The Arrows of Hercules

Eight – MESSANA

On a rain-threatening day in early Elaphebolion, Zopyros' men rolled the two catapults out to the archery range. Although Archytas came along to see the trials, few others even noticed them. The Ortygians were used to Zopyros' experiments.

First, Zopyros commanded his men to cock the old catapult, in which he had installed three triggers in tandem. The crew winched the bowstring back to the rearmost trigger, engaged the trigger, and disconnected the windlass. Zopyros pushed the release lever. With a crash, the catapult sent its dart shrieking down the range, about as far as it had shot when it had only one trigger.

Then he ordered the men to cock this catapult to the intermediate trigger. This shot went off without incident. When the crew cocked the engine for short range, however, Zopyros found the release lever at an awkward distance. He had to lean over the catapult frame to reach the lever. When he pushed the lever to release the bowstring, he lost his balance and fell forward into the mechanism. As the catapult whanged, Zopyros' chin came down where the bowstring had just been.

He climbed out of the machine, rubbing his bruises. Archytas said: "If you'd fallen a heartbeat sooner, old boy, your head would have gone flying down the range like that dart."

"As good a use for it as any," growled Zopyros. He directed his crew to the windlass of the other catapult. He engaged the hooks on the front of the heavy bronze trigger assembly, a mechanism about the size and shape of a brick. It had a pair of hooks like a crab's claw in front, an eye in back to which the windlass rope was tied, and a release lever protruding from the top.

As the crew turned the spokes of the windlass, the trigger assembly crept back down the missile groove, drawing the bowstring with it. The bowstring thrummed and the bow creaked as they took the stress.

This catapult had a ratchet wheel mounted on the windlass shaft, and a dog or pawl to lock this wheel. When Zopyros judged that the trigger assembly had been drawn back far enough, he engaged the pawl. The windlass rope remained taut, still taking the pull of the bowstring. Zopyros placed the dart in the groove, seated it, and grasped the lever.

"This one, you pull back to release," he said. "Like this!"

He pulled, but nothing happened. The lever stuck. The hooks refused to open.

He pulled again, without effect.

"The polluted thing's jammed," said Archytas. "Be careful—"

"To the afterworld with it!" shouted Zopyros, giving the lever a tremendous jerk.

The hooks parted, the bow snapped forward, and the dart sped on its way. At the same time the trigger assembly, still attached to the windlass rope but suddenly released from the pull of the bowstring, flew into the air. It struck Zopyros on the head with a clank. There was a flash ...

He came to his senses lying on his back near the catapult. Archytas was wiping his forehead with a wet sponge. When his eyesight cleared, Zopyros saw the rest of his team standing around him in a circle, bending over him with anxious looks.

"Wh-what happened?" he asked.

"The engine kicked back at you, as I feared," said Archytas, wiping his forehead. "Your thick skull seems to be intact, but you've got a lump the size of a gryphon's egg growing out of your scalp. It's just the gods' own luck that we haven't yet killed anybody with these things."

Zopyros sat up and groaned. "I feel as if Herakles had swatted me!"

"You'd better take the day off. Wheel the engines back into the Armory, boys."

By evening Zopyros was up and about, although any sudden movement made him wince. He and Archytas argued long and intensely in their rented room. Whereas Zopyros wanted further to develop the catapult with three triggers, each for a different range, Archytas held out for the catapult with a movable trigger mechanism, like that which had smitten his friend on the head. Their voices became so loud and so filled with passion that their landlady knocked on the door.

"Boys!" she cried. "Are you two quarreling? I won't have it!" Archytas opened the door with a broad grin. "Now, now, Rhoda dear, fear not! We're still the best of friends."

"Then why all this shouting?"

"You don't understand the engineering mind. It's just a little technical point. I can't convince my thickskinned comrade that the President won't accept a—well—ah—never mind. Good night!" He closed the door and turned back to Zopyros, waving a clenched fist. "You idiot, don't you see? All you have to do is use a thicker dart, or put flanges on it—"

Zopyros held his head. "Old boy, my head is splitting, and I can't think straight. Look, for a year I've worked like a helot for Dionysios, without a single real vacation. Why don't you ask him to let me go for a ten-day?"

Archytas pursed his lips. "Now that's a feasible idea. What's the use of having a friend among the higher-ups if you don't use him?"

"Sure. Tell him I need to get off by myself and think."

Archytas laughed. "He'll assume you mean to think about his problems, but I know what you'll be thinking about. You'd better write those people in Messana you're coming."

On the fifteenth of Elaphebolion, Zopyros arrived at Xanthos' house in Messana. As soon as he entered the house, Korinna flew into his arms. Glaukos slapped his back, and little Ahiram—now renamed Hieron—danced around him, waiting for his hug.

After dinner, when the women had retired, Zopyros asked Xanthos: "Sir, how goes my suit?"

Xanthos stroked his beard. "Very well, I am happy to say. Your father and I have come to terms."

"Then shall I look forward to marrying Korinna soon?"

"Were it not for the time of year, you could."

"What do you mean, the time of year?"

"Everybody knows that the most propitious date for marriage is the full moon of Gamelion. But that is two months past."

"Zeus on Olympos! Do you mean you expect me to wait till next winter?"

"That is right, Zopyros. As a conscientious father, I want the very best for my children. I want the best luck, which can only be obtained by heeding the rules."

"Why—why—you mean, to put off my marriage for nearly a year, all because of some silly superstition—"

Glaukos tried to signal Zopyros to silence, but in his excitement the latter ignored the warning. Xanthos roared:

"Superstition! You call the holy traditions handed down by our ancestors superstition? Why, you dog-faced young infidel! I won't have such an abandoned atheist in my family!"

