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.
Attendants ran to him and lifted him in their arms.
"Take me hence to die," he moaned.

Now a herald cried: "The king is smitten with a sore sickness, and the games are closed.

To your homes, O people." For a while the multitude sat silent, for they were fear-stricken.

Then a murmur rose among them that spread and swelled till it became a roar.
"The Christians! The Christians! They prophesied the evil.