The Sand-Reckoner

12

At dawn the following morning, Agathon woke the king with the news that Dionysios son of Chairephon had arrived at the house and was asking to see him.

"Dining room," commanded Hieron succinctly. "Tell him I'll join him in a minute."

A minute later the king appeared in the dining room, barefoot, belting his tunic, and found the captain of the Ortygia garrison standing to attention by the door. Dionysios had the crumpled, excessively awake look of a man who's spent most of the night on his feet and the expression of one who brings bad news.

"Sit down," said Hieron, taking his own place on the central couch and gesturing toward the place on his right. "What's the matter?"

Dionysios ignored the invitation to sit. "Two of the Roman prisoners escaped last night," he said bluntly. "My troops were guarding them. I accept full responsibility."

Hieron looked at him curiously, then sighed. "Was anyone hurt?"

Dionysios grimaced. "One of the guards was killed. Straton son of Metrodoros- a fine man, one of my best. I had my eye on him for promotion. I have informed his family."

Hieron was silent for a moment. "May the earth be light upon him!" he said at last. "Tell me exactly what happened, as far as you know it, and- Captain? I will decide who is responsible. Not you. Also, do sit down, or I'll get a crick in my neck."

Dionysios sat, stiffly. "About an hour after midnight," he said, "the guard on the middle section of the quarry wall noticed that Straton, the guard on the western section, wasn't in his place. He went to look for him, and found him lying on top of the wall with his throat cut. There was a rope hanging down the front of the wall beside him. The sentry raised the alarm at once, and the file leader in charge at the quarry- Hermokrates son of Dion- instantly doubled the watch on the walls and sent a messenger running to find me. He himself went to check on the prisoners. Most were sound asleep, and the guards on the sheds were awake and in their places, but two men from the middle shed were missing: Gaius Valerius and Quintus Fabius, both heavy infantrymen from the same maniple. Fabius was an officer of some kind- tessararius, I think the title was."

"Watch commander," translated Hieron. "A junior rank within a century."

"The two missing men had been next to each other," Dionysios went on. "Valerius was wounded- broken arm and ribs- and had not been shackled, but Fabius had been in leg irons. He'd got them off somehow, probably just by working his feet out through them- they'd been left in his place, weren't obviously damaged, and guards on the shed say they were old and he was built like a snake. Behind where the two had been, two planks in the shed wall had been sawn through, then propped back into place. Hermokrates had the shed searched, and found the saw tucked under a mattress." Dionysios removed it from a fold of his cloak and set it down on the king's dining table: an unremarkable strip of toothed iron, with a strip of cloth wound about one end in place of a handle. Hieron picked it up and examined it, then set it down again. The captain continued, "I arrived while Hermokrates was questioning the other prisoners- they claim not to have noticed the escape, though it's plain at least some of them must have. I'd brought two files of men with me. I sent my men out to search for the fugitives at once, but by then they'd had some time to make good their escape, and we found no trace of them. I wish to make it plain, however, that I entirely support Hermokrates' decision not to search the streets at once. He did not initially know the scale of the escape, and he did not have enough men to secure the quarry and search the streets as well."

"I agree," said Hieron. "Have you informed the captains of the forts on the wall?"

"I did that as soon as I arrived at the quarry. They should be on the watch for any attempt to leave the city."

"Good. It seems likely, then, that the two men are still in the city, presumably hiding with whoever it was that brought them the saw, the rope, and the weapon they used on that poor guardsman. Who has had contact with the prisoners?"

Dionysios shrugged his shoulders wearily. "You, me, their guards. Your doctor. Beyond that, I don't know. You know that they were originally in the charge of the garrison of the Hexapylon, and I and my men only took over yesterday. I doubt, though, that Captain Lysias has been lax. However, there is one thing…" He took a piece of knotted cloth out of his purse, set it down on the table, and unknotted it to reveal a silver coin. "One of the guards says that the prisoner Valerius gave him this yesterday and asked him to buy oil. The guard used some change to buy the oil, kept this, and last night passed it on to me."

Hieron picked the coin up and examined it. It bore a crown and thunderbolt on the reverse, and, on the obverse, the smiling, diademed profile of Ptolemy II. "Surprising," commented Hieron in a neutral voice, then, raising mild eyes to Dionysios, "And I take it your guard was surprised, since he passed it on to you?"

