The Bronze God of Rhodes

BOOK II — DEMETRIOS

As I crossed the marketplace on the way to my studio, I came upon two swarthy acquaintances from the Seven Strangers: Onas the Egyptian and Berosos the Babylonian. The former proposed that we stop at a wine shop. We squeezed past the counter to a table, and Onas said:

"I trust that the local will suit. Evios stocks not the costly vintages of Chios."

"If Rhodian is good enough for export, it's good enough for me," I said. "I'm no exquisite who sniffs and sips and says, 'Ah, indeed it is good, but the Lesbian vintage of nine years ago was better.' "

"Anything for me," said Berosos, "so that it lighten my liver."

"What ails his liver?" I asked.

Said Onas: "Nought. He means he suffers the pangs of un-requited love. This time it is the daughter of Aratos the miller. Last month it was the wife of—"

"Must you blab my secrets?" said Berosos. "At least I do love those of the opposite sex, unlike many hereabouts. Hither, seeking Onas, I came—as, finding no hope for my suit in the stars, I sought his help in getting one of these Egyptian love potions."

"I told him I was a lapidary, not an apothecary," said Onas. "I seek a man who owes me for the carving of a carnelian, and who seems to possess an invisibility spell, for he vanishes whenever a creditor appears. What brings you hither, O Chares?"

I told them of the threat to the peace of Rhodes and of the rank that Kallias had offered me. "Now I seek squad mates. Would you two care to join?"

"I might," said Onas. "Fain would I take up again the sword of my forebears. Besides, I like Rhodes to dwell in, and if trouble come, the surest Way of being clasped to the city's bosom is to serve in its forces. The marines are not open to foreigners, and rowing is dull work for anybody with the wit to walk around a puddle. How about you, Fatty?"

"Me!" squealed Berosos, terror starting from his bottomless black eyes. "Istar! What an idea!"

I said: "You told me you were doomed by the stars to become a soldier. If that be so, would you not rather fight at long range?"

"But—but we Babylonians have lost all aptitude for war, since King Xerxes disarmed us, nearly two hundred years ago!"

Onas touched his necklace of amulets. "If you would but buy one of these, you need not fear the spear in its thrust or the arrow in its flight."

"What could I do?" wailed Berosos. "I know not one end of a catapult from the other, and not strong enough to turn those great windlasses am I."

Said I: "Your eyesight is keener than that of most; you can see stars that others cannot. You shall be our aimer, who lines up the catapult with the target and guesses the distance."

A little more talk brought Berosos around, albeit with sighs and moans for the fate awaiting him. Onas said:

"I, too, will join, if my wife permit."

Berosos laughed. "That is the Egyptian for you!"

"Whatever uncivilized nations may do," said Onas, "we look upon marriage as a partnership." We paid and rose.

I asked: "Have you a wife, Berosos?"

The Babylonian sighed. "I had, ere my city was by the Macedonians ravaged. In the confusion she vanished, and though her with diligence I sought, no trace did I find. She may have been slain, or sold, or by some lustful soldier carried off."

"Or," said Onas, "she may have run away to escape your lectures. Here we are."

Onas led us into his shop. Instead of taking us straight to his dwelling, on the floor above, he insisted on showing us his stock. There were black onyxes and green chrysophrases and red sardonyxes, which the Egyptian was carving with his tiny drills and burrs for the rings of rich citizens. There were red carbuncles condensed from the urine of lynxes, a thunderstone that had fallen from the sky, and a lodestone from the land of the Hyperboreans.

"Watch," he said, and showed us how the lodestone would pick up an iron nail, then he brought out a fine purple amethyst.

"Wear this and you need never fear drunkenness, such is its mystic power. And here is a piece of genuine amber from the fog-bound North. Watch."

He produced a small feather, rubbed the amber against his sleeve, and then picked up the feather with it as the lodestone had picked up the nail.

"There is more magic in gems than in all your stars," he said. In the dimness of the shop Onas seemed a different man from the bluff, soldierly fellow he was outside. His eyes seemed larger; they seemed to look through Berosos and me to some distant vision.

"Close your eyes," he said, "and face the corner, and I will show you my good stones."

We did as he bade us. We heard him moving and opening things, and then he said: "Turn!"

Onas held a tray, from which gems winked up like the eyes of unknown beasts in a forest night. He held up one pale, colorless stone.

"This," he said, "is the true diamond. It is less beautiful than most gems, because it is so hard that no tool can cut it. However, in magical potency it surpasses all other gems. It gives its wearer the qualities of resistance, stubbornness, unflinching determination, and virtual invulnerability. Comes it from the north of India, from mountains so high they are eternally covered with that—that—what call you it when rain falls frozen, not as hail, but in feathery flakes?"

"Snow?" I said.

"Aye, snow. On these mountains so intense is the cold that water, once frozen, can never be melted again; and this eternal ice we call the diamond."

He told us of his other fine gems—a ruby, an emerald, a fine pearl from the Arabian Sea—and then said: "As my friends, you two would be entitled to a great reduction of price. This green chrysolite, for instance, would make a fine ring gem, preventing fevers, madness, and nocturnal terrors. For you I would cut it for only—"

The spell broke. Berosos and I burst into protests of poverty; we could not think such extravagant baubles; we were young men, our fortunes unmade ...

At last, with a sigh, Onas put away his gems. I said: "At least, old boy, with a stock like that, you're never in danger of starvation. That box you showed us contains a fair estate by itself."

"Say not so," he replied. "What of high interest rates, and the dangers of theft and loss, it is a chancy business. Lucky the year that I end not up in debt to Elavos the Syrian! Come."

He led us up the stairway to an apartment. Here he presented us to a small, slight, dark woman. "My wife, Nembto," he said. Then he spoke to her in his own tongue.

Nembto: "I pleased. You sit. I get lunch."

She hurled a crackling string of Egyptian syllables at Onas, who, though twice her size, quailed. Then she went out. Berosos asked:

"What said she? 'Just wait until I get you alone, you scoundrel'?"

"Not quite," said the Egyptian. "She did chide me a little for not giving her warning and thus letting guests see the house in disorder. Excuse me, friends."

He followed his wife to the kitchen, whence came sounds of spirited argument. When he returned, he said:

"It is all arranged about the soldiering. She balked at first but gave in when I told her that people are paid for this duty. Hold out your cups ..."

The smallest crew to fight a catapult like ours is eight: four cockers, a loader, an aimer, a trigger man, and of course the commander. We also had four extra men to take the place of the fallen, relieve the cockers when they tired, and provide the thews for moving the engine, as it weighed a good fifteen talents.

The six catapults formed a battery under commands of Bias the carpenter. Bias was, like me, a tribesman, respectable but neither rich nor learned; a middle-aged man with the knobby hands and wrinkled neck of a lifelong artisan. The full citizens reserved most of the commissioned ranks to themselves; but, as no gentleman would dirty his hands on a mechanical contrivance like a catapult, they left this post to Bias, who knew more practical engineering than the whole lot of them together.

My squad picked the name Talos for our catapult, after the stone-throwing bronzen man whom the god Hephaistos made for King Minos. The other five engines of the battery became the Eros, Helios, Herakles, Artemis, and Orion.

Three mornings after my visit to the armory, a pair of mules pulled each of the six catapults out through the great gate in the South Wall. We rumbled through the suburbs under a clear blue sky and into the country. The crewmen tramped beside their catapults, with Bias at their head and their servants straggling behind.

We halted at a farm where several haystacks were dotted about a field. The mules were unhitched and led back to graze, while the catapults were levered up to take the rollers from under them.

"Men!" began Bias, squinting at a sheet of papyrus on which he had written notes. "The first rule of the artilleryman is: 'Never get in front of your own piece.' If you're not half-witted, like an artilleryman oughtn't to be, you can figure out why without me telling you.

"The second rule is: 'Never stand inside the radius of the throwing arms.' Sometimes a catapult goes off when you don't expect it, and one of those arms can send your head flying like a hockey ball.

"The third rule is: 'Inspect and adjust your piece before and after every use.' A catapult is as fickle as a woman. Unless you keep it in good humor by adjusting it all the time, it starts casting its missiles every which way, or it breaks down and won't shoot at all, or it flies to pieces and smashes its crew like bugs. The skeins get too tight or chafe against the stress bolts, and they break when the engine is cocked. Or they go slack and lose their tension. The tension changes with the weather; a damp day slackens them, while a dry one makes them taut. They have to be oiled every month to keep them from getting brittle.

"You've got to inspect your piece whether you think it needs it or not. In fact, inspect all the harder when you think it don't need it, on account of that's just when something goes wrong.

"Now, there's two general types of catapult: the flexion type, which has a big bow fastened to the frame, so we get our tension by bending the arms of the bow; and the torsion type, like these here, with two rigid throwing arms passed through torsion skeins. The flexion type we don't use much any more except for scorpions, or when we haven't got the materials or the engineering skill to build the torsion type.

