The Bronze God of Rhodes

BOOK IV — BIAS

Several days later we were standing to arms on the waterfront while the Assembly met in the old theater. Outside the walls, Demetrios built his camp. The sound of his axes resounded over the city as his men felled trees on the slopes as far as the Vale of Butterflies. The sound spurred our determination, for Rhodes cut its trees with care, so that the supply of timber for ships and export should never fall.

Life had become grim. Nightly the sky glowed red with the flames of burning villages. Demetrios' horse and bands of pirates ranged the isle, slaying, plundering, and enslaving. Of the islanders not caught by Demetrios' ravagers, some fled to the mainland in boats while others drove their stock up into the wildest parts of the interior.

On the day that we repelled Demetrios' fleet from the Great Harbor, thousands of refugees from nearby towns had hastened in through the South Gate. So crowded was the city that the commanders of the recruits now had to drive cattle and sheep off the athletic field before their men could drill upon it.

I gave up my lease on the studio, moved what equipment I could to my parents' house, and spent my off-duty time assisting my father in the foundry. Orders poured in upon him: for helmets, cuirasses, greaves, shield facings, arrowheads, caltrops, and other warlike gear. If my father and I bickered now, it was only over such questions as how to turn out more castings each day. I do not think we had ever before looked upon each other as friends; to me he had always been a hard, pushing, scolding taskmaster, while to him I suppose I was a peculiarly willful, contrary, and disagreeable boy.

On the day of which I write, as there seemed but little likelihood of attack, Bias let us go into town for lunch. We of the Talos crushed into Evios' tavern for something wherewith to wash down our victuals. The crew of Artemis crowded in after us, filling the place. There was much chaff and shouting:

"Look at these tyros who grab the best seats! They couldn't hit Mount Atabyrios at ten paces!"

To which my crew rejoined: "Oh, is that so? They're going to put you duffers in the infantry, lest you shoot backwards and slay our own generals!"

Phaon, the double-pay man in command of Artemis, had attended the Assembly that morning. He was a full citizen, being of pure Hellenic blood and having inherited land around Astyra. Now he appeared, gleaming like a god, to rejoin his crew. In reply to our questions, he said:

"By the Earth, I should never have believed that our garrulous Assembly could so bestir itself!"

"What have they done?" I asked.

Phaon ticked off the new laws on his fingers. "All resident aliens and slaves may join the armed forces, while foreigners who will neither fight nor make arms shall be expelled. This will save provisions and guard us against treachery."

Onas interrupted: "Are you not glad that we talked you into enlisting, Berosos? Else you were one of those cast out."

Phaon continued: "Slaves who prove themselves brave in battle shall be bought from their masters after the war, freed, and offered enrollment as tribesmen.

"Those who fall in battle shall be buried at public expense; their parents and children shall be maintained from the public treasury. Their sons, on reaching manhood, shall be crowned in the theater at the Dionysia and given a full suit of armor, while their daughters shall be given dowries from the treasury."

Berosos said: "Almost a pleasure to be slain in this war they will make it. However, having no children, to live I should prefer."

Phaon went on: "You should have seen how the richer citizens poured out their treasure! Never have I witnessed such enthusiasm. Then we decided to send another embassy to the Demetrios, to beg him to do nothing to the city that he might regret."

Said somebody: "I thought an embassy was sent yesterday."

"So it was, but Demetrios, with a rude gesture, told them he was too busy with his fortifications to talk. All he would agree to was an arrangement for ransoming prisoners on either side."

I said: "We shan't get far with this self-conceited popinjay by talk."

"We realize that," said Phaon. "Therefore, we shall also dispatch envoys to Ptolemaios, Kasandros, and Lysimachos, asking for help. We hope to convince them that it's to their advantage that such a great trading center, halfway between Hellas and the ports of Phoenicia and Egypt, shall remain free and open to all."

Just then another man, in old but serviceable armor, pushed his way into the tavern, squeezed between the tables, and hailed me. Between the dimness and the disguising effect of the helmet I did not recognize him until I got a look at his sweeping red mustache. There could be but one such adornment in Rhodes.

"Kavaros!" I cried. "By Zeus the Savior, what are you doing here in that rig?"

"It is a soldier I am now, sir," he said. "When I heard that the Assembly had voted to enroll all able-bodied slaves, I got in at the head of the line."

"Sit with us, fellow soldier," I said. "What will they put you in, the infantry?"

"That they have, and I am after drilling on the athletic field all morning. Though, to be sure, I do not like your Greek ways of fighting."

"What's wrong with them?"

"Oh, it is this business of standing in line, with your shields in front of you like the tiles on a roof, and everybody stepping forward at the same time and giving a poke with the spear at the same time, as if worked by strings they were. Now, in my country it is different. We strip ourselves naked and rush upon the enemy in one grand charge, shouting and yelling as if to wake a dead corpse. Indeed and a beautiful sight it is, with the long swords waving and the plumes in the helmets nodding! But still, this kind of fighting is better than no fighting at all."

When we got back to the mole, Bias hailed me. "Walk this way," he said.

When we were out of earshot of the catapults, he spoke: "I've been having lunch with the Council, me and the other contractors. Your father was there."

"Yes?" I said.

"As you might expect, they want us to do enough work to keep us busy for years, and have it finished by the day before yesterday." He spat. "Stupid oxen! They think their money will even turn time backwards. If they'd passed out these orders a few months ago, we'd have something accomplished. And we're supposed to do miracles at cost, too."

"You mean with no profit?"

"Sure. They say: 'We're giving our money, the soldiers are giving their lives, so the least you craftsmen can do is to give your skill.' First they wanted us to work for nothing at all. I had to point out that in the first place we couldn't do that unless they could get us supplies and materials free, and, second, that we had to eat."

"What are we going to do?"

"Well, it don't look like Demetrios will attack us without a lot of preparation. So we're going to cut down these catapult crews to skeletons and put the rest of the men to work."

"On what?" I asked.

"There's plenty, with all these new contracts. I got two big ones: to make another battery of catapults and to build a penthouse on this mole to protect the crews and lengthen our range."

"What about Kallias' great sluing crane?"

Bias smiled, creasing his face into a mass of wrinkles. "Kallias is hopping around like he was dancing the kordax, trying to get it done. But I know it won't work, so I'll see that he don't use none of my good men on it."

"Have you spoken to the Council about the crane?"

"Sure. I brought it up today, with a sheet of figures to prove my point. All it got me was that Kallias blew up and practically had 'em convinced that I was a traitor. I can't fight him before the Council, on account of I don't have a tongue loose at both ends like him. But now I think he's going to hang himself. Do you know what his latest idea is?"

"No, what?"

