The Sand-Reckoner

5

The catapult was completed in the middle of the morning four days later. It crouched in the center of the workshop like a predatory insect: a long low stock like an abdomen perched upon the three-legged stand, and at the far end, the great bowlike arms stretched wide like a praying mantis striking. The single eye of the aperture between those arms had the unblinking stare of death. When Archimedes winched back the string- an arm-thick leather cable- it gave a groan like a giant waking; when he released it, the clap of the ironclad arms against the iron heel plates was like the shattering of mountains. The workmen cheered and stroked the beast's bronze-plated back and wooden sides.

Archimedes had expected the machine to be finished that morning, but still he stood back and contemplated it with delight: his first catapult. "It's a beauty," he told Epimeles.

"The finest I've ever seen," the foreman agreed. Archimedes looked at him in surprise: he knew that Epimeles had been in the workshops for over twenty years, and he hadn't thought the man was given to flattery. Then he looked back at the one-talenter and grinned: best in twenty years or not, it was a beauty.

"Well," he said, and picked up the cloak he had brought along that morning in the expectation of another visit to the king's house. "I'll go tell the regent it's done, shall I? And ask him where he wants it, and when he wants the trial. But…" He dug in his purse. "Why don't you and the lads buy yourselves a drink to celebrate?"

"Thank you, sir- not yet," said Epimeles at once. "After the trials, sir, would be better."

Disappointed, Archimedes put his money back in the purse: he suspected that for all the flattery, Epimeles wasn't certain the machine would work. He sighed and walked off a bit disconsolately.

"What was wrong with a drink to celebrate?" asked Elymos, who was fond of wine.

"The gods hate arrogance," replied Epimeles. "We haven't got it safely through its trial yet. You want somebody to tamper with it while we're busy drinking?" He patted the huge machine with loving awe.

Archimedes recovered his good humor on the walk to the king's house. The week just past had been thoroughly enjoyable. It had been fun making the one-talenter, and things were well at home: his father actually seemed to have recovered a little. Perhaps it was just not having to worry about when his son would return, but Phidias was sitting up in bed, drinking barley broth three times a day, and taking an interest in things. He listened to the music the rest of the family played for him, he discussed Alexandria with his son, he even played a bit with the puzzle. Archimedes decided that it would help again when he himself got a salaried position as a royal engineer; it would take another burden off his father's mind. Well, that should now happen as soon as the catapult had proved itself.

And now- now he would see Delia again. Archimedes fingered the small package he'd stowed in a fold of his cloak, the new cheek strap and the old one, and walked faster.

He had no serious expectation that there could be anything between himself and the king's sister. But he had no expectations about anything: he was living in the present and trying not to think of the future, which held at best a life of drudgery and at worst the horrors of defeat in war. Delia was a pretty girl. She was clever, she had made him laugh, and she played the aulos very well. Today he would see her again and give her a gift: what more could he ask for? He began to whistle an old song as he walked, letting the words run through his mind:

Aphrodite in your gown of brightly varied hues,

Zeus's wile-weaving child, immortal lady:

My soul with grief and cares subdued,

Don't break me!

But come to me now, if ever, much-desired, you heeded what I sang to you in prayer and left your father's house as I required to save me,

Golden your chariot yoked, and you all fair,

Swift sparrows drew about the black earth,

Wingbeats thickly whirling through the air from heaven…

… to ask what next my mad heart longs for, who now shall I bring to love you?…

He reached the house and stopped whistling as he walked the last steps through the porch and up to the door. He straightened his cloakthe new yellow one, finally clean of lampblack- took a deep breath, and knocked.

The doorkeeper opened it at once and surveyed him with the usual expression of disapproval. "Your business?" he snapped.

"I've come to tell the regent that the catapult is finished!" said Archimedes triumphantly.

"Huh!" snorted Agathon. "The regent's out. I'll give him your message when he comes home."

Archimedes stood on the doorstep, crimson with embarrassment. He saw that he'd expected to be received like a victorious general- and he saw how stupid that had been. The one-talenter was, after all, only one catapult among several hundred owned by the city, and all the catapults in Syracuse were only a portion of the regent's responsibilities. Stupid! Still, out of some confused loyalty to his machine and the workshop that had produced it, he stammered, "C-could you tell me where the regent is, or when he's likely to be home?"

Agathon raised his eyebrows. "No," he said flatly- then, relenting a little, he explained, "Last night he had a message from the king. We have won a victory over the Romans at Messana, and King Hieron is lifting the siege and returning to Syracuse. He should arrive home tomorrow. The regent is likely to be extremely busy until he does. I'll give him your message as soon as I can."

