by Ian Miller
"Then let's think about sheep," Timothy said. "Remember your example about wool and hair?"
A rather subdued Gaius nodded. "I was wrong. The wild ones are covered in hair. The animal has changed quite significantly. So if not atoms, then . . ."
"Not quite true," Timothy interrupted. "There is short wool underneath the hair in wild ones. The first sheep were domesticated for meat, and people made felt from the hairs. Eventually with breeding, the wool became longer and the hair shorter. The hair's still there, it's just very short, so the animal hasn't changed, but the amounts of what it has have changed. Aristotle states there are four categories of change. This is just a change of quantity. Now, there have been more changes. Wild sheep, or sheep that go wild, have brown or black wool. Comment?"
"I thought wool from flocks is always yellowish to white," Gaius said, "unless it comes from black sheep."
"That's because the white has been bred in," Timothy explained. "Even from a white flock, you still get the odd black sheep, but the farmer does not allow these to breed. Why do you think we want white wool?"
"To dye it?" Gaius guessed.
"And how do you dye wool?"
"I don't know," Gaius shrugged.
"So today you learn," Timothy grinned. "Out the back I have some pots of water coming to the boil. You shall dye wool."
"What on Earth will that teach me?" Gaius said with a tinge of annoyance.
"That is for you to consider," Timothy said. "Come!"
So Gaius had to follow. He spent the next hour washing wool, boiling roots of madder, soaking some wool in what he was told was a solution of alum, and some more wool in what he gathered was made from rust and vinegar, then in turn thrusting these into the hot madder solution, then washing the wool and hanging it out to dry. He had two wools: a bright orange-red and a doubtful brown.
"So, you need the mordant to fix the dye," Timothy explained, "and which mordant you use to some extent determines the colour. You can only dye white or yellow wool. The black wool always looks black. Now, you may use my library, or anything else you like. In two days we shall resume, and you shall tell me the most significant thing you can think of about dyeing, from your point of view. Then I shall tell you something I think will be of relevance to your aspirations, and you will then tell me which of the two is or was the most important. Go and think!"
* * *
"Well?" Timothy asked. "Enlighten me with your point of view!"
"If you believe Lucretius," Gaius began, "animals don't change, or if they do, they do so only very rarely, and a significant change is probably a matter of luck. My conclusion depends on this being true. Before I start we must agree . . ."
"This exercise is in logic and the application of knowledge," Timothy interrupted. "You may assume Lucretius to be correct, if that helps."
"Then I have something," Gaius said, "although you won't like it."
"I can see you have something that is a triumph for Rome, or a Greek disaster, but we shall humour you, and perhaps demolish your argument. Go on!"
"The Greek civilization, all this logic, all your fine buildings, all of it requires wealth."
"Conceded."
"Accordingly," Gaius continued in an almost challenging tone, "how to get such wealth is important, under your criterion."
"It would be important if you could come up with an alternative to Roman conquest, although I should add wool dyeing is fairly well known."
"Indeed," Gaius nodded. "What is interesting, however, is how the Greeks got into this. We have agreed that you cannot dye brown wool, and we know that Greek prosperity really began with trade, mainly due to the Greeks being able to build ships to carry cargo. But you still needed cargo that nobody else had, and perhaps one of the biggest cargoes was dyed wool. The Greek cloth was sold in many places."
"That's true," Timothy said. "Is that your conclusion?"
"Oh no! But think for a moment, where did they get their light coloured wool?"
"The light coloured wool must have just come," Timothy said. "Your Lucretius is obviously wrong on that point. We know animals change. We discussed that, and . . ."
"Yes, but they do not change often," Gaius interrupted. "Let's suppose sheep only developed light coloured wool once."
"So?"
"It is often said that there is much fine golden wool in the Colchis."
"That is almost certainly true. So what?"
"Then if wool only became light coloured once, and everything else was done by breeding, it is now clear by logic what happened."