"Torsion scorpions. I've shown him figures to prove the torsion principle's not practical in such small sizes. But no, he says: if it works on a big machine, it'll work on a small one. So he's got one of my competitors building one."

"What do you want me to do, Bias?"

He laid his hairy, freckled hand on my arm. "You're a pretty good little fellow in spite of that sassy manner, and I need your help."

"Thanks, but how?"

"Helping to oversee some of my contracts. The trouble with Rhodes is, it's got too many orators and not enough engineers. We can't blow Demetrios' army away by talk, though you might think so to hear some of our politicians speechify. You may not be an experienced engineer, but you have at least studied the theory and aren't too much of a gentleman to use your hands."

I said: "That's kind of you, but my father needs me in the foundry."

"Oh, I've spoken to Nikon. He would like you, but he admits the work you'd do would be that of any competent bronzesmith, while you can use your engineering to better advantage working for me. So I'll lend him one of my men in your place."

"Oh. Perhaps you could also use Berosos, my Babylonian aimer. He knows mathematics."

"Sure."

"And if there's such a shortage of engineering talent, what is our former municipal architect doing?"

"Diognetos is kind of retired, I guess. He's never forgiven the city for throwing him out."

"Perhaps we could ask him to forget the past. If the city perish, it will be his throat along with the rest."

"All right, let's." Bias started briskly back along the mole, to the waterfront.

When Diognetos' porter announced us, the architect appeared, leaning upon a stick. His beard seemed longer than ever and his general aspect just as forbidding. He frowned.

"Let me see," he said. "You are Bias Gorgou, the torsion-catapult enthusiast. And you—tsk, tsk, I cannot quite place you, young man."

"Chares Nikonos, sir," I said. "I—"

"Oh! Now I know. You are one of those who plotted to deprive me of my architect's post and turn it over to that Phoenician swindler. What do you here?"

I began: "O Diognetos, whatever be the truth about Kallias—and I, too, have suffered at his hands—our beloved city lies in deadly peril."

"What is the fate of this race of drunkards and fornicators to me?" said Diognetos. "I am a Rhodian in name only. My city has spurned me and cast me out."

"Ah, but you are in the city. If it fall, you will suffer with the rest."

"What would you have me do?" said Diognetos. "I am past the age for wielding a spear."

Bias spoke: "Sure, sir, but you're a technical man, and we need every one we can find, to boss the building of defenses and engines. Now, I'm no politician, but I know enough men on the Council so that I could maybe get them to offer you a good job, in spite of what Kallias might say—"

Diognetos struck the ground with his stick. "May you not live out the year!" he roared. "Has Rhodes the dog-faced insolence first to cast me out and humiliate me, and then, as soon as she is in trouble, to send emissaries to ask me to forgive and forget? Ordure! Diognetos is not so careless of his honor. Your talk of the city's fall frightens me not a whit. I am soon to die anyway, and how could I die more happily than seeing this ungrateful city going down in ruin? Begone or I will set the dog upon you!"

We left Diognetos muttering about "this accursed tribe of adulterers and rattlepates." As we walked back to the waterfront, Bias said:

"It looks like we'll have to do without the old vulture's help.".

We walked to the marketplace in silence, where towered the heroic statues of our assailant and his father. Their bronze still glowed a ruddy brown, the patina of age not having yet greened them over. Bias jerked his thumb, saying:

"It seems kind of funny, don't it, to have statues of these jacklegs standing there when we're at war with them? All that good bronze would be better used for armor."

"I hope not!" I said. "Those are my masterpieces."

"Forget your own glory for once, Chares, and think of your city."

"I am thinking of it," said I, casting about for some unselfish reason for preserving the statues. "Look: Either we shall win or we shall lose. If we win, and keep the statues, people will say: 'What greatness of soul the Rhodians have, to preserve their art even when it immortalizes their foes!' While, if we lose, the fact that we spared the statues might incline Demetrios to mercy."

"That's clever but it don't convince me," said Bias. "Metal is metal, no matter what it's used for."

At the waterfront we passed Makar the stonecutter, bossing a gang of workmen who were heightening the harbor wall.

"Rejoice, Makar!" I said. "Where did you get all that fine stone?"

"It arrived but a ten-day ago for the new theater," said Makar. "Kallias didn't much, like my taking it for this work, since the theater is a pet project of his. But I faced him down before the Council."

"Good for you!" I said. "When you run out of theater stones, round up all those marble sundials that Berosos has sold the people. They will give you one more course for your wall."

Bias: "That gives me an idea, Chares. You said the Babylonian was an expert at calculating, didn't you? Well, run out on the mole and fetch him; then meet me in the armory."

Berosos and I found Bias in the armory with a scroll spread out on a table. Around him dust swirled as workmen carried dull-gleaming weapons and armor hither and yon. The great building rang with the sound of hammer and whetstone as the city's fighting gear was readied.

Bias coughed and raised his voice. "This is Diades' book, On the Construction of Engines of War. Diades invented the belfry for the divine Alexander, and—"

"I crave your pardon, sir," said Berosos, "but never did this Diades invent the movable siege tower. My people did."

"Oh?"

"Aye, sir. In Babylonia reliefs hundreds of years old I can show you, depicting Babylonians attacking cities by means of belfries on wheels, with rams—"

Berosos would have no doubt given us a history of siege-craft from the Flood on down, but the blunt Bias cut him off. "All right, all right, let's get back to business. We've got to build some new catapults, and I'd like to try for a greater range than anybody has obtained so far."

"How?" I said.

"Look. Diades gives the standard formula for dart throwers: the length of the dart should be nine times the diameter of the skeins. Then he gives all these other proportions.

"All right so far, but I don't see how we can ever get beyond the present ranges with these same proportions; we can only change the size of the missile. What I propose is to use the same frame as in the Eros class, but with a longer trough, a longer recoiler, longer throwing arms, and a dart only two cubits long or less. That's still heavy enough to go through the best armor at extreme ranges ..."

We passed the afternoon in designing the new machines and calculating weights and proportions. Out on the mole Phaon, commanding the skeleton crews in Bias' absence, kept watch towards the south. But Demetrios made no move.

Another ten-day passed. With the departure of winter, anemones again bloomed scarlet on the slopes of the akropolis. Demetrios' huge triple palisade of timber crept around his camp. Everywhere, in Rhodes and in the Antigonian camp, sounded the buzz and clangor of the tools of the mason, the carpenter, and the smith, the clatter of weapons, and the shouts of drillmasters. Even my father, who was in the inactive reserve, turned out for drill with the other middle-aged tribesmen.

Nor were the unseen powers neglected. The altars of the gods ran red with the blood of sacrificed animals. The official soothsayers studied the omens and pronounced Rhodes unconquerable.