Dionysios nodded. "He says he made some comment when he was offered it, and the prisoner told him that it was the same weight as Sicilian ones."

"And so, of course, it is," said Hieron. "But unexpected in the hands of a Roman." He set the coin down. "It may be irrelevant," he added after a moment. "If a Roman did get such a coin, its rarity might induce him to keep it for good luck. Perhaps he kept it around his neck as a sort of talisman, and only spent it since his other money was taken when he was captured and he was desperate to buy some oil to help his friend slip off the shackles."

"Oh, Zeus!" exclaimed Dionysios, startled. He had seen nothing odd in the request for oil: it was used like soap, and it had seemed natural for even a prisoner to want to wash.

Hieron gave him a tight smile. "On the other hand, this could come from the same source as the rope. I take it you've checked whether any of your men have been to Egypt recently? Are any of them Italian mercenaries? Greeks from one of the cities of Italy?"

"A couple are Tarentines," admitted Dionysios. "But I wouldn't think- that is, I know that one of them at least is fanatically anti-Roman; it's always causing trouble."

"Check their backgrounds anyway," ordered the king. "See if they could have been blackmailed. And another thing: check if anyone has visited the quarry, but not the prisoners."

"What?" asked the captain, surprised.

"There's no handle on the saw," Hieron pointed out. "Would a man who was smuggling in a saw deliberately choose one with no handle? I'd say it's much more likely that the handle was taken off in order to fit the tool through a crack in the wall."

"Zeus!" exclaimed Dionysios again, staring. "I know already of one man who visited the quarry and not the prisoners, and though he's unlikely to be relevant, there may have been others claiming the same errand."

"What errand is that?"

"Stone for very large catapults," said the captain. "Lysias told me that Archimedes had his man around checking which quarry would be best for ammunition for the three-talenter."

Hieron's head jerked up, and he stared at Dionysios, wide-eyed in alarm. "Oh, gods!" he exclaimed.

"What's the matter?" asked Dionysios, surprised. "It was Archimedes' slave. Your doctor was there at the time and recognized the man, Lysias said."

Hieron shook his head. He clapped his hands, and Agathon appeared sour-faced in the doorway. "Take half a file of men from the guards' barracks," commanded the king, "and hurry to Archimedes' house in the Achradina- I believe you know where it is. There are two escaped prisoners of war who may be hiding there. Get the household to safety, and then search the house for the prisoners. The citizens are to be treated with every courtesy. Ask Archimedes to come up here. If that Italian slave of his is about, send him as well, under guard. Hurry! Run!"

Agathon, astonished, bobbed his head and ran. Hieron got to his feet and stood biting the side of his thumb with anxiety. Dionysios stared at him in consternation.

"Lord!" he exclaimed. "You can't think that Archimedes…"

"That slave of his is a Latin," said Hieron. "What's more, he was in Egypt. And if Archimedes wanted special stone for his three-talenter- and I haven't heard any report that he did! — he would have used someone from the workshop to look for it. He's been quite careful to keep that particular slave away from anything strategic."

"How do you…" began Dionysios weakly.

"Because I had it checked!" snapped Hieron. "The slave claims to be a Samnite, but is obviously lying, and he's been in Syracuse for thirteen years- in other words, since the Pyrrhic War, when there were quite a number of Latins enslaved. Probably he saw some men he knew among the prisoners, and agreed to help them escape if they would help him back to home and freedom. Herakles, I hope I'm wrong! I hope we don't find Archimedes with his throat cut, like that poor guardsman!"

"He was with me last night," said Dionysios faintly. "I'd invited him to dinner at the Arethusa. I… wanted to ask if I could marry his sister. When I left he was playing the flute with a girl. That was an hour or so before midnight."

"I hope she kept him distracted until dawn!" said the king. He sat down again.

"Why would Archimedes have kept a slave he knew was disloyal?" asked Dionysios.

"Don't be stupid!" said Hieron impatiently. "The man had served his family for thirteen years and accompanied him to Alexandriaobviously he didn't think the fellow disloyal! But he just as obviously had some reason to suspect the slave's nationality, and so he confined him to domestic duties to avoid any patriotic crisis of conscience. What else was he supposed to do? You don't send a person who's been a member of your household ever since you were a child to the quarries without good cause!" The king rubbed his face wearily, then looked back at Dionysios. "I hope I'm wrong," he repeated grimly.