"Catapults of each type can be built in different sizes. We generally call the big ones stone throwers, on account of they shoot balls of stone or brick weighing from ten pounds up to a talent, for distances up to twelve plethra* (*A plethron =100 feet.). In most stone throwers the trough is fixed in position at a slope to give the greatest range. So range can be varied only by pulling the string back different distances before discharge ..."

Bias went on to tell us about dart throwers, like ours, in which the range could also be varied by changing the slope of the trough. He pointed out all the parts of a catapult; the base, the pedestal, the ranging strut, the trough, the rack, and the recoiler with its cross-head, finger, trigger knob, and pawls; the windlass, the frame, the torsion skeins, the skein shackles, the throwing arms, and the string. He told us what each part did, and how to perform each step in the cycle of operations. He showed us how to aim a catapult by moving it with crowbars and ropes and how to level it with plumb bob and wedges.

"Now," said he when we had all aimed at a distant hay-stack, "we'll—Ea! Didn't I just tell you never to step in front of a catapult? Didn't I? Do you want your fool head knocked off?"

When the offending soldier seemed properly abashed, Bias continued: "Now we'll shoot one dart each. Cockers, cock your pieces."

The catapults groaned as the six recoilers crept back down their troughs. The cockers' muscles bulged as they turned their windlasses. The pawls clicked over the notches of the racks.

"Stop at notch ten, six short of maximum," said Bias. "See that the pawls of the recoiler are firmly engaged with the racks. Slack off the windlasses. Loaders, load your pieces."

Our missiles were six-pound darts three cubits long, with iron heads, wooden shafts, and bronzen vanes at their after ends. Pronax, the loader of my squad, placed our first dart in the groove on the upper side of the recoiler.

Bias: "Trigger men, stand by to strike your trigger knobs. The commander of each catapult will give the order to shoot, and then the trigger man will hit the trigger knob with his mallet. Remember: Don't hit the knob until you've been ordered to, and then hit it quickly and smartly. And don't get any part of you in the way of the string or of the throwing arms. If you do, we'll have to break in a new recruit, and that's a lot of trouble.

"Now, does everybody understand? I don't want nobody shooting out of turn. Eros shoots first. Shoot, Eros!"

"Hit it!" cried the double-pay man in command of Eros.

Eros' trigger man was so nervous that he missed his knob and smote the bronze rack instead, denting his mallet. The man quailed as Bias scowled. The carpenter, glaring, said:

"It looks like Eros is going to-shoot last instead of first. Another thing to remember is to' use the standard words of command. When you mean 'shoot,' say 'shoot,' not 'give the polluted bastards one in the guts.' In a battle, where you can hardly hear yourself think anyway, cute little speeches like that only confuse your men. All right now, Talos, shoot!"

"Shoot!" I repeated.

Onas muttered a magical spell and smote his knob one clean blow. With a crash, the throwing arms flew forward against the frame; the dart departed with a swish. Up, up it rose, then down. It flew over the haystack and disappeared.

"Of course we missed," said Pronax. "Egyptian spells don't work here where the gods of the Hellenes reign."

"I will be fetching it, master dear!" said Kavaros, starting to run toward the haystack.

"Come back!" I shouted. But the Kelt kept on.

Bias said: "Helios, shoot!"

"E!" I cried. "Not while my man—"

Helios' trigger man struck his knob; off went the dart. It flew over Kavaros' head. He halted at its screech, looked frantically about, and threw himself on the ground. The next time I called him, he came back readily, hanging his head at the laughter of the battery.

"That," said Bias, "gives you an idea of what happens to people who go running around a shooting range without orders. Artemis, shoot!"

Kavaros said: "Is it not a terrible thing the way war is being spoilt by all these dreadful machines? Bad cess to the man who invented them!"

When each piece had shot one dart, the slaves had gone to fetch the missiles, and all the recoilers had been pulled forward into the starting position again, Bias unrolled his papyrus and spoke:

"Your next task is to calibrate your pieces for range. There's sixteen notches in each rack. You'll have to shoot sixteen darts in succession, one from each setting. Then you pace off the distance from the catapult to each dart and write it down on one of these tablets. Then you repeat this with the strut in the intermediate position.

"Such a list of ranges is called a range table, and it's very useful to the new artillery officer. After you get more experience, you won't need it. You'll learn to make allowances for windage, dampness, fatigue of the skeins, and so forth. There's more to being an artilleryman than it looks like. The spearmen and archers have to practice, sure, but the artillery's where you've got to have real intelligence.

"To save confusion, write with charcoal the number of each dart on its shaft, so there won't be no question as to which dart was shot from which setting."

I asked: "Sir, wouldn't one range table do for all six pieces?"

"No. You see, artilleryman, no two engines work just the same way, even when they're built to the same plans."

Calibration took two days. Then we began target practice. The Talos shot as well as any in the battery, despite a good deal of bickering between me and my crew.

When, after the first day of target practice, we got back to the arsenal and were being paid off, Bias took me aside and said:

"One of the generals was out watching."

"I saw him," I said.

Bias smiled. "He asked: 'Who's that good-looking little fellow, with the curly black hair, who runs around like he's crazy and screams at his men?' I thought you'd like to know."

"Look here," I said, "am I in command of them or am I not? And if I am, are they not supposed to obey my commands instantly, without dispute? And to treat me respectfully?"

"Oh, you are, you are. At least for now."

"What do you mean by that?" I shouted.

"Look, sonny, a squad that hates its commander won't be an effective, force, especially in a branch like the artillery, where intelligent co-operation is needed. So, when we higher-ups see a unit going to pieces because the men can't get along, we find another officer. And come to think of it, I'm your commander, too, and you're not speaking to me in no very respectful tone. I've known men to be flogged for less, see?"

I muttered a surly assent.

"Besides," Bias went on, "just remember that you've been given double-pay rank, not because you ever fought a battle, but because your old man is a successful businessman, and because they think your fancy education somehow qualifies you. Well, maybe it does and maybe it don't, but you'd be wise not to strut around like you was the divine Alexander until you've seen a little blood shed in anger. Do you understand me?"

I was so enraged I could hardly speak. I came near to telling Bias where he could put my position. But my guardian daimon checked my haughty spirit. (Years later it occurred to me that Bias must have found it as hard to control himself as I had.)

Swallowing my pride, I said: "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. What is it I do that seems to rub everybody the wrong way?"

Bias thought. "Put it this way. You're one of the touchiest people I ever saw when it comes to your feelings and your dignity. If anybody crosses or slights you the least bit, you want to fight him, horse, foot, and artillery. But you don't care a half-farthing whose toes you trample on. Their feelings and dignity don't mean a thing to you."

I made a wry face. "I don't try deliberately to quarrel with anybody. It is just—just—"

"Well?"

"Oh, I suppose I'm so wrapped up in whatever task I am trying to accomplish that I simply don't think about others."

"Maybe, but you'll sure make life hard for yourself that way. Even if you're as smart as you think you are, people won't put up with that sort of thing."

Well, I do not like to admit I am wrong any better than the next man. But I can smell dung when my nose is rubbed in it, and if my anger is quick to rise, it is equally quick to wane. Humbly I asked:

"What do you suggest, Bias?"

"For one thing, when a man makes some little mistake, don't shout in front of all the rest that he's a thick-skinned idiot. Take him aside and quietly point out what he's done \ wrong. Give him a chance to mend his ways before you yell j at him like he was a criminal."

The third day went more smoothly, except that Onas arrived late for drill. I tried (though with some backsliding) to profit from Bias' advice. Thus, I did not scream at the Egyptian but chided him gently when we were alone.

I found keen pleasure in the creak of the skeins, the crash of the throwing arms, and the whistle of the darts. I might be only a little longer than our missiles myself, but with Talos I could overthrow the mightiest warrior—nay more, even Antigonos himself, who was said to be seven feet tall.

Furthermore, my military duties gave me an excuse once more to put off my family on the subject of my marriage to Io.

We were setting out on our fourth day of practice when a slave ran up and said: "Are you Chares Nikonos, sir?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"You are commanded to turn your catapult over to one of your men, sir, and come to the Council Chamber at once."

"Who wants me?" said I, nettled. "The Council, sir."

"Oh. Very well. Onas, take over."

I found the Council and the generals, Kallias among them, awaiting me with grave faces. Kallias said:

"O Chafes, events have caught up with us ere we were ready. Demetrios son of Antigonos is at Loryma, almost within sight of us, with a great force. He demands that Rhodes unite with him and Antigonos in their new war against the Ptolemaios.

"I will not try to explain the politics of the matter; that is the affair of these gentlemen. I will only say that we cannot acceed to Demetrios' demand, and that on the other hand we must gain time to prepare for his attack.

"An embassy will leave for Loryma tomorrow. While they strive to placate Demetrios, you will approach him, saying that the city has voted to build a statue of him, twice life size, at our own expense. You have been chosen as sculptor, and you are there to make models and sketches. Do you understand?"

"Y—yes, sir."

"Can you do it?"

"I think so."

"Very well. Have you any questions?"