"But I-but if—"

"Good night, sir!" Xanthos heaved himself to his feet and wheezed and puffed his way out of the court. "Now see what you've done!" said Glaukos. "I did rather let myself go," said Zopyros.

"Let yourself go! By the Heavenly Twins, you spilt the perfume! I'm sorry, because I think you'd make a fine brother-in-law."

"Thanks. What shall I do, Glaukos?"

"Wait until morning, I suppose, and apologize. Abjectly."

"You mean to crawl around like something from under a flat stone and tell your old man I really believe in his days of good and ill omen?"

"That's right. I don't say it will be pleasant for you, or even that it will work. But I don't see how else you can get Korinna."

Zopyros fell into a thoughtful silence, and Glaukos excused himself. Zopyros sat in the light of the rising moon, drawing his cloak around him against the chill. Then there was a stir. Korinna, likewise cloaked, pattered out. Zopyros told his tale.

"Oh, my dear!" she said. "Why couldn't you have passed it off with some noncommittal remark? Or invented a superstition of your own to balance his?"

Zopyros groaned. "Because, darling, that's just what I am a stupid ox at. I'm a pretty good engineer, if I do say so. But, when it comes to handling people, I'm as incompetent as that man Lithodomos is at engineering."

"But, Zopyros, one has to learn these things!"

"I know, but sometimes I think I never shall. When somebody talks nonsense, I come right out and tell him it's nonsense, giving him logical proofs. And, of course, any man of the world will tell you that's not how to persuade and beguile people. Do you still want to marry such a thickskin?"

"Oh, I knew all about you when I said I'd marry you."

He reached for her, but she glided away. "No, dearest! If you once held me close, the gods alone know what might happen."

"Oh, don't be—"

"Keep your voice down! If the family found us talking unchaperoned, you'd be out the door before you could say alpha-beta. Promise you will try to handle Father in the morning, though!"

"I'll—I'll—oh, to the afterworld with all these marriage contracts and parental negotiations and dowries and ceremonies! Why don't we just elope?"

"What! You mean to have a common-law marriage, like poor working folk?"

"Well—ah—yes, I suppose I do mean that. I hope I haven't offended you?"

"No, not really. It takes a lot to shock a double widow like me. In fact, it's something of a compliment to be wanted for oneself and not for the property one brings. But I love my father and wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Besides, darling, you're not thinking far enough ahead."

"How so?"

"Your father would be as furious at you as mine would be with me."

"Let 'em. They'll get over it."

"Now—let me think—I don't know just how to say it—" She sat for a while with chin in hand, while Zopyros devoured her with his eyes. Then she spoke again:

"You're thinking: I can make a good living, family or none, so why not take what I want, and to tire crows with them? Isn't that so?"

"Well, yes."

"But you don't know what nasty surprises the gods may have in store. We live in a world of frightful danger and mischance. Every year we hear that some great city has been smitten by a plague, or has been destroyed by an earthquake, or has been sacked and its people massacred and enslaved. Not a year goes by but that we learn some friend or kinsman has been murdered by robbers, or been kidnapped by slavers, or fallen in battle, or perished of disease. You think, because of your fine position with Dionysios, that you are riding in Zeus's wallet. But how do we know the future? This Dionysios is a bloody adventurer—"

"Not really. He's a brilliant statesman—"

"Brilliant, perhaps; but watch what he does, not what he says. Nature will out. So next year, you may be slain in one of his broils; and then what would become of me if I had turned my back on my family? Or suppose Dionysios were overthrown or murdered? Even if you escaped from Syracuse, where would you go then, if you were at outs with your family? We need all the anchors we can set out. A woman has to think of these things. A woman can't flit about the Inner Sea, living on odd jobs picked up here and there. So, will you please try to handle Father?"

"I'll do my poor best. Whoever said women were less practical than men doesn't know a mountain from a mushroom."

"You needn't actually crawl. Tell him that crack on the head has addled your wits—just a little, you know."

Next morning, Zopyros breakfasted with Xanthos and his family, all self-consciously taciturn and evasively polite. At last he said to his host: "May I speak to you in private, sir?"

"I suppose so," growled Xanthos. "Go on, the rest of you."

"Well, sir," said Zopyros, "first I must apologize for my rude, rash words of last night. Of course I don't really contemn the traditions of our ancestors ..."

Zopyros went on, saying little in many words, walking a tightrope between groveling and defiance, and despising himself all the while. Xanthos' jowly face never changed until little Hieron came into the court, crying:

"Won't somebody play ball with me? Dear Zopyros, please throw me the ball!"

At that, Xanthos' stern visage softened. He sighed. "For the sake of my grandson, I'll overlook a good deal. But I still won't allow the wedding until the propitious day, ten months hence."

"Necessity is a hard master, sir. But couldn't we at least have the formal betrothal now?"

"Yes, we could. How much longer can you stay?"

"Five or six days."

"Then I'll give a feast the night before you depart."

Messana's city wall was as dilapidated as ever; Kylon's tavern, as crowded. When Zopyros visited it with Glaukos, a Greek sea captain was giving the news of the world:

"... Derkylidas, the Spartan general in Asia, has made a truce with the Persians and invaded Thrace, where the barbarians were attacking the Greek cities of the Thracian peninsula. The Spartan has driven out the Thracians and built a wall across the peninsula to protect it. The Spartans have restored peace in Trachinian Herakleia by killing all the men of one faction in the recent civil strife. At home, they have crushed a plot to overthrow the rule of the Peers. The Athenians have put to death the philosopher Sokrates, whom they tried and convicted on charges of corrupting the youth of Athens and introducing strange gods into the city. The Persians have made the Athenian Konon their admiral ..."

