As she cast anchor near the mole and threw out her gang-plank, the rowers were forced to club back the multitude which crowded forward eager to board the ship.
The pilot gave orders from the poop; his red robe moved from place to place like a flame kindled by the setting sun.
"Eh! Polyanthus! Welcome, navigator! What cargo do you bring?"
The pilot saw two young horsemen on the bank. The one who addressed him was wrapped in a white mantle; one of its corners covered his head, leaving exposed his beard done into curls and lustrous with pomatum. The other clung to the back of his steed with his strong bare legs; he wore the sagum of the Celtiberians, a short wool tunic over which the broadsword hung from his shoulder, and his hair, as thick and dishevelled as his beard, outlined a brown and manly countenance.
"Greeting, Lachares! Greeting, Alorcus!" replied the pilot with an expression of respect. "Shall you see Sónnica, my mistress?"
"This very night," answered Lachares. "We sup at her country-seat. What bring you?"
"Tell her that I have argentiferous lead from New Carthage, and wool from Bætica. Excellent voyage!"
The two youths tugged at their horses' reins.
"Ah! Wait a moment," added Polyanthus. "Tell her that I have not forgotten her instructions. I am bringing what you so greatly desire, the dancing girls from Gades."
"We are all grateful to you," said Lachares, laughing. "Hail, Polyanthus; may Neptune favor you!"