Meanwhile, despite new laws against their activities, our host of wizards and witches and necromancers sought clues to the future of individuals in the cracks of a burnt shoulder blade, or in the ripples of water in a basin, or by the squeaks of spirits summoned from the lands of the dead. I suspected Berosos of doing a thriving business of this sort.

Amazing rumors ran the rounds. The most extravagant was that Demetrios was building an engine of war the like of which had never been seen. It was as big as Souphis' pyramid, it ran either on land or in the water, and it was propelled by some magical source of power furnished by an Egyptian wizard who sat in an armored control chamber and muttered mystical spells.

I trotted to and fro between the armory and Bias' shop while his workmen sawed and planed the structural members of the first of the new catapults. Once, on my way to the foundry with a sack of wooden patterns from which to cast the bronze fittings for the dart thrower, I was stopped by a mournful procession. Here went several hundred men, women, and children, many in rich oriental robes, prodded along by Rhodian spears. They were the aliens who would neither fight nor make arms, together with their families.

I played truant long enough to watch the outcome. South through the winding streets filed the sad parade until it reached the wall. Up the steps it went. At the top, rope ladders dangled from the crenelations of the parapet.

Before me lay the suburb, from which a pall of dust arose as Demetrios' men demolished the houses. Now and then a rumble and a crash told of the fall of another dwelling. A few idle Antigonian soldiers stood beyond bowshot and shouted taunts at the city.

At the sight of the ladders, the shirkers wailed and tore their hair and beards, beseeching the Rhodians to have pity. Indeed, the spectacle brought tears to the eyes of many onlookers. But these foreigners, mostly Phoenician, Syrian, and Anatolian tradesmen who had become too fat and soft for anything strenuous, had had their chance and failed it. At spear point they lowered themselves over the parapet, crying that they would fall and be dashed to pieces. All, however, safely made the descent.

For a while they huddled in a moaning mass at the foot of the wall. When our officers threatened to drop stones upon them, they straggled off. Demetrios' soldiers pounced upon them as soon as they were out of bowshot, and led them off to the slavers. Those too old for such disposal they sworded to death on the spot.

Seeing Glôs the engraver nearby, I hailed him. Some misguided recruiting officer had assigned him to the infantry. As no cuirass in town would fit his girth, he was wearing one much too small, with wide gaps showing at the sides between its back and breastplates.

I pointed towards the section of the suburb where lay Protogenes' house. "What has become of the president of our guild?" I asked. "I haven't seen him since the siege began. I hope he is not so mad as to stay outside the wall."

"That's exactly what he has done," replied Glôs.

"Dear Herakles! Why?"

"When Demetrios' fleet appeared, and somebody shouted to Protogenes to snatch up his valuables and run for the gate, he pointed to the painting of Ialysos and asked: 'How could anybody snatch up that?' He was, he said, nearly finished with it, and he would not abandon his life's masterpiece to the caprices of a naughty boy with delusions of being a king."

"Has he been killed?"

"No. The embassy that made the agreement on prisoners also asked Demetrios to protect Protogenes and his paintings, as, whoever won the war, the king would not wish to be known as a wanton destroyer of art. Demetrios replied that he would rather burn the portrait that Apelles made of Antigonos than harm Protogenes' masterpiece. He posted a guard over the house to make sure that nobody molested the painter."

When I reached the foundry, I found my father grimy from toil and red-eyed from long hours. We talked in a businesslike way of the casting of the parts for the new engine. Then he cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"Er—Chares," he said, "I've been talking with my friend Genetor again."

"Yes?" said I, my scalp prickling with apprehension. Of all times, I thought, to put pressure on me to wed!

"He hopes you will not be too put out if he asks that your wedding be postponed."

"Oh?" Hope sprang to life anew in my breast.

"The reason is this new sumptuary legislation, forbidding all big displays and entertainments as long as the siege shall last. This includes weddings. Of course we could make our sacrifices, get the blessing of a priest, and sign our contracts before a magistrate, and you would be legally wed. But Genetor and I consider that our social position demands a proper wedding with a feast and procession. We hope you will understand—"

I repressed a grin. "Tell him I understand perfectly, Father."

My father looked at me with a faint smile of his own.

"I will. And don't think I do not understand you, too, you rascal!"

The pilot model of the new catapult began to take shape. Once I asked Bias:

"Why make just one? Why not a dozen? This seems to me a waste of time."

"Son," he said, "when you've had more experience, you'll know that no machine works like you think it will. By making just one, we can correct the mistakes in the design in the rest of the lot. But if we made the whole dozen at the beginning and they all had the same bad fault, we'd be in a fix."

Then Captain Damophilos bustled into the armory. "O Bias!" he cried. "I want the Talos and her crew aboard the Halia by sunset."

Bias cursed. "I need these boys! Go take another engine."

"No. They served with me before, and I know them. Besides, they are the straightest shooters in your whole battery."

"What do you want them for?"

"We shall raid Demetrios' anchorages south of his camp. Hundreds of small ships are drawn up there, and we can burn and wreck scores before the heavy warships can sally out to stop us."

A long and stubborn argument resulted in the calling in, first of our battalion commander, then of Kallias, and finally of Admiral Exekestos. Damophilos won.

"O Chares," he said at the close of the interview, "see that the metal fittings of your engine are clean and polished before you bring it aboard. There shall be no dirty gear on my ship!"

Scudding clouds hid the full moon as the Halia, with slow strokes, pulled out of the Great Harbor. Behind her came two triemiolias: the Euryalê, which had fought in the action off Rhodes the previous year, and the Agile, a new ship of the same class as the ill-fated Active. All was dark save for a faint pearly radiance from the thick clouds above.

I stood on the forecastle of the Halia with my crew and the archers, peering into the dark. On the bow and the quarterdeck of each ship stood a sailor with a hooded lantern to warn off consorts and thus avert collisions. We carried double the usual number of lookouts.

Nothing stirred ashore. Except for the armory and the bobbing lanterns of the night watch, no lights showed from the dark mass of the city, as the Assembly had forbidden night lights lest traitors signal the foe. South of the wall a few fires flickered in Demetrios' camp. Otherwise nobody would have thought that thousands of men were preparing for mortal combat. We had about seven thousand—six thousand Rhodians and a thousand aliens—plus whatever force we could raise by arming slaves. Demetrios had nearly forty thousand, not counting his piratical allies—a force as great as that wherewith Alexander had overthrown the mighty Persian Empire.

We swung wide of the Chatar Rocks. Demetrios had joined these rocks to the Southwest Peninsular by a mole. His entire army had built this mole in one day, trotting back and forth with stones and baskets of earth.

