far, drawing blood.  Before he could set his lance the wild foe was upon him.  A leap into the air, a double stroke of the right fore-paw, and down fell the beast, while the man reeled, with rent tunic, and caught the side of the arena.  In a twinkling, as he clung feebly, he reddened from head to toe.  Three bestiarii had thrust in their lances and held the lion back; others opened a gate and removed the dying gladiator.  Herod, leaning over, beckoned to the master of the games.

“A noble lion!” said he, his voice trembling.  “Save him for the battle of the pit.”

Now, in pursuance of the order of the king, a pit had been dug and walled with timber near that place where the fighter had met his death.  A score of slaves forthwith lowered the arena into the pit with ropes.  Herod and all who sat with him could see the open top of the barred space, but the beast was beyond their vision.

Another trumpet-call.  A band of prisoners have entered the court.  Antipater, tall and erect in exomis of plain gray, right arm and shoulder bare, walked in the centre of the front rank.  Traitors of the betrayed council were there beside him.  Slowly they about to die came forth and stood in even rank and bowed low before the king.  Herod beat his palms upon the golden rail before him and muttered hoarsely.  Then with raised finger and leering face he taunted them.

“Outlaws!” he croaked.  “I doubt not ye be also cowards.”