Marcus had been back at the house for about half an hour when the guardsmen knocked on the door.

He had arrived back at the house at dawn, slipped in through the door he had carefully left unbolted, put away his basket of equipment, and moved directly to his usual first duty of the day: cleaning the latrine. He was in the middle of this when he heard the knock, and then Sosibia's voice, shrill with alarm, answering a man. He froze in his place for a moment, listening, then got up, washed his hands carefully, and came out into the courtyard, where the rest of the household was assembling.

Archimedes was waked out of a deep sleep into a hangover. He stumbled down the stairs pale with headache, his black tunic crumpled from having been slept in, and regarded Agathon and the half-file leader from the Ortygia with queasy bewilderment. They explained that two Roman prisoners had escaped during the night and might be hiding somewhere in the house.

"Where?" he asked disgustedly. "It's not a very big house. I think we might notice two Romans."

"The king gave orders for us to search it, sir," said the half-file leader. "He was concerned for your safety."

"That's ridiculous! You can see there's nobody here but my own household!"

The half-file leader scanned the small group in the courtyard, who had been crowded into the doorways by his own men, then looked back to the disheveled master of the house. "I am still obliged to search," he said. "One of your slaves can remain to explain the arrangement of the house to us, but the rest of the household should go to a neighbor's, out of harm's way. Believe me, sir, we have strict orders not to disturb anything."

"Zeus!" exclaimed Archimedes in disgust.

"I'm sure Euphanes would be happy to have us," said Arata pacifically. She was standing in the workroom door, veiled with a hastily seized cloak, Philyra beside her.

Archimedes opened his mouth to make some reply, and Agathon said to him sharply, "The king wants you to come and speak with him at once."

Archimedes turned back and glared. "No," he declared flatly. "Delian Apollo, the arrogance of it! To turn my family out of our own house and expect me to come running the moment he claps his hands! If Hieron thinks he owns me, he'll soon learn otherwise!"

Arata gasped and dropped her veil. The king's doorkeeper went crimson with indignation and drew himself up to his- unimpressivefull height.

Before he could speak, Archimedes struck again angrily: "This is my house, and I didn't ask you in! Get out!"

The half-file leader looked to Agathon for guidance, but Agathon could only splutter. The half-file leader looked back at Archimedes, remembered the great respect showed to him by the king, and decided that conciliation was called for. "Sir," he said, "this is being done out of concern for your safety, not because-"

"The king also ordered your man Marcus brought to him under guard," declared Agathon, finding his voice again.

"That's…" began Archimedes- then looked at Marcus and stopped. The slave's face was impassive, inert as clay, but told him instantly that the implied accusation was true. Perhaps it was only that it contained neither confusion nor surprise. He stared for a long moment, appalled. The half-file leader went on about the king's concern for his safety.

Archimedes raised his hand for silence, and the half-file leader stopped. There was a sudden silence, which deepened like a stone plummeting as he and Marcus looked at each other. "Are they here?" he asked at last, the words dropping into that stillness.

"No," replied Marcus in a grating voice. "Let them search."

Archimedes looked at him for another moment. Marcus, meeting his eyes, felt that for the first time he had his master's full attention; that always before that gaze had been fixed on something beyond or to the side of him, and only now was the full power of the mind behind it bent on him where he stood in the silent courtyard. The aperture of a three-talenter, he thought, would have seemed less absolute.

"Were they here?" asked Archimedes quietly.

Marcus hesitated- then nodded. "Last night," he whispered. "They were here when you came back from your dinner. They hid in the dining room until it was quiet again. They're gone now." He pulled himself up, and went on, for the sake of all the household, but especially for the girl who was watching him in shocked amazement, "One of them is my brother. I helped him because I was bound to, but first I made him swear not to harm anyone in this house. He urged me to escape with him, but I refused. I wanted no part of the attack on Syracuse. I am prepared to accept the consequences of what I have done."

"Where are they?" demanded the half-file leader.

"Already out of the city," replied Marcus proudly. "They'll be back in their own camp by now. You can search as much as you like, but you won't find them."

"You'll come with us as the king ordered," said the half-file leader, and Marcus at once bowed his head in agreement.

"I'll- come as well," said Archimedes hoarsely.