"Yes, sir. How much shall I be paid?"

Kallias and President Damoteles traded smiles. Kallias said: "The Council has voted to pay you two thousand drachmai, besides the cost of the bronze."

This was a better commission than that for the statues for the theater. I said:

"I thank you, my masters. May I ask another question?"

"Speak," said President Damoteles.

"Why was I chosen? I know I have annoyed some by premature and youthful boasts, and I also know that I'm the youngest practicing sculptor in Rhodes, with little to show."

Damoteles: "You have impressed some here with the skill you have already shown. Moreover, your new method of casting promises to speed the task; and in this project we want speed, lest Demetrios decide we mock him and come against us anyway. Go home and gather your gear. The Peripolos sails at dawn."

I went home and told my parents. To Kavaros I said: "Pack our gear. We're going to Karia on a job. And do not think to run away. I've taken out a policy on you from Dolon and Magnes, the best slave catchers in the world."

Kavaros grinned slyly. "Sure now, master darling, what would a poor Kelt on the run do in those wild countries of Asia? If he could not bespeak the people, they would like as not eat him for dinner."

From Rhodes the Karian coast, a hundred furlongs off, looks like a solid wall of blue-green hills, rising steeply to the tableland of Asia Minor. As one nears it, it opens out into bays and headlands.

The Peripolos, the old sacred trireme of Rhodes, with the red rose of Rhodes aglow on her sail, entered the Kaunian Gulf. On our left Mount Phoinix, crowned with its citadel, rose from the promontory of Kynos-Sema.

The ships of Demetrios stitched the waters of the gulf before us, rowing back and forth at exercises. After we had passed Mount Phoinix, every good stretch of beach had ships drawn up. Tubby merchantmen also plied the waters, bringing supplies to' Demetrios' army.

I stood on the forecastle deck with the embassy, looking keenly forward to seeing the great Demetrios, of whom many spoke as another Alexander. Would he make a suitable subject for my long-dreamt-of Colossus? Would he come up to my ideal of perfect manhood? I had seen him once, from afar, and had heard contradictory tales of his character. What was he really like?

On the deck Admiral Exekestos, a big bellowing potbellied man, argues with Rhesos, the Superintendent of Docks, about the design of ships.

"Look at that!" said the admiral, pointing to an enormous galley with a single bank of sweeps. A pair of light catapults sat on its forecastle deck, like grasshoppers crouched to spring; between them a statue of a Titan hurling a boulder rose from the stem post. The golden eagle of the Antigonians glowed from the sail.

"That," said the admiral, "is one of these seveners. Our spies tell us the Demetrios has over thirty ships above fivers in rate. What should we ever do against them!"

"Our triremes and triemiolias, with their highly trained rowers, can always outmaneuver those clumsy things," said Rhesos.

"Much good that would do us! These battle transports do not try to maneuver and ram; they disorganize the foe by an artillery bombardment, then grapple and overwhelm him by boarding. With so broad a deck, they can carry many times as many marines as we. The conventional trireme is as obsolete as the bronzen sword."

Rhesos shrugged. "We beat Attalos with them. And how could our taxpayers ever support sixers and seveners, with their hordes of hungry rowers?"

"Their extra cost is not so great as the number of rowers implies; for, with several men on each oar of a single bank, we should need but one trained rower for each oar. The rest can be labor of the lowest class."

"But still, where should we find so many rowers? Such ships may be practical for Antigonos, with the manpower of his vast satrapy to draw upon, but they were absurd for Rhodes."

"Not so, my dear Rhesos. The mainland of Hellas is caught in the pinch of poverty. Let word spread that several hundred places on our benches are open, and they'll swim hither to enlist. And we must learn to mount catapults on our ships, to match Demetrios' devices. I tell you, the state that falls behind in technical improvements is lost—"

"Ahoy!" shouted a man on the forecastle deck of the sevener. "Who are you?"

Our captain shouted back: "The Peripolos of Rhodes, bearing an embassy to the General Demetrios."

"This is the Devastator, of the Imperial Macedonian Navy," said the other. "Follow us."

The sevener turned ponderously towards Loryma, showing the eagle of gilded wood on her stern. As Loryma came into sight, I could see, in the fields around the city, archers shooting at butts and companies of infantry marching to and fro with long Macedonian pikes. Rhesos said:

"Whatever befall, the folk of Loryma will have their crops sorely hurt by trampling."

The anchorage was crowded. Many of Demetrios' ships, like the sevener that guided us, were too heavy to beach without special machinery. We threaded our way through the swarm of great war galleys with much exchange of shouts and curses between the captain of the Devastator and those of the other ships.

When we arrived at Loryma's lone pier, it was already occupied by a fiver on one side and a sevener on the other. We had to anchor and sit in the harbor for hours until the fiver finished loading and pulled out.

The shore swarmed with soldiers, slaves bearing burdens, camp followers, and sutlers selling food and supplies to the troops. Most of the townsfolk of Loryma were not to be seen. They prudently kept out of sight, not wishing to have soldiers bully them, rob them, or, in a moment of pique, slice off their heads. Moreover, they had sent all the free women with any pretensions to virtue back into the hills.

Demetrios' officers were everywhere, inspecting and commanding. A group of them bustled over to our side of the pier, nodding their tall crests of red and green and blue. Exekestos told them who we were. The officers shouted commands in Macedonian, and the oars were shipped. The ship was pulled up to the pier and made fast.

We climbed down the ladder, followed by our slaves with the luggage. Exekestos introduced himself and the rest of the embassy to the Antigonian officers.

"And who is the youth?" asked the senior Macedonian.

"Chares son of Nikon, a sculptor," said Exekestos. "To commemorate your lord's liberation of Athens, we plan to rear a heroic statue of your lord in our city. We brought Chares along to make sketches and models."

"A shrewd move," said the officer. "The Demetrios likes pretty boys."

He spoke to a youth who accompanied him and sent the lad racing up towards the town. In my younger days few things so enraged me as to be called a "pretty boy." But I had to learn not to make an issue of the matter on every occasion, lest I spend my life in quarrels and have no time left for art.

We made small talk with the Macedonians until the boy came back. After a whispered consultation between him and the senior officer, the latter said:

"The general cannot see the embassy until the day after tomorrow because of the press of business."

Beside me, Rhesos muttered: "By the! Does he deem himself a king already? One can get a sight of Pharnabazos sooner than of him."

"However," continued the officer, "we can let the sculptor start work at once. Go with the boy, what's-your-name."

I followed the youth with misgivings. On one hand, I am after all part Phoenician, and Phoenicians are not so free and easy towards homosexual love affairs as Hellenes. Moreover, I personally prefer women. On the other, I should find it hard to plead that I could not give in to the general's wishes because of a foreign prejudice. Some would even say it was my patriotic duty to yield.

Pondering gloomy thoughts, I followed the boy into the town's best house, from which Demetrios had evicted the owners.

I had seen Demetrios only once, when he entered Athens after taking Mounychia from Kasandros' men. He had marched through the Melitean Gate with a company of foot. The citizens, summoned to a special assembly, gathered at the Pnyx. Demetrios went past, tall and splendid in purple and gold. Some said that this was Alexander come again— nay more, that this was an improvement over the original Alexander. Demetrios was not only taller; he was also more humanly likable than the tense and fiery little Titan.

Inside, Demetrios had told the Athenians (who expected some crushing levy to pay their liberator's soldiers) that he had come to restore their ancient liberties; that their old constitution was again in force; and that his father would send them 150,000 medimnoi* (* A medimnos = 1-1/2 bushels.) of wheat and timber enough for a hundred triremes. It was, no doubt, their relief at not being squeezed by their latest overlord that led the Athenians to bestow all those preposterous honors upon Demetrios and Antigonos: that they should henceforth be known as Tutelary Gods and Saviors; that the month Mounychion should be renamed "Demetrion"; and much besides.

A hunchbacked usher led me into the andron. Here I found the general and three other men on the floor, poring over a diagram on a great sheet of papyrus, measuring four by six feet. The diagram showed a war galley. Around the room lay not only rolls of similar sheets but also wooden models of ships, siege towers, catapults, and other engines of war.

Demetrios spoke: "I think your niner would work, true enough. But tell me, what is the largest rate ever built?"

The man addressed said: "Let me think, my lord. The divine Alexander once built a tenner, and of course your father made ten of them for his attack on Tyre. Some are still in service."

"Has anybody ever built a ship with more than ten files of rowers on a side?"

"Not to my knowledge, my lord."

Demetrios grinned and slapped the man on the back. "Then we will build an elevener! Draw up the plans, with estimates of cost. Arrange the rowers in two banks, six-over-five." He looked up at me. "Rejoice! Are you the sculptor?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is your name?"

"Chares Nikonos, of Lindos. And this is my man."

"Very well, Chares, get to work. Do what you like, only do not bother me."

"Sir!" I said. "What is it?"

"I may have to bother you later on, to do your statue justice. I shall need to make some measurements and perhaps a life mask."

