‘Seaward, I think.’ ‘Row on now as you have never rowed before. Each one of you shall have his name up at the Agora at Athens—a drachma a day for life.’ ‘Are they moving?’ ‘No—yes, yes. By Zeus! I see the oars move now. They are out of port.’ ‘Ye gods! shall we ever catch them? Turn your prow straight for them. Never mind Phaselis; make for the longest ship.’ ‘They are well out now, making fast north-north-east, right for Aspendos. They see us. The smaller ships are behind. They are gaining on the long one; she is slacking. Now they are close to her; now they are nearly alongside of her.’ ‘What are they doing now?’ ‘The long ship has stopped. We shall catch them yet.’ In fact, when Tissaphernes heard it was the _Eros_, Alkibiades’ own ship, that was pursuing him, he ordered his rowers to slacken speed, and, when the high commissioner Lichas and the commander Philippos came up to him in wonder, he declared he dared not go on with the Athenian fleet upon them; at any rate, he must wait to hear what message these vessels might be bringing. So before nightfall Alkibiades had come aboard the Persian state long-ship, and Tissaphernes had embraced his friend once more. Lichas and Philippos had been allowed to leave under cover of the darkness, in great disgust at the weakness of the satrap, and had gone back towards Miletos, and the Athenians went on, together with the Persian state ship, to Aspendos. It was a gay and happy time for Tissaphernes as he was rowed slowly in his great ship over the pleasant water, rid at last of those troublesome Spartans, who were always in earnest, always wanting to talk politics. He had his friend with him to amuse him and join him in his pleasures as of old. They found the fleet—that terrible great fleet indeed!—lying off Aspendos. Certainly they were a goodly array of ships to look at from a distance. Though not three hundred—there were a hundred and forty-seven of them there—joined as auxiliaries with the Spartan force, they would have settled the question between Athens and Lakedaimon. On closer inspection, even Tissaphernes had to admit they were not perfect. Dirty beyond description, with oars broken, planks starting and torn sails, to the Athenian sailors, accustomed to Greek niceness and perfection, they looked pitiable and disgusting objects. Tissaphernes ordered them all back to the Phœnikian coast, and, with the help of his witty friend, made up and sent to Lichas the following curious reason for not keeping the promise he had made to Sparta: ‘Whereas by some, at present undiscovered, accident, my lord the King had not sent more than one hundred and forty-seven long-ships, and, as it appears to me, his viceroy, unworthy of the King of Kings that he should send to aid so great and powerful a people as the Lakedaimonians so small a fleet, I, Tissaphernes, the aforesaid viceroy, have sent them back again.’