He crossed the courtyard to his mother, took her by the arms, and kissed her cheek. "Don't worry," he told her. "Let the men search the house- though I don't think there's any point in bothering Euphanes at this time of morning. Stay and make sure they don't take anything. And don't let them be insolent." He looked from Arata to the half-file leader, and his next words were intended for the whole party. "We are not insignificant people."

They left the half-file leader directing the search of the house and started off toward the Ortygia: Agathon, Archimedes, and Marcus, walking between two guardsmen but, at Archimedes' insistence, not bound. Agathon said nothing, though every line of his rigid back and every glance of his sour face expressed the most absolute disapproval. Marcus, who walked silently with his head bowed, could feel those glances like a flick of the fingers against his face. Archimedes' looks of unhappy concern, however, were much more painful.

When they reached the king's house, they found Hieron and Dionysios still in the dining room. The king jumped to his feet when they entered and beamed at Archimedes. "Good health to you, and I thank the gods!" he exclaimed, coming over to shake hands. "Forgive me if I've disturbed you unnecessarily, but-"

"The slave has admitted it," interrupted Agathon harshly. "He says he smuggled the two prisoners out of the city last night."

Hieron turned to Marcus. The smile he had given Archimedes was still fading from his lips, but the expression in his eyes was already something quite different. "How?" he asked.

Marcus cleared his throat. "I lowered them down from the seawall just where it turns inland. There's only one guard on that stretch, and he didn't come downstairs to check the catapult platforms on the ground floor. There was no moon, and it was simply a matter of waiting until he was out of the way." He looked at Archimedes. "I borrowed that hoist you built when I last retiled the roof. You know, the one with the windlass that clamps onto things? We clamped it to the artillery port, and I lowered Gaius down in the tile basket- his arm's broken, and his ribs, and he couldn't have gone down a rope. Fabius just slid down after him. Then I pulled the basket up again, unclamped the windlass, and went home."

"Why?" asked the king softly. His clear dark eyes rested on Marcus' face, their expression impenetrable.

Marcus straightened his shoulders. "One of the escaped men is my brother. Gaius Valerius, son of Gaius, of the Valerian voting tribe."

"A Roman citizen," said the king.

"Yes," said Marcus. "I used to be a Roman as well." He glanced at the expressions on the faces about him: the door-keeper disapproving; Archimedes stunned and miserable; Dionysios and the two guards angry and confused; the king- unreadable. He might as well go on- there was no sense in keeping anything back. Even if he had not admitted it, they would have known what he had done. They'd sent guards for him: someone must have remembered his visit to the quarry. "I happened to see the prisoners when they were being marched into the city, and I recognized Gaius. Gaius saw me, too. I couldn't leave him. He was wounded and… I could not leave him to think I'd forgotten everything I was. I went to speak to him next day. You know about that. The other man, Fabius, was next to Gaius and overheard us talking, so I had to involve him as well."

"I don't know about it," said Archimedes numbly.

"You don't," agreed Marcus, and looked back at the king. "You probably realize that already, lord, but I can confirm it: Archimedes didn't know anything about any of it. I never told him even that I was a Roman." He turned back to his master. "Sir, I told the guards at the quarry I was your slave and that you'd sent me to check which quarry would provide the best stone for the three-talenter. They let me in at once. I went up to the shed and spoke to Gaius through the wall. He asked me to help him escape. I told him he was better off where he was, but he didn't believe it.- They'd been told a lot of stupid stories about you, lord," he added apologetically to Hieron.

"Really?" asked Hieron. "What stupid stories?"

Marcus hesitated, and the king said, "Please! I will not blame you for repeating what they said, and I would very much like to know."

"They had you confused with Phalaris of Akragas," said Marcus uncomfortably. "They told me you cooked people alive in a bronze bull. And they said you had people impaled on stakes."

"Tch-tch," said Hieron. "Is there anyone in particular I'm supposed to have had cooked or impaled, or did I choose my victims at random?"

"You're supposed to have cooked your opponents, I think," said Marcus, even more embarrassed, "and impaled their wives and children. A hundred of them, I think they said. I told Gaius it was all lies, but, as I said, I don't think he really believed me. His friend told me I'd gone very Greek. They know nothing about Greeks and less about Syracuse."

"I impale children, do I?" said Hieron thoughtfully. "Gods! Very well, go on. You agreed to help your brother and his friend escape. You gave them money, a saw, some rope, and a weapon of some kind."

