Athena's Son

by Jeryl Schoenbeck

Ankhef got up out of the dirt of the street. While warily watching the scribe and guards, he whispered to Archimedes, “You don’t know how lucky you are. That was Ptahhotep,” he emphasized the name. “He is the hem netjer, the high priest of the temple. He could have you killed and no one would question him. You are clever, but a fox does not quarrel with a crocodile. He is not some cart you can hammer on.”

  Archimedes touched his cheek again and looked at his fingers, sticky with blood. He reached down and picked up the wooden owl. The four guards formed a square