There was a step behind me, and Captain Damophilos came up. He touched Berosos' arm, pointed, and spoke low:

"Do you see anything off that way?"

"Nay, sir. It is too dark."

"Demetrios is building something new in these coves. He keeps soldiers in the hills back of the shore and warships patrolling the waters, so that our spies have not been able to get near. Keep watch, in case the moon should break through."

We crept silently south, our vision gaining strength as our eyes became used to the darkness. The coast between Rhodes and the resort village of Kallithea, thirty furlongs away, is deeply embayed. In these bays were drawn up hundreds of smaller craft—sailing ships and thirty- and forty-oared galleys—belonging to the pirates and slavers who had followed Demetrios to the island. Damophilos said:

"Now hear this. The Agile will stand guard to signal us when the great galleys come out, whilst we and the Euryalê go into these coves and clean out as many pirate craft as we can. We shall use the ram and the catapult, and we have a fire pot burning in the storeroom under this deck for lighting incendiary missiles. You archers will be given arrows wrapped in tow, and a man will light them with a torch as you shoot them into the ships. Remember: a flaming arrow must be shot from a half-drawn bow lest its speed through the air blow out the flame.

"Chares, set your catapult for horizontal shooting. You may not get a decent shot, but let fly when you are aimed at a crowd of the enemy. All of you, obey your officers, keep quiet, do not get excited, come back to your ship quickly when signaled, and do not slaughter all your prisoners. Try to capture the better-dressed ones alive, so that we can wring information from them before selling them back to Demetrios."

Then he was gone. Eons passed as we crept south.

At last we found a bay that suited Damophilos. While the Agile dropped astern, the Halia turned shoreward. The Euryalê turned also, but separately, into another bay. She was presently hidden from us by a dark point of land.

The clouds began to thin out; now and then Selene cast a dart of moonlight upon the earth. One of these shafts brushed the bay, showing ship after ship. While most were drawn up on the beach, several rode at anchor. Most were hemiolias—biremes modified for piratical purposes.

Halia swung her snout towards the rounded stern of one of these craft. We speeded up a little. A fast walk is enough to drive a ram through the thin sides of a ship; greater speed is likely to damage the rammer as well as the rammed.

We were within a ship's length of our quarry when a sleepy hail came from the deck of the hemiolia. Halia kept on.

Yellow lights flickered as our sailors kindled torches and brought them flaming up to the forecastle deck. From the anchored ship came shouts of alarm. There was a clank of weapons as men scurried to muster on the quarterdeck.

"Keep off! Keep off!" screamed a voice, evidently hoping that we were a friendly craft coming in to anchor.

Berosos said: "We are aimed squarely into that crowd, Chares."

"Shoot!" I said.

Onas struck the trigger; Talos crashed. The group on the quarterdeck, mustering with spears and swords, scattered. As the moonlight waxed, I saw a man writhing on the deck.

"We got one!" I cried—foolishly, for an attack such as ours calls for silence except for the necessary commands.

Our ram crunched through the stern planking of the ship at the waterline. The jar threw me forward against the catapult, so that I sustained a nasty knock and cut my lip against the rack.

Our archers aimed their fire arrows over the rail while a couple of sailors with torches passed from one to the next, lighting the balls of tow wrapped around the arrows. Soon a shower of fire arrows whizzed into the waist of the hostile ship, lighting it up.

From the rest of the bay came a chorus of shouts and trumpet calls and the rattle of accoutrements.

With a yell our file of marines pushed past us and scrambled over the bow to the quarterdeck of the victim. There was a brief clang of weapons, a few death screams, and the splash of many pirates diving over the side. Halia's trumpet sounded the recall. The marines came back, waving paltry bits of loot and dragging a prisoner.

Damophilos gave the command to back, as the stricken ship was settling and dragging our bow down with her. Our oarsmen pushed on their looms; the ram slid out with a crackle and a crunch. The archers loosed another flight of fire arrows.

Halia turned her bow towards another ship at anchor. The crew of this ship dropped their anchor cable, put out a few oars, and tried to run for it. They had not made more than three strokes when the Halia's ram found their side. Crash!

This time I had the sense to clutch the rail. I had little else to do, because at such a short range the pirate's deck was too low to reach with our catapult. Again we poured in fire arrows, swept the deck, and withdrew just as the moon winked out once more and the dark closed in upon us.

One other ship remained at anchor, seemingly deserted. We punched our ram into her side; then the marines went aboard and kindled a fire under the quarterdeck.

That left the ships drawn up on shore. Many were too far up on the strand to reach with our ram.

Trumpets blasted away to the north, in Demetrios' camp, and there was a half-seen scuttling on shore, as when one steps into an abandoned building and the mice run for cover. As we swung again towards the shore, a group of men appeared in the light of a campfire. Somebody harangued them. From the adjacent bay came sounds of crash and clash as the Euryalê struck her first victim.

"Range!" I called.

"Eight and a half plethra, if the dark deceive me not," said Berosos.

"Cock your piece; twelfth notch."

"Eight plethra."

"Load your piece."

"Seven plethra."

"Shoot!"

The dart whistled into the mass about the fire, skewering a man. The pirates scattered with cries of dismay. When our bow gently touched the sand, and marines and sailors scrambled down off the bow and waded ashore, they found the beach deserted. I would have gone ashore with them, but a bark from Damophilos brought me back. Our landing party went along the line of ships, throwing torches and bundles of flaming tow into them, or building fires under their bilges.

Damophilos came up to the forecastle deck. "O Berosos!" he said. "Yours are the keenest eyes here. Tell me what you see."

Berosos held up his hands to shade his eyes from the blazes. "Methinks men muster on yonder hill. The gleam of firelight on breastplates I see; these must be some of Demetrios' regulars."

"Sound the recall!" cried Damophilos to the trumpeter.

"Captain!" said the boatswain. "The Agile signals us."

"Sound the recall again," said Damophilos. "Archers, we will fire the remaining ships with arrows; stand by. Why in the name of the Dog don't those men hurry?"

Our landing party straggled back. Damophilos cupped his hands and shouted: "Last man shall be left ashore!"

. This brought them on the run. When all were aboard, the Halia backed water and turned parallel to the shore. A dozen ships were ablaze, yellow flames glancing from the waters and lighting the bellies of billowing clouds of smoke. Several more vessels began to catch.

We rowed along the shore, past the four ships to which fire had not yet been applied. Our archers showered them with fire and set at least one alight.

Now, however, a crowd of men appeared in the firelight: a mixed multitude of pirates and soldiers. Demetrios' officers directed them. Some shouted threats and taunts across the dark waters; others, more practically, rushed to the ships and fought the fires. They threw helmetfuls of water on the blazes, pulled fire arrows out of the woodwork, beat and kicked at the smaller fires, or threw sand into the flames. Many ships, however, had blazed too high to be saved.

