fending the
working party, and then terror spread among the three veteran cohorts
at the lower fort. Caesar had been among his men directing the work,
with him had gone Drusus, as aide-de-camp, and Agias, who had long
been chafing under the restraints of the beleaguered palace and
imagined the position safe and unassailable. The panic came more
quickly than words may tell: a few hostile shouts from behind, cries
of fear and alarm, a volley of darts, and the men who had hunted the
Magnus to his death fled like raw recruits at their first arrow.

The Caesarian ships beside the mole began to thrust back, lest the
enemy seize them. The terrified legionaries rushed from their ranks,
cast away shield and cuirass, sword and dart. Every man cared but to
save himself, the spirit of mere fear uppermost. Caesar and Drusus
rushed into the press, and commanded and exhorted; they might have
better striven to turn the flight of a herd of frightened cattle;
their words fell on deaf ears; the panic-struck soldiers swept them
aside in a mad dash to get on board the receding shipping. The danger
was terrible. On either side the enemy were rushing down the mole, and
over the defences just forsaken by the Romans. Caesar had been caught
in the swirl of his men and carried along despite his resistance. He
fell, and Drusus, who struggled to be near him, ran to his side.

"We must escape, Imperator!" cried he, in his commander's ear. He saw
that there was blood on the general's face, and for an instant that
thought overpowered all others.

"Save yourselves," gasped Caesar, striving to struggle to his feet."
You cannot aid me."

A burly Egyptian soldier was running toward them, far ahead of the
other enemies, flourishing a battle-axe. Did he realize the prize that
lay almost in his power? Drusus had not been fighting, but his sword
was now out. One blow of the terrible weapon of the legionary sent the
oncomer sprawling in his own gore. A trifling respite had been gained.
Caesar steadied himself and looked about him. They were alone with
Agias facing the foe; the legionaries were struggling one over another
at the edge of the causeway, battling for dear life to force their way
into the only galley that had not thrust off.

"Come," said Caesar, turning; and the three joined in the flight. To
linger were madness.

It was only a trifling distance across the mole, but a frightful
tragedy was enacted before their eyes as they ran. The galley by