"What?" a rather puzzled Timothy now asked.
"The people of the Colchis did not come to Greece," Gaius grinned, "but the Greeks were recorded as going to the Colchis. There is the story of Jason. He visited the Colchis and allegedly brought back a golden fleece. But what happened to this fleece? Nothing! It has totally disappeared without a trace, and why? Because there never was a fleece made of gold. What Jason brought back," Gaius continued to a now perplexed Timothy, "were the sheep with a light golden coloured wool, suitable for dyeing. Then, surprise surprise! Some time after Jason's visit the Greeks began trading in dyed wool. Jason simply stole the farmers' sheep, and you Greeks, unable to admit that your whole prosperity depended on theft, the likes of which you punish most severely if it's done to you, concocted this story about the Gods sending Jason, about monsters, demons, hydrae, you name it. The fact is, this Greek prosperity was based on rather mundane sheep stealing."
"That's nonsense!" Timothy snorted under his breath. "Everyone knows . . ."
"Is there a logical error?" Gaius demanded.
"There're white sheep all over the place!" Timothy said. "There's no need to go that far to steal sheep, and . . ."
"There isn't now," Gaius interrupted, "but was there then? You Greeks are so strong on proof? Prove it!"
"That can't be done and you know it."
"I also know that Lucretius was at least close to being right," Gaius responded. "There will be changes to animals, because the domesticated ones are different from the wild ones, but they do not happen very often. Jason went to a place known for golden wool, he came back allegedly with a golden fleece, a thing of immense value which disappeared without mention, and at the same time golden wool began to be used by the Greeks for dyeing. He came back with golden fleeces, not a golden fleece, and the fleeces were on live sheep. From this basically dishonest start, Greek prosperity emerged, based on theft." He paused, then added with a wide grin, "Apart from opportunity, little has changed!"
"I see," said a stunned Timothy. "Of course, I believe that theory to be quite wrong, but let's suppose you're right. What do you learn from this? Apart from distrusting Greeks?"
"That a lot of wealth and prosperity can follow from not very obvious starting points," Gaius offered. "If you can really do something clever with what you seem to call physics, you may be able to change the way civilization behaves."
"So you think that?"
"It is a logical conclusion," Gaius said, as he remembered again the task that Athene had given him, then he gave a wistful smile as he added, recognizing the difficulty of the task, "but obviously it doesn't happen very often. On the other hand, I suppose it hardly hurts to keep the eyes open. And so, for that matter, should you, because it would take a great increase in possible wealth to do away with the slavery you find so obnoxious."
"I see you have a fine opinion of Roman justice," Timothy said in a sour tone.
"I have a practical appreciation for why things get done," Gaius responded. "Now, I believe you have another reason why dyeing should interest me?"
"That was not quite the way I remember putting it. I think I said, relevant to your interests."
"Whatever," Gaius shrugged.
"Before I do that," Timothy said, " I must give you another military exercise. You are a commander in the east, and since you don't seem to like Greeks, consider yourself facing a Greek army much smaller than yours. That should be easy for you, don't
you think?"
"Not with a Greek setting the rules," Gaius shrugged.
"It was a real battle," Timothy explained. "The rules are set. You have infantry, archers, slingers, and cavalry, all outnumbering whatever the Greeks have."
"Terrain?"
"No significant features in any direction."
"Do I know the name of the Greek general?"
"Alexander."
"In that case, historically, I lost," Gaius mused.
"But a Roman like you can no doubt do better!" Timothy taunted.
"Then assume for the moment I face Alexander. I try to find a higher point and take possession for myself. It has to be high enough that I can see what is going on. Can I do this?"
"You are on a small rise. Alexander's men are marching towards you."
"I know I have numerical superiority, so I divide my forces into three divisions, together with reserves for each. I send out scouts on horseback to learn what I can."