"What is a life mask?"

"A mold of your face, in clay."

"It sounds uncomfortable. We shall see." Demetrios got up off the floor and shouted to the usher: "Send in Epimachos!"

While the naval architects rolled up their plan, an Athenian came in and began to talk about a monstrous belfry or movable siege tower which, I gathered, Demetrios hoped soon to build.

At first I thought he meant to use it against Rhodes. The thought so alarmed me that my hands shook as I sketched. Then Demetrios said:'

"But what is the ground before Salamis like?"

I almost dropped my charcoal. There are two places called Salamis: one an island with a small city of the same name off the coast of Attika, in sight of Peiraieus; the other a city on the east coast of Cyprus. Demetrios would hardly mean to attack the Attic Salamis, as he had just come from Athens, which was friendly to him. If, on the other hand, he was bound towards Cyprus, now held by the troops of Ptolemaios, this news would certainly interest my government.

I hid my excitement and bent my attention to my subject. Demetrios Antigonou was one of the handsomest men of his time. He was no more than five years older than I—that is to say, about thirty. His light brown hair curled to his nape in the kind of mane affected by the divine Alexander. Demetrios also resembled Alexander somewhat in feature, although Alexander had been a little man, whereas Demetrios was six feet tall and magnificently muscled.

The main difference lay in this: Demetrios kept, even in maturity, a certain childish or womanish softness and roundness of feature, which contrasted with his Heraklean body. He wore only shoes and a simple tunic, though this shirt was of the finest wool, with a broad border of true Tyrian purple.

I worked for hours. Demetrios was a restless model, always jumping up and moving about. A certain amount of this is helpful to the sculptor, as it shows him the play of light and shade on the subject's features. But Demetrios was never in the same position for three heartbeats. Now and then he cast a glance at me and struck a heroic attitude, with his chin up and shoulders drawn back; the next instant, oblivious of me, he would be absorbed in some new military problem.

When Demetrios had finished with Epimachos and his belfry, he sent for his chief of artillery, Apollonios, who brought in a model of a catapult of new design. At last the general dismissed Apollonios and said:

"That is all for today, sculptor. How far along are you?"

"Another day and a half should finish it, sir."

"Good. I shall see you tomorrow then. Rejoice!" Out he swept.

The Rhodian embassy had quarters in tents on the edge of town. When I retired that night, the ambassadors had not yet come back from dinner with Demetrios. Next morning I arose to find Exekestos seated upon a stool in front of his tent with his head in his hands. I said:

"Good day, sir."

The admiral groaned and looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. "You are a kakodaimon sent to haunt me for my sins," he said. "Go away."

"Why, sir—"

"Oh, never mind. Dear Herakles! I am not without experience of the world, yet in trying to keep up with these Macedonians in the drinking of wine neat, I am but a babe. Beware the Macedonian, Chares, especially when he proffers hospitality."

"A wild party, sir?"

"So it seemed to us, though to Demetrios and his fawning parasites I daresay it was as tame as barley broth. Imagine, mature and respectable men like us dancing a Cretan fling! And the women those Corinthiasts had in—but then, I must not shock your young ears. How went the sculptural session?"

When I told of Demetrios' remark about Salamis, Exekestos said: "Aha! We may have time to prepare our defense after all. How far have you gone?"

"Two more days should finish the task. Tomorrow I shall make a sketch in clay, and the next day take measurements and perhaps a life mask."

"Go to it, and keep your ears open and your mouth shut."

The next day I spent in modeling a sketch of the general's head in the round. Demetrios conferred for hours with his officers about pay, promotion, food, and equipment for his men. Trying to listen to the talk in hope of picking up something of value slowed my work, so that I had not finished my model when Demetrios departed.

At the tents Exekestos again asked how nearly done I was. I told him: "I should be finished late tomorrow. When will the embassy complete its mission?"

"Our meeting with Demetrios is planned for tomorrow morning. If all go as I expect, we shall be ready to leave at the end of the meeting."

Next morning the hunchback ushered me into the andron that Demetrios used as his office. As I stepped into the room, there was a sharp sound. Something struck me a heavy blow on the forehead.

Demetrios and Apollonios crouched on the other side of the room behind the model of the latter's new catapult. The general was rocking and holding his sides with mirth, throwing back his head and opening wide his mouth to emit loud, braying laughs.

I had left a bucket of water clay in the room, with damp cloths over the bucket to keep the clay from drying out. Demetrios had scooped out a fistful of clay, molded it into a ball, and laid an ambush for me.

With the best grace I could muster, I peeled the flattened lump of clay off my face and got to work, while Demetrios dictated letters. Presently the hunchback appeared.

"My lord!" he said. "The Rhodians are here."

"Tell them to wait, Evagoras," said Demetrios. "I must dress to receive them."

The general went out. After a long interval he returned in his diplomatic robes. A gorgeous sight he was, from the headband spangled with gold down to the purple felt boots decorated with patterns in gold thread. He always had a weakness for fancy dress, and now he had outdone himself.

While I quietly put the finishing touches on the model, the embassy was presented.

"Well, my good men," said Demetrios, "the reason I have summoned you is this. The bearing of Ptolemaios towards my father has become intolerable. He has invaded Kilikia by sea, and, although I drove his force from those parts, he committed much damage, which he refuses to pay for. He oppresses our friends, both Phoenician and Greek, in Cyprus, who bear the tyranny of his brother Menelaos. With the cruel Kasandros and the grim Lysimachos he plots our overthrow.

"We have sent him a final demand, which he has rejected. The sword being thus forced into our hand, honor demands that we sheathe it not until justice has been done. I am now on my way to do battle with Menelaos.

"Placed as you Rhodians are off the coast of Anatolia, you must know that your interests are closely linked with ours. What affects the satrapy of Antigonos affects you. It is therefore only right that you, who enjoy the security bought by our hard-fought victories, shall undertake your proper share of the toil and the risk. As the virtue, the courage, and the justice of Rhodians are known throughout the civilized world, I need not belabor the point. Nay more, your own sense of duty will point out to you the only path you can decently follow."

"And what is that, sir?" said Exekestos.

"Why, to join us in our war against the corrupt and decadent tyrant of the Delta—against him who sits, like a fat spider in the center of his web, safe in Egypt while sending forth his armies to fight and his agents to bribe and intrigue. How say you? Ten ships—the number you sent six years ago with my father to the first liberation of Hellas— would do."

Exekestos replied: "You forget, O Demetrios, that Rhodes has a treaty of amity with the Ptolemaios, who has ever been our friend. The honor whereof you spoke forbids us to attack him. We shall be glad to have the friendship of the great Antigonos and his valiant son, but not at the cost of our ties with Egypt."

While they argued, I put the finishing touches on the sketch. They talked for an hour, sent for wine, and talked for another hour. They cited precedents and claims going back to the siege of Troy. As the discussion ground on, Demetrios ever became more demanding and haughty. When it transpired that the Rhodians would not retreat a digit from their stand, Demetrios stood up and said:

"Then go your ways, dog-faced little Rhodians. I have neither the time for fruitless haggling nor the meekness to beg for that which I may demand.. But think not that your refusal will be forgotten."

The embassy bowed itself out. The general turned to me. "Are you done yet, little man?"

I said: "I have finished my clay sketch, sir. Now I must take measurements."

"So? Let us be at it then." Demetrios pulled off his robe and shirt and stood naked before us.

Kavaros and I began measuring him with tape and calipers while I noted the figures on my tablet. Certainly Demetrios was a splendidly developed man, though no god; neither golden thigh nor unwinking gaze had he, nor did he glide through the air instead of walking.

When we had finished, I stepped back to see if I had overlooked anything. Demetrios was staring at me with a significant look in his eye. He said to Kavaros:

"Leave us, slave."

The Kelt looked a question at me. I said: "You may go, Kavaros. Wait outside."

Kavaros went. Demetrios led me to a couch.

"Sit, Rhodian," he said, drawing me down. "How would you like to work for me? I can find a useful post for a beautiful youth like you, especially if he show true friendship towards his general."

"But, sir, my first loyalty must be to my city!"

"Oh, take it not so much to heart. The day of these little self-governing city-states is done, though they know it not. This is the age of empire, when an able man who fears not to risk all on one throw may win the rule of the world! Were it not well to be the friend of such a man?"

"But, my lord—"

"Besides, the high and mighty line that your city is taking may well result in its utter destruction, like that of Tyre. You would not go down to the shades with your stiff-necked fools of countrymen, now would you?"

As he spoke, Demetrios caressed me. Despite his faults, which were many and grave, there was something wonderfully attractive about him; he could radiate charm even when sitting perfectly still.

But I have explained my view of such liaisons, and I had no intention of being bullied into one of them, even by the world's greatest general, and even though he was twice my size. I said:

"But, sir, we haven't yet finished our work!"

"Forsooth? I thought the measurements concluded matters."

"No, I must make a life mask. As you won't be in Rhodes to pose, I shall need one faithfully to reproduce your face."

