Baiae's beauties extended out and waded into the waves. The landings of marble had to be fit masonry for the feet of the Caesars and their train when they asked the hospitality of the sea. Luxury, not commerce, came down to the water's edge and gazed Narcissus-like at its lovely image in the quiet bay. Here were no Algerian hulks with their lateen sails, no evil-smelling fishing fleets, or docks or warehouses, or city cloacas. Baiae was a city of dreams and warm baths, of idleness and temples and villas, of gardens and fragrance and beauty and repose. Now, the velvet winds of the starry Italian night rippled the face of the bay; the last faint luster of a set moon showed a bar of white light, low down in the southwest, and against that, blackly outlined, a splendid galley was driving like the wind into port. A dozen yards from the end of the pier lay a passage-boat, with a light on its mast and a soft glow in its curtained cabin, Marsyas wondered if Tiberius meant to accompany his guest to Misenum. But while he thought, Tiberius set Classicus down, took leave with an apology and a reminder that guests awaited him at home, and drove rapidly back into Baiae. A small rowboat lay under shadow at the side of the landing and the two couriers loading the baggage awaited now their passenger. But Marsyas emerged from the dark and stepped before Classicus. A glance at the tidy countenance of the philosopher sent a rush of heat through Marsyas' veins. Classicus was not feeling the spiritual combat within him, for the work he meditated, that racked the young Essene. That fact acknowledged helped Marsyas in his intent. "A word," Marsyas said. Classicus stopped, a little startled. "Who art thou?" "Marsyas, the Essene." The young man had not helped his cause by the introduction. "Out of my path," Classicus said coldly. "I have nothing to say to thee!" "I have somewhat to say to thee, Classicus. If thou must be hard of heart, be not foolish and injurious to thyself." "Suffer no pangs of concern for my welfare," the philosopher said. "Preserve them, lest thine own cause find thee bankrupt in tears!" "My cause will not need them: thou mayest. I know why thou art here and whither thou art going and for what purpose. I know who sent thee, why and what thou wilt accomplish. I know how feebly thou art aided and how much imperiled. Above all things I know what will happen to thee unless thou hearest me!" "What a number of door-cracks hath yielded thee information! Stand aside before I call my servants to thee!" Marsyas folded his arms. The green blackness of the bay threw his solid outlines into relief. The threat he had made suddenly appealed to Classicus as ill-advised.