Again there was a silence. Then Gaius said resignedly, "I swear that I will not harm him. May all the gods and goddesses destroy me if I do."
"I also swear it," muttered Fabius.
"Then come when you will," said Marcus, "and I will help you as much as is in my power."
11
Archimedes found that it was, after all, possible to understand what a catapult was for and still build it. The trick was to take each step of the construction independently and concentrate on the technical problems, without looking beyond them to the finished machine.
Not that the technical problems were interesting. The increase in the diameter of the bore needed for a three-talenter was only three finger-breadths, giving a proportional increase of three twenty-fifths all around- a laborious figure to calculate with, but not a difficult one. He was aware that if he'd been feeling happier about the work, he would have devised a new pivoting system- but the old one was adequate, and it sufficed.
The most disconcerting thing about working on another, and yet larger, catapult was the way everyone else in the workshop kept grinning about it. Even Eudaimon. The old engineer came up while he was working out the dimensions, shuffled his feet and cleared his throat a few times to attract attention, then asked- very humbly! — for the plans for Good Health, "since the king wants me to copy it." Archimedes found him the notes he'd made and explained a few of them, and Eudaimon nodded and made notes of his own- and then grinned, and said, "I never thought I'd ever build a two-talenter, heh? Make the next one another beauty for me, Archimechanic!" He trotted off, clutching his notes, leaving Archimedes staring after him in consternation.
It seemed that merely recognizing what the king had done wasn't enough to stop it. Archimedes wasn't sure what to do about it; wasn't even sure what he wanted to do about it. His response to his growing reputation depended on whether he was going to Alexandria or staying in Syracuse, and on that question he had not yet made up his mind. There were things to be said on both sides- but the things were different in kind, and he couldn't balance them. He found Hieron interesting, much more so than King Ptolemy- but the Museum was in Alexandria. His family was here, his closest friends there. And the image of Delia kept intruding itself and confusing him. She had not sent him another of her notes arranging a meeting, and he wasn't sure whether to be crushed or relieved. He had even less idea what to do about her than he did about Alexandria. His instinct was to postpone everything. After all, there didn't seem to be any urgent need for him to make up his mind at once. Anything that happened or did not happen with Delia was in Delia's hands, and as for Alexandria, he was obviously not going to abandon Syracuse, his home city, while the enemy was at her gate. The question of Alexandria could safely be left until he had time and energy to spare for it.
The trouble was, other people didn't seem to agree. Two days after he started work on the new catapult, Philyra received an invitation to visit the king's house and play a little music with the king's sister. She went to the mansion in the Ortygia suspicious at this royal condescension- but when Archimedes returned home that evening, it was to find his sister in a rage, with his mother at her side looking quietly resolute.
"The king's sister really wanted to talk about you!" Philyra told him indignantly. "And the queen was there: she said the king promised to make you rich! Medion, what's going on and why haven't you said anything about it to us?"
Archimedes gaped and stammered excuses: he'd been busy, the house was still in mourning, it hadn't seemed the best time. He became aware even as he floundered that the real reason he'd kept the king's machinations to himself was that he knew that his mother and sister would not want to go to Alexandria. He might well decide not to go himself, so why quarrel with them about it? As for Delia- well, they wouldn't approve of that, would they?
"My dearest," said Arata, with a quiet firmness that was much harder to face than Philyra's anger, "you should not leave us to find out such things from others. Ever since you came home from Alexandria, the tyrant has been chasing you like a lover. He's sent people to ask about you; he's invited you to his house; he's offered you large amounts of money; he's dropped compliments about you where other people will be sure to hear them…"
"He might just as well have chalked 'Archimedes is beautiful' up on the walls!" put in Philyra hotly- then subsided at a warning glance from her mother.
"Do you expect us not to notice?" went on Arata. "And when you don't tell us anything, do you expect us not to worry?"
"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Archimedes helplessly. "You've never needed to worry, Mama. I would have told you, if there had been anything to worry about."
"What does the king want from you?" demanded Arata.
"Only that I make machines!" protested her son. "It's just that some of the things I've been doing- I thought they were obvious, and that other people must have done them before. But it turns out that they're new, and the king thinks- well, you see, nobody's ever built a three-talent catapult before, or a system of compound pulleys, or a screw elevator. So I suppose Hieron's right."
"It started before you'd built anything," said Arata suspiciously.
"Well," said Archimedes, "Hieron's a very clever man. He knows enough to realize how important mathematics is for machine-making, and he thought I'd be an exceptional engineer as soon as he heard about me. I suppose he asked for that demonstration mainly to see if he was right. He's a good king- he knows how important engineering works are to the security and prosperity of cities. So he wants me to work for him, and in return he's promised wealth and honor. See? Nothing to worry about."
Arata gazed at her son steadily. "That's not all," she concluded.