"Oh, let us first pleasure ourselves. One little kiss—"

"No, sir; no, sir! I could not possibly concentrate on my art after such an ecstasy. I'll tell you: Let me make the mask, and then you may do as you like."

"This mask sounds like a disagreeable ordeal," quoth Demetrios.'

"It is not so bad if the subject doesn't panic, and only thus can I do justice to the beauty of your person."

"Do you really think me beautiful, dear Chares?"

"Your beauty outdazzles the sun's."

"I hope you really mean that. Of course my parasites say so, too, but they are a lot of wretched flatterers, with no more greatness of soul than the modern Athenians. They would praise an ass among apes for a meal." Demetrios sighed. "Verily, the great man finds gold and rubies more easily come by than true friendship."

"Yes, my lord, but let me show you how this mask works. You might even find a military application for the trick. They say you can find one for practically anything."

Thus by distracting the warlord I managed to wrench out of his grasp. "Kavaros!" I called.

"See that you keep your word, fair Chares," said Demetrios. "You shall never leave this dwelling otherwise."

"Never fear, sir. Kavaros, mix up a batch of soft clay for a life mask. Now, General, recline on your back. Let me put this cushion under your head. Are you comfortable? Next, I oil your face. That is so the clay shall easily come off ... Now I put these straws up your nostrils, so you can breathe through the clay. Hold them, please. Close your eyes. You must hold still for most of an hour, but you've had practice on the drill field."

I smeared the clay on his face. When he grunted, I said: "No, sir, don't try to talk or you will spoil the mask and perhaps get a mouthful of clay."

I built up the mold until there was nothing to be seen of Demetrios' face but a large blob of clay. I said:

"Now we must wait. It's tedious, but we must all suffer a little for art. The mask may seem to grow hot, but that will do no harm. If the straws collapse so you cannot breathe, wave your arms and I'll free you. There is no danger. We shall be right here, ready to help. I'll tell you when the clay is ready to be taken off. Clean up this mess, Kavaros. We mustn't leave the general's headquarters looking thus."

While talking, loudly enough to cover the sound of my movements, I tiptoed about and helped the Kelt to gather up my gear and the model of General Demetrios' head. We stole to the door. I cast a glance back at the couch on which Demetrios lay. Although his face was hidden, an observant man could still infer the tenor of his thoughts.

We sauntered boldly out of the house and down the street towards the waterfront. Said Kavaros:

"And what did himself want of you, young master? Is it what I am thinking?"

"You think correctly, old boy. I told him: after the making of the mask."

"You mean you walked off and left—oh, what an enormous sly fellow you are!" Kavaros began to laugh uncontrollably, though I told him to stop. He guffawed, gurgled, snorted, sputtered, and shook with mirth all the way to the ship.

"We had a king of the Tektosages like that to once," he said. "One of his young men stabbed him in a fit of jealousy, poor man. Loving women is risky enough."

"I can tell you one thing," I said. "This lecherous warlord is no ideal of mine, to be immortalized by a colossus in bronze. And say nothing to anyone of our little trick."

"Why, sir?"

"If we keep quiet, he may do so, too, rather than look like a fool. But if we boast of outwitting him, he may feel that honor compels him to make trouble for us."

I reported to Exekestos and said: "All done, sir." The rowers filed aboard, each bearing his personal cushion. The sailors pushed off with their poles. The coxswain gave the beat, and the flutist took it up. And away went the Peripolos.

Had I been less avid for glory and less urgently in need of money, I might have subcontracted part of my new task to Lykon and others arid thus have finished sooner. However, I did' not, thus confirming Lykon in his bitter dislike of me. Except for the pedestal, which task I gave to Makar, I did all the work myself, with the help of Kavaros and a few unskilled workmen hired from time to time.

A twelve-foot bronze cannot be cast in one piece. I therefore had to make, first, a small clay model, and then a full-sized model in clay, and take partial molds from the latter. Then I had to cast separate pieces—one for the trunk, one for each limb, and so forth—to be joined by riveting. To make the statue stable, I planned to cast the lower parts of thicker metals than the upper, a trick I learned from Lysippos. Further to secure it, I planned to insert iron braces into holes in the pedestal, extending up inside the legs of the statue.

I was putting the finishing touches on the small model, showing Demetrios with spear, shield, helmet, and boots, but otherwise nude, when Kallias' ruddy, round face appeared at the door.

"Rejoice, dear Chares!" cried he, all smiles. "I would have come to see your work sooner, but I have been gathering material for my sluing crane. How is our Demetrios coming? Ah, splendid! Are you sure he prefers his clothes off?"

"That's what he told me," I said. "This is a conventional pose of the god Ares, which Demetrios wishes to affect."

"Well, he is the man to please. Not that I should care to see myself standing naked in the marketplace, but I am no Hellene. Here, Kavaros, leave off your work for a while. Take this and go buy yourself a drink. Your master and I would confer."

"I thank your lordship," said Kavaros. He trotted off down the path, whistling a wild Keltic tune.

"Now then," said Kallias, "since our contract for the Sophokles is in abeyance because of this war threat, I once more find myself pressed. I therefore expect you to observe the same terms with me on the contract for the Demetrios as we had planned on the Sophokles."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning a commission of one-fourth of the total, or five hundred drachmai. I do not ask for a share of your allowance for the cost of the bronze, but then I am not greedy."

I found myself liking Kallias less and less. "Look here," I said, "this contract was given me by the President himself, without any mention of a piece for you. I see no reason to make you a sharer in all my gains."

"Ah, but who arranged things so that you got the contract? I did. I would have made my terms clear before the job was formally offered, had I had a chance." He touched the model with a finger that bore a massy golden ring. "Now that I look closely, I am not sure that I like your execution. It has too much of this low modern realism, not enough idealistic inspiration. Would it not be a shame if you finished the statue and the Council, on my advice, refused it?"

I said: "Just for instance, what would happen if I bore tales to the President?"

He grinned. "Try it. It were my word against yours, and I think I know whose would prevail."

He was probably right. With his charm and glibness, even though a foreigner, he could talk the Council into belief that night was day, offal was gold, and Kallias of Arados was an honest man.

I tried to beat him down at least to the hundred and fifty drachmai agreed upon for the Sophokles, but to no avail. At last I said:

"Go walk! If you will hurry up the payment of my first installment, I'll give you what you ask."

"Good boy! As your Sophokles says, no word that brings a profit is wrong. Let me compliment you on the splendid showing of your catapult team. With such as you to defend her, the City of Roses needs fear no foreign foe."

"Save you," I said. He went off with a laugh and a wave.

When I got home for dinner, my father said: "Chares, the Genetor will visit us this evening, bringing his wife and daughter, so that you can see the maid."

"But Father! I'm not ready ..."

I argued in vain. My father said: "I want no more trouble, young man! It's enough that you're allowed to meet her. As long as I'm feeding you, I expect this much consideration at least."

I was too low in the mind to persist in the argument. The girl turned out to be small, slight, blue-eyed, and fair-haired; not at all ugly, but making no more impression upon me than as if she had been a sparrow on the roof tiles. She spoke in a timid little squeak:

"It is an honor to meet you, O Chares. I will try to do my wifely duty towards you in all things."

"Of course she will; she is a good girl!" said Genetor. He beckoned his slave. "I brought a jug of real Chian—it cost me a pretty obolos, too—in which we can pledge the union of our families. Let us pray to the Bright One to give these young people a healthy, wholesome life together and send them strong sons."

I drank the precious golden stuff silently, thinking that I now knew how a fly feels in a spider's web while the spider swathes him in gossamer the better to devour him. I thought, if ever I did wed, I should prefer a wife with more sparkle and drive than this poor frightened child. The kind of woman I thought I wanted was said to occur in foreign lands—in Egypt, say, or Persia. While Io no doubt had many of what Hellenes consider wifely virtues, I was sure she would bore me to death in a month.

I continued to drill my catapult crew, though now we met but once a ten-day. We wore light steel caps and leather jacks of uniform pattern, so that we looked a little more like soldiers. There had been but one bad accident, when Eros' loader strayed into the path of one of his own engine's throwing arms and had his shoulder broken. The unfortunate man never did recover the full use of his arm.

After these drills, Onas and Berosos and I would sit in Evios' tavern for an hour over a cup of wine, recounting stories and advising one another about life's problems. Onas had many tales to tell of the wonders and mysteries of his ancient land. While his purpose seemed to be to impress us with the magical might of Egyptian wizardry, the things that fascinated me the most were the architectural and sculptural wonders of the country: the pyramids, the temples, and the colossal statues.

Boedromion came, and with it bands of small boys begging from door to door, singing:

We were into Pyanepsion; the first rain of the season had fallen. I worked on the large model while Makar chiseled away at the pedestal. One day Glôs the engraver came into the studio, puffing from haste and wild with excitement.

"Antigonos has sent a fleet to attack us!" he cried. "Look!"

Out in the blue was a squadron of ships. I peered and said: "That's no invasion fleet. I see but five galleys."

