“Antyllus secretly presented him to her,” replied Iras.  “But I kept my eyes open.  The boy clung to the singer with insensate passion.  The only expedient was to remove her from the city.  Archibius aided me.”

“Then I shall be spared sending her away.”

“Nay, that must still be done; for, on the journey to the country Caesarion, with several comrades, attacked her.”

“And the reckless deed was successful?”

“No, my royal mistress.  I wish it had been.  A love-sick fool who accompanied her drew his sword in her defence, raised his hand against the son of Caesar, and wounded him.  Calm yourself, I beseech you, I conjure you—­the wound is slight.  The boy’s mad passion makes me far more anxious.”

The Queen’s pouting scarlet lips closed so firmly that her mouth lost the winning charm which was peculiar to it, and she answered in a firm, resolute tone:  “It is the mother’s place to protect the son against the temptress.  Alexas is right.  Her star stands in the path of mine.  A woman like this casts a deep shadow on her Queen’s course.  I will defend myself.  It is she who has placed herself between us; she has won Antony.  But no!  Why should I blind myself?  Time and the charms he steals from women are far more powerful than twenty such little temptresses.  Then, there are the circumstances which prevented my concealing the defects that wounded the eyes of this most spoiled of all spoiled mortals.  All these things aided the singer.  I feel it.  In her pursuit of men she had at her command all the means which aid us women to conceal what is unlovely and enhance what is beautiful in a lover’s eyes, while I was at a disadvantage, lacking your aid and the long-tested skill of Olympus.  The divinity on the ship, amid the raging of the storm, was forced more than once to appear before the worshipper ungarlanded, without ornament for the head, or incense.”

“But though she used all the combined arts of Aphrodite and Isis, she could not vie with you, my royal mistress!” cried Iras.  “How little is required to delude the senses of one scarcely more than a child!”

“Poor boy!” sighed the Queen, gently.  “Had he not been wounded, and were it not so hard to resign what we love, I should rejoice that he, too, understands how to plan and act.  Perhaps—­O Iras, would that it might be so!—­now that the gate is burst open, the brain and energy of the great Caesar will enter his living image.  As the Egyptians call Horus ’the avenger of his father,’ perhaps he may become his mother’s defender and avenger.  If Caesar’s spirit wakes within him, he will wrest from the dissembler Octavianus the heritage of which the nephew robbed the son.  You swear that the wound is but a slight one?”

“The physicians have said so.”

“Well, then we will hope so.  Let him enter the conflict of life.  We will afford him ample opportunity to test his powers.  No foolish passion shall prevent the convalescent youth from following his father upward along the pathway of fame.  But send for the woman who ensnared him, the audacious charmer whose aspirations mount to those I hold dearest.  We will see how she appears beside me!”