A small, nondescript man pushed through the crowd towards Zopyros, who recognized him as he came closer. "Asto! How's the bold mariner?"

Asto bowed. "By the grace of the gods of Canaan, my lord Zopyros, I do well. I have my own ship now. And you?"

"I've been working for Dionysios. Engineering."

"Indeed? Then I may see you anon; for my masters have put me on the run between Motya and Syracuse."

"How come you to be in Messana? I thought all merchantmen were laid up for the winter."

"They are; I came on muleback."

"You? A sailor?"

"Yes, and the sorest-arsed sailor you ever saw. My masters sent me to buy ship timbers. What are these rumors I hear of Dionysios?"

"What rumors?"

"Oh, that he will conquer the world, like a Greek Cyrus; that he will make Syracuse a greater city than Athens and Babylon put together; that he spends his time cowering in fear of assassins. Where lies the truth amongst all these fables?"

Zopyros shrugged. "The big boss doesn't confide his political plans to me."

"What in particular do you do for him?"

"Why, I'm working on a wonderful new inv—" Zopyros began with enthusiasm, but remembered and cut himself off. "I—ah—suggest—ah—improvements in the city's defenses."

Asto smiled. "I see it is true what they say, that Dionysios swears his workers to secrecy about their tasks. Well, here's hoping that his plans—whatever they be—won't bring destruction upon us all."

"I'm sure they won't. In many ways he's an enlightened ruler."

"I hope so. But you know how it is with these mighty men. To them, we are no more than insects are to the boys who pull off their legs and wings. When I was in Carthage last autumn, a man appeared before the Senate, claiming to be a Punic engineer who had worked for Dionysios but had run away because of mistreatment. He brought news of fantastic weapons, which, he said, Dionysios was preparing against the Canaanites. He told of a device to shoot arrows from Syracuse to Carthage, and a war galley the size of a city, and other marvels. I wondered if these tales had any basis."

"Oh, nonsense! We try to see that the city is well stocked with up-to-date weapons, that's all. What happened to the fugitive engineer?"

"The Senate in its wisdom decided that, since these tales were obviously untrue, the man must be a Greek spy, sent by Dionysios to spread terror in Carthage and weaken the Republic. So they had him crucified."

Zopyros concealed his feelings by a long, slow draught of wine.

During his remaining days in Messana, Zopyros had several long walks and talks with Korinna, but always with another member of the family present. On Zopyros' last night, Xanthos gave the promised feast. After the guests—a fairly dull, stuffy lot, Zopyros thought— had been fed, Korinna and her mother, heavily veiled, came out from the women's apartment. Xanthos got up and, holding a fistful of papyrus rolls in one hand and his daughter's hand in the other, said:

"I, Xanthos son of Glaukos, of Messana, do hereby state before these witnesses that an agreement has been reached between myself and this young man, Zopyros son of Megabyzos, of Taras, presently living in Syracuse, and his family, concerning his marriage to my daughter Korinna. I have here three copies of the betrothal contract, because the parties to this agreement all live in different cities. Zopyros has read the contract and compared all three copies to make sure they are identical. He has affixed his signature thereto as a token of agreement with the terms set forth therein. In this contract are stated the sum of money to be settled upon my daughter as dowry; a list of the clothes, ornaments, and other personal possessions she will bring with her; and the sum that Zopyros' father, the respectable Megabyzos, will settle upon him.

"O Zopyros, in the name of Zeus, Hera, Artemis, Apollon, Aphrodite, Demeter, and the other gods and goddesses, in token of my promise to give my daughter Korinna to you in lawful marriage, on a day of good omen to be agreed upon between us, and in accordance with the terms of this contract, I now place her hand in yours."

Zopyros took Korinna's hand and said: "O Xanthos, in the name of Zeus, Hera, Artemis, Apollon, Aphrodite, Demeter, and the other gods and goddesses, in token of my promise to enter into lawful marriage to your daughter Korinna, on a day of good omen to be agreed upon between us, and in accordance with the terms of this contract, I now take her hand from you."

The guests cheered. A tipsy guest bellowed: "Kiss her!" Xanthos frowned at the indecency. The other guests, one after another, toasted the couple before the women went back to their quarters. Drinking and speechmaking went on for hours—long after Zopyros had become bored with it—before the last guest staggered out into the street and set off for home, preceded by a servant bearing a lighted link of tarred rope.

Once again, Zopyros made his overnight stop at Catana, at the foot of the colossal mass of Aetna. Five years before, Catana had been the flourishing Greek city of Katanê. Then Dionysios had invited its people to remove to Syracuse. When they refused, he bribed their President to admit his army to the city. He then sold all the Kataneans—except the President and his kinsmen—into slavery.

The city he turned over to his mutinous Campanian mercenaries, in lieu of arrears in their pay. For the victims of this mass enslavement there would be no homecoming. No Evnos could arrange their redemption, because no men of property survived the enslavement to furnish the ransom money.

Catana still stood, but with a difference. The city wall had been allowed to crumble in places. The filthy streets were full of scarred, unwashed Campanian veterans and their slatternly women, speaking Oscan and glowering suspiciously at the stranger. Ragged children played in the filth or followed the traveler, begging.

Zopyros put up at the town's one inn, then sought the market place to buy some food so that the innkeeper could cook his dinner. A boy pimp tugged at his cloak and said something in broken Greek about a nice, clean sister.

At Xanthos' house, Zopyros had suffered an agony of thwarted lust. Now he felt desire rising again. His blood pounded in his temples. He assured himself that he loved Korinna so passionately that no other woman could interest him; but this, he found, was not quite true. None of his Pythagorean training helped him. The animal in him swept aside all barriers in its demand for plain, loveless, physical relief. When the boy tugged at his cloak again, Zopyros followed him to a small door in a one-room house in a narrow street.