"Oh!" said Archimedes, blinking stupidly and trying to take it in. Syracuse had defeated the Romans at Messana- Syracuse was actually winning the war? Praise to all the gods! But if Syracuse had won, why lift the siege of Messana and come home? Surely, if you won, you pressed the siege and took the city?

He shook himself and looked back at Agathon; something about the doorkeeper's face prevented him from asking for an explanation. Instead he returned confusedly to the subject which had brought him there. "I, uh, hope you can tell the regent soon," he said earnestly. "You see, the one-talenter- it's in the middle of the workshop, and it takes up a lot of space. We need to put it somewhere else, and we need to know where. Also, I don't get paid and can't start any more until it's been seen to work."

"I will tell the regent as soon as I can," the doorkeeper said shortly, then leaned back against the doorpost, crossed his arms, and gave Archimedes a cynical look. "And?" he said expectantly.

Archimedes licked his lips, wondering how the doorkeeper had known he wanted something else, and how to tell him what without appearing to be disrespectful. He fingered the package in the fold of his cloak. "I, uh," he began nervously. "The, uh, last time I was here I hurt my eye. The, uh, king's sister was kind enough to give me her aulos cheek strap soaked in water to put on it. I wanted to return the strap to her, and to thank her for her kindness." He fumbled the package out- a neat little bundle wrapped in a sheet of papyrus- and showed it to Agathon.

Agathon looked at him expressionlessly, debating whether to take the package and promise to deliver it and the thanks: the prospect of watching this young hopeful's face fall was tempting. But he decided against it. He had been deeply impressed by what Epimeles had told him about Archimedes' abilities, though the admiration he felt was all for Delia, not for the man she'd spotted. Hieron, too, could always pick out men who'd be useful, and Agathon found the skill wonderful. Delia, he decided, deserved to hear how her discovery was getting on. "Very well," he said tolerantly. "This way."

He showed the visitor through the front part of the house, past the waiting room, and into the garden with the fountain, where he commanded him to wait. The garden actually adjoined the women's quarters of the house, and men from outside the household were not permitted beyond it. Agathon disappeared into the house.

Archimedes stood beside the fountain waiting. It was a hot day. The yellow cloak was itchy and uncomfortably heavy, even in the shade of the garden. He scratched surreptitiously, then went to the fountain and splashed some water over his face. Footsteps sounded softly in the colonnade beyond, and he looked up, face dripping, and saw Delia sweeping toward him, accompanied by two women and a child. One of the women was dressed with the plain respectability of a slave, but the other- a handsome woman of about thirty- wore a long tunic of purple and gold, and her auburn hair was tied back by the purple ribbon of a royal diadem.

He had worked out what to say when Delia appeared, but the sight of the woman in purple put the speech out of his head, and he stared stupidly. He had not been so na[i..]ve as to expect to be permitted to talk to the king's sister alone again, but equally he had not expected her to be chaperoned by a queen. Of course, he realized numbly, there could be nothing unusual about such a person being in Delia's company. After all, Delia was the queen's sister-in-law; they probably spent a lot of time together. But the sight of his flute player escorted by a diadem suddenly made him feel how stupid it was for him to think about her in the way he had been thinking about her.

Then Delia smiled, and he went on thinking about her that way.

"Archimedes son of Phidias, good health!" said Delia pleasantly. "Agathon said you wanted to thank me for something?"

He remembered his speech; she'd just delivered the gist of the first line herself. He tried to think how to rewrite it on the spot, then, flustered, abandoned it. "Uh, yes, I- that is, you spoiled your cheek strap when you gave it to me- I mean, when you got it wet. I, uh…" His throat seemed to have become stopped up, and he gave up completely and simply offered her the little papyrus-wrapped package.

The queen gave him an amused look. The child, a boy, gave him an unnerving five-year-old's stare. But Delia took the package with a lift of her eyebrows and unwrapped it, then held up the two cheek straps. The old one was slightly- but not, in fact, badly- discolored by the water; the new one was the best he could buy that was still comfortable to wear, strong and soft and painted on the outside surface with a key pattern in blue.

"How very kind of you," Delia said, with real pleasure. The old cheek strap had been her only plain one. She had plenty with embossing or embroidery, but embroidery always itched, and embossing dug into your cheeks when you blew hard, and distracted you. This was a strap chosen by an aulist: she could wear this. She gave Archimedes a warm look. He was distinctly less stained and shabby this morning, she thought to herself. In fact, he looked quite well; yellow suited him. He had nice eyes, light brown, and a nice face, long-boned and expressive.