She had always known when he was trying to deceive her. Broken pots blamed on the wind, the kitchen mortar or the loom weights he'd borrowed for a machine and then claimed never to have touched- none of it had ever fooled her. He sighed and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "He wants to keep me in Syracuse. The other night, Mama, I asked him exactly the question you just asked me, and he admitted that he has been deliberately inflating my reputation in order to make it difficult for me to leave. He thinks that before long Ptolemy will offer me wealth, honor, and a position at the Museum."
There was a long silence. Arata's face flushed slowly. "You're that good?" she asked at last, breathless from sheer pride. So good that kings vied for his services?
"Yes," agreed Archimedes. "At least, Hieron thinks so. It's not something I can judge. Compound pulleys still look obvious to me. I'm sure Ktesibios at least would have thought of them."
Philyra's face, too, was crimson, but in her case not with pride. "You wouldn't go back to Alexandria!" she exclaimed.
"I don't know," said Archimedes honestly. "I'm not going anywhere until the war's over, so why worry about it now?"
The attempt at evasion was doomed; Philyra began worrying about it at once. She did not want to go to Alexandria; what was more, she believed that if he was really as good as the king thought, he shouldn't go either. She said it would be treachery to Syracuse, and for Archimedes to tell her that this was exactly what Hieron had intended her to say made not the slightest difference. She loved her city and was furious that he could contemplate deserting it.
Arata was more restrained, willing to postpone an argument that might never be relevant- and yet, she too made it plain that she did not want to leave Syracuse. Archimedes' tentative suggestion, however, that if it ever came to such a point, Philyra could marry a Syracusan and Arata live with her, while he himself went to Egypt, did not appease anyone. Arata, like her daughter, thought it would be wrong for her son to leave the city, though she was too much of a peacemaker to say so before the issue had come to the crisis.
The quarrel was eventually suppressed by Arata's diplomatic suggestion that they eat some supper, but it flared up again after the meal. In token of peace they tried to play some music together, but as Philyra tuned her lute she remarked to her brother, "The king's sister l
oves the way you play the flute," then stared to see him beam delightedly.
"Oh, Medion!" Philyra burst out, as something else became clear to her. "You're not going to tell me she's interested in engineering, too?"
"No," said Archimedes evasively. "In auloi. She's very good, isn't she?"
"When did you ever hear her play?"
"At the king's house. She was in the garden, and…"
Philyra jumped to her feet, holding the lute as though she meant to hit him with it. "You never said anything about that, either! You go and do things that change everything for all of us, and you don't seem to think we have any right even to know about it!"
"I haven't done anything!" Archimedes protested feebly. "I've only spoken to Delia a few times!"
"Delia! O Zeus! Why did she keep asking about you?"
Arata looked at Archimedes in startled concern. "Medion!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean that the king's sister…"
Archimedes fled upstairs and buried himself in calculations on the abacus.
He was relieved when Dionysios invited him out to supper the following evening: it was an escape from the questions at home. But it turned out that Dionysios, too, wanted to talk about Alexandria- and about Philyra.
"I'm sorry to bring this up at a time like this," the captain said apologetically, when they were reclining at the table in the Arethusa. "I know your house is still in mourning, and there's the war as well. But I heard that you were thinking of marrying your charming sister to an Alexandrian, and I thought I'd better put in my own offer before it's too late."
Archimedes choked on his mouthful of tunny-fish and had to be pounded on the back and fetched a cup of water. By the time he'd recovered his breath, the captain was telling him seriously that it was his duty to remain in Syracuse. "I would not presume to dictate to you who your sister should marry, of course," Dionysios went on. "But as a loyal citizen, I must urge you not to leave our lovely city. The king-"
"Who told you I was thinking of marrying my sister to an Alexandrian?" interrupted Archimedes.
Dionysios was taken aback. "I believe your slave said as much to one of my men," he admitted. "Isn't it true?"
"There was never any Alexandrian," said Archimedes doubtfully. "My friend Conon and I used to talk about becoming brothers-in-law. But he's a Samian. And we never… that is, I never said anything about it at home. Oh, by the gods, don't spread it around! I'm already in trouble with my sister because of some other things I didn't tell her about, and if she thinks I was trying to marry her to a foreigner without consulting her, she'll brain me with a kithara. Are you really saying you want to marry her?"
It seemed that Dionysios really was. He began listing his qualifications: his rank, his prospects, his property. He apologized for his lack of fine breeding: he had been born poor and worked his way up through the ranks, and he had not thought of marrying until his most recent promotion gave him the standing to make a good match. But he had acquired some land to the south and a third share in a merchant ship, and he had every hope that after the war he would do very well. He was well thought of by the king and respected in the army. He had noticed Philyra at Archimedes' house and again at the demonstration, and he thought her quite charming. He gathered, too, that she was musical: he had always loved music, and wanted to marry a girl who could share his enthusiasm. Naturally, if he was so fortunate as to acquire her, he would treat her with all the respect that was due to the sister of a man like Archimedes.