The whore was a buxom, muscular, cheerful Sikelian girl who appeared to enjoy her work. When the passage was over and Zopyros was sponging himself off, she said: "You were on your way to buy food, weren't you? I can cook better than that dirty slob at the inn. If you will get enough for my brother and me, I'll cook your dinner here."

"I'll gladly do that," said Zopyros.

A few minutes later, he was back with the victuals. He sat on the single stool, watching her put copper pots on the little hearth fire. The room had few furnishings other than the stool, the bed, a chest, and a washstand. Large gaps in the plaster showed the brickwork of the house walls.

Now and then Zopyros asked his hostess a question. Since she spoke some Greek and he some Oscan—a tongue akin to Sikelian —they could understand each other with a little effort.

"My name's Ducetia," she said, scratching. "My people were farm folk at Herbessus. One day when we were working the fields for our landowner, a troop of Dionysios' soldiers came suddenly by on their way to attack our city. We had no time to run back to town. I was carrying water, apart from the others, when they caught me. Three horsemen took me into a bosk to rape me.

"Never having been with a man, I thought it would be terrible. But, although it hurt a little at first, I found that by the time the third man had finished I was beginning to enjoy it. When I asked for more, they laughed in a shamefaced way, saying they wished they could oblige. I cursed them as weaklings for bringing me almost to the verge and then disappointing me. At last, one rode out of the bosk and came back with a comrade, who gave me what I demanded.

"They hauled me along with them to sell, but I gave them the slip. After Dionysios raised the siege of Herbessus, I went back to my city. But another family had seized our house and barred the door against me. They drove me out of town with sticks and stones. My own family—I have heard no word of them since.

"I took up with a traveling peddler and tramped the roads with him for a year. I had never heard of harlotry in Herbessus and was astonished to find that men would pay me for doing that which I most enjoyed. When my peddler died of a fever near here, I settled clown to make the best of things. The boy whom I call 'brother,' is an orphan, too. I wouldn't say it was an easy life— we often go hungry—but it's far less work than swinging those big hoes in the vineyards all day."

"Do you ever worry about the future?" asked Zopyros.

"Sometimes. I suppose one of these days I shall get old, and then I shall have to marry one of these Campanian pigs and settle down. But I'll worry about that when the time comes. How did you like your dinner?"

"Fine," lied Zopyros.

She began to clear away. "How about another trick?"

"Dear Herakles, Ducetia, you drained me dry the first time! I'm no three-ball man."

"Oh, come on! A strong young gentleman like you is good for more than one a day!"

"I don't know—I was thinking of my work ..."

"Well, think of my work for a change; it's more fun! Please! I'll make it half price. I need the money for charms for the witch, to keep from getting pregnant."

She planted herself in his lap, kissed him, fondled him, and slipped her dress off one shoulder. Soon they were back on the bed. As he settled in, she gave a gusty sigh of content.

"That's how I like my men! Snorting and pawing, like big black bulls!"

Zopyros walked back to the inn with mixed feelings. On one hand he felt a certain pride in his powers. On the other, although he had done nothing that any Hellene would consider wrong, he was a little disgusted with himself. He had a vague feeling that he ought to have been true to Korinna, even though they were not yet wed. Moreover, he had failed the Pythagorean ethical standards. The divine Pythagoras would have excused venery in moderation —"no more than is necessary to a single man," he had said—but Zopyros had not been moderate.

All such feelings, however, were soon swept aside by a torrent of thoughts about his project. When he had told Ducetia that he was thinking of his work, he meant just that. For, while eating his dinner and savoring the memory of his contact with her, he had been struck by the resemblance between the motions of sexual intercourse and those of the parts of a catapult. Now more and more such ideas sprang into his mind—some fantastic or impractical; some worth noting.

He quickened his pace. At the inn they had no waxed tablets, papyrus, or parchment, so he bought a fresh-cut board. Over this he crouched in the flickering lamplight till midnight, covering the yellow wood with notes and sketches, until there was room for no more.

Zopyros expected to reach Syracuse the following afternoon. It began to rain, however, while he was passing through Megara Hyblaia, a Syracusan fortress and a squalid camp-followers' village built out of the ruins of a once fine city. Fearing lest the rain wash his notes off the board, which lay exposed athwart his cart, Zopyros knocked on the door of a hut. Although he was ordinarily too shy to ask for shelter of strangers, the thought of losing his precious notes nerved him to the ordeal.

The door opened a crack. "What do you want?" said a voice.

"I should like to come in out of the rain for a while, please—"

"Get out, vagabond!" The door slammed, and he heard the sound of a bolt's being drawn into place.

The rain showed no sign of letting up. He could not stand under the eaves of this house all night. If he tried to sleep against the wall, he might well have his throat cut. So he wrapped his cloak around the board, put it back in the cart, and went on to the fortress.

His Arsenal identification disk got him in. The officer in command offered him a small, unused room, in which he spent a restless, flea-bitten night. Just outside his door, a pair of soldiers diced noisily. They argued loudly in Oscan, got drunk, quarreled, started a fight, were reconciled, diced some more, and sang discordant peasant songs.

Around noon of the next day, Zopyros appeared with the board on his shoulder at Archytas' desk on the gallery of the Arsenal. Archytas said: "You've overstayed your leave, old boy, and you look a mess ... What in the name of the Dog is that?"

"Don't touch it; you'll smudge it. It's the solution to our catapult problem."

"Are you joking?"

"Not at all. If the big boss says anything about my being absent without leave, here's proof I was working for him all the time. Do you see this?"