"Alexander had defeated a medium-sized force of yours yesterday. Your scouts return and tell you the Greeks are marching confidently, however those on the Greek left flank have blood-stains over their clothing, they are limping, and are struggling to keep up. There is a small detached group of infantry at the rear, presumably as reserves. You must now deploy."
Gaius nodded, and sat back to think. After about five minutes, he looked up and said in an even tone, "I send one sixth of my force to my left, to give the impression I will attack there, but they are ordered to maintain a defensive position and hold their line. I order my main force to advance on the centre, but to stop about five hundred meters from Alexander, and give these men instructions to hold lines until they receive a horn signal. I deploy all my archers to the centre, behind the infantry, and if Alexander advances, I shall let fly with as many arrows as I have. With numerical superiority, I intend to wear him down through the centre. I send my best infantry troops and their reserves to the right, to attack around the back of his apparently weakened left flank. I deploy the reserves of the centre towards the right, but I keep it far enough back that I can send it wherever needed. I keep the cavalry close to me, to deploy as I see fit later."
"When your men stop at the centre, so does Alexander."
"The centre advances until the archers are within good arrow range."
"I see," Timothy said slowly.
"Well, what happens next?" Gaius asked.
"The Persians did not deploy that way, so I don't know. I think you may have given Alexander a problem, but he was much better than me so I cannot be sure."
"What did happen?" Gaius asked in a curious tone.
"The Persians sent only a moderate force to attack the wounded on Alexander's left flank," Timothy said, "and they deployed cavalry. The left flank were Alexander's best men, and they were not at all wounded, the blood being splotches of red dye, which is the point of all this. If Alexander had not known how to dye, and how to make colours look reasonably correct, this would not have worked."
"That was clever," Gaius admitted.
"Alexander's men smashed the deficient force sent against his left flank, then quickly advanced to strike and turn the Persian's right flank. Alexander also managed to terrify enough of the cavalry animals that that attack was dispersed. So the Persians found themselves with a phalanx tearing into the centre of their army and something approaching a stampede on their right. The commanders decided that they were in risk, so they fled, and after a lot of Persian blood was spilt, Alexander's men held the field."
"Yes, Alexander was very clever," Gaius responded.
"So what did you learn from this exercise?" Timothy asked.
"I have noted that the barbaric Roman chose to speculate on ways to advance commerce and perhaps even make slavery less necessary, while the highly civilised Greek used this as an example of extending tyranny and bloodshed."
"I thought you might notice that," Timothy was forced to concede. "It was Aristotle's major mistake."
"What was?"
"He was the greatest teacher ever, and he taught Alexander virtually everything except the value of life. Alexander was the greatest general ever, and he caused greater misery to more innocent people than anyone else. Perhaps because of one oversight by Aristotle."
"I doubt it," Gaius said, then added, "Greek teachers shouldn't overestimate their own importance!"
"You certainly don't," Timothy noted, then mentally bit his tongue. That was not the response that a slave should give.
"What I meant," Gaius said in a more conciliatory tone, realizing that perhaps he had overstepped, "was that Alexander was Alexander. You can teach the wolf anything you like but you still end up with a clever wolf."
There was a pause. Timothy was afraid of what would happen next if he made an irritating comment. He sat there, hoping the situation would defuse. However Gaius was clearly challenging him to say something, so he replied cautiously, "The question is, what do I end up with you?"
"Hopefully, a clever Claudian. Make of that what you will."
Chapter 14
Months passed, during which time Timothy took a considerable sum of money from Gaius, which he claimed to be for a teaching aid. Gaius shrugged his shoulders and paid. The lessons continued.
"Since you seem so keen on astronomy," Timothy smiled at Gaius' look of discomfort, "we shall continue on with that, if for no other reason than to make sure you have no grounds to complain when you lose the debate at the end. According to Anaxagoras the Earth is at the centre of a spherical universe. The Moon and planets are stony bodies that shine by the reflected light from the Sun. Comment?"