"Then what do you mean to do?"

"We shall see."

The ships rowed slowly past the harbor, the sun sparkling on their deck fighters' armor. They moved on down the coast towards Lindos, then slowly turned about and came back.

A merchantman came into sight around the North Point, sailing before Zephyros. The five galleys closed in upon it. There was no fight, but presently two galleys set out towards Loryma with the merchantman in tow.

"It's a blockade," said Glôs.

Now the old Peripolos put out from the Great Harbor. Although she was plainly coming to parley, the Antigonian ships bore down upon her in such a menacing manner that she hastily backed into the harbor, not daring to turn for fear of exposing her side to their rams.

Trumpets blasted down in the harbor, and the sun winked on moving metal. I said: "Perhaps we had better go down to see if they want us."

At the entrance to the dockyards I found the rest of my catapult squad and some of our officers in a fine state of confusion. First, Bias told us to drag Talos out of the arsenal. When we had done so, the battalion leader bade us take the catapult back into the shed. Then Kallias told us to wait. After we had waited for hours, and the sun was sinking, he appeared again.

"Which catapult of the Eros type has a full crew here?" he said. "Call the roll, Bias."

It turned out that Talos was the only one whose entire squad was present. Even Onas, usually late to everything, was there.

Kallias said:

"The Board of Generals has decided to give battle on the morrow. To face the Myraina, the sevener out there, we must have at least one catapult on our ships. As an experiment we shall mount Talos on the bow of our newest trireme, the Halia. Get that engine down to the quays, quickly."

"What about our dinner?" wailed Berosos.

"Dinner!" shouted Kallias. "The man's city is attacked and he talks of dinner!"

We hauled the Talos to where the Halia lay. Bias was already on the forecastle arguing with the shipwrights. He insisted that the figurehead of Halia riding a dolphin must be sawn down so that the catapult could be centered, while they wanted the catapult mounted off the centerline and the ship left as it was.

"Won't it make your boat tip over sidewise?" said Bias.

The head shipwright laughed. "Listen to the landlubber! Look here, mate, this little dinghy takes a hundred and eighty rowers, besides sailors and marines. Your little spring-trap don't weigh no more than six strong men, so the list will be so small you couldn't even see it. Besides, we'll pile the darts on the other side to balance."

The shipwright won. We worked far into the night, installing clamps and cleats to hold the catapult to the deck. We also built a rack for the darts and low wicker screens around the forecastle, like the spray lattices of an undecked ship, to protect the crew from missiles. At last we hauled the engine up the plank to the deck.

Half the Rhodian navy was in its home port, while the other half patrolled the coasts of the Aegean for pirates.

At Rhodes itself we had six ships that day, four of them standard triremes and two of the new triemiolias. This is a modified trireme, with its oars and rigging specially arranged to facilitate the pursuit of pirates.

Facing us was the Antigonian squadron, with three ships on duty and more at Loryma, awaiting their turn to relieve the blockading squadron.

The Halia's coxswain set the stroke with his call of: "Rhyppapai! Papai! Rhyppapai! Papai!" The flutist took up the beat with his mournful toot as we rowed out of the Great Harbor in single file. As we cleared the moles, the ships began to roll and pitch. The wind tumbled gray-and-white clouds across the sky like masses of windblown weed; the sun blinked on and off. There was confusion among the rowers, with oars clattering and coxswains shouting.

I had a nervous knot in the midriff—less, I think, fear of the coming battle than fear that I should, in my first action, play the coward or the fool before my comrades.

"Sick already am I," moaned Berosos, looking green under his swarthiness.

Every time our ram dipped into the water, the splash sent spray whipping over the forecastle. We crouched be-, hind our screens with the six archers. The file of marines, rich youths in splendid armor, occupied the quarterdeck, the wind whipping their scarlet cloaks and many-hued horsehair plumes.

The Antigonians, who had been up around North Point, headed towards us. Their sailors hastily furled their small battle sails and lowered the light boat masts.

Captain Damophilos hurried forward, saying: "We shall divide into two squadrons, one consisting of this ship and the triemiolias. It will be our honor to attack the Myraina."

From their faces, my squad would have been happy to leave that honor to others. Berosos said:

"But, Captain, two catapults has the big ship. What will she be doing with them?"

"You do not think to fight a battle without risk, do you?"

"No, but it were well if one could," said the Babylonian, raising a wan smile from his squad mates.

Damophilos said: "Do not try to be funny; it is the wrong time. If it will hearten you, know that Demetrios' shipboard artillery is made up of three-span dart throwers, which we easily outrange. Three notes on the trumpet, thus"—he whistled—"mean 'shoot at will.' Four notes, like this—mean 'cease shooting'."

I asked: "What if the trumpeter be slain?"

"If there be too much noise for my commands to be heard, I will send messengers."

"How shall we aim the ship, since the catapult is solidly fixed to the deck?"

"Leave that to me. I will sight from the stern past the bow post and command the helmsman. You worry about range. Does everybody understand?"

When he had satisfied himself, Damophilos hastened back to the quarterdeck. Onas said:

"Great gods of Egypt, they are almost upon us!"

The Antigonian ships were closing fast. Pronax, the loader, said:

"Herakles! It's too bad we didn't have some target practice afloat before this battle. How shall we ever hit anything with the catapult leaping like a kid in the spring?"

I said: "What range do you make, Berosos?"

Berosos shaded his eyes. "Twenty plethra—perhaps nineteen."

Because of her size, the Myraina could not quickly stop or turn. Nevertheless, she was much faster than any other ship present, having two hundred and eighty rowers. She pulled ahead of the two Antigonian triremes. The other Rhodian squadron, having drawn off to one side, aimed to cut in behind the Myraina and separate her from her companions.

Captain Damophilos shouted a command. Our rowers dug in their oars and braked to a stop, while the two triemiolias, the Euryalê and the Active, raced ahead.

Berosos said: "In the name of Mardoukos, Chares, let us load. In range are we."

"Cockers, cock your piece," I said. I had held off loading because if a catapult is left cocked too long, the skeins lose some of their power. "What range, Berosos?"

"Fourteen plethra."

"Pawls in the sixteenth notch," I said, trying to read the range table from the fluttering sheet of papyrus. "Load your piece."

"May we shoot?" said Onas, nervously hefting his mallet.

"Hold your tongue! Stand by."

I looked back and caught the eye of Damophilos, who nudged the trumpeter, who blew three notes.

Onas at once struck the trigger knob. Talos crashed. As Halia's bow was digging into the waves at the end of a down-roll, the dart plunged into the water far short of the Myraina.

"Zeus ruin you, you god-detested fool!" I shouted. "You're not to shoot until I command!"

"We ought to shoot when the ship is level," said Berosos.

"No," said a cocker, "we ought to shoot when the ship is at the end of a roll, and standing still, and make allowances for the slant of the deck."

"Be quiet, all of you," I said. "Pull up your recoiler. Cock your piece. Fourteenth—no, thirteenth notch. Load your piece——"

There came across the water the sound of a catapult's discharge. A three-span dart whistled past with an unnerving sound and splashed into the water astern of the Halia. My crew leaped and ducked like chickens at whom a hawk has stooped.

"Get back!" I screamed. I waited for one more pitch of the ship. Then, as it neared a level position on its up-roll, I cried: "Shoot!"

Onas had been reciting a spell; hence he was slow with his mallet. As a result, the deck was slanted up as he smote, and the dart flew high above the Myraina.

A second sound of discharge came from the sevener, and a dart whizzed towards us and struck with a thud, a few feet away. Berosos shrieked with fear and covered his eyes.

"So much for your Egyptian spells!" said Pronax, pulling the missile out of the planking. "At least we shall have an extra dart when ours give out."

"Pull up your recoiler. Cock your piece," I said. "What's the range?"

"Nine plethra," said Berosos.

"Tenth notch ... Load your piece."

Meanwhile the Euryalê and the Active drove forward, converging to take the Myraina's oars from either side. A strident yelling arose as the triemiolias dug in to get up speed and then shipped their oars on the side towards the sevener. Their quarry could not follow suit, because a sevener's long sweeps cannot be quickly withdrawn through the oarlocks.

Missiles flew from the deck of the Myraina to the triemiolias and back again: arrows, javelins, and sling bullets. The Myraina's oarsmen laid their oars back flat against the sides of their ship. The triemiolias struck glancing blows against these compacted masses of oars. There was a groaning and cracking of timbers.

A grapnel on the end of a rope flew from the Myraina to one of the smaller ships, but somebody caught it and threw it overboard before it could catch in the woodwork. Then the ships were past one another and rowing again.

Berosos said: "If they once grapple us, lost are we. They must have a hundred marines aboard that thing."

I was about to give the word to shoot when I realized that the Halia no longer faced her target. The flutist's pipe resounded again; the trireme's oars drove her on a curving course to take her out of the path of the Myraina. Belatedly the trumpet sounded to cease shooting.