"A knife," said Marcus. "Yes. I hoped they wouldn't use it, but I've heard that they did. I'm sorry for the man, whoever he was."

"His name was Straton son of Metrodoros," said the king. "I believe you knew him."

Archimedes and Marcus both stared, appalled. "Straton?" asked Marcus in horror. "But- it wasn't the troops from the Ortygia who-"

"I was given charge of the prisoners yesterday," said Dionysios coldly. "Straton was watching the western end of the wall last night. They cut his throat."

"Oh, gods!" groaned Marcus. He covered his face: he could no longer meet the eyes that watched him. The whole of the long sleepless night, the anxious days before it, came crashing down on him, and he feared that he would burst into tears. Straton! Not a nameless guard, but a man he'd known, a good-natured gambler, a fellow who liked a joke, a man with the same real and urgent life as himself.

"You liked him," came the king's quiet voice.

Marcus nodded behind his hands. "I… yes, I liked him. He was a man who deserved a long life. Oh, gods! I should never have given them anything except the money! Gaius said he wouldn't have tried to escape if he'd realized I didn't mean to come."

"Why didn't you go with them?" asked the king. "Why are you here to begin with? One does not expect to find a Roman citizen as a slave. I'd assumed that you were merely a Roman ally who'd recognized someone who might help him, but it seems the situation is altogether more complicated than that."

Marcus lowered his hands. "It's not complicated," he declared bitterly. "I enrolled in the legions for the Pyrrhic War. At Asculum I panicked when the Epirots charged. I dropped my shield and ran. Afterward I claimed not to be a Roman so that I wouldn't be sent back."

"Ah," said Hieron, in a tone of revulsion.

"I don't understand!" exclaimed Archimedes. "Why…"

"The Romans kill men for deserting their posts," said the king. "They strip the unfortunate deserter naked and stand him in front of his comrades, who are then urged to beat him to death with sticks and stones. They consider this a great incitement to valor- which it undoubtedly is, if you think valor worth purchasing at such a price." Hieron moved closer to Marcus and peered quizzically into his face. He was close enough that Marcus could feel the heat of his breath, but with the guards boxing him in he could not move away. Trapped under that scrutiny, for the first time that morning he really felt himself to be a prisoner.

"They are not always as ferocious in inflicting such extreme penalties as they pretend, however," the king went on. "Men who merely flee out of panic are usually let off with a beating. And Asculum was a long time ago. I would have thought that after so many years in exile, you would have been able to return."

"They would have asked me for information about the defenses of Syracuse," said Marcus. His voice was flat; he felt beaten. Who was going to believe this? He had given a knife to the enemies of Syracuse, and they had used it to kill a citizen: how could he claim he was loyal, after that? But he went on anyway. "When I refused to give it to them, they would have killed me."

"And you would have refused?"

"Yes!" Marcus said, collecting the last limp remnants of his strength and glaring into those impenetrable eyes. "Disbelieve it if you like, but I would have refused. Syracuse has committed no offense against the Roman people, and Rome has no business attacking her. For my own part, this city allowed me life. If it was a life of slavery, that wasn't her fault, and she's given me things that I hadn't even known existed. I am in her debt, and I will never repay that debt with injury. May the gods destroy me if I do- and may the gods favor Syracuse, and crown her with victory!"

"That is not a prayer I ever expected to hear spoken by a Roman," observed Hieron dryly. "But you have done injury to the city already, in abetting the murder of one of her defenders." He went back to his couch at the table and sat down. "Let us return to what happened last night. Did you go to the quarry to help your brother and his friend over the wall?"

"He was at my house," put in Archimedes abruptly. "He would have been missed in the evening if he'd been away. And he let me in when I came home. That was a couple of hours after midnight."

"He said they were already there then," said Agathon. "Hiding."

Marcus nodded and numbly recited the facts. "They arrived just before Archimedes. I'd told them to come to the house when they could, beginning on the third night after I spoke to them. I made them swear not to hurt anyone in it." With a shudder he remembered again how Fabius had crouched under the dining-room window, knife in hand, blood on his cheek, eyes gleaming. But there was no reason to mention that to the king.

"Lord," said Archimedes urgently. "This man is mine."

"Questionable," replied Hieron. "He is, it seems, a Roman citizen, and should not be a slave at all. Marcus- Valerius, I suppose it is. Son of Gaius, of the Valerian voting tribe."

