Ahenobarbus staggered to his feet as Drusus sprang over him, and the latter tore a packet of tablets from his hand, never stopping in his own flight.
Then down on to the little landing-place pursuers and pursued tumbled.
The large six-oared boat of Ahenobarbus was moored close beside Cappadox's skiff.
Drusus was into the skiff and casting loose before Lucius could descend from the upper terrace.

The young Domitian was in a terrible distress.
"The letters! The letters! Freedom to you all if you save them! Cast off! Chase! Sink the skiff!" But before any of the unskilful assailants could execute the order, Cappadox had driven the butt of his paddle clean through the bottom planking of the larger boat, and she was filling rapidly.

The paddle shivered, but it was madness to embark on the stoven craft.
The skiff shot away from the landing as though an intelligent soul, rising equal to the needs of the crisis.

The blue dancing water lapped between her gunwale and the shore.

Drusus stood erect in the boat, brushed back the blood that was still streaming over his eyes, and looked landward.