APOLLODORUS. Here, ye hungry ones. (_He gives money to the first porter, who holds it in his hand to shew to the others. They crowd greedily to see how much it is, quite prepared, after the Eastern fashion, to protest to heaven against their patron's stinginess. But his liberality overpowers them._) FIRST PORTER. O bounteous prince! SECOND PORTER. O lord of the bazaar! THIRD PORTER. O favored of the gods! FOURTH PORTER. O father to all the porters of the market! SENTINEL (_enviously, threatening them fiercely with his pilum_). Hence, dogs: off. Out of this. (_They fly before him northward along the quay._) APOLLODORUS. Farewell, Ftatateeta. I shall be at the lighthouse before the Egyptians. (_He descends the steps._) FTATATEETA. The gods speed thee and protect my nursling! _The sentry returns from chasing the porters and looks down at the boat, standing near the stairhead lest Ftatateeta should attempt to escape._ APOLLODORUS (_from beneath, as the boat moves off_). Farewell, valiant pilum pitcher. SENTINEL. Farewell shopkeeper. APOLLODORUS. Ha, ha! Pull, thou brave boatman, pull. Soho-o-o-o-o! (_He begins to sing in barcarolle measure to the rhythm of the oars_) My heart, my heart, spread out thy wings: Shake off thy heavy load of love-- Give me the oars, O son of a snail. SENTINEL (_threatening Ftatateeta_). Now mistress: back to your henhouse. In with you. FTATATEETA (_falling on her knees and stretching her hands over the waters_). Gods of the seas, bear her safely to the shore! SENTINEL. Bear _who_ safely? What do you mean? FTATATEETA (_looking darkly at him_). Gods of Egypt and of Vengeance, let this Roman fool be beaten like a dog by his captain for suffering her to be taken over the waters. SENTINEL. Accursed one: is she then in the boat? (_He calls over the sea_) Hoiho, there, boatman! Hoiho! APOLLODORUS (_singing in the distance_). My heart, my heart, be whole and free: Love is thine only enemy. _Meanwhile Rufio, the morning's fighting done, sits munching dates on a faggot of brushwood outside the door of the lighthouse, which towers gigantic to the clouds on his left. His helmet, full of dates, is between his knees; and a leathern bottle of wine is by his side. Behind him the great stone pedestal of the lighthouse is shut in from the open sea by a low stone parapet, with a couple of steps in the middle to the broad coping. A huge chain with a hook hangs down from the lighthouse crane above his head. Faggots like the one he sits on lie beneath it ready to be drawn up to feed the beacon._ _Caesar is standing on the step at the parapet looking out anxiously, evidently ill at ease. Britannus comes out of the lighthouse door._ RUFIO. Well, my British islander. Have you been up to the top? BRITANNUS. I have. I reckon it at 200 feet high. RUFIO. Anybody up there? BRITANNUS. One elderly Tyrian to work the crane; and his son, a well conducted youth of 14.