"My father purchased him legally," said Archimedes stubbornly. "He has been in my family for a long time, and he has always shown himself faithful, until now. He wouldn't have been disloyal now, either, if he hadn't been bound by an older loyalty to his brother. He refused to purchase his own safety at the cost of treachery to the city, and he remained here to suffer the consequences of his offense."

"Did he?" asked the king. "Or did he just hope that he wouldn't get caught?"

"I hoped that I would not get caught," said Marcus readily, "but I was prepared to suffer the consequences if I was. I am ready to suffer them now, O King." He wished they would get it over with.

"And just what do you think those consequences are?" inquired Hieron.

Marcus stared at him in silence. The round, bright-eyed face was still unreadable. "You will have me put to death," he said. He was proud of how calm he sounded.

"Ah, death!" exclaimed the king. He leaned back on the couch, put his legs up, and crossed them. "Phalaris of Akragas, am I? You know, Archimedes, I've always wondered about that bronze bull. Is it even technically possible? I don't mean casting a hollow statue, I mean the rest of it- that the screams of the victims were distorted into a lowing such as a bull might make."

Archimedes blinked. "It's technically possible to distort a sound, yes, of course. But…"

"So it might have existed? A shame. Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to build me one! Marcus Valerius, what am I supposed to have you put to death for? A fine man died because of what you did- but you didn't kill him yourself, clearly didn't want him killed, and were not present at the murder. The most you can be said to have done is to have provided a murder weapon, and that is not generally reckoned a capital offense. Neither is it a capital offense to help a kinsman out of prison, and you are not, so far as I can tell, guilty of anything else. You have certainly abused the trust of your excellent master and put his household in danger, but he seems more inclined to plead for you than to accuse you. Since I am not Phalaris of Akragas, I am not going to put you to death for crimes to which a jury would assign a lesser penalty."

"Now, if your offenses are not capital, they remain serious, but what penalty you should receive for them depends on your status, which is, as I said just now, questionable. You say that you are a Roman citizen; Archimedes says that you are his slave. As a slave who has deceived his master, betrayed the city, and abetted the murder of a citizen, you should be flogged and sent to work in the quarries. As a Roman, however, you are an enemy national, and your treatment depends entirely upon the military authorities of Syracuse- in other words, on me." He glanced about the room, as though inquiring whether anyone disputed this. When his eyes met Archimedes', they stopped for a moment.

"I withdraw my claim to this man," said Archimedes in a low, unsteady voice. "Or, if necessary, I will free him. He is in your hands, O King."

Hieron inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I think it's sufficient that you withdraw your claim. Do you want compensation for him? How much did he cost?"

"I don't want compensation."

Another nod. The king turned back to Marcus. "Marcus Valerius, son of Gaius, of the Valerian voting tribe of the city of Rome, you have assisted two of your countrymen to escape from the prison in which they were being held. It seems to me most fitting that you should take their place in that prison, and that you should be exchanged, ransomed, or released with those of your fellow citizens who were taken in arms. Should you think that I am by this means after all sentencing you to death, and making your own people your executioners, let me add that, as far as I am concerned, you are welcome to tell Appius Claudius about the defenses of Syracuse. Nothing you could say would injure this great city, and it might help her. I had in fact intended to show those very defenses to your fellow prisoners, as a remedy to the contempt in which the consul appears to hold us.

"As for Straton son of Metrodoros, he died at the hands of the enemies of Syracuse. I decree that he is to receive a state funeral, and that his family is to be provided for as though he had died in battle- for he fell guarding the city no less than those who die in defense of the walls."

Hieron stopped and again surveyed the room. Archimedes inclined his head at once. Dionysios hesitated, obviously considering a protest, but, after a glance at Archimedes, yielded. Then Hieron nodded as well, satisfied. "Take the prisoner to the quarry, and put him in his brother's place," he commanded the two guards. "Captain Dionysios, I disagree entirely with your assessment as to who was responsible for this incident, but, with hindsight, there were not enough guards on the quarry. We relied too heavily on the prisoners' wounds. Take another half-file, and improve matters. Agathon, ask Nikostratos to come here and write some letters: I need to double the watch on the seawall. Archimedes…" The king hesitated. "Perhaps you'd care to stay to breakfast?"

Archimedes shook his head.

"Then, please, use my house as your own if you wish to rest a little and compose yourself before going home."