The sevener altered her course to keep headed towards us. The Myraina's catapults crashed again, and the darts whizzed past our stern, causing the gleaming marines to duck.

Still the Myraina strained on her starboard oars to catch us on her ram. Closer and closer came the great bronze beak, green with patina and spotted white with sea growths, lifting out of the water in cascades of foam and plunging back in. Above it reared the figurehead of the sea monster for which the ship was named.

Now did Rhodian seamanship show itself. The Halia's rowers, in perfect time, strained at their oars until they bent, to give us that extra little barleycorn of needed speed. We plunged through the heaving green seas and away.

The double-pay man in command of the archers said: "Get out of the way, mechanics, so we can fight!"

He and his archers aimed their bows over the wicker screen. The bows twanged; the airborne arrows hissed away. Arrows from the Myraina whistled past us. Two stuck quivering in the forecastle deck. Back in the waist, a sailor screamed with an arrow through his body. The Myraina rowed across our stern so close that it is a wonder her oars did not strike us. Thick catheads, projecting from her sides above the waterline, shielded her from ramming by smaller ships. From her deck, crowded with yelling archers and marines, came a shower of missiles.

A sling bullet bounced off the deck and glanced from my ribs, fetching a grunt from me and leaving a three-day bruise. On the quarterdeck our marines cast javelins.

The ships drew apart. Damophilos shouted: "Port rowers, drag your oars! Steersmen, steer hard to port!"

The Halia turned in a short circle, so as to bring up facing the stern of the receding Myraina. Meanwhile the triemiolias followed a wider circle in the other direction.

I glanced towards the other squadron, maneuvering with the two Antigonian triremes. Shouts and crashes floated across the heaving waters, but all five ships were still in action.

Damophilos brought us around, into the wake of the sevener, and gave the signal to shoot. When Onas tried to put another spell on a dart, Pronax said:

"Forget this nonsense! Pray to the Bright One and see what happens." He clasped his hands. "Heavenly ancestor, far-casting Apollon, god of the sun and of Rhodes, aid thy children in their need ..."

Talos crashed. The dart rose, skimmed over the stern of Myraina, and plunged into her waist. We yelled with delight as Pronax, grinning, picked up the next dart.

We all prayed this time; even I. I might not believe in gods, but a battle was no time for testing philosophical theories. We made another hit.

The triemiolias rowed parallel to the Myraina on her left. They were not fast enough to get ahead of her, and if they turned toward her, she would escape them before they could close.

This time, however, the sevener saved her foes from a stern chase by wheeling towards them. We followed, shooting dart after dart.

Closer came the Myraina to the smaller ships. As before, the latter converged upon her in hope of breaking her oars.

At the last moment, like some great African beast in a rage, the Myraina lurched to one side. With a terrible crash her ram stuck the Active's bow just aft of the base of the latter's ram.

Then followed one of the most extraordinary scenes of instant destruction that I have ever beheld. In a twinkling the Active fell all to pieces. Men and parts of the ship poured into the water. One moment, there rowed a stout triemiolia; the next, nothing could be seen but a tangle of boards, spars, oars, ropes, and splashing, struggling men, screaming thinly over the whistle of wind and the roar of battle. Ropes were tangled around the Myraina's ram, from which splintered boards slid off into the foaming water.

A second crash followed, as the Euryalê struck the starboard side of the Myraina. Although the catheads warded the larger ship from the ram of the smaller, the triemiolia broke several of the Myraina's oars.

The Halia now neared the stern of the Myraina, which, slowed by her collision with the Active, was barely moving. Debris tangled the sevener's oars and trailed from her ram, further retarding her movement.

On the quarterdeck of the Myraina stood a clump of officers, wrapped in wind-whipped scarlet cloaks. As my ship approached, I picked out the Antigonian admiral by his gilded armor and by the shield bearers huddled about him.

As we closed, our archers began to shoot. The shield bearers brought up their shields, so that the arrows aimed at the admiral struck harmlessly against them; the other officers ducked out of the way. A squad of Antigonian archers began shooting back, though the wind blew their shafts every which way.

"Cock your piece," I said, "third notch. Load your piece. We'll try to pick off that popinjay."

"Range two and a half," said Berosos. "Range two plethra. Range ..."

I said a short but fervent prayer to Helios-Apollon; then, when our bow stopped heaving for an instant: "Shoot!"

Onas struck his knob. Away went the dart. I felt a pang of disappointment when I saw that the missile was going to miss. Then, at the last minute, like a puff of breath from the lips of the god, a blast of wind swerved it. It plunged into the group on the Myraina's quarterdeck.

The group flew apart in a whirl of limbs and a flutter of garments. There was shouting and scurrying on the deck of the sevener. All on the Halia howled with joy.

I would have loaded again, but Damophilos sounded the signal to cease shooting. With his hands cupped around his mouth, he bellowed:

"You up forward, hold fast! We are about to ram!"

The chant of the coxswain came faster as the Halia picked up speed. The Euryalê lay off to the right of the Myraina like a wounded sea beast, hardly moving.

Now, however, the Myraina also speeded up. She plowed through the tangle that remained of the Active and headed for the Asiatic shore. With a final exchange of arrows, she raised her boat mast, hoisted her boat sail, and drew out of range.

I saw that the other fight had also ended. Although no ships seemed to have been sunk, the two Antigonian triremes were also rowing in the direction of Kynos-Sema. They were low in the water and sluggish, laboring like crippled centipedes with many oars broken or lost. Our three other triremes seemed in no better case.

The Halia stopped at the mass of wreckage and began hauling swimmers out of the water, by rope and oar and clutching hand, to cough and retch on the deck. Most of the Active's crew were still alive, clinging to oars and timbers. All but one of the marines, however, had been drowned by the weight of their armor; the lucky man had happened to seize the yard as the ship broke up.

While we hauled the dripping survivors out of the wrack, the Antigonian ships receded. Berosos shouted:

"Behold, one of them sinks!"

It was true; one of the Antigonian triremes was almost awash. Her oars had stopped. As we watched, the Myraina came alongside to take off her people. These were still clambering up the sevener's sweeps and sides when the trireme rolled quietly over and lay bottom up, like a wallowing whale, with waves breaking against her keel.

By the time we had rescued all of the Active's crew who were still afloat, the Myraina and her remaining consort were small in the distance. The high, bright sun lit up the golden eagles on their sterns. As they dipped and bobbed off into the blue distance towards Asia Minor, our five ships clustered, and the captains conferred in shouts. Bits of wreckage from the Active drifted past.

Our officers soon gave up the idea of chasing the Antigonians. Except for the Halia, every one of our surviving ships had taken under-water damage. Sailors bailed and pumped furiously; pailfuls of water, glittering like showers of gems, flew up and over their sides. So our squadron limped back into the Great Harbor.

The moles and rooftops were covered with Rhodians, who cheered us lustily even though our victory had been, not an overwhelming triumph, but a barely achieved repulse of a might foe who would surely return for further reckoning. We marched out the shipyard gate through cheering crowds and returned to our homes. And so ended the bloody business of the day.

Two days later a messenger summoned me from my studio to a special meeting of the Assembly. Wondering whether I was to be commended or condemned, I followed him. I was keenly interested in the Assembly meeting, as I had never seen one.

The full citizens were spread around the seats of the old theater, wrapped in cloaks of many colors, for even in balmy Rhodes it sometimes waxes cool in late autumn. The Councilmen and the magistrates occupied a reserved section. I was hustled to a seat in the front row, where sat a number of those who had fought in the sea battle. Here were Admiral Exekestos and the ships' captains, the sun flashing on their best parade armor. After a long wait for late arrivals, President Damoteles made a speech praising our heroism.

Rhodians have a tendency to carry eloquence to the point where it becomes a vice. Listening to the wordy and windy declamations of our public men, I have sometimes wished to be back in the Peloponnesos, hearing the Spartans' curt one-word replies.

However, even Damoteles' rhetoric flagged at last. He said: "Chares Nikonos, stand forth."

With pounding heart and flushing face, I obeyed, Damoteles said:

"O Chares, for slaying the Antigonian admiral, thus putting the mighty foe to flight, the city of Rhodes confers upon you this medal."

He hung around my neck a golden sun disk, four digits wide from tip to tip of the spreading rays and suspended from a purple ribbon. Then others were called up, the highest in rank coming last. Some received sun disks on ribbons like mine. The captains got larger sun disks on golden chains, while Admiral Exekestos was honored with a Rhodian naval crown: a thin diadem of gold with a sun disk in front, over his brow, and roses and tridents at sides and back. Solon the goldsmith must have labored far into the night to finish these gleaming baubles in time for presentation.

Proud as I was of my medal, I could not help thinking that, had I been a full citizen, I might have obtained a better one—say, one with a chain. I looked about the Assembly and set my jaw, vowing by Helios-Apollon and all the gods to sit there as a voter someday.

Python of Kallithea, who had captained the Euryalê, invited all the decorated ones to his house to dine. The feast turned into an immoderate revel, for Captain Python was a lavish host.