"I couldn't permit you to lose anything on my account, lady," he said, recovering himself a little. "Thank you for the loan of it."

"Your eye's better?" She could see already that it was, though the bruise was still fading around the socket, and an angry red mark remained on the white of the eye itself.

"Quite better, thank you," he replied, then swallowed and lapsed into an awkward silence.

Delia sensed her sister-in-law preparing to make small talk. When Agathon had announced Archimedes, she'd told the queen that this was a catapult engineer who happened to play the aulos, and that they'd exchanged a few words about flute-playing when he last came. Now Philistis was getting ready to say a few words about flutes- it would certainly be flutes; she didn't like war machines.

The small boy forestalled her. "Delia said you make catapults," he told Archimedes in an accusing tone.

Archimedes blinked at him. The child had auburn curls and the queen's hazel eyes. Hieron was known to have a son, Gelon. This chubby boy was undoubtedly that son, and would be the next tyrant of Syracuse, if democracy or the Romans didn't intervene.

"Yes," he replied politely. "I've just finished one."

"I like catapults," said Gelon eagerly, and Archimedes realized that the accusing tone had been due to simple interest. "Is it a big one? Does it throw stones or shoot arrows? How far can it throw?"

"It's a one-talent stone-hurler," replied Archimedes. "That's bigger than any other catapult in the city now, though there's another as big with the army. I don't know exactly how far it will throw, because we haven't done the trials yet. I came here to ask the regyour grandfather when and where he wanted me to test it."

"How heavy is one talent?" Gelon demanded.

"Heavier than you, Gelonion mine," said the queen. "And that's enough about catapults!"

"That's big!" said little Gelon delightedly, ignoring his mother. "If there was somewhere soft to land, maybe you could shoot me out of that catapult. I'd go flying up through the air like a bird!"

The slave woman- evidently his nurse- clicked her tongue in horror. "Perish the thought, baby!" she exclaimed. "My precious lamb, it would kill you!"

"I don't see how flying would kill me!" replied Gelon indignantly.

"Not the flying," Archimedes told him. "The catapult throw. You think about it. My one-talenter should hurl a sixty-pound weight four or five hundred feet, and the missile is supposed to land hard enough to knock over stone battlements and smash houses. Think what the stone must feel when the string hits it!"

Gelon's eyes widened as he thought. Then he grinned admiringly. "That's a good catapult!" he said.

Archimedes grinned back. He would have preferred those words to come from Delia, but they were perfectly acceptable from the child. "I think so. The foreman of the workshop thinks so, too- at least, he said it was the best he'd seen."

Delia was pleased. Agathon had passed on a little of what Epimeles had told him, but she was glad to hear it confirmed. She was relieved, though, that she had not had to ask about the catapult herself. Her interest in Archimedes might be abstract and innocent, a ruler's interest in a potentially valuable servant of the state- but the people around her would never believe that. They all assumed that girls her age thought about nothing but love.

"It will smash the Romans!" gloated Gelon. He smashed a small fist into a palm, smack!

Archimedes grinned again. "That's what I hope!"

" 'Course, my papa's already smashed the Romans," the boy added importantly. "Have you heard? But I expect they'll have to be smashed again before the war's over."

"Gelon, that's enough!" said the queen firmly. "Phew, what a hot day it is. Much too hot to talk about the war. Archimedes son of Phidias, my sister-in-law tells me that you play the aulos. Perhapsif you're waiting for my father- you'd amuse us with a little music to help pass the time?"

Archimedes blinked again. If Syracuse's tyrant had won a victory, why didn't the tyrant's wife want to talk about it? But he bowed and said, "I'm happy to play for you, if you'd like, Lady Philistis." Respectable women's names were not usually mentioned, but Hieron had made dedications to the gods jointly with his wife, and when a name was inscribed in the temples it was hardly improper to repeat it. "But I didn't bring my flutes with me."

"I'd like," said Delia quickly. She'd rather make music than small talk. She snapped her fingers and said to the nurse, "Melaina, go and fetch two sets of auloi." She smiled at Archimedes. "We could have a duet."

Archimedes grinned slowly back at her. Gelon made a disgusted sound: he'd far prefer to hear more about catapults. Since the adults weren't going to oblige, he abandoned them. He had an interesting hole he was digging under the shrubbery in a corner of the garden; he hurried off to it while his nurse was busy, before she could tell him not to get himself dirty.