"The concept explains eclipses, but that is explained as well in terms of geometry if the moon goes around the Earth and both go around the Sun."
"Correct."
"However, your concept can't be right. The planets don't simply go around the earth, but they move differently to the stars."
"On different spheres," Timothy noted.
"Which don't go at a uniform speed," Gaius countered, "but sometimes slow down and seem to go into reverse with respect to the stars."
"Because the planets are on epicycles that move on the spheres."
"And not the slightest sign of spheres or of anything driving these epicycles. It's easier to think of them all going around the sun with the inner ones going faster, in which case the backwards motion is easily explained." Gaius waited for Timothy to ask him to prove it, in which case he could show the workings he had had to do for Geminus, but Timothy did not do so.
"Easier does not mean more correct," Timothy warned. "We'll deal with that heresy later."
"You Greeks have a way," Gaius nodded. "I understand that Anaxagoras was accused of denying the Gods, and condemned to death for saying these things about the stars."
"But saved by Pericles."
"Then exiled," Gaius laughed. "You are taking a risk."
"You'd have to let me go to exile me," Timothy countered.
"I supposed that leaves condemning to death!"
"I suppose," came the sour response. "Anyway, according to Anaxagoras the moon was as large as the Peloponnese, and the sun, perforce, much much larger."
"Much, much larger," Gaius agreed in a soothing sarcastic tone.
"It was Democritus and Parmenides who worked out that the Earth was circular," Timothy persisted. "As you have noted, ships hulls go out of sight first, the masts last."
"And the lunar eclipse will be the Earth's shadow," Gaius offered, "from which Aristarchus deduced the Moon was half as big as the Earth."
"Correct," Timothy nodded. "We've already discussed the heresy of Aristarchus, but we must discuss what we think happens. Each of the planets is set on a heavenly sphere . . ."
"Which rotates around the Earth every day, meaning the distant objects must really travel extraordinarily fast."
"Not necessarily," Timothy wagged his finger. "There is another option. Heraclides of Pontus, who was a pupil of the great Aristotle, argued that the
Earth rotates on its axis like a spinning ball, which makes everything else looks as if it is going around the Earth. Unfortunately, he then spoiled it by arguing that Venus goes around the sun."
"Of course," Gaius challenged, "if you believe the great Aristarchus," and he laced on the sarcasm here, "and the planets go around the sun, Venus has to too. And if Venus is closer to the sun than we are, that explains why it is the morning star or the evening star, in regular periods."
"Yes, heresies are often quite good at explaining things," Timothy said. "Unfortunately Heraclides was not a very good pupil because Aristotle had already proven that the Earth cannot rotate."
"If you say so," Gaius remarked nonchalantly. However, he watched a slight twitch around Timothy's eyes. Yes, Timothy thought that this was an important point. He must have a response to it when they had their debate. He smiled inwardly, as he saw Timothy was tempted to reply, but also tempted to keep his argument for later. He had to say something, so he decided to be facetious. "And I suppose the Milky Way is some sort of smudge on one of your crystalline spheres?"
"Democritus had a simple answer to that," Timothy said. "He suggested that the Milky Way was a collection of very distant stars. Would you care to comment?"
"It seems to me," Gaius said, after a while, "that since the great Aristotle said the stars were on a heavenly disc, it would be sensible if they were all the same distance."
"It might be sensible, but it doesn't have to be," Timothy pointed out. "Aristotle was fairly firmly convinced that the stars are at different distances."
"Which requires an enormous number of spheres," Gaius countered, "that all have to move in a constant pattern."
"I shall concede that that is difficult, but it's not impossible," Timothy said.
"Yet the question arises," Gaius said softly, "that all these different stars have to be on different spheres that have to travel at very high speeds that also depend on the latitude with respect to the Earth. Thus the Pole Star hardly moves, and is on a really small path, while a star over the equator has a huge distance to travel, and all the stars have to maintain the same pattern."