"Speed up the beat! Raise the boat sail!" came Damophilos' voice from the quarterdeck.

The sound of the flutist's notes came faster. Halia began to roll in the swells outside the bay. The fires receded, merging with distance into a single blaze. A dark shape appeared ahead; Damophilos and his executive officer agreed that it must be the Euryalê. From another dark shape came frantic lantern signals.

We rowed briskly north, our battle sail adding to our speed. Then two more shapes came into view, growing larger by the heartbeat. It was plain that these were two of Demetrios' heavy warships, put out to intercept us. In the dark they looked twice the size of any ship I had seen.

The two triemiolias had drawn ahead of the Halia. Now they swung out to sea. One of the Antigonians followed. To my ears came the distant sound of hails and responses.

The other ship bore down upon us. Damophilos held to his course, though it would bring us almost within spitting distance of the Antigonian.

"Ahoy!" came a hail out of the dark. "Who are you?"

"The 'Ektor of Miletos!" cried Damophilos, dropping his h's like an Ionian. "Come to join King Demetrios. Are you Rhodian or Antigonian?"

"Antigonian! Heave to for inspection!"

"You are a dirty Rhodian and I will not stop!" shouted Damophilos. "Follow me into the 'arbor if you wish to speak me."

"Stop, I tell you, or I'll ram!"

"Get out of my way, and you may send an officer aboard. Careful, you stupid ox, or you'll 'ave us both sunk!"

The two ships passed on opposite courses, just far enough apart to keep their oars from clashing. At Damophilos' orders our rowers lifted their oars and rested on them, as if he really meant to stop. The Antigonian ship did likewise. Then, as the natural drift of the ships began to carry them apart, Damophilos cried:

"Forward! Flank speed!"

Our rowers dug in their oars and strained at the looms. The Halia leaped like a living thing. Cries of rage came from the Antigonian's deck. A few arrows whistled past us or stuck in the woodwork. Iros, one of my cockers, suddenly choked, staggered, waved his arms wildly, and fell with an arrow through his throat. He died before we could do anything.

Pronax, our loader, said: "It'll take that big thing time to turn around; but, once she does, she can overtake us."

The Antigonian almost disappeared astern; the triemiolias were out of sight to seaward. We pulled to the north at a steady stroke. There was little sound but the swish of our bow through the waves, the thump of the oars against the thole pins, and the peep of the flutist's pipe. Formless dark shapes of bay and headland drifted past us to port.

A rent appeared in the overcast, through which the moon blazed down in full silvery glory. After we had groped so long beneath a canopy of clouds, the moonlight seemed as bright as day. It lit up a bay in which strange machines were building.

Damophilos hastened forward. "Berosos! Look yonder and tell me what you see."

Berosos peered. "A pair of ships conjoined together I see, with a platform erected over them on which some sort of tower is a-building. Two—-three—four such pairs I see. Then, over that way, a whole mass of ships I see—"

"What else?"

"Not far enough advanced are the works, except on the second pair of ships yonder. The thing upon them seems to be a catapult of the largest size."

We all strained our eyes, trying to pick out further details, though none could see more than Berosos had described. Then a sailor called:

"Captain! The Antigonian is coming up astern!"

The moon showed the ship that had challenged us about two furlongs astern and closing the gap.

"Row harder!" cried Damophilos. "Put your backs into it. Raise the beat, coxswain. Flank speed, if you would see your homes again!"

The Halia speeded up a little, but not much, as our rowers had been pulling hard for a quarter-hour and were tiring. Closer came the Antigonian. Off to starboard the two triemiolias appeared, with the other large ship in pursuit. Astern two more great black shapes crawled out from shore.

Our pursuer gained until we could again hear the hail of its captain. Then came the thump of catapults. Missiles whispered past us.

"Rhyppapai! Papai!" called our coxswain.

Damophilos: "Archers, come aft! The rest of you on the forecastle, take cover."

While the archers filed back to take up the arrow fight, the crew of the Talos went below to the storeroom beneath the forecastle deck. We crowded around the door, peering out until a three-span dart whizzed through the opening, passing within a few digits of my head, and buried itself in the planking. Thereafter we were less eager spectators.

As we neared the moles of our harbor, our trumpeter sounded the alarm. Answering flourishes came from the shore. Through the storeroom door I glimpsed the yellow blink of torchlight as men manned the batteries on the South Mole.

The Euryalê and the Agile passed into the harbor ahead of us. As we came around the end of the South Mole, our catapults on the mole awoke with thumps and crashes. We came out on deck to see our pursuers sheer off. We were safe.

A few days later, a team of mules hauled Bias' new catapult down to the waterfront. I came with Bias and several of his workmen and the crew of the Talos, which had been given the honor of proving the new weapon.

We rumbled out the sea gate in the harbor wall, which Makar was still valiantly raising. Outside the wall lay a broad strip of paving ordinarily crowded with cargoes awaiting transshipment but now almost bare. Along the edge of this waterfront ran the quays and piers and the walled-off section that housed the arsenal and the dockyards. The four moles jutted out from shore like the tentacles of some sea creature, embracing the two harbors.

Two of Bias' penthouses stood on the mole, for the Council had ordered a second. Each was a stout shed with thick timbers on the seaward side, whence hostile missiles might come. The first story provided quarters for. the crews and space for ammunition. A battery of catapults, hauled up wooden ramps, lined the roof, which was surrounded by a low wall of heavy timber to shield the crews.

The four Isisdorian stone throwers occupied the penthouse at the far end of the mole, while the six dart throwers of Bias' own battery stood on the other penthouse, between the mole's end and the base.

We could not mount similar works on the other moles for lack of space. Therefore, battery platforms were being erected on three large merchant ships moored in the Great Harbor, on each of which would be placed another battery.

Bias said: "We'll ground her at the base of the mole. Ah, there's one of the temple thieves now!"

Bias referred to one of the light Antigonian galleys—perhaps of piratical origin—on whose bow Demetrios had built a small penthouse. This structure had a single three-span dart thrower inside and an iron shutter in front to protect the crew. Demetrios had outfitted several ships in this manner, and others with light towers for archers forward, pvery day one or more appeared off the harbor to harass the workmen strengthening our defenses.

At first the workmen scattered like quail before a hawk when the missiles whizzed over. In time they became used to them, discovering that shots from a bobbing platform at single scattered individuals make few hits indeed. Now the clatter of hammers and the snore of saws hardly paused as the missiles arrived.

At the base of the mole we levered the new catapult off its rollers and set it up. I asked:

"Do you want maximum range?"