"I see a lot of charcoal smears. What do they mean?"

Zopyros snatched a piece of papyrus and began drawing with quick, sure strokes. "Now, look here. Nothing says there has to be just one single trough, does it?"

"I suppose not."

"Well then, we'll have a main trough, fixed as in the present models. In this trough there shall be a big, deep groove, thus. Sliding back and forth in this groove, we have a slender, movable trough. We'll call it the 'slide.' This is a complex structure. At the after end it's nailed to the trigger assembly or crosshead. On its upper surface is a shallow groove for the missile. On the bottom it's keyed into the trough groove so it can't fly out.

"When we push the slide all the way forward, the trigger hook —call it the 'finger'—engages the bowstring. The windlass rope is tied to the trigger assembly. When we crank the windlass, we pull back trigger assembly, slide, and bowstring all at once. When the slide is as far back as we want it, we place the dart in the shallow groove and release the finger. The string snaps forward, sending the missile on its way. Then we unwind the windlass, push the slide forward, and start over."

"How do you hold the slide at the point from which you want to shoot the missile?"

"By a ratchet wheel on the windlass shaft and a pawl, as in the present movable-trigger model."

Archytas looked up. "By Earth and the gods, best one, I think you've thrown a triple six! This is jolly good. Wherever did you get the idea?"

"It came to me while I was—ah—um—while I was driving along the road on my way back."

"Perhaps you ought to spend all your time driving about Sicily, if this is what it does for you!" Archytas frowned. "I see trouble ahead, though."

"How so?"

"We're shorthanded. Most of the carpenters have been sent over to the shipyard to speed Alexis' supergalleys."

"Well, get 'em back! You're the executive."

"That's easier said than done. We shall have to carry our appeal clear up to Philistos, and we shall have to convince the wise Lithodomos first."

"Oh, I'd almost forgotten about him! Where is he?"

"Probably out to lunch with the other bosses. I'll find—"

A long, mournful toot struck Zopyros' ear. He started so sharply that he dropped his charcoal. "Good gods, what's that?"

Archytas grinned. "You're not the only one to invent things, you know!" He pointed to the mass of jars and tubes near his desk. The din of tools died away. The workmen swarmed out of the Arsenal, carrying the bags containing their lunches.

"So that's your alarm-clepsydra, eh?" said Zopyros.

"Yes. The big boss liked it so well that he makes me set it for noon and closing time as well as for dawn. I'm told—unofficially —that I shall get one of those medals at the next Arsenal banquet." Archytas carefully measured out a quantity of water into a graduated beaker and poured it into the uppermost jar. "But your invention is far more important, if it works. Meet me back here at the end of siesta, and I'll do my best with that god-detested idiot."

Lithodomos listened while Zopyros explained his plan. At the end he tossed his head back.

"I don't get it," he said. "You've got a sliding trough underneath, and a sliding trough above, and the dart in between them—"

"No, no!" said Zopyros. "The lower trough is fixed, while the upper trough moves back and forth along it."

"You mean the trough moves instead of the dart? You're going to shoot the trough at the enemy?"

"Let me begin again," said Zopyros, holding his temper with both hands.

After the mechanism had been explained, with drawings, three times, Lithodomos said: "I still can't understand it. I think that settles the question."

"How do you mean?"

"If it's too complicated for me, it's certainly too complicated for the ordinary soldier. I know I'm not so brilliant as you educated geniuses, but the people who use these things have even less technical training than I have. If I don't get it, you can bet your last drachma they won't."

Zopyros said: "Master Lithodomos, I don't expect everybody to grasp this mechanism at first sight. It's really not complicated—just unfamiliar. The main thing is to get enough carpenters to build one."

Lithodomos: "We're short of labor. I've tried to get men from the ship side, but I get only sweepings. If I do obtain a good man, a dozen other engineers have requests in for him. You'd need a fornicating good argument to get ahead of them. All I see here is a lot of complicated junk, which wouldn't work, and which no soldier could ever be taught to use if it did. Besides, all this complication means a higher cost. The President is always short of money."

"Well, what then?"

"If you was to go back to that catapult with a pivoted trough, I could see that. I might be able to get you help."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"We've been all through that. There are various ways of solving the problem of varying the range; and by the gods, I've hit on the best one! I'll bet my last drachma on this! If you want me to try the pivoted catapult later, I'm game; but I won't give up the most promising design until it's been tried out."

"Then you'll have to do it without carpenters. I won't tie up my labor force in something so complicated it'll fly to pieces the first time you try to shoot it."

With tight lips and trembling hands, Zopyros rasped: "My dear Lithodomos, if you'll just enable me to build one full-scale model, all these questions will be answered. The workings of the machine will be obvious even to—to everybody."

A flush crept up Lithodomos' face, and his voice rose. "You was going to say, obvious even to a half-wit like me, wasn't you? Wasn't you? Well, look here, Master Genius, all your so-called intellect don't mean a polluted thing. It's the practical people like me who have the say. That's why I'm boss. Think you're so cursed clever, because you've been to school, eh? All that did was ruin whatever common sense you ever had. You're like that fool Simon, with his twenty-talent armored chariot."

"But—"

"Shut up, you dog-faced slave!" screamed Lithodomos. "You speak when I tell you—"

"By God, I will not shut up for a stupid ox like you—"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried Archytas, thrusting himself between the furious men.

The voices of the three blended into a single uproar. The noise brought all the work in the Armory to a halt. Smiths let pieces cool on their anvils as they gaped up at the gallery, where Archytas was dutifully trying to keep Zopyros and Lithodomos from assaulting each other.

