Food was scarce, and the arrival of a ship from Alexandria, supposed to be loaded with corn, filled the people with joy. It proved instead to be loaded with sand for the arena. In their disappointment the people broke at first into scurrilous jests against Nero, and then into rage and fury. A wild clamor filled the streets. On all sides rose the demand to be delivered from a monster. Even the Praetorian guards, who had hitherto supported the emperor, began to show signs of disaffection, and were wrought to a spirit of revolt by two of the choice companions of Nero's iniquities, who now deserted him as rats desert a sinking ship. The senate was approached and told that Nero was no longer supported by his friends, and that they might now regain the power of which they had been deprived. Some whisper of what was afloat reached Nero's ears. Filled with craven fury, he resolved to massacre the senate, to set fire again to the city, and to let loose his whole collection of wild beasts. He proposed to fly to Egypt during the consternation that would prevail. A trusted servant, to whom he told this design, revealed it to the senate. It filled them with fear and rage. Yet even in so dire a contingency they could not be prevailed upon to act with vigor, and all might have been lost by their procrastination and timidity but for the two men who had organized the revolt. These men, Nymphidius and Tigellinus by name, went to the palace, and with a show of deep affliction informed Nero of his danger. "All is lost," they said: "the people call aloud for vengeance; the Praetorian guards have abandoned your cause; the senate is ready to pronounce a dreadful judgment. Only one hope remains to you, to fly for your life, and seek a retreat in Egypt." It was as they said; revolt was everywhere in the air, and affected the armies near and far. Nero sought assistance, but sought it in vain. The palace, lately swarming with life, was now deserted. Nero wandered through its empty chambers, and found only solitude and gloom. Conscience awoke in his seared heart, and he was filled with horror and remorse. Of all his late crowd of courtiers only three friends now remained with him,--Sporus, a servant; Phaon, a freedman; and Epaphroditus, his secretary. "'My wife, my father, and my mother doom me dead!'" he bitterly cried, quoting a line from a Greek tragedy. With a last hope he bade the soldiers on duty to hasten to Ostia and prepare a ship, on which he might embark for Egypt. The men refused. "'Is it, then, so wretched a thing to die?'" said one of them, quoting from Virgil.