“Forward!” cried the officers.  But she did not move nor did she speak.  Only leaning on her staff she looked steadily up at the face of the king Agrippa.  Some impulse seemed to draw his eyes to hers.  They met, and it was noted that he turned pale.  Then straightening herself with difficulty upon her tottering feet, Anna raised her staff and pointed with it to the golden canopy above the head of Herod.  All stared upward, but saw nothing, for the canopy was still in the shadow of the velarium which covered all the outer edge of the cavea, leaving the centre open to the sky.  It would appear, however, that Agrippa did see something, for he who had risen to declare the games open, suddenly sank back upon his throne, and remained thus lost in thought.  Then Anna limped forward to join her company, who once more were driven through the little gate in the wall of the arena.

For a second time, with an effort, Agrippa lifted himself from his throne.  As he rose the first level rays of sunrise struck full upon him.  He was a tall and noble-looking man, and his dress was glorious.  To the thousands who gazed upon him from the shadow, set in that point of burning light he seemed to be clothed in a garment of glittering silver.  Silver was his crown, silver his vest, silver the wide robe that flowed from his shoulders to the ground.

“In the name of Caesar, to the glory of Caesar, I declare these games open!” he cried.

Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, all the multitude rose shouting:  “The voice of a god!  The voice of a god!  The voice of the god Agrippa!”

Nor did Agrippa say them nay; the glory of such worship thundered at him from twenty thousand throats made him drunken.  There for a while he stood, the new-born sunlight playing upon his splendid form, while the multitude roared his name, proclaiming it divine.  His nostrils spread to inhale this incense of adoration, his eyes flashed and slowly he waved his arms, as though in benediction of his worshippers.  Perchance there rose before his mind a vision of the wondrous event whereby he, the scorned and penniless outcast, had been lifted to this giddy pinnacle of power.  Perchance for a moment he believed that he was indeed divine, that nothing less than the blood and right of godhead could thus have exalted him.  At least he stood there, denying naught, while the people adored him as Jehovah is adored of the Jews and Christ is adored of the Christians.

Then of a sudden smote the Angel of the Lord.  Of a sudden intolerable pain seized upon his vitals, and Herod remembered that he was but mortal flesh, and knew that death was near.

“Alas!” he cried, “I am no god, but a man, and even now the common fate of man is on me.”

As he spoke a great white owl slid from the roof of the canopy above him and vanished through the unroofed centre of the cavea.

“Look! look! my people!” he cried again, “the spirit that brought me good fortune leaves me now, and I die, my people, I die!” Then, sinking upon his throne, he who a moment gone had received the worship of a god, writhed there in agony and wept.  Yes, Herod wept.