When the nurse returned with the two sets of auloi, Archimedes slipped the reeds into the mouthpieces of the pair he'd been given and tried the slides. He had been handed a baritone and bass, presumably because instruments with a lower range had been considered more suitable for a man; Delia had an alto and tenor. He actually preferred the mid-to high-range auloi, but the fingering was the same. He looked at Delia, and saw, with satisfaction, that she was tying on the cheek strap he had given her. He smiled; she smiled back, then tossed him her old cheek strap. "Here," she said. "You can borrow this a little longer."

He murmured his thanks as he put it on. He remembered playing the aulos for the woman in Alexandria. She had heard him play at a party one of his friends had thrown, and the next day she had sent him a perfumed invitation to her house. She had a right to invite whomever she liked, since she was a courtesan- one of the legendary courtesans of Alexandria, the women who rivaled the gods for beauty. He'd expected her to send him away again as soon as she realized that he wasn't wealthy. But she hadn't. Not for a while, anyway. And when she had finally sent him away, she had been so gentle- "My dearest, you are ruining yourself for me. I cannot permit that, you know." He had tried to dissuade her: "I can build some more water-snails!" But she had replied, "My dearest, no. There is only one Pegasus. I will not be the one to bind him to earth when he might have the sky."

Lais had liked his playing. He would see if Delia did.

She set her flutes to her lips, caught his eye, then began the same Euripides variation she had been playing when they first met. He listened for a couple of beats, then joined in. At first he simply played the same melody in a deeper tone, but as they progressed he began embroidering it with grace notes and syncopation. Delia's eyes lit with pleasure. She switched the tune to her alto instrument and used the tenor for accompaniment. Archimedes instantly imitated her, playing the tune on his bass aulos and the accompaniment on the baritone. Delia added the syncopation on the alto; Archimedes countered it on the bass. They played the piece through to the end, taking a keen pleasure in the way the high and low phrases of the tune reverberated against the middle.

When the tune was finished, Delia played a few ornamental trills, then launched suddenly and without warning into a dramatic piece of chorus music with a complex pounding rhythm. Archimedes joined her within a phrase, then began toying with the rhythm, resolving all the long beats and running the short ones together. She gave him a startled look, and he took the flutes away from his lips long enough to grin, then played on. He dropped all the long beats and replaced them with complicated phrases of accompaniment. Delia's eyes widened. Archimedes rejoined her on the tune; after a few bars, she let him carry the melody and began resolving notes as he had done, hesitantly at first, then with a sudden flush of delight, riding the beats in a flurry of quavers. Archimedes suddenly dropped the melody again and for perhaps a minute they both played an accompaniment to a tune that had become only an idea in two minds, an unheard force holding together two wild improvisations. Then Archimedes returned to the tune; in half a beat, Delia had joined him, and together they slowed the tempo and finished in a single drawn-out note.

They lowered their flutes at the same time, smiled at the same time, and cried, "You're good!" in the same breathless gasp. Then they both laughed.

Delia turned to her sister-in-law. "Have you ever heard anything like that?" she demanded excitedly.

Philistis was frowning, and she shook her head.

"Oh, we play improvisations a lot in my family," said Archimedes, wiping the flutes' mouthpieces on his cloak. "But not on the auloi. That is, I do, but the rest of my family play strings. Playing with another aulist- by Apollo, it's like- like squaring the circle!"

Philistis abruptly stood up, smoothing her tunic. "That was very… interesting," she said, with an air of having found it just about survivable. "Very… unusual. But you mustn't let us delay you any longer, my good fellow. I'm sure you have plenty of work waiting for you at the catapult workshops. I'm sorry that my father isn't back yet. I'll tell him you were here."

Archimedes almost responded that he had finished his business at the workshop for the time being. Then he realized that he was being dismissed. He opened his mouth- and closed it again. He should not be surprised that the queen did not want him loitering in the house like an old family friend. Reluctantly, he untied the cheek strap and stood up. He bowed to Delia, handed her the strip of leather and her borrowed auloi, and muttered his thanks for the loan. Then, pulling his cloak straight with a regretful sigh, he wished the ladies joy and departed, drooping.

As soon as he was out of sight, Delia turned toward the queen angrily. "Why did you tell him to go?" she demanded, "That wasn't interesting, it was wonderful!"

