Next came a great struggle for the possession of the Pharos.  The fighting was severe, the footing on the island hard to win, up steep crags and rocks swept by volleys of missiles; but Italian courage seemed inexhaustible.  The legionaries, without ladders or fascines, stormed towers and battlements.  The town on the island was taken and the fort by it; then came the contest along the mole, driving the Alexandrians to the fort at the lower end.  On the next day the second fort, too, was taken.  There was a bridge at the lower end of the mole, and the Alexandrians had tried to sail under to attack the Caesarians in the western harbour.  The legionaries toiled to fill up the passage.  All seemed going well, but of a sudden befell calamity.

* * * * *

Panic will seize the most hardened veterans, and so it was that day.  A flank attack from the Alexandrian ships, and of other foes by land, a sudden giving way on the part of some sailors who were defending 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.