Just then Philistos, followed by a secretary, arrived in the Armory. Seeing the spectacle on the gallery, he limped up the stairs, frowning. As soon as he came in sight, Zopyros and Lithodomos stopped shouting at each other and began haranguing Philistos. Zopyros tried to explain the workings of his engine, while Lithodomos shrieked:

"This young know-it-all is insolent and insubordinate! Fire him! Fire him! Fire him!"

Philistos, leaning on his crutch-headed stick, waiting until the two ran out of breath. Then he said:

"Zopyros, were you going to build a small or a full-sized model?"

"A full-sized one, sir. Most of the problems of construction have been solved, so to save time—"

"You shall build a small model, to a scale of one third. Lithodomos, see that he gets at least one good carpenter, to build this model. And both of you are fined one day's pay for disorderly conduct, and for making spectacles of yourselves in front of the workmen. Next time it will go harder on you. Good day."

He turned and made his slow way to the stair, his stick tapping. Zopyros and Lithodomos exchanged one last scowl before Zopyros went down to the main floor to complete his plans.

The flowers bloomed and faded on the long Sicilian hillsides. As the days of spring marched towards summer, Zopyros completed his small model, powered by an ordinary bow. On trials it proved satisfactory, except that the trigger mechanism often jammed. After much weary hammering and filing, having new parts cast, and changing the design, he finally got even that balky mechanism to work.

One day when he was out on the range, shooting arrows from the model and painting small numbers on the trough, Archytas asked: "What are you doing, man?"

Zopyros explained: "This is so you can tell how far your missile will fly."

"Why not put the numbers on the ratchet wheel of the windlass shaft?"

"The windlass rope stretches with use, so a given position of the ratchet wheel doesn't necessarily mean that the slide will be in the same place next time."

"It's your baby, old chap, and I wouldn't dream of trying to bite off any of your glory. But ..."

"But what? If you have a suggestion, make it."

"Wouldn't it be better, instead of this awkward ratchet wheel, to have a straight bronze rack along one side of the trough? Then mount a pawl on that side of the trigger assembly. As the slide is pulled back, the pawl will ride over the teeth of the rack, clickety-click, until you reach the tooth representing the distance you wish to shoot. Then slack off the windlass, and—"

"I see, I see! That would eliminate any question about stretching the windlass rope. Of course, other elements vary, too. The bowstring stretches, and the bow itself tires when bent many times in succession."

"Well, you would at least get rid of one variable. Wiry not try it?"

"I will. And I shan't need a new model; I can install the rack and the pawl on this one."

The third year of the ninety-fifth Olympiad began, when Euthykles was Archon of Athens. The hillsides turned brown again in the blistering heat of the dry Sicilian summer. Scorching, dust-laden south winds dimmed the sun to a disk of mountain copper, like that on the roof of Saphanbaal's cave, and coated the Arsenal workers with dust until they looked as if they had been dipped in flour. Zopyros reported to Archytas:

"Your rack-and-pawl system works fine. But I find I need a pair of racks, one on each side of the trough, and a pawl on each side of the crosshead to engage them. With only one rack, the unbalanced stress warped the whole engine out of line."

"Good. Now I suppose you want me to twist Lithodomos' balls until he assigns men for your big model, eh?"

There were more quarrels with Lithodomos, with shouts and threats and inconclusive endings. Zopyros said: "Dear Herakles! Why doesn't the big boss send the accursed fool on a diplomatic mission?"

Archytas shrugged. "That's human nature, old boy. There's at least one Lithodomos in every organization. If we got rid of him, we might get a worse in his place."

"That I should like to see!"

"Have a care what you say, or the gods may give you what you ask."

In the month of Boedromion*(*Approximately September), Zopyros demonstrated his final full-scale model to Dionysios. Nobody else paid much heed, since Zopyros had been shooting on the archery range for over a year. The tyrannos, however, watched the demonstration with keen interest. He gave commands:

"Shoot one plethron ... Fine! Now shoot a plethron and a half ..." When it was over he said: "You have done it, Zopyros. Can you make me fifty of these things?"

"Given the men and materials, sir, I certainly could."

"You shall have them. Henceforth you shall be in the production division, under Pyres. Wear your best tunic at the next engineers' banquet, three days hence. Finally, you shall have another raise in salary as soon as the treasury can afford it."

"Thank you, sir."

"There was something else ... How soon can you have several catapults completed?"

" 'Several' is an indefinite number, O President; but I think we can have five or six within a month."

Dionysios fingered his shaggy beard. "These weapons require men especially trained to use them."

"Yes, sir! The crews will have to learn by doing, so to speak."

"How big a crew will be needed for each catapult?"

Zopyros thought. "In testing them on the range, here, I find eight or ten about right. In case of need, two men could load and shoot the engine, but that would give a very slow rate of shooting. You also need extra men to move the engine on and off its rollers, to aim it, and to relieve the cockers when they tire."

"That brings up another question. How would you move a number of catapults to a distant place?"

"Zeus on Olympos, sir, I hadn't even thought! Let's see—these things weigh eight or ten talents each, I suppose. That's too much for a mere traveling cart."

"As the unfortunate Simon discovered," said Dionysios.

"Exactly. I suppose one should have a set of four-wheeled ox wains built, with low bodies. Otherwise, we might have an upset."

"See my wainwright about that; get some wains started. Now, somebody will have to command the crews. We'll start with a single crew and expand as you complete more catapults. Can you recommend anyone for the post of commander?" As Zopyros hesitated, Dionysios added: "I have brave soldiers, wise philosophers, eloquent poets, and jolly jesters in my entourage. I have nobody, however, who combines the qualities of soldier and mechanic, as these new weapons demand. I will not ruin so promising a thing by appointing some gilded incompetent." (Zopyros choked down a biting remark about Lithodomos.) "So, whom would you suggest? Would you like the job yourself?"