"I sent him off because I could see you thought that," said Philistis. "Sister, he's a… a catapult maker!"

"Oh, Zeus!" exclaimed Delia in disgust. "Does that mean he shouldn't play the flute? No, I forget, you were the one who suggested that he play; it was only my joining in you didn't like. I'm allowed to play music, Philistis!"

Philistis grimaced. She'd always felt that there was something improper about a girl playing the flute, and wished that Delia were not allowed. That was not, however, what this argument was about. "Not with amorous young men," she said firmly.

"Amorous men!" cried Delia furiously. "You never think about anything else. I'm not allowed to go anywhere, do anything, or speak to anyone, because that filthy creature Love might spot me at it! It was wonderful playing like that, I've never played like that before, it was pure music and not the least bit improper- but it's stopped, because I was enjoying it!"

Philistis gave a sigh of exasperation. Her husband's sister was such a difficult creature, always wanting to do the impossible and flying into a temper when she couldn't. "I'm not accusing you of anything improper, my dear," she said soothingly. "I know you were simply enjoying the music. But men- especially young men- are amorous creatures. If you so much as look them in the eyes they start thinking about going to bed. It's your duty to make sure they don't think about it with you. Having a wonderful time with a young man who's poor and insignificant is a good way to make both of you miserable."

"It was nothing like that!" said Delia indignantly. "Nothing at all!"

She picked up the auloi- all four of them- and began wiping them off.

She had known for many years that she would eventually marry for her brother's political advantage, cementing some alliance with a great Sicilian nobleman or a foreign kingdom. She did not look forward to it, but she'd always accepted it, and accepted too the necessary corollary, that she must never interfere with that destiny by falling in love. She owed her brother that, for all he had done for her.

Delia did not remember her mother, and her father had died when she was five. For a year after his death, she had lived with her father's sister and her husband, and that year was the worst of her life. She was her father's only legitimate child, and heiress to his estates. Her uncle had managed those estates, and hoped that she would die so that he could gain control of them forever. She had not understood that at the time, of course. She had known only that there was something wrong with her, that he and his wife hated her, that she was a wicked girl who could do nothing right, that she was clumsy and stupid and that even the slaves hated having to attend her. She had swung between cringing attempts to win approval and outbursts of passionate resentment: the former had been ignored and the latter savagely punished.

Then, one afternoon, she had been summoned into the dining room and presented to her half brother, Hieron.

She had been aware of his existence, though mention of him in the household had always been conducted in disapproving whispers- "the bastard who's done so well in the army," "the bastard who's in joint command of the mutiny," "the bastard who's married Leptines' daughter and made himself tyrant!" But she had never met him before, and did not know what to say to him. Her aunt had scolded her for her silence, and Hieron had shaken his head.

The next day, her outraged aunt and uncle informed her that her half brother had insisted that she live in his household in future. She had gone to the mansion in terror, certain that she had displeased a new master- and found herself welcomed warmly, and swept effortlessly into happiness. For the first few years she had tried to earn her brother's approval by being good, but eventually she understood that she didn't have to earn anything. Hieron gave, generously, with a tolerant good humor that left her free to be herself.

Or he had done. The one advantage she had expected to give him he had not used, and she had been growing increasingly dissatisfied with her life. In a world where girls were often married at fourteen, she was eighteen and still a virgin. Girls who'd shared dancing and music lessons with her were now mothers, but she still remained in her brother's house with nothing to do. Her brother was reluctant to marry her to a foreigner- the Roman and Carthaginian aristocracies practically never married outside their own circles, and there was little profit to be gained by attaching her to a minor princeling of some great Greek royal house. But when it came to the nobility of Syracuse, the political advantages offered by her wedding had never been advantageous enough.

Still, she did not question her fate now, either: if she could win Hieron any political advantage, she was glad of it. She merely told herself angrily that playing the flute with a man didn't mean you were going to fall in love with him.

Archimedes was still drooping when he reached the street, but more from the heat than from any disappointment. Delia had liked his present, and he had been able to play a duet with her. The music had been exhilarating. If they could play together regularly, and learn each other's styles, they could do something really interesting!

Then he tried to imagine how a catapult maker would manage to play regular duets with the sister of a king, and drooped in earnest. He loosened his cloak irritably. It was too hot to wear wool.

When he turned into the main road, he saw the regent Leptines, marching smartly away down the thoroughfare in the middle of a troop of a dozen soldiers. He grabbed the edge of his cloak to stop it from falling off and ran after them. When the guards at the rear of the party noticed him flapping after them, they halted, and half a dozen spears were leveled at him. He stopped short, panting.