Archimedes listened in astonishment. It seemed incredible that Philyra should marry, and that he should be the one who decided whom. He supposed that she was of marriageable age, and that he was the head of the household- but still it seemed incredible. Daydreams with his friend Conon had not prepared him for this. And Dionysios! He quite liked the man- good company, intelligent, capable; a fine voice; he was sure that what the fellow was saying about his prospects was quite true. But did he want such a man for a brother? And suppose he got it wrong, and Dionysios made Philyra miserable? How could he possibly make such a decision?
"I can't give you an answer right now," he said, when the captain had ground to a halt and sat blinking at him anxiously. "As you said, the house is in mourning. It would be quite wrong for my sister marry with her hair still short from the funeral."
"Of course," said Dionysios hastily. "But- afterward?"
"I need to think about it." He sat still for a moment, trying to imagine how his mother and sister would react to this news. Arata would consider the captain of the Ortygia garrison a catch, though she'd want to meet him before making up her mind whether to say yes. Philyra would certainly be excited. Not at all eager to leave home, he thought, but thrilled that such a man had asked for her- and assessing. She would want to know more about Dionysios. He met the captain's anxious gaze and declared suddenly, "I don't know what you think about women, but I've always felt they're just as capable as men, at least in everyday matters. My sister's a very sensible girl. She and my mother are really much better at arranging practical matters than I am, so I'm going to consult them before I answer anything. I don't know what you think of that." He held Dionysios' eyes. Many men would find it deplorable that he allowed his women to dictate his decisions. He was aware that his admission had just confronted Dionysios with a test, and wondered what the other man would have to say to pass.
Dionysios, capable soldier and experienced officer, went red. "I thought your sister was probably that sort when I saw her at the demonstration," he muttered. "She looked so confident and happy. Tell her and your mother that… I send my respectful greetings."
Archimedes nodded. He realized that if Dionysios had in any way appeared to slight Philyra's opinion, he would have opposed the marriage even if Philyra herself had wanted it, but that now he would dwell on the captain's good points when he informed his sister of the offer. Dionysios was willing to listen to Philyra, and he liked her confident and happy: he passed.
"You're not set on this Alexandrian, or Samian or whatever he is, though?" asked the captain hopefully.
Archimedes shook his head. "Philyra's already said she doesn't want to leave Syracuse."
Wistfully, though, he pictured to himself the beaming moon face of Conon of Samos. In Alexandria he and Conon had spent hours together in cheap taverns, drawing calculations on the table or the walls; they had laughed over other people's mathematical mistakes, and told each other jokes which nobody else had been able to understand. Each had been the first person the other came to with a new discovery, and neither had ever been disappointed of the expected enthusiastic reception. Their differences had merely fueled their friendship. Conon was short and plump; he liked food and drink and dancing, but when it came to music, he always sang out of key. He was rich, and came from a distinguished family, so he had lent his friend money, slipping it into his purse unasked and often unnoticed; Archimedes had no idea how much it had come to in the end. He in turn had made Conon a dioptra, an astronomical sighting instrument, which Conon had thereafter treasured above every other possession. Conon was no good at making things; his pudgy hands were clumsy, though his mind skipped among the stars as nimbly as a lizard.
Conon's family would never have permitted him to marry Philyra, even if Philyra had been willing. He and Conon loved each other like brothers anyway- best to leave it at that.
Dionysios grinned. "Good luck to your loyal sister! I hope you're not planning to leave either."
Archimedes muttered something unintelligible, and concentrated on his food.
"Pardon?" said the captain, polite but relentless. "I didn't hear that."
Archimedes abandoned the food. "Look," he said, "how I can I make promises about what I'll do three or five years from now? We may all be dead by then! I'm not planning to leave while I'm needed to make catapults, so why can't everyone leave it at that?"
But Dionysios was no more able than Philyra to leave it at that. He was very cautious of offending a man he wanted as a brother-in-law, but "as a lo
yal citizen" he felt it his duty to persuade Archimedes to stay in Syracuse, and his tactful attempts to do this lasted the rest of the meal. Archimedes was heartily sick of him by the time the waiter came in to clear the dishes.
When the dishes had been cleared away, the Arethusa's flute girls were once more ushered in. Dionysios, however, immediately detached the pretty young thing who fastened herself to him. "I'm on duty tomorrow morning," he said gently, though a glance at Archimedes indicated that he was also embarrassed to settle with a whore in front of a man whose sister he had just offered to marry. "But perhaps my friend…?" His glance became interrogative.
Archimedes suddenly wanted very much to get drunk and go to bed with the flute girl- to escape from the questions, to forget Delia, to drown and befuddle the faultless precision of his own too-active mind. "Yes!" he said, stretching out a hand to the girl.
She came at once and draped herself over his knee. "You're Archimedes, aren't you?" she asked throatily, stroking his cheek. "The one they call the archimechanic?"
"Don't call me that!" he told her despairingly. She was holding a set of flutes, and he took them away from her before she could start playing. "Here! I'll show you something much more worth-while than catapults."
At the house near the lion fountain Marcus spent the earlier part of the evening nervous. He suspected the reason for Dionysios' invitation, and it sickened him. His attempt at discouragement seemed only to have spurred the captain to immediate action. He wondered how Archimedes would respond.
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