“We called it Kallista,” cried Antinous wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.  “My father would not allow it but we persuaded my mother.  I was her favorite, and when I put my arms round her and looked at her imploringly she always said ‘yes’ to anything I asked her.”

A bright light shone in the boy’s weary eyes; he had remembered a whole wealth of joys which left no depression behind them.

CHAPTER II.

One of the palaces built in Alexandria by the Ptolemaic kings stood on the peninsula called Lochias which stretched out into the blue sea like a finger pointing northwards; it formed the eastern boundary of the great harbor.  Here there was never any lack of vessels but to-day they were particularly numerous, and the quay-road paved with smooth blocks of stone, which led from the palatial quarter of the town—­the Bruchiom as it was called—­which was bathed by the sea, to the spit of land was so crowded with curious citizens on foot and in vehicles, that all conveyances were obliged to stop in their progress before they had reached the private harbor reserved for the Emperor’s vessels.

But there was something out of the common to be seen at the landing-place, for there lying under the shelter of the high mole were the splendid triremes, galleys, long boats and barges which had brought Hadrian’s wife and the suite of the imperial couple to Alexandria.  A very large vessel with a particularly high cabin on the after deck and having the head of a she-wolf on the lofty and boldly-carved prow excited the utmost attention.  It was carved entirely in cedar wood, richly decorated with bronze and ivory, and named the Sabina.  A young Alexandrian pointed to the name written in gold letters on the stern, nudging his companion and saying with a laugh: 

“Sabina has a wolf’s head then!”

“A peacock’s would suit her better.  Did you see her on her way to the Caesareum?” replied the other.

“Alas!  I did,” said the first speaker, but he said no more perceiving, close behind him, a Roman lictor who bore over his left shoulder his fasces, a bundle of elmrods skilfully tied together, and who, with a wand in his right-hand and the assistance of his comrades, was endeavoring to part the crowd and make room for the chariot of his master, Titianus, the imperial prefect, which came slowly in the rear.  This high official had overheard the citizens’ heedless words, and turning to the man who stood beside him, while with a light fling he threw the end of his toga into fresh folds, he said: 

“An extraordinary people!  I cannot feel annoyed with them, and yet I would rather walk from here to Canopus on the edge of a knife than on that of an Alexandrian’s tongue.”

“Did you hear what the stout man was saying about Verus?”

“The lictor wanted to take him up, but nothing is to be done with them by violence.  If they had to pay only a sesterce for every venomous word, I tell you Pontius, the city would be impoverished and our treasury would soon be fuller than that of Gyges at Sardis.”