Leptines had glanced around to see what the matter was; he noticed Archimedes and gestured for the soldiers to shoulder their weapons again. "What do you want?" he asked irritably.

"Um," said Archimedes. "It's about the one-talent stone-hurler, lord. I've just been to your house to tell you that it's ready, but you weren't there. Where do you want us to put it?"

"At least something in this god-hated city is ready!" exclaimed Leptines. "Does it work?"

"Yes," said Archimedes, without thinking.

"Then put it in the Hexapylon," said the regent.

There were catapults of one size or another all the way along the fifteen miles of Syracuse's city wall, but the largest machines were concentrated in the batteries of the great forts. The Hexapylon was the fort which guarded the gate on the main road north. It was the first defense against any army coming from the north and Messana. Archimedes licked his lips. "Yes, lord. And the trials for it?"

Leptines had either forgotten the arrangement he'd made with Archimedes or forgotten everything about catapults. "You said it works!" he cried indignantly.

"Uh, sir, I'm sure it does!" Archimedes protested. "But we can't fire it in the workshop, so we need trials before it's proven and, uh, I'm paid."

Several of the soldiers grinned; one of them, Archimedes noticed, was Straton. He had not recognized the man before, among so many others identically armored and helmeted.

Leptines frowned a minute, then gave a sudden snort of amusement. "Well, put it in the Hexapylon," he said. "And when you have it set up there, send word, and I'll send someone to observe. If it does work, start building another immediately."

"Yes, sir!" said Archimedes.

"Lord!" said Straton smartly. "Shall I arrange transport for the catapult, sir?"

"Do that!" said the regent. He gestured to his guard, and he and they moved off down the street, leaving Straton with Archimedes.

"Thank you," said Archimedes gratefully. "I didn't know who to talk to about moving it. We'll need a big wagon."

Straton grinned. "Thank you!" he replied. "I'm glad to stop running up and down. We've been from the arsenal to the naval docks and back twice this morning." He tipped his helmet back and put his spear across his shoulders. "Besides, I want to have a look at this one-talenter."

They started along the main street toward the workshop, the opposite direction to Leptines. After a minute, Archimedes said uncertainly, "At the king's house they said that we had won a victory."

Straton nodded. "That's the news."

"I don't understand, then," Archimedes said. "Why is the king lifting the siege and coming home?"

Straton moved his shoulders uncomfortably under his armor. " 'The fox has many tricks,' " he said.

" 'The hedgehog only one- but it's a good one,' " said Archimedes, finishing the proverb, then went on, "Yes, but why come back to the city and play hedgehog when you've the strength to be a fox and snap up rats? I don't understand. Was it a victory?"

Straton shrugged again. "They say it was. It wasn't a defeat, anyway. But I know one thing: King Hieron's a clever fox, and if he thinks it's time to raise the siege and come home, he's got a good reason for it."

They walked on for a little while in silence. The question Archimedes really wanted to ask was "Are the Romans going to follow King Hieron back here to Syracuse and besiege us in turn?" But he did not quite dare. He could remember the last time Syracuse had been besieged; he had been not quite nine years old. There had been a blockade, and food had grown short. The family had shared one loaf of bread a day among four adults and four children, and eaten rats when they could get them, weeds and beetles when they couldn't. Marcus' predecessor had fallen ill and died; if there had been more food, he would probably have lived. Once Archimedes had gone up to the city walls with his father, and they had measured shadows to calculate the distance to the besieging army they could see clearly, camped just out of catapult range. "What would happen if they got in?" he had asked, and Phidias had shaken his head and refused to answer.

That had been the Carthaginians, of course. And they had not got in.

They reached the catapult workshop and went in to see the great beast crouched as before. To Archimedes it looked suddenly more beautiful than ever. The Romans, if they came, would not get in either.

"Herakles!" said Straton, staring. "That's a monster!"

Epimeles had begun hurrying over the moment he saw them; his step faltered at the exclamation, and he gave Straton an irritated look. "It's a beauty!" he corrected him; then, to Archimedes, "Sir?"

"It's to go to the Hexapylon," said Archimedes. "Straton son of Metrodoros here is going to help us arrange transport for it. They'll send an observer to see that it works as soon as we've got it in place, and then we can start on another."

"Good," said Epimeles, with satisfaction. "The Hexapylon. Good."

They all walked over to the catapult and gazed up at it. "The Hexapylon," the foreman said again, softly this time. "We can call it the Welcomer."