"Not the first time. Try the tenth notch. Somebody tell them people on the mole to stop shooting so we can fix our range."

We cocked our new engine. It was a beautiful piece of construction, light and graceful but strong, with five trough positions and twenty notches in its racks. The handlers trained the trough on the target with rope and crowbar. I gave the word:

"Shoot!"

The first dart rose high and fell just short of the two catapult ships. On the next shot I gave the crosshead one more notch and scored a clean hit.

We whooped and danced. The ships, aware of us now, turned their bows towards us and let fly. One three-span dart plunked into the water nearby, while another struck the paving and clattered end over end till it struck the harbor wall.

"Again," said Bias.

Again we made a hit. The third shot missed by a small margin, but the fourth struck home. Our target turned and rowed off, with some confusion among its rowers where men in the undecked waist had been struck. We continued to send darts after it until maximum range had been reached. The catapult sang like a bird in spring.

Berosos said: "By the gods, O Bias, methinks your engine can shoot seventeen or eighteen plethra!"

I said: "That must be a world's record. A cheer for Bias, boys!"

"Iai!" they cried.

Bias gave us a wrinkled, leathery grin. "Thanks, fellows, but let's wait and see how she turns out in endurance and ease of maintenance. A practical engineer don't make promises until he knows from experience."

The new catapult proved a great success, save that the complicated skein shackles (which had built-in wedges for tautening the skeins) made the process of restringing it more laborious than with those of the older kinds. We named the class after aspects of the weather; thus the pilot model became Lightning.

As I assisted Bias with the building of eleven more of this model, I came to know the carpenter better and to respect him more: "wise to resolve, and patient to perform." Bias had his faults, as who does not? Besides the crudity of his speech and manners, he was filled with rancorous resentment towards the full citizens, who were richer and more powerful than he. On the other hand, he despised slaves and unskilled workmen as lazy, worthless half-wits and bullied them when he commanded them.

At the same time Bias was one of those rarities: an utterly honest and truthful man. If he said a thing was so, you could be sure it was. And he knew more about building things than anybody I have known, including some of the world's outstanding architects and engineers.

The third year of the 118th Olympiad drew to a close. So absorbed was I in soldiering and catapult building that summer stole upon me unawares, and I almost forgot the other pleasures that our lovely city still afforded. When outraged nature drove me at last to visit my friend the flute girl, I found Berosos there before me. As I opened the door, something jangled.

The Babylonian had been sitting on a couch beside Doris, with an astrological chart spread out upon his knees. I suppose he had been telling her that the stars compelled her to be intimate with him—a novel approach, though not one that I should care to use. On the table stood cups and two small jars of wine.

Berosos jumped up, dropping his chart and spilling his wine. "Oh, dear Chares, how sorry am I! I meant not to intrude. I merely stopped for a talk. Doris and I have known each other for long—"

"Save your excuses, old boy," I said.

I looked into the wine jars. Sure enough, a small red mullet floated belly-up in one. It is said that wine in which such a fish has been drowned will infallibly prevent a woman from conceiving. In fact, Theseus the fishmonger kept a supply of live red mullets in a tub for the convenience of the pleasure women of the town.

I laughed at the flustered Babylonian. "You came for the same thing I did. Well and good, I shall withdraw and come back later."

"You mean you two won't quarrel over me?" said Doris in a disappointed voice.

"No, my dear. I'm much too busy these days. By the way, Berosos, how are all the great love affairs coming?"

"I know not wh-what you mean," he said. I daresay he blushed, though his skin was too swarthy to mark it easily.

"Never mind, I was only teasing." I looked more closely at the door. "Ah, I see. You have a bell that rings every time somebody opens the door. What's the purpose of that, Doris?"

"My master, the old stinkpot, put that up," she said. "That's so he can keep track of the number of friends I entertain and collect his share of my earnings."

"Do you know, Berosos, I think we could put this knavish device out of action. A little lump of beeswax—"

"Oh, no!" said Doris. "If old Theron doesn't hear the bell at all, he'll know something has been done to it. Then he will not only beat me but also bore a hole through the wall or something, the better to spy upon me."

Berosos peered at the bell. "Methinks we could invent a means that would enable Doris to turn the bell on or off as she lists."

He and I fell into a lively discussion of possible methods of activating and silencing the bell, until Doris burst out: "Why in the name of Zeus the King did I ever become friends with a couple of engineers? I expect you, when you visit me, to tell me the things a woman likes to hear: how beautiful and charming I am, and how you adore me. Instead, Berosos gives me lectures in astronomy while Chares always wants to make technical improvements in my poor little apartment!"

"I'm going now, anyway," I said. "Farewell, and have a good—ah—talk."

The next day a trumpet blast brought me in haste to the South Mole, to take command of Talos. Out at sea lay a number of Demetrios' great ships, flinging darts and even stones from their catapults. Although the morning had been fair, as I reached my post the sky clouded over and a moaning wind sprang up. The galleys, great and small, wallowed and tossed until they had to pull in their lower oars and block the ports, and their missiles flew wilder than ever.

A ten-pound ball, however, struck the frame of Artemis with a crash. One of the uprights was cracked, so that the tension of the skein on that side pulled the whole frame out of true.

Bias popped up from the ammunition room. "Woe and misfortune!" he cried. "She'll have to go back to the shop. Phaon, get the mules and the tackle for letting her down the ramp."

The desultory missile fight went on as we lowered the crippled engine. As the day wore on, however, and the water waxed rougher, the Antigonians gave up. One by one the ships turned and rowed away.

Unseasonable rain pattered down that night and continued the next day. I said to Bias:

"Sir, we now have one full battery of the new engines ready to mount. Why don't we bring in the remaining pieces of the old battery, so that when the weather clears, we can run the new ones up into position at once? I don't think Demetrios will attack while this sea keeps up."

"Maybe," grunted the carpenter. "We got word from a spy that the boy wonder was all set to bring out his new seagoing engines for a full assault yesterday, but Poseidon had other ideas. All right, let's round up the boys and get to it."

All but two of the catapults of the Eros class had been dismounted. Orion rested on the mole near its landward end, waiting to be hauled to the armory, while Eros stood on the mainland at the base of the mole. The rain—most unusual in Skirophorion on our lovely island—had thinned to a drizzle; darkness had fallen; a fog had come down upon us. The sea subsided.

We worked far into the evening. Torchlight was reflected in yellow ripples from the puddles on the pavement; at a distance each torch appeared as a weird glowing ball of orange in the fog. Phaon remarked:

"Would not this be a fine time for Demetrios to make a surprise attack?"

"You have too much imagination," I said. "Tell Simon to slack off on that rope before he pitches us all over the edge."

