"You are young and strong," was his answer, "and will come away safe." Caesar was preparing to spring over the edge. "And you?" cried Drusus, catching him by the wrist. He knew that Caesar could never swim the distance to the nearest ship. "In the hands of the Fates." But Agias, whose eyes had been straining out into the western harbour, cried, "Help! A galley is coming!" "Imperator," said Drusus, "you must wait for this galley." The foe were almost on them. "Are you mad?" was the exclamation of the general. "I can hold them off until it is safe to swim," and Drusus had covered himself behind a coping in the masonry. Caesar measured the distance with his eye. "We play at dice with Fortuna, whatever we do," was his comment. "Come, then." And the three steadied themselves on the narrow footing behind the parapet, one thrust being enough to send them headlong. Fortunately weapons were ready--thrown away by the luckless fugitives. When the Alexandrians rushed up, three pila crashed in upon them, and, caught unawares by the little volley, they held back an instant. The three desperate men were counting their hearts' beats, while the distance from the friendly galley lessened. Then the rush came, but it was met, and, narrow as was the ledge, the attempt to carry it failed. The victors were stripping the dead, and, thus engaged, few joined in the attack. Caesar had laid down his paludamentum, and the attackers thought they had to deal simply with three ordinary Romans, who meant to sell their lives dearly. Another rush; the Imperator was forced hard, so that another push would have sent him plunging into the sea; but his companions sent the attackers reeling back, and there was more breathing time. The Alexandrians had received a taste of these Roman blades, and they did not enjoy it. Stripping the dead and picking up lost arms was more profitable than bearding the three lions. The galley was drawing nearer. Drusus began to think of something else besides thrusting at men before him. "They will give us time to escape, Imperator." "I think so;" but as Caesar spoke all three started in dismay. There was a new face among the little band immediately opposed to them--Pratinas. The Greek had never looked so handsome as in armour. His beautifully polished mail sat on him with perfect grace; he was a model for an artist's Ares, the beautiful genius of battle. _He_, at least, knew whose were those three stern, set faces defiantly peering over the low parapet that ran waist-high along the edge of the mole. "At them!" cried the Hellene. "A thousand drachmas to the man who brings the middle Roman down!" The "middle Roman" was Caesar. The enemy came on again, this time some springing over the parapet to run along the narrow outer platform and attack from either side. But the galley was still nearer.