No sooner had he found an enemy than his God was become a god of vengeance.  The council, the continued failure of his prayers, the cruelty of impending misfortune, the death of Cyran had weakened the faith of Vergilius.  He had begun to founder in the deep mystery of the world.  The voice of the old singer had not broken the spell of bitter passion.  Vergilius trembled with haste to kill.  He feared even that his anger would abate and leave him unavenged.  There were memories which bade him to forgive, and of them was the gentle face of Arria, but he turned as one who would say “Begone!” He had not time even to consider what he should do to oppose the will of the emperor.  As they rode on, his companion addressed the young commander.

“Saw you Manius in the balcony of Herod?”

“No.”

“As I passed beneath it I saw him by the side of Salome, and I heard her say:  ‘Not until you slay him shall I be your wife.’  I fear she means you ill, good friend.”

“She-cat!” exclaimed Vergilius. “’Tis a yowling breed that haunts the house of Herod.”

They came soon to where a throng was gathered thick, so for a little they saw not a way to pass.  In the midst were three men sitting upon tall, white camels, their trappings rich with colored silk and shining metal.

“They speak, to the people,” said David.  “It must be their words are as silver and gold.”

“I doubt not they be story-tellers from the desert,” said one behind.

The press parted; the camels had begun to move slowly.  One of their riders hailed the young commander, saying, in a voice that rang like a trumpet: 

“Where is he that is born king of the Jews?”

“I would I knew,” was the answer of Vergilius.

“So shall ye soon,” said the stranger.  “We have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him.”

The camels passed with long, stately strides.  The horsemen resumed their journey.

“Strange!” thought Vergilius, turning his charger and looking back.  “They be surely those who have travelled far.”

The squad of cavalry, under plume and helmet, moved on, passing the Joppa gate and riding slowly down a long hill.

“See the glowing clouds yonder,” said Vergilius, pointing westward.

“Ay, they be fair as the tents of Kedar,” was the answer of David.

“There is a great beauty in the sky and the blue hills,” Vergilius remarked, thoughtfully.

“And you would kill, look not upon them—­they are so fair.”

“If I close my eyes, then, I do see a thing more fair.”

“What?”

“The face of one I love.  It is a love greater than all other things—­fame or king or fatherland.”

“Or revenge?” inquired David.

For a little Vergilius made no answer; but presently he said:  “I am a Roman; who seeks my life shall lose his own.”

They came upon a ewe lying in the roadway.  She looked up with a mute appeal, but moved not.  She seemed to reckon upon the kindness of them approaching.  The squad parted, passing on either side.  All drew rein, and one, dismounting, stood a moment looking down at her.  Then laying hold of her fleece, he moved the ewe tenderly aside.