A small rowboat lay under shadow at the side of the landing and the two couriers loading the baggage awaited now their passenger.
But Marsyas emerged from the dark and stepped before Classicus. A glance at the tidy countenance of the philosopher sent a rush of heat through Marsyas' veins. Classicus was not feeling the spiritual combat within him, for the work he meditated, that racked the young Essene. That fact acknowledged helped Marsyas in his intent.
"A word," Marsyas said.
Classicus stopped, a little startled.
"Who art thou?"
"Marsyas, the Essene."
The young man had not helped his cause by the introduction.
"Out of my path," Classicus said coldly. "I have nothing to say to thee!"
"I have somewhat to say to thee, Classicus. If thou must be hard of heart, be not foolish and injurious to thyself."
"Suffer no pangs of concern for my welfare," the philosopher said. "Preserve them, lest thine own cause find thee bankrupt in tears!"