A sound hushed them. It was the slave-girl, singing as she came near:
"Send, quickly send, the new king whose arrows
shall fly as the lightning,
Making the mighty afraid and the proud to bow
low and the wicked to tremble.
Soon let me hear the great song that shall sound
in the deep of the heavens;
Show me the lantern of light hanging low in
the deep of the heavens."
She was fair to look upon as she came, led by the carnifex, her form, draped in soft, transparent linen, like that of a goddess in its outline, her face lighted even with that light of which she sang.
"The girl against a hundred denarii that you cannot live an hour in the arena with him," said Antipater, hotly.
"I accept the wager," Vergilius calmly answered, laying off his robe and seizing a lance. He entered the arena and closed its gate behind him. "Drive the beast in upon me, son of Herod; and you, Gracus, be ready to hand me another lance."
The black leopard spat fiercely and struck at the points that were put upon it, the deep rumble in its throat swelling into loud crescendos. Of a sudden it bounded through the gateway and stood a moment, baring great fangs. The animal threatened with long hisses. Vergilius held its eye, his lance raised. The hissing ceased, the growl diminished, the stealthy paws moved slowly. Soon it rolled upon its side, purring, and seemed to caress the floor with head and paws—a trick to divert the gaze of Vergilius. The Satanic eyes were ever on its foe. As the beast lay there, twisting and turning, the black fur seemed to wrap it in the gloom of Tartarus, and the fire of the burning lake to shine through its eyes. While Vergilius stood motionless and alert, a slave hurriedly entered the lion-house and spoke to Antipater.
"The imperator!" whispered the slave. "He cannot wait; he must see you quickly."
"Where?"
"In the palace hall."
Antipater hurried away.