APOLLODORUS. I am Apollodorus the Sicilian. Why, man, what are you dreaming of? Since I came through the lines beyond the theatre there, I have brought my caravan past three sentinels, all so busy staring at the lighthouse that not one of them challenged me. Is this Roman discipline?
SENTINEL. We are not here to watch the land but the sea. Caesar has just landed on the Pharos. (_Looking at Ftatateeta_) What have you here? Who is this piece of Egyptian crockery?
FTATATEETA. Apollodorus: rebuke this Roman dog; and bid him bridle his tongue in the presence of Ftatateeta, the mistress of the Queen's household.
APOLLODORUS. My friend: this is a great lady, who stands high with Caesar.
SENTINEL (_not at all impressed, pointing to the carpets_). And what is all this truck?
APOLLODORUS. Carpets for the furnishing of the Queen's apartments in the palace. I have picked them from the best carpets in the world; and the Queen shall choose the best of my choosing.
SENTINEL. So you are the carpet merchant?
APOLLODORUS (_hurt_). My friend: I am a patrician.
SENTINEL. A patrician! A patrician keeping a shop instead of following arms!
APOLLODORUS. I do not keep a shop. Mine is a temple of the arts. I am a worshipper of beauty. My calling is to choose beautiful things for beautiful Queens. My motto is Art for Art's sake.
SENTINEL. I know nothing about universal passwords. Either give me the password for the day or get back to your shop.
_Ftatateeta, roused by his hostile tone, steals towards the edge of the quay with the step of a panther, and gets behind him._
SENTINEL. Then I will drive this pilum through you.
APOLLODORUS. At your service, my friend. (_He draws his sword, and springs to his guard with unruffled grace._)
FTATATEETA (_suddenly seizing the sentinel's arms from behind_). Thrust your knife into the dog's throat, Apollodorus. (_The chivalrous Apollodorus laughingly shakes his head; breaks ground away from the sentinel towards the palace; and lowers his point._)
SENTINEL (_struggling vainly_). Curse on you! Let me go. Help ho!
FTATATEETA (_lifting him from the ground_). Stab the little Roman reptile. Spit him on your sword.
_A couple of Roman soldiers, with a centurion, come running along the edge of the quay from the north end. They rescue their comrade, and throw off Ftatateeta, who is sent reeling away on the left hand of the sentinel._