All drew back save Antipater and a huge Scythian bandit.  They drew broadswords and rushed together, fighting with terrific energy.  The Scythian fell in a moment.  One after another four conspirators came to battle with their chief, but each went down before his terrible attack.  Some asked for mercy as they fell, but all perished by the hand of him they had sought to serve.  Held for the battle of the pit, the young Roman whom Vergilius had recognized in the council chamber advanced to meet Herod’s son.  He had won his freedom in the arena and lost it in the conspiracy of the prince.  He was a tall, lithe, splendid figure of a man.  The heart of the young commander was touched with pity as he beheld the comely youth.  This game, invented by Antipater himself, was a test of strength and quickness.  Nets were the only weapons, strong sinews and a quick hand the main reliance of either.  Each tried to entangle the other in his net and secure a hold.  Then he sought to rush or drag his adversary to the edge of the pit and force him down.  Weapons lay on every side of the arena below.  The unfortunate had, therefore, a chance to defend himself against the lion.

On the signal to begin, Jew and Roman wrestled fiercely, their weapons on their arms, but neither fell.  Suddenly Antipater broke away and flung his net.  Nimbly the other dodged.  Down came the net, grazing his head.  Swiftly he sprang upon the Jew, striving to entangle him.  Antipater pulled away.  Again the Roman was upon his enemy and the two struggled to the very noses of the cohort.  Hard by the centre of the column, where sat Vergilius on his charger, the powerful prince threw his adversary, and, choking him down, secured the net over his head.  Swiftly he began to drag the fallen youth.  Vergilius, angered by the prince’s cruelty, could no longer hold his peace.

“’Tis unfair,” said he, pointing at Antipater.  “In the name of the fatherly Augustus, I protest.”

The prince, still dragging his foe, answered with insulting threats.  The young commander leaped from his horse and ran to the side of Antipater.  The latter released his captive and drew sword.  Swiftly Vergilius approached him and the two met with a clash of steel.

Now the first battle in that war of the spirit, which was to shake the world with fury had begun.

Back and forth across the court of Herod they fought their way—­the son of light and the son of darkness.  Sparks of fire flew from their weapons while a murmur in the cohort grew to a loud roar and the old king and his women stood with hands uplifted shrieking like fiends of hell.  Hand and foot grew weary; their speed slackened.  Slowly, now, they moved in front of the cohort and back to the middle space.  They were evenly matched; both began to reel and labor heavily, their strength failing in like degree.  The end was at hand.  Now the angel of death hovered near, about to choose