The guards escorted Marcus out. He went quietly, though his expression was one of shame and bewilderment, not at all appropriate to a man who has just heard that he is to be freed from slavery and returned to his own people. Dionysios left with him, to rearrange the security for the quarry. The secretary Nikostratos came in to take Hieron's letters, and Archimedes went out into the garden. He was glad of a chance to rest and compose himself before venturing into the streets. He felt more shaken and confused by what had happened than he would have thought possible.

He was sitting beside the fountain, stirring the water with his fingers, when Delia came into the garden on her way to breakfast. She stopped short, her breath catching, and watched him a minute in silence.

Ever since Hieron had promised his exceptional engineer wealth and honor, something which she had dismissed as impossible had been insinuating itself to her as possible after all, and she had not known what to do. She was wretchedly aware that just because her brother wanted to keep Archimedes in Syracuse did not mean that he wanted to marry his own sister to a middle-class teacher's son. But a devious, untrustworthy part of her mind had begun to whisper to her that even though Hieron might not actually want her to make such a marriage, he would probably accept it if he had to- if, for example, she declared that she loved Archimedes, and Archimedes threatened to go off to Alexandria if Hieron refused his permission for the match.

Like the secret meetings, it was something she should never have contemplated. She owed her brother a political advantage from her wedding. He had given her a great many things, and that was all she had to give in return. And he deserved whatever advantages he could get. Hieron had taken a city shattered by the Pyrrhic Wars, a bankrupt city which had lost its fleet and its treasury, its citizens rebellious and its army mutinous, and he had made it strong and whole and prosperous again. That in itself was extraordinary enough, but to have done it without violence or injustice- that was an achievement unparalleled in the history of Syracuse. She knew what she ought to do; she'd known all along: tell Archimedes that they must not meet again, and resign herself to her fate. But when she thought of him, she had no resignation in her at all.

But the thought of going to Hieron, of admitting what she'd been doing and what she wanted to do, of facing his anger- or, worse, his bewildered pain- appalled her.

She also had no idea whether Archimedes wanted to marry her. She felt sometimes that he loved her, sometimes that he must despise her as shameless- it was shameless, the way she'd thrown herself at him! Did he really want to go to Alexandria? Did she want to be the chain that kept him in Syracuse? She was afraid to see him again, afraid that if she suggested this impossible scheme he would turn it down.

In the end she'd decided to talk to his sister, to see if she couldn't discover what he thought about her. That had been a disaster. Philyra didn't appear to have heard anything about her, good or bad, and, what was more, had disliked her. She wasn't sure why, though she supposed she'd mishandled the interview; she often did. And Queen Philistis disapproved of the invitation, though she'd had to concede that it was perfectly proper. She had stayed in the room the whole time Philyra was there, frowning whenever Archimedes was mentioned. Philistis disapproved of Archimedes generally- a conceited young man, she thought, who was being treated with altogether more honor than he deserved, and who had had no business disturbing her husband at the end of particularly exhausting day and making accusations of deceit. Hieron thought it important to cultivate the man, so Philistis was cooperating, but she did not like it.

And now here was Archimedes himself, rumpled and tired and staring sadly into the basin of the fountain, while around him the early-morning light cast fresh shadows through the leaves of the garden.

Delia stepped forward, and he looked up. He blinked at her vaguely, without surprise, his mind still fixed on whatever he had been contemplating in the water.

"Good health!" she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "What brings you here so early?"

At that he grimaced, scrunched up his shoulders, and got to his feet. "Nothing pleasant," he told her unhappily. "My slave Marcus helped two Roman prisoners to escape. One of their guards was killed, a man I knew, a good man."

"Oh, by the gods!" she exclaimed with concern; then added quickly, "I'm sure my brother doesn't blame you for something your slave did."

He shook his head, but remained hunched unhappily. "He's being locked up in the prisoners' place- Marcus, I mean- though Hieron has implied he'll be exchanged or released with the other Romans. I- feel ashamed."

"It's not your fault if a slave does something wicked!"

He shook his head. "Not like that at all! I never really noticed Marcus before. He was always just there. But he's really quite an extraordinary man. He's actually a Roman citizen, and the reason he helped those men escape was that one of them is his brother. He could have escaped as well, but he didn't because he didn't want to betray Syracuse. And I realized that that's exactly like him. He had an obligation to his brother and an obligation to Syracuse, so he fulfilled both as well as he could, and then stood there expecting to die for it. He didn't even complain about it. He's always been absolutely honest and scrupulous. I should have noticed. But I don't notice people, even when they're under my eyes. All I notice is mathematics." His voice had filled with disgust.