"No, sir."

"Haven't you had military training?"

"I've had militia drill in Taras. You might say I know enough to don my greaves before my cuirass. If my own city were attacked, I would of course fight to defend it. But I have no ambition to be a mercenary soldier."

"You're probably wise. Anyway, I need your talents here in the Arsenal. But, if not you, whom shall I get?"

"I don't know many of your soldiers, sir. There's only one I know at all well: File-leader Segovax."

"The Celt I sent to Carthage with you, eh? A good soldier, albeit too fond of the wineskin. Would a barbarian like that have the needed intelligence?"

"Segovax has always struck me as a man of ready wit, who adapts himself to circumstances and doesn't let his fondness for the grape interfere with business."

"I'll try him, then. Rejoice!"

As the tyrannos walked off, Zopyros said to Archytas: "When do you think my pay will be raised? If I'm to be married soon, I could use the money."

Archytas chuckled. "You'll get it when horses play the flute, I think. Most of us have been nursing Dionysios' promises until we've given up hope."

"You, too?"

"Certainly! I'm supposed to have become a three-drachma man long since, but I'm not. Alexis was complaining about the same thing the other day. Be glad we're not actually in arrears, as his soldiers often are."

Zopyros said: "Speaking of Alexis, it occurs to me that, when his supergalleys are finished, there ought to be some carpenters to be had. How are they coming?"

"I don't know. Let's walk over to the shipyards and see."

The shores of the Great Harbor were lined for more than a league with shipways, most of them roofed over. Zopyros estimated that there were more than two hundred of them. A few ways stood empty, their last ships having recently been launched. Other ways held triremes in various stages of completion. Some were mere keels. Some comprised keels and ribs, like the skeletons of long-dead monsters lying supine. Others had their hull planking, from the forests of Aetna, partly in place.

At the end of the row, on two larger ways, stood the Syrakosia and the Arethousa. The former—the fiver—was the farther advanced.

As Archytas and Zopyros neared the two experimental ships, they came upon Alexis arguing with a workman. When the shipwright saw his visitors, he walked over with—to Zopyros' surprise —a pleasant smile.

"Rejoice!" He spoke loudly, to be heard above the din of saw and adze and hammer. "You've never met my two sweethearts, have you? Let me show you ..."

He guided them about the ships, climbing ladders and dodging among the timbers, all the while explaining his theories of ship construction. Twice, Zopyros hit his head on overhead timbers. When his ears stopped ringing, he asked Alexis:

"When do you expect to finish them?"

"The Syrakosia should be launched in another ten-day, and after that it will be simply a matter of cabins and deck fittings. The other may not be ready for months. Why do you ask?"

Zopyros told of his assignment to make fifty catapults.

"Oh!" said Alexis. "So, naturally, you're hoping to fall heir to the carpenters who have been working on the Syrakosia, eh? Well, I can't promise all of them. I shall need some for the Arethousa, and the other shipwrights will be watching for a chance to snatch them, too. But I think I can get you a few."

"If you'll tell me in advance whom you're letting go, and if I request those men by name, I stand a better chance than if I simply scream 'Men! Men!' to Pyres."

"Fine. I shall be glad to help—provided it doesn't interfere with my own project."

"Tell me, Alexis," said Zopyros, "why is the larger of your ships farther along than the smaller? I should expect the contrary."

"Orders from the big boss. He wants the Syrakosia finished and tested by the end of Maimakterion, to fetch his bride."

"What?" exclaimed Zopyros and Archytas together.

"Hadn't you heard? He's persuaded the Lokrians to give him the daughter of one of their magnates for a wife. He wants to make a spectacle of the occasion by sending his biggest ship. But what will really grind you to sausage is that, to avoid hard feelings, he will at the same time wed a local girl, Aristomachê daughter of Hipparinos."

"Two at once?" said Zopyros in amazement. "Like a Persian king?"

"Absolutely. When one of his cronies muttered something about legality, he said: 'My dear fellow, I, Dionysios, am the law in Syracuse!' He's braver than I. With all my abilities, I don't think I could manage two women at once."

Zopyros said: "He certainly doesn't let a little thing like consistency stand in his way. He harangues us every month on our duty to defend Hellenism, and you can't call bigamy Hellenic."

Archytas said: "Oh, I don't know. The Macedonian kings do it. And wasn't there a Spartan king, a fellow with a long name— you'd know, Zopyros; you've been reading history ..."

"Anaxandrides!" said Zopyros. "Yes, but he took a second wife only because the Overseers insisted, when his first wife bore no children and he wouldn't divorce her."

"Why wouldn't he?" said Alexis.'

"Because he loved her," said Zopyros. Alexis sneered. "Anyway, both wives then produced offspring, and there was the usual struggle for the throne. One of the sons was the famous Dorieus, who stirred things up in these parts a hundred years ago. Is the big boss sending his prize ship out in the middle of winter?"

"Evidently. I wouldn't risk it myself, but he says he'll order her captain to run for harbor every time a blow appears. With reasonable luck, the trip each way shouldn't take more than two days."

Zopyros said: "Well, it's nice to have seen you, Alexis, and thanks a lot. We must get back to work."

As Zopyros and Archytas walked back towards the Arsenal, the former said: "That's funny!"

"What is?"

"Once I thought Alexis my dearest enemy; but here he's as pleasant and helpful as if we'd never had a cross word."

"Well, you've heard of friends who grow apart? I suppose enemies can grow apart, too; one gets out of the habit of thinking about them at all. I'm still glad we needn't work any more with Master Alexis. He's one of those who can he charming—as long as he has his own way. But, if you gainsay him in anything, watch yourself!"

