Something else had happened to increase his ill temper. His
"jolly old soul," vexed by the numerous crosses of the day, was
thrown into still greater perplexity by the arrival, just as he
stood fretful and chafing on the shore at Wivanloe, of one who
even now was with him on the trireme, bearing him company back to
his palace at Camolodunum--Carausius the admiral.

This Carausius, the admiral, was an especially vigorous,
valorous, and fiery young fellow of twenty-one. He was cousin to
the Princess Helena and a prince of the blood royal of ancient
Britain. Educated under the strict military system of Rome, he
had risen to distinction in the naval force of the Empire, and
was now the commanding officer in the northern fleet that had its
central station at Gessoriacum, now Boulogne, on the northern
coast of France. He had chased and scattered the German pirates
who had so long ravaged the northern seas, had been named by the
Emperor admiral of the north, and was the especial pride, as he
was the dashing young leader, of the Roman sailors along the
English Channel and the German shores.

The light barge of the princess approached the heavier boat of
the king, her father. At her signal the oarsmen drew up
alongside, and, scarce waiting for either boat to more than
slacken speed, the nimble-footed girl sprang lightly to the deck
of her father's galley. Then bidding the obedient Cleon take her
own barge back to the palace, she hurried at once, and without
question, like the petted only child she was, into the
high-raised cabin at the stern, where beneath the Roman standards
sat her father the king.