Priapus did not haunt its green fringes.
His mind turned towards Venice.

There the sea was, and there men dwelt with eyes turned to spacious and honourable quests, not to monkish hells and heavens or inward to unclean hearts.

And in Venice in a tavern off the Merceria he spoke with destiny.
It was a warm evening, and, having dined early, he sought the balcony which overlooked the canal.

It was empty but for one man who sat at a table with a spread of papers before him on which he was intently engaged.

Philip bade him good evening, and a face was raised which promptly took his fancy.