The next day, as Zopyros was eating his lunch in his usual place by the Spring of Arethousa, Segovax appeared in his polished cuirass and crested helm. Scowling, he growled:

"Bad cess to you, Zopyros my lad!"

"Why—what—"

"For ruining the best soldier that ever came out of the Celtic forests!" The scowl changed to a grin. "To be sure, 'twas kindly meant. When himself called me in and asked me to be his catapult officer, I thought: What would my noble ancestors think to see me, not charging into the thick of the fray with sword and spear, but standing ten leagues away and pulling a little handle that sends a dart flying at men who don't look no bigger than mosquitoes? 'Tis ashamed of me they would be. I was all ready to say I would not, for all the golden mountains of Persia. But he talked, and talked, and said as the catapult company got bigger, I'd be a captain and maybe even a colonel. So I got to thinking: If I'm a file leader and get only a private's pay and the rest in promises, as a colonel he's sure to give me a captain's pay and the rest in promises. So I said I would. Still, there's one thing wrong with this colossal plan."

"What's that?"

"I can't read nor write. Dionysios says his officers have to read and write, so they can read orders from the general when he's too far away to shout at them."

"I told you to come around for lessons. Now you'll have to do it, that's all."

"Ah me, 'tis less of a brave Celtic warrior that I am every day!"

Zopyros received his golden medal from Dionysios at the next engineers' banquet. A year earlier he would have panted with eagerness for the honor. Now he enjoyed it, but his enjoyment was mixed with the irony of maturity. He would have gladly traded it for that promised raise, if there were only some way of guaranteeing the latter. But there was not. He had the medal, while the raise was as yet merely words. In case of need, the gold would fetch a hundred drachmai, which would feed a man for most of a year.

During the next three months, Zopyros struggled with his catapults. He found the problems of producing an engine in quantity quite different from those of developing an experimental model. He learned to watch like a hawk for defective materials or careless workmanship. He learned to give each catapult intensive tests; two of the engines might look alike to the eye but perform quite differently.

In Maimakterion, the Syrakosia was launched, fitted out, and manned. Zopyros had a glimpse of Alexis standing on the quarterdeck of the new ship, screaming curses at the rowers because they would not row in time. The rowers were hardy professionals, horny-handed, huge-muscled, and well paid. But with their mighty backs went weakly minds. To learn to row a ship of a new type was to them an almost impossible task. Being used to triremes, they found the new ship, with oars in groups of five, cramped and awkward. They bumped each other's backs and fouled each other's oars.

Back and forth across the Great Harbor they went, until their rowing was no more ragged than in the usual trireme. Alexis staged a race before Dionysios, between the Syrakosia and a standard trireme. The fiver won, but only by the length of her ram. Nevertheless there were cheers and a medal for Alexis.

At the next engineers' banquet, Dionysios strolled among his guests, giving each a few gracious words. When he came to Zopyros, he asked:

"How is production coming?"

"Much better, sir. We're finishing at least one new catapult every ten-day."

"What took you so long to get started?"

"The problem of breaking in the workers and obtaining a steady stream of good materials. As a result of shortcomings in one thing or the other, several of our early catapults proved defective and had to be scrapped. By the way, O President, have you heard that I plan to marry?"

"Congratulations, O Zopyros."

"And double congratulations to you, sir."

Dionysios gave Zopyros a searching look and burst into one of his rare laughs. "The pains of principate, my boy! What I go through for my beloved Syracuse! If you were thinking to dun me for that promised raise, I hope to make it good within a month."

"That will be welcome, sir; but it's not what I was about to say."

"Which was?"

"I hear you plan to send the Syrakosia to Lokroi next month."

"Yes, to fetch my bride, Doris daughter of Xenetos."

"My betrothed lives in Messana, not far out of the way of this voyage ..." He explained about Xanthos' insistence on having the wedding on a lucky day.

The tyrannos scratched his shaggy beard. "That's an interesting idea. We could drop you off on the way to Lokroi and pick you up on the return voyage. Efficiency! Besides, you could not become so mazed with love as to forget to return at the end of your leave, as happened once before. But here is a complication."

"What, sir?"

"I mean to celebrate my weddings on the full moon of Gamelion. We cannot deliver you to Messana on that clay, yet fetch Doris back to Syracuse before that date ... Hold, I have it! The fourth of Gamelion is deemed as lucky for weddings as the fifteenth. If we dropped you off a day or two before the fourth and picked you up a day or two afterward, that would suit everybody, wouldn't it?" The tyrannos grinned, pleased with his own ingenuity.

"Thank you, sir! I'll write the father of my betrothed at once."

Thus it fell out that on the fourth of Gamelion, Zopyros stood beside Korinna at Xanthos' hearth in Messana. Each of them snipped off a lock of hair and burnt it on the family altar. They broke the honey cake and each ate half, while a crowd of Xanthos' friends sang wedding songs. In the early evening, after the feast, all went into the street and formed a torchlight procession. Glaukos drove the wedding chariot, with Zopyros and Korinna seated behind him. For the groom's dwelling, to which the procession led, Xanthos had persuaded one of his friends to lend a room in his house.

"It would look pretty silly," Xanthos explained, "to parade around the block and come right back here; and yet we must faithfully follow custom."

When Zopyros and Korinna had been showered with grain and olives at the entrance to the friend's house, had eaten the ritual quince, and had finally closed the door behind them, Korinna took off her veil. They gazed long at each other and then, for no particular reason, burst out laughing. In unison they said:

"Thank the gods that's over!"

"Shall we go to bed, darling?" said Zopyros.

"Why not? We've certainly waited long enough."