Faintly through the fog came the calls of the sentries, announcing midnight. We maneuvered Herakles, the last but one of the battery, towards the head of the ramp. Here we had to fasten ropes to the ends of the rollers lest they get loose from the frame and go rolling down the ramp on their own. With crowbars we teased the catapult over the top of the ramp.

"Watch out below!" Bias called down. "Chares, get some more men on those ropes or she'll get away from us."

"Grab it, Pronax," I said. "You, too, and you, whatever your name is. Ea, Onas! We need your thews!"

The men's shoes skidded on the wet wood of the top of the penthouse. Seeing that the engine was likely to pull loose after all, I seized the rope myself. Down went Herakles, a digit at a time. The catapult had been lowered halfway down the ramp when' there came a sound from the dark.

"What's that?" I said. "Listen!"

"Come on!" came Bias' voice from the head of the ramp. "We don't want to be here all night. Stand clear, Kriton!"

The sound waxed until there was no doubt of what it was: the splash and thump of the oars of light rowing craft.

"Battery leader!" I called. "Something is coming—"

Even as I spoke, the bark of commands and the clatter of weapons came from the seaward end of the mole. The sound was repeated, closer to hand: against the mole where stood our penthouse. Lanterns bobbed in the dark.

Somebody shouted: "The Macedonians come!"

There was a rush of feet around the base of the penthouse. Almost as one man, those holding the Herakles' ropes let go and dashed for the ladder to the ammunition room, or to the ramp, or lowered themselves over the edge of the penthouse roof and jumped. Most of the torchbearers dropped their torches and links, which sputtered and went out.

I found myself the only man holding my rope. The weight of the engine dragged me at ever-mounting speed towards the ramp until I let go just in time.

The Herakles rumbled down the ramp, struck the paving of the mole with a bang, and continued on its course. With a crash it rammed the Orion. There was a frightful shriek from the darkness; one of the men of the battery was caught between the two engines and had his legs crushed.

Other artillerymen slid or scrambled down the ramp. I followed. Except for myself and a few others who wore swords, we were all unarmed save for daggers.

I reached the foot of the ramp at the tail of the fleeing crowd. Beside me an Antigonian, looking a plethron tall in his crested helmet, loomed out of the darkness. His stabbing-spear jabbed out; the point transpierced an artilleryman, who fell with a scream.

I had my hand on the hilt of the short sword that had been issued to me. Hardly knowing what I did, I swept out the blade and aimed a cut at the spearman's arm. The blade bit through; the spear clattered to the pavement.

I stepped in, slashing and thrusting before the man could bring his shield around to ward me off. Somehow my point found his groin, below the edge of his corselet. It went through the straps of his kilt, and down he went with a groan.

My most urgent need was for a shield. Not a man in the battery bore one, and without shields there was no hope of stopping the Antigonian spears. With my free hand I tugged the fallen man's shield from his arm. It was of Macedonian pattern: a small buckler of wood and leather, without a bronze facing, made to be thrust up the left arm to free the hand for managing the long Macedonian pike, for which there is but little use in a siege.

When I got the shield on my arm, I found Antigonians all around me. If none speared me, it must have been that in the darkness they were unsure of who I was. They clattered shoreward in pursuit of the artillerymen. I ran with them, gaining because of my lighter gear and my familiarity with the site.

A few steps brought me to where the two catapults stood: Orion, previously lowered from the penthouse, and Herakles, which had smashed into Orion when the men had released the ropes. The man who had been crushed lay still, wedged into the space between the engines.

Although the two catapults blocked most of the mole, around one side a passage still existed. Here a little crowd was gathering: Antigonians trying to force their way past, and Rhodians striving to stop them.

I took two running steps towards an Antigonian who stood with his back to me while he jabbed at the Rhodians before him. I swung my sword up for a cut at his neck—and stumbled over a body. My shield struck the back of his corselet and gave him a violent push. He shouted something, doubled up, and fell to hands and knees.

I almost fell on top of the man, recovered my footing, and got my shield up just in time to block the swing of a sword. Such was the force of the blow that I thought my arm had been broken.

"Temple-robbing sodomite!" gasped the Rhodian, swinging his blade up again.

"Bias!" I cried. "It's I! Chares!"

"Chares? Well, don't stand there! Get in line with us!"

I stepped over the body of the man whom I had pushed and Bias had slain, and crowded into line. The carpenter had somehow obtained a shield and stood in the middle of our little group, blocking spear thrusts and dealing out sword blows at the nearest Antigonians. Behind the mass of foes, an officer shouted:

"Push on, men! They are but a handful! Push on!"

The Antigonians continued to jab. While we could parry or block their thrusts to some degree, we could not effectively fight back, because the reach of their spears was much greater than that of our swords.

I blocked and carried with the rest, panting: "Hasn't anybody gone for help?"

"The way they was running," snarled Bias, "they won't stop short of Kameiros."

The pressure from behind forced the foremost Antigonians forward. They were pushed upon us willy-nilly, thrusting furiously with their spears. One of our men went down with a scream and a gurgle. The next instant a spear point, darting out of the dark like a serpent's tongue, pierced my right leg below the knee. Feeling the sting of the steel, I struck at the man who had speared me and missed. As I put my weight on the wounded leg, it folded under me.

Down I went. A spear point glanced off my helmet; another was stopped by my leathern corselet. There was a confusion of legs all around me. I seemed to be alone in a forest of bronze-greaved Antigonian limbs, all tramping past me.

Then came a great yelling. The greaved legs stumbled back towards the penthouse. A tall figure loomed into the feeble lantern light, swinging a sword twice the length of mine and uttering hideous cries in the gargling Keltic tongue. I did not have to see the red mustache to recognize my former slave. The long sword flashed in the lantern light; an Antigonian cried out and fell off the mole with a splash. Others followed Kavaros.

Somebody caught my ankles and pulled me out of the press. At the base of the mole they hauled me to my feet.

"Are you still alive?" someone asked.

"I hope so," I said.

"Good. You don't look it, with that blood all over you."

They had fetched back the bodies of several more who had fallen in the fight for the mole, but I seemed the only one still living. Rhodian soldiers, summoned by trumpet blasts, were streaming out the harbor gate and hastening to the base of the mole, where Eros stood. Officers strove to get them into order.

The group that had rushed the Antigonians now fell back to the base of the mole. Some began gathering stones and timbers and building a barricade across the mole, a few paces out from its base.

The Antigonians, meanwhile, held off. They now held nine-tenths of the mole, including the two penthouses. For a while they stood in a bristling line across the mole, shields and spears at ready. Then the line broke and retreated. Behind them other Antigonians had also been erecting a barricade, using the benches and other simple furniture that we had placed in the penthouses, and stones pried up from the paving of the mole.

