“Yet he stands nearest to the Regent,” observed Gorgias, “and must learn, if any one does, how the fleet fares.”

“You too!” sighed his friend.  “Had I been standing so far above the ground as you, the architect—­by the dog, I should not have failed to note the quarter whence the wind blew!  It has been southerly a whole fortnight, and keeps back the galleys coming from the north.  The Regent knows nothing, absolutely nothing, and my uncle, of course, no more.  But if they do learn anything they will be shrewd enough not to enrich me with it.”

“True, there are other rumours afloat,” said the architect thoughtfully.  “If I were in Mardion’s place—­”

“Thank the Olympians that you are not,” laughed his companion.  “He has as many cares as a fish has scales.  And one, the greatest.  That pert young Antyllus was over-ready with his tongue yesterday at Barine’s.  Poor fellow!  He’ll have to answer for it to his tutor at home.”

“You mean the remark about the Queen’s accompanying the fleet?”

“St!” said Dion, putting his finger on his lips, for many men and women were now ascending the temple steps.  Several carried flowers and cakes, and the features of most expressed joyful emotion.  The news of the victory had reached their ears, and they wanted to offer sacrifices to the goddess whom Cleopatra, “the new Isis,” preferred to all others.

The first court-yard of the sanctuary was astir with life.  They could hear the ringing of the sistrum bells and the murmuring chant of the priests.  The quiet fore-court of the little temple of the goddess, which here, in the Greek quarter of palaces, had as few visitors as the great Temple of Isis in the Rhakotis was overcrowded, had now become the worst possible rendezvous for men who stood so near the rulers of the government.  The remark made about the Queen the evening before by Antyllus, Antony’s nineteen-year-old son, at the house of Barine, a beautiful young woman who attracted all the prominent men in Alexandria, was the more imprudent because it coincided with the opinion of all the wisest heads.  The reckless youth enthusiastically reverenced his father, but Cleopatra, the object of Antony’s love, and—­in the Egyptians’ eyes—­his wife, was not Antyllus’s mother.  He was the son of Fulvia, his father’s first wife, and feeling himself a Roman, would have preferred a thousand times to live on the banks of the Tiber.  Besides, it was certain—­Antony’s stanchest friends made no attempt to conceal the fact—­that the Queen’s presence with the army exerted a disturbing influence, and could not fail to curb the daring courage of the brave general.  Antyllus, with the reckless frankness inherited from his father, had expressed this view in the presence of all Barine’s guests, and in a form which would be only too quickly spread throughout Alexandria, whose inhabitants relished such speeches.

These remarks would be slow in reaching the plain people who were attracted to the temple by the news of the victory, yet many doubtless knew Caesarion, whom the architect was awaiting here.  It would be wiser to meet the prince at the foot of the steps.  Both men, therefore, went down to the square, though the crowds seeking the temple and thronging the space before Didymus’s house made it more and more difficult to pace to and fro.