Moving a catapult the size of the Welcomer was a laborious business. The beast had to be taken apart- stock, stand, peritrete, arms- and loaded onto an enormous wagon fetched by Straton from the military supplies depot. By the time this had been done, it was too late to set off for the Hexapylon, which was more than four miles distant from the workshop. The loaded wagon was instead put back in the military supplies depot to wait for the morning.

Archimedes went home. By then news of the victory at Messana, and the army's impending return, was all over the city. Marcus had heard it that afternoon.

He had gone over to the nearest tile yard, on the seaward side of the Achradina, to order some new roof tiles for the house, and he had taken the boy Chrestos with him. They had found the tile workers in a huddle in the middle of the drying yard, animatedly discussing the victory. "Attacked the siege works," Marcus heard as they approached, and "chased them back to the walls!" He stopped, saying nothing, afraid that his Italian accent would attract comment. It was left to Chrestos to hurry forward and demand the whole story, and receive in response a glowing account of King Hieron's wisdom and Syracusan valor. Marcus listened to it intently, but made no comment. It was clear to him that some element of the tale had been left out, and a moment's thought gave him a chilling awareness of what that could be. He confined his speech, however, to the subject of roof tiles.

When they got back to the house near the Lion Fountain, Chrestos excitedly repeated the account of the victory to the rest of the family. It was received with intense relief- a terrible threat was lifted. Philyra, however, also became anxious. If the king was coming home, his other engineers would be with him, and her brother's services would become unnecessary. What was more, if the war was already ending, the catapult wouldn't be wanted and Archimedes wouldn't be paid. When Archimedes himself returned slightly later, she rushed to question him about the machine's fate.

"They want it," he told her grimly. "And they want me to start on another one as soon as they're sure it works." At that his sister became silent, realizing in her turn that something about the story of the victory didn't ring true.

The household ate supper, then played a little music in the sickroom. Phidias listened attentively, but seemed to tire quickly, and the concert was stopped. Philyra left him talking astronomy with Archimedes and went into the courtyard to practice her lute. After a time Marcus came in from an errand down the street. When she saw him she stopped playing and gave him an accusing look. He hurriedly wiped his hands and looked back at her questioningly.

"What sort of Italian are you?" she demanded.

At that his face dropped into its mask of impassivity. "Mistress, we've already said all this."

"But you were enslaved fighting in one of the Roman wars on the Roman side, weren't you?"

He was silent for a moment, then looked away, remembering the onslaught, the screams of the injured and dying, the stink of his own terror. "Yes," he admitted at last.

"You've seen the Romans fight. What do they do when they take a city?"

"Same as anybody else."

"I've heard," said Philyra tightly, "that sometimes they kill every living thing within the walls. Even the animals."

"Sometimes they do," said Marcus reluctantly. "If they've made a vow. But mostly they don't. Mostly they just plunder and then put in a garrison. Same as anybody else."

"Barbarians!" said Philyra. She looked at Marcus with hot eyes. "What you mean is, sometimes they're as savage, cruel, and bloodthirsty as anybody else, and sometimes they're worse. Did you ever help them take a city?"

Marcus shook his head in protest. "Mistress, when I joined the army I was no older than you are now! You're supposed to be eighteen, but I lied. And the first time I saw war, I… ended up here. I don't know anything more about sieges than you do."

Some of the heat went out of her eyes, and the fear beneath it began to show. "You'd be free, wouldn't you, if the Romans took Syracuse?"

He shook his head again, in denial this time. "I don't think they'd even ask what I was. A slave's a slave. I'd get a new master or be killed. But it's pointless for you to worry about it, mistress, because they won't take Syracuse. And anyway, the news is that the city has a victory."

It was her turn to shake her head. "Why is the king coming home, if it was a victory? Why do they want more catapults, if it was a victory?"

"Where were the Carthaginians during that victory?" he replied in a fierce voice. "They were supposed to be our allies. But I haven't heard any reports of them doing any fighting."

Then he regretted his words. He should have remembered: Philyra was too intelligent not to understand their implications. Now her eyes widened in fear. What if the Romans at Messana had come to terms with the Carthaginians? Rome and Carthage had been allies during the war against Pyrrhus of Epirus: it was entirely conceivable that they had now agreed to divide Sicily between them. If King Hieron suspected that his new allies were going to turn on him, it would certainly explain why he was taking his army home in a hurry. Syracuse could not face Rome without help from Carthage. If she faced Rome and Carthage together, she was doomed.

