Caesar knew that civil war was on in Alexandria, and being near he sailed slowly in, sending messengers on ahead warning both sides to lay down their arms.

With him was the far-famed invincible Tenth Legion that had ravished Gaul.  Caesar wanted to rest his men and, incidentally, to reward them.  They took possession of the city without a blow.

Cleopatra’s troops laid down their arms, but Ptolemy’s refused.  They were simply chased beyond the walls, and their punishment for the time being was deferred.

Caesar took possession of the palace of the King, and his soldiers accommodated themselves in the houses, public buildings, and temples as best they could.

Cleopatra asked for a personal interview, in order to present her cause.

Caesar declined to meet her—­he understood the trouble—­many such cases he had seen.  Claimants for thrones were not new to him.  Where two parties quarreled, both are right—­or wrong—­it really mattered little.

It is absurd to quarrel—­still more foolish to fight.

Caesar was a man of peace, and to keep the peace he would appoint one of his generals governor, and make Egypt a Roman colony.

In the meantime he would rest a week or two, with the kind permission of the Alexandrians, and write upon his “Commentaries”—­no, he would not see either Cleopatra or Ptolemy—­any desired information they would get through his trusted emissaries.

In the service of Cleopatra was a Sicilian slave who had been her personal servant since she was a little girl.  This man’s name was Appolidorus.  He was a man of giant stature and imposing mien.  Ten years before his tongue had been torn out as a token that as he was to attend a queen he should tell no secrets.

Appolidorus had but one thought in life, and that was to defend his gracious queen.  He slept at the door of Cleopatra’s tent, a naked sword at his side, held in his clenched and brawny hand.

And now behold at dusk of day the grim and silent Appolidorus, carrying upon his giant shoulders a large and curious rug, rolled up and tied ’round at each end with ropes.

He approaches the palace of the King, and at the guarded gate hands a note to the officer in charge.  This note gives information to the effect that a certain patrician citizen of Alexandria, being glad that the gracious Caesar had deigned to visit Egypt, sends him the richest rug that can be woven—­done, in fact, by his wife and daughters and held against this day, awaiting Rome’s greatest son.

The officer reads the note, and orders a soldier to accept the gift and carry it within—­presents were constantly arriving.  A sign from the dumb giant makes the soldier stand back—­the present is for Caesar and can be delivered only in person.  “Lead and I will follow,” were the words done in stern pantomime.  The officer laughs, sends in the note, and the messenger soon returning, signifies that the present is acceptable and the slave bearing it shall be shown in.  Appolidorus shifts his burden to the other shoulder, and follows the soldier through the gate, up the marble steps, along the splendid hallway, lighted by flaring torches and lined with reclining Roman soldiers.