Darkness overhung the two groups of men, lightened fitfully by torches and lanterns. There was a buzz of talk, the grunting and panting of men moving heavy weights, and the thump of stones and timbers dropped into place.

Bias found me and looked at the wound in my leg. He said: "Here, Onas! Help Chares back and tie him up; then report to me."

With one arm about the stalwart Egyptian's neck, I hobbled back to his house in downtown Rhodes. His wife, Nembto, cleansed my wound with healing herbs and bound it up. Despite the ache that soon set in, I caught a little sleep before dawn—sleep, however, in which I dreamt that a shark was slowly chewing off my leg, all the while making love to me in King Demetrios' voice.

The fog was turning to pearl when I was awakened. Onas was there with Berosos and two others of the crew to carry me home on a litter made of spear shafts. We had not yet reached home when trumpets blew from all quarters. My friends did the last block to my house at a trot, summoned my parents, stammered hasty explanations, and ran off to take up their duties.

My mother almost fainted when she saw me, for my clothes and I had been drenched with Antigonian blood and I had washed off but little of it at Onas' house. Both parents made a great fuss over me. I realized that, in their own ways, they really loved me more than my cross-grained nature deserved from them.

Now the fog was lifting. I said: "Dear ones, please get me to the roof, where I can see!"

"Don't be silly, son," they exclaimed in the same breath. Despite my protests, my father and Sosias bore me off to bed and propped me up with pillows. My father said:

"Stop fidgeting like a fresh-caught fish, Chares! If you're not careful, you'll start your wound bleeding again. I will personally go up to the roof from time to time and bring you a report on the battle."

I ate a little and slept a little, in spite of the fact that, by straining an ear, I could plainly hear the cries and crashes of the growing battle. When my father came in again, he said:

"Several hundred of Demetrios' men hold the mole and the catapults on it, which they have turned about to face the shore. They've also moored to the mole two engines, each made up of a pair of ships lashed together and a wooden platform, bearing several powerful catapults. With these engines they have driven our men back from the waterfront. Now I must see to the foundry. I'll tell you more later."

It would take more than a mere battle to distract my father for long from the careful and efficient operation of his establishment. Later in the day he resumed his account:

"Demetrios' whole fleet is attacking the harbor. Herakles, but the man has ingenious ideas! First comes a pair of triremes pushing a boom of logs studded with spikes, to protect his ships from a sudden sortie by our little fleet. Then come two more sea engines, each of which is a tower mounted on a pair of hulls. Lastly come a swarm of small craft bearing troops and more catapults."

"Ye gods, could I only be there to strike one blow for my city!" I cried, twisting on my bed. "How are we doing?"

"It's too early to tell. When I came down, missiles were flying like raindrops from both sides."

"Father!" I said. "Tell Mother to put up some lunches and have the slaves take them down to the harbor and give them to Onas. This will be a long day and my crew will be hungry-"

"Aye-aye, sir!" said my father with a twinkle. "We're hampered by having only one man slave, Sosias, and he is out looking for a physician for you. But I'll see that your crew is fed."

"I don't need a physician for this scratch," I said. "And what's become of the other servants?"

"Kion and Daos have enlisted, and Pontikos has disappeared. Now lie quietly. As long as you're wounded, I'm your commanding officer."

I lay unhappily while my mother read to me to take my mind off the ache in my leg and the distant uproar. But even the duel between fleet Achilleus and noble Hektor seemed petty and amateurish compared to the mighty struggle now raging.

My father came in before dinner, wearing his old cuirass and looking haggard. He explained:

"Word was sent for the reservists to stand by, though happily we weren't needed. By the gods and spirits, though, for a time I thought we were done for! Demetrios' sea towers were pushed up to the waterfront by triremes. Then his archers in the towers drove our men from the harbor wall, which they overtopped."

"What saved us?"

"Incendiary darts from our catapults. We got a nice little fire blazing on one of the towers, and both were pulled back. Now Demetrios has settled down to a heavy bombardment of the harbor wall with his stone throwers. That's the booming you hear."

My mother felt my forehead. "He has a fever, Nikon. We simply must get Doctor Heron."

"Sosias has been looking for him for hours," said my father. "But all the physicians are busy at the walls. We shall have to depend on prayer and common sense."

There came a knocking on the outer door. It was Kavaros, with dents in his helmet, a bandage around his left arm, and a glow in his eyes.

"Ah, young sir, it is living again that I am," he said. "Was it not you that was pulled out by the feet, this morning in that shindy on the mole?"

"Yes. Where did you get that whopping great barbarian sword?"

Kavaros pulled out the blade. "Indeed and a better tool for fighting it is than these little choppers you use, which do be good only for cutting up a piece of meat into hash for the old people who have no teeth left. One of my officers, who picked it up in Ulyria, gave it to me. But not so well made is it as those of the Tektosages, which have more spring to the blade. Now, let me think, I came here for some reason. Oh, Battery-leader Bias wants Master Chares at the armory to help him sort the arrows and sling bullets and things they are picking up."

"He cannot go tonight," said my father. "He's wounded and feverish."

"I can too go," I said, beginning to rise.

My parents flew at me with protests. As we struggled, I to rise and they to force me back upon the bed, everything began to whirl, and I swooned away.

"How do you feel, my darling?" asked my mother. "As weak as a new puppy," I said. "How long was I out of my mind?"

'Two days. You raved about wishing to fight the Demetrios singlehanded, and many times you tried to leave your bed."

"How goes the battle?"

"Your father will tell you when he comes in. Now drink some broth, like a good boy."

Boom! A distant concussion sounded, much louder than anything I had heard from the battle yet.

"Zeus! What's that, Mother?" I asked.

"Some horrid new engine. Now, take another spoonful—"

When he came, my father said: "The day before yesterday Demetrios attacked again with his sea towers. This time the towers were covered with green hides, so that our flaming darts had no effect. But Superintendent Rhesos had prepared some jugs of incendiary mixture—naphtha laced with sulphur—and our stone throwers hurled these at the towers. When the towers had been well splashed, a single incendiary dart set a fine blaze on one, and both were pulled out again."

Boom! "What is that thing, Father?"

"I'm coming to that. Yesterday Demetrios' men ran two big merchantmen up to the South Mole and unloaded great masses of timber and fittings, which they began to assemble despite a harassing bombardment from our wall. This morning the sun disclosed two new catapults larger than any I ever heard of. They cast three-talent balls, more than a foot in diameter. With these and his other stone throwers, Demetrios seeks to batter down our harbor wall while with long-range dart throwers he hampers Makar's efforts to strengthen it. The gods only know what the outcome will be."