Only yesterday Iras had sharply admonished him that, in times like these, it was the duty of every friend of Cleopatra, and every foe of her foes, to be with the army at least in mind.
He had remembered this, but, instead of heeding the warning, the thought of her had merely recalled her uncle, Archibius, who possessed great influence, not merely on account of his wealth but because every one also knew his high standing in the regard of the Queen. Besides, the clever, kindly man had always been friendly to him from childhood, and like a revelation came the idea of applying to him, and to the architect Gorgias, who had a voice in the matter, and by whom he had been strongly attracted during the period while he was rebuilding the wing assigned to the prince in the palace at Lochias.
So one of the attendants was instantly despatched with the little tablet which invited Gorgias to the interview at the Temple of Isis.
Then, in the afternoon, Cæsarion went secretly in a boat to the little palace of Archibius, situated on the seashore at Kanopus, and now as the latter, with his friend, stood beside the carriage door, he explained to them that he was going with the architect to old Didymus to assure him of his assistance.
This was unadvisable in every respect, but it required all the weight of the older man’s reasons to induce the prince to yield. The consequences which might ensue, should the populace discover that he was taking sides against the Regent, would be incalculable. But submission and withdrawal were especially difficult to the young “King of kings.” He longed to pose as a man in Dion’s presence, and as this could not be, he strove to maintain the semblance of independence by yielding his resolve only on the plea of not desiring to injure the aged scholar and his granddaughter. Finally, he again entreated the architect to secure Didymus in the possession of his property. When at last he drove away with Archibius, twilight was already gathering, torches were lighted in front of the temple and the little mausoleum adjoining the cella, and pitch-pans were blazing in the square.
CHAPTER III.
“The lad is in an evil plight,” said Gorgias, shaking his head thoughtfully as the equipage rolled over the stone pavement of the Street of the King.
“And over yonder,” added Dion, “the prospect is equally unpleasing. Philostratus is setting the people crazy. But the hired mischief-maker will soon wish he had been less ready to seize Iras’s gold coins.”
“And to think,” cried the architect, “that Barine was this scoundrel’s wife! How could it be——”
“She was but a child when they married her,” interrupted Dion. “Who consults a girl of fifteen in the choice of a husband? And Philostratus—he was my classmate at Rhodus—at that time had the fairest prospects. His brother Alexas, Antony’s favourite, could easily advance him. Barine’s father was dead, her mother was accustomed to follow Didymus’s counsel, and the clever fellow had managed to strew dust in the old man’s eyes. Long and lank as he is, he is not bad-looking even now. When he appeared as an orator he pleased his hearers. This turned his head, and a spendthrift’s blood runs in his veins. To bring his fair young bride to a stately mansion, he undertook the bad cause of the thievish tax-collector Pyrrhus, and cleared him.”