"Oh, gods, no!" whispered Philyra.

Marcus crossed the courtyard to her in a few swift steps, then stopped, helplessly wishing he dared touch her thin shoulders. "Nobody will take Syracuse," he told her. "The Carthaginians have tried often enough, and never managed it, and I can tell you, mistress, that the Romans won't crack a city like this. They're not as good at siege craft as you Greeks. Nobody's ever taken Syracuse by storm, and nobody will take her now." Then he smiled, with an effort, and added, "Not with your brother's catapults to defend her."

Philyra took a deep breath, told herself that she wasn't a little girl to be frightened by rumors, and managed to smile back. She looked down at the lute in her hands, then set it against her shoulder and began playing something complicated, something that needed all her attention and left her no time to think of anything else.

In the sickroom, Phidias gazed at the lamp flame with his yellowed eyes, then looked over to his son, smiling. "Tell me again about the hypothesis of Aristarchos," he said.

Archimedes shrugged: this theory had been exciting great controversy in Alexandria, and his father was fascinated by it. "He says that the earth revolves about the sun in the circumference of a circle."

"And all the planets as well?"

"That's right."

"What about the stars?" asked Phidias. "If the earth revolved about the sun, the fixed stars would appear to shift as we saw them from different angles at different points in the earth's orbit."

"No! That's the most interesting part," said Archimedes, warming to the subject. "Aristarchos says that the universe is much, much larger than anyone believes. He says that the whole circle described by the earth's orbit is only a point compared to the size of the sphere of the fixed stars."

"That's nonsense," said Phidias. "A point has no magnitude at all."

"Well, not a point, then! But incomparably small. So small that all the earth's revolving doesn't make the least difference to our view of the fixed stars."

"You believe it, don't you?" said Phidias.

"It's a hypothesis," said Archimedes, flushing a little. "There isn't enough evidence to decide either way. I suppose the people are right who say that where there isn't evidence, you should choose the explanation that fits appearances best- which is that the sun goes around the earth. But- I like it."

"Oi moi! You like to think of the earth whirling about like a dust mote in an unspeakable immensity of space? It makes me dizzy!"

Archimedes grinned, but said, "It makes sense to me that the universe is incomparably great. After all, the more I look at it, the more things I see that I can't understand."

The words "If you don't understand much, what hope is there for the rest of us?" hovered on the edge of Phidias' tongue, but he did not say them. He was wary of admitting how hard he worked to grasp ideas which seemed obvious to Archimedes. His son had always regarded him as an equal, and he was almost as proud of that as he was of the son himself- his son, the most gifted student he had ever taught, the most profound mind he had ever encountered. Phidias watched him now, tenderly: Archimedes' grin was fading, and his eyes, still bright, were abstracted, reckoning up the vastness of the universe. Phidias knew that they no longer saw him. He felt for a moment the ache that any parent feels at realizing the utter foreignness of the child: the body that came from you, that you have nourished, now contains a mind full of things you will never comprehend. He reached over and caught his son's hand. "Medion," he said, a bit breathlessly, "swear to me that you will never, ever give up mathematics."

Archimedes looked at him in surprise. "Papa, you know that giving up mathematics is the last thing in the world I want to do!"

"You think that," said Phidias, "but it isn't true. The last thing in the world you want is for your family to starve or suffer- and that's right, that should be the last thing you allow. But promise me that however you have to snatch at learning and struggle for it when the day's work is done, however tired you get, however little anyone understands you, you'll never give it up and devote your soul to the earth. Swear to me."

Archimedes hesitated, then went to the basin of water beside the bed and ceremoniously washed his hands and lifted them to heaven. "I swear by Delian Apollo and Pythian Apollo," he declared solemnly, "by Urania and all the Muses, by Zeus and the Earth and the Sun, by Aphrodite and Hephaistos and Dionysos, and by all the gods and goddesses, that I will never give up mathematics nor allow the spark the god has given me to go out. If I do not keep this my undertaking, may all the gods and goddesses by whom I swore be angry with me and may I die a most miserable death; but if I honor it, may they be favorable!"

"So be it," whispered Phidias.

Archimedes came back to the bed and took his father's hand, smiling now. "But I didn't need to swear, Papa," he said. "I try to give it up, I tell myself, 'No more games!'- and it never works. I can't give it up. You know that."

Phidias smiled back. "I know," he whispered, "but I don't want you to try. Not for catapults or for anything else."