of the
fluteplayer who directed the rowers. A few lanterns burned with a
wavering light on the vast length of her decks. The brilliant
illumination which usually shone through the darkness would have
attracted the attention of the Alexandrians.

Now it was close to the landing. The group on shore watched every inch of
its majestic progress with breathless suspense, but when the first rope
was flung to the slaves on shore several men in Greek robes pressed
forward hurriedly among the courtiers.

They had come with a message, whose importance would permit no delay, to
the Regent Mardion, who stood between Zeno and Iras, gazing gloomily at
the ground with a frowning brow. He was pondering over the words in which
to address the Queen, and within a few minutes the ship would have made
her landing, and Cleopatra might cross the bridge. To disturb him at that
moment was an undertaking few who knew the irritable, uncertain temper of
the eunuch would care to risk. But the tall Macedonian, who for a short
time attracted the eyes of most of the spectators from the galley,
ventured to do so. It was the captain of the nightwatch, the aristocratic
commander of the police force of the city.

"Only a word, my lord," he whispered to the Regent, "though the time may
be inopportune."

"As inopportune as possible," replied the eunuch with repellent
harshness.

"We will say as inopportune as the degree of haste necessary for its
decision. The King Caesarion, with Antyllus and several companions,
attacked a woman. Blackened faces. A fight. Caesarion and the woman's
companion--an aristocrat, member of the Council--slightly wounded.
Lictors interfered just in time. The young gentlemen were arrested. At
first they refused to give their names--"

"Caesarion slightly, really only slightly wounded?" asked the eunuch with
eager haste.

"Really and positively. Olympus was summoned at once. A knock on the
head. The man who was attacked flung him on the pavement in the
struggle."

"Dion, the son of Eumenes, is the man," interrupted Iras, whose quick ear
had caught the officer's report. "The woman is Barine, the daughter of
the artist Leonax."

"Then you know already?" asked the Macedonian in surprise.

"So it seems," answered Mardion, gazing into the girl's face with a
significant glance. Then, turning to her rather than to the Macedonian,
he added, "I think we will have the young rascals set free and brought to
Lochias with as little p