Yet he wished the Roman the most brilliant victory; for his defeat would have been Cleopatra’s also, and would she endure the consequences of such a disaster?

The galley was approaching the flickering circle of light at the foot of the Pharos, and Archibius was just producing the token which was to secure the lifting of the chain, when his name echoed through the stillness of the night.

It was Dion hailing him from a boat tossing near the mouth of the harbour on the waves surging in from the turbulent sea.  He had recognized Archibius’s swift galley from the bust of Epicurus which was illumined by the light of the lantern in the prow.  Cleopatra had had it placed upon the ship which, by her orders, had been built for her friend.

Dion now desired to join him, and was soon standing on the deck at his side.  He had landed on the island of Pharos, and entered a sailors’ tavern to learn what was passing.  But no one could give him any definite information, for the wind was blowing from the land and allowed large vessels to approach the Egyptian coast only by the aid of oars.  Shortly before the breeze had veered from south to southeast, and an experienced Rhodian would “never again lift cup of wine to his lips” if it did not blow from the north to-morrow or the day after.  Then ships bearing news might reach Alexandria by the dozen—­that is, the greybeard added with a defiant glance at the daintily clad city gentleman—­if they were allowed to pass the Pharos or go through the Poseidon basin into the Eunostus.  He had fancied that he saw sails on the horizon at sunset, but the swiftest galley became a hedgehog when the wind blew against its prow, and even checked the oars.

Others, too, had fancied that they had seen sails, and Dion would gladly have gone out to sea to investigate, but he was entirely alone in a frail hired boat, and this would not have been permitted to pass beyond the harbour.  The expectation that every road would be open to Archibius had not deceived him, and the harbour chain was drawn aside for the Epicurus.  With swelling sails, urged by the strong wind blowing from the southeast, its keel cut the rolling waves.

Soon a faint, tremulous light appeared in the north.  It must be a ship; and though the helmsman in the tavern at Pharos, who looked as though he had not always steered peaceful trading-vessels, had spoken of some which did not let the ships they caught pass unscathed, the men on the well-equipped, stately Epicurus did not fear pirates, especially as morning was close at hand, and it had just shot by two clumsy men-of-war which had been sent out by the Regent.

The strong wind filled every sail, rowing would have been useless labour, and the light in front seemed to be coming nearer.

A wan glimmer was already beginning to brighten the distant east when the Epicurus approached the vessel with the light, but it seemed to wish to avoid the Alexandrian, and turned suddenly towards the northeast.