Python was one of a group of sea-loving Rhodian magnates who take their trierarchies so seriously that, instead of merely paying their assessments for the maintenance of a ship and leaving its actual command to a hired vice-captain, they insist upon running the vessel themselves. Sometimes this works out well, and from this group most of Rhodes's admirals are chosen. Sometimes, however, the amateur captain has faults such that it were better for him to stay ashore, collect his rents, and leave the command of the ship to the working-class professional.

Although I later came to know Python better, I paid him little heed on this occasion save to note that he was a tall, fair-haired man who laughed a great deal. The spirit of Dionysos had its way with me, so that my memory for the latter part of the repast is clouded. When my head cleared again, I was sitting in a waterfront tavern, arm in arm with friends and strangers and bawling naughty songs in chorus. Our harmony was hampered by the lusty bellows of Onas. The Egyptian was one of those who cannot carry a tune but always insists on trying, in a voice to slay the night raven itself.

As my wits returned to their post of command, I perceived Berosos the Babylonian expounding his astrological doctrines to a middle-aged stranger by drawing diagrams in wine with his finger on the table top.

"Thus a planet in its ascendant," said he, "has a positive effect—"

"Oh, rubbish!" I said. "One might as well say the Persian Magi rule the world by their spells and cantrips. The skeptical Pyrron—"

"But they do!" shouted Gobryas from the other table. "Were it not for the Magians' benign incantations, the universe would vanish in a puff of smoke, thus!" He blew out one of the lamps, plunging the room into gloom.

"Very interesting, very interesting," said the stranger. "I must make a note of that." He peered at my medal. "What does that betoken, young sir?" His speech was that of a traveled and educated Rhodian.

"For killing the Antigonian admiral," I said in my broadest Lindian. "I shot him right between the eyes, I did, with my little catapult, as he stood on the stern of his ship. There was this abandoned sodomite, see, sneering at us from his quarterdeck, in his gilded armor and all, see; and here were we, see, aiming the good old Talos—"

The stranger smiled. "I don't wish to belittle your achievement, my young friend, but something is erroneous here."

"What do you mean, good sir?"

"Only that the Antigonian admiral was not killed. At least he was alive when I saw him yesterday."

"You saw him yesterday?" I said, half sobered at once.

"Certainly."

"How? Where?"

"In Loryma. My ship put in there temporarily on its way from Miletos. Let me present myself. My name is Eudemos."

"The philosopher?"

"I endeavor to be one."

Gobryas leaned over and pointed at me. "O Eudemos!" he bawled. "That modest little violet is the world's greatest sculptor. He himself has said it, so it must be true."

"Indeed?" said Eudemos. "Well, master sculptor or master catapultist, it transpires that this missile of yours only grazed the admiral's helmet and stunned him."

"Oh, plague! Does that mean they'll take my medal from me?"

"I think not, for this temporary indisposition of the admiral effected our victory."

"How?"

"It disorganized the Antigonian squadron for the nonce. The captain of the Myraina did not know what to do next. When he saw the two Antigonian triremes withdrawing, he did likewise, not realizing the extent of the damages to the Rhodian ships. The, admiral didn't recover consciousness until they were picking up the crew of the Kirkê less than a furlong from Kynos-Sema—"

"Did the other trireme sink, too?"

"Yes, didn't you know? Anyway, the admiral was much incensed. He asserted that, with most of the Rhodian ships crippled, the Myraina could have turned about and plowed through the lot, sinking them one after another. And, in truth, the Halia could not have done much to prevent her.

"The admiral still possessed two triremes in reserve at Loryma, and he might have essayed another attack. But he did not know how long the repairs on the Rhodian ships would require, and the spirit of his squadron was depressed by the loss of two ships. While they didn't confide their true reasons to me, the fact is that yesterday they departed eastward."

I said: "It's lucky the fight was so near our own harbor. Had it been near Loryma, things would have turned out differently."

"Thank the Unmoved Mover for that," replied Eudemos. "Thank the what?"

"That is a term of my master Aristoteles for God. Of course, there is a question of the propriety of thanking God for any particular event among human beings. It is easy to demonstrate by logic that there must be a God, but it is something else to prove that this God reacts to events on our mundane plane in the emotional and sympathetic manner of a mortal man, as the many assume that he does. If, as I think has been proved, the universe operates on a basis of pure reason, it were inconsistent for this God capriciously to intervene ..."

Eudemos launched on a theological argument, which made me regret that Zenon of Kition was absent. The Phoenician had a taste for this kind of speculation, but he had long since sailed from Rhodes.

As for me, I was confused. I had thought myself a good, solid atheist, along with Evemeros and Theodoros, but the answer of Apollon to our prayers during the battle had shaken my unfaith. On the other hand, I have never been so profound a thinker as to follow the arguments of Peripatetics like Eudemos. It did seem to me that his God was more of a mathematical theorem than a living god like Helios-Apollon, whom one could worship with some hope of getting what one wanted in return. This Unmoved Mover, from a practical point of view, was hardly better than no god at all.

However, I had too much wine aboard to argue intelligently. I caught the eye of Doris the flute girl and, by a few simple maneuvers, ended the evening in her bed, in one of the two small rooms she occupied at the back of her owner's house. Truly is wine called the milk of Aphrodite.

A jolly evening it was, but I lived to regret it. The next day I got up with four heads instead of one, as the saying is. It took half a cabbage to cure my headache.

Moreover, my parents let me know, without actually saying so, that their feelings had been hurt by my going off to this party without first coming home to let them share my pride in the medal. Such a thought had never entered my selfish young head. I never realized how often I wounded them by my actions until my own children began treating me in the same heedless way. How hard it is to see one's own faults!

With my contract for the statue of Demetrios Antigonou confirmed, I should have felt prosperous and, for one of my years, successful. But the graft that Kallias extorted from me left no margin on which to relax. I still had to work day and night, to squeeze every obolos, and to sponge on my parents for food. I barely took time to shave, let alone to oil myself decently or take proper workouts in the gymnasium. My lunches were loaves of Rhodian lentil bread, hastily washed down with cheap wine between bouts of work.

Moreover, I ran into difficulties in casting the parts of the statue. One of my casts cracked because I stripped off the mold too quickly. Another came out with a hole in it because I had not allowed for an adequate thickness of metal between the mold and the core. Still another was ruined by my failure thoroughly to dry out the core, so that the steam caused a small explosion when the bronze was poured, spattering Kavaros, the studio, and me with molten bronze. Luckily we sustained only a few small superficial burns. As a result of all these mishaps, everything took longer than planned.

I was tempted to sound out the other artists and artisans who had received contracts through Kallias—Bias the carpenter, for instance, who was beginning the construction of Kallias' sluing crane. But I never worked up the courage, fearing to expose my own guilt to somebody who would use the knowledge against me. My father asked:

"What in Herakles' name do you do with all your earnings, Chares? Bury them in the ground, like a squirrel preparing for winter?"

I muttered something about the ever-rising price of materials.

"Oh, don't give me that!" said my father. "I know the price of copper and bronze better than you do. Is it that flute girl again? It's all right for a young man to have a mistress of that class before he weds; it keeps him from bothering decent women. But the girl shouldn't soak up all his substance as a sponge takes water!"

Not wishing to reveal my corrupt relations with Kallias, I did not tell the real reason for my penury. I said: "I have to slave and scrimp to get far enough ahead of my creditors."

"You could accomplish the same end far more easily if you would work full time for me in the foundry."

"And give up my goal in life? You should know me better than that, sir."

My father sighed. "I suppose it's that wretched colossal statue you talk about. The way you're going, you'll never be able to buy the bronze for its little toe, let alone the whole thing."

So things went until the month of Poseideon. One day, wrapped in my heaviest cloak against the driving rain, I slopped and skidded down the muddy slopes of the akropolis to the Town Hall, in answer to a summons from the Council. When I arrived, President Damoteles said:

"O Chares, how far along is the statue of Demetrios?"

"All but the head has been cast, sir, and I expect to pour that soon."

"How long will it take to finish?"

"Weather permitting, we should have it up in a month. Why, sir? Long though it has taken, it is but a fraction of the time that a marble statue of that size would require."

"It is not that, Master Chares. The Council has decided to send an embassy to Antigonos in Syria, for word has . reached us that he took ill our driving off his blockaders and swears vengeance upon us. The Kyklops is a rough, tough old man, not lightly to be flouted.

"Therefore, our ambassadors, of which I shall be one, will try to soften his ire, in hope at least of gaining time. Further to melt him down, we plan to do with him as we did with his son: to take you along as official sculptor, to make what measurements and sketches you need to construct a heroic statue of him. Terms will be as before. Do you agree?"

Perhaps in the father, if not in the son, was my ideal to be found. Of course, Antigonos was old and one-eyed now, but a colossal statue could show him as he was in his younger and more heroic years.

"Certainly, sir," said I, sincerely. "I am honored!"

"Then be ready to sail at dawn the day after tomorrow."