The punishment for this atrocious act of treachery and cruelty was not long delayed. One of the first acts of Antiochus, after his return to his capital, was to demand the presence of Oniah, and then the story had to be told. Andronicus did his best to put such a colour upon it as would deceive his master. The attempt was vain. The King saw in a moment through the idle charges which had been brought against the dead man. “What!” he cried, “Oniah rebel against _me_!” His vanity and self-confidence made the accusation seem the very height of absurdity.
“Of course,” the King went on—“of course he did not acknowledge the priesthood of Jason or Menelaüs; he has told me so himself twenty times. He could not think otherwise, and he was as honest as the day. I only wish that he had left another as honest behind him. Zeus and all the gods of heaven and hell confound me if I do not avenge him to the uttermost. Tell me,” he cried, turning to the captain of the Cilicians, who stood by dismayed at his master’s rage—“tell me where you have buried him.”
“I will see him once more, and these villains shall see him too,” he said, pointing to the trembling pair, Andronicus and his creature the judge.
He went on foot, his royal dress discarded for a mourner’s cloak. His courtiers followed him, and a guard of soldiers behind brought with them the guilty viceroy and judge.
“Open the grave,” he said, when he reached the spot.
It was soon done, for the murderers had hurried their victim into a shallow tomb. In a few minutes the body of the dead man was exposed to view. Decay had not commenced, and death had given fresh depth and beauty to the serenity which had been their habitual expression in life. Antiochus gazed awhile at the face; then, dropping on his knees, covered his head with his mantle, and burst into a passion of tears.
In a few minutes he rose to his feet. Grief had given place to rage, and his eyes blazed with fury.
“Bind that wretch!” he cried, pointing to the wretched Andronicus.
He was bound, and stood waiting his doom.
“He is not worth the blow of an honest sword,” cried the King; “strangle him, as if he were a dog. But first make him look at the man whom he has murdered.”
Andronicus was forced to the edge of the grave and compelled to look at the dead. A halter was thrown round his neck, and the next moment he was a corpse. The judge shared his fate. “And you, sir,” said the King, turning to the captain who had administered the poison—“you, sir, though you are a barbarian, and know no better, must learn that you cannot rob the world of one who was worth a thousand such brutes as you. You are captain no more; that is your successor,” and he pointed to an officer in his train. “You can groom his horses, if you don’t want to starve. And think that you are lucky that you keep your head.”