Pearl-Maiden | Page 9

make them seem as many as possible in number, marshalled two by
two.
Then the march past began. Troop by troop, arrayed in their shining

armour and armed, each of them, with his own familiar weapon, the
gladiators halted in front of Agrippa's throne, giving to him the
accustomed salutation of "Hail, King, we who are about to die, salute
thee," to be rewarded with a royal smile and the shouts of the approving
audience. Last of all came the Christians, a motley, wretched-looking
group, made up of old men, terrified children clinging to their mothers,
and ill-clad, dishevelled women. At the pitiful sight, that very mob
which a few short minutes before had hung upon the words of the
bishop, their leader, now, as they watched them hobbling round the
arena in the clear, low light of the dawning, burst into peals of laughter
and called out that each of them should be made to lead his lion. Quite
heedless of these scoffs and taunts, they trudged on through the white
sand that soon would be so red, until they came opposite to the throne.
"Salute!" roared the audience.
The bishop held up his hand and all were silent. Then, in the thin voice
with which they had become familiar, he said:
"King, we who are about to die--forgive thee. May God do likewise."
Now the multitude ceased laughing, and with an impatient gesture,
Agrippa motioned to the martyrs to pass on. This they did humbly; but
Anna, being old, lame and weary, could not walk so fast as her
companions. Alone she reached the saluting-place after all had left it,
and halted there.
"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 Cæsar, to the glory of Cæsar, 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,