She did not know what answer to make to this. She went over to the fountain and sat down on its rim. "I suppose mathematics is rational, and people aren't," she said. He gave a rueful snort. "You know the song of the Sirens?

" 'Halt your ship and stay to hear our song.

For sailor none in his black ship has gone from listening to our honey-voiced call but goes his way delighting, knowing more…

For we know as many things as come to pass upon the fertile Earth.' "

His voice lowered, and he continued:

" 'So they cried with lovely voice and clear and I wished with all my heart to hear and commanded my friends to set me free… instead they bound me with more chains.'

"Mathematics is a siren. It's probably just as well that most of the world has its ears stuffed with wax and can't hear her. I'm saying this now as though I'm ashamed of it, but I won't change. The moment she sings to me again, I'll ignore everyone and everything else."

She was silent for a long moment, thinking about him, and about herself, and about her brother. Then she repeated slowly, "Chains. Do you know, Hieron talked about chaining you to Syracuse. Do you hate it?"

He did not answer at once. He had thought that morning that Hieron was summoning him as though he were a slave, and he'd been surprised by his own sense of outrage and betrayal. He had not realized how much he had started to believe that he would stay in Syracuse and work with the king. With the king; that was the point. Not for him. He had been more or less resigned to being under another man's command when he'd thought it unavoidable, but that resignation had been crumbling as he came to appreciate his own power. The way Hieron had tried to manipulate him had impressed him. He hadn't liked it, but it had been interesting, as elegant in its way as a geometrical proof, and it had seemed to him a clear indication that the king genuinely preferred persuasion to decree. And he had begun to like Hieron himself- the subtlety, the quick perception and efficient action, the good humor. And then there was Delia. She was worth staying in Syracuse for, if he could get her, and he had begun to wonder if he might. After all, Hieron had promised him almost anything.

But was that only another trick? The position Hieron had been inventing for him had impressed him as something more than the kind of straightforward contract he could get in Egypt, but what if it was something less? What if it was only a counterfeit meant to cheat him? Would he be a friend of the king, an adviser, on an equal footing- or would he be a hired servant?

"I am deeply in your brother's debt," he said at last, slowly, "and I suspect that's where he wants me. But there's nothing he's given me yet that I can't repay- not even Marcus' life. What I can make is worth a great deal, so I don't mind. Chains. Well." He frowned down at his own flat, big-boned wrists as though contemplating shackles. "Sirens eat people. Odysseus only heard them and lived because of those chains. Maybe I need them. Maybe I ought to be tied to a city, and to people who aren't mathematical. And there'd be chains anywhere. If King Ptolemy does offer me a job, it will be because of water-snails and catapults, not pure mathematics. So really all I can choose is whose chains, and how heavy."

"So you are still thinking of going to Alexandria!" she asked.

He looked up at her and groaned. "Oh, don't! Everyone's been quarreling with me about that."

"I don't want you to go!" she said unwarily, and then crimsoned.

He caught her hand, and her neat, strong flute player's fingers clenched upon his own. "Delia," he began urgently, then stopped, not knowing what he wanted to say. They gazed at each other for a long moment, not in any rapture of love but simply trying desperately to judge the other's will, the other's mind.

"I want to ask you this, then," he said at last. "Is there any chance you could be responsible for my staying?"

Her blush darkened. "Hieron might…" she whispered. "He might… no!" She had promised herself that she would not try to force Hieron's agreement; that she would not return all his kindness with this- this insult. She looked away and tried again. "I can't…" She became aware that she was still clutching Archimedes' hand, and stopped, tears of shame springing to her eyes. That was how much strength of mind she had: trying to give up the man, she couldn't even let go of his hand. She shook her head and cried despairingly, "I can't!"

"It's not up to you," came his voice beside her. "It's up to your brother. I'll talk to him."

She risked looking back at him, and saw that his face was alight with joy. He had understood enough: her mind.

"He did promise me anything except the Museum," he told her reasonably. "And I never expected the gods to favor me as far as this. Why not ask for more? The worst that can happen is that he says no. I'll ask him. I'll find a good time and ask him. When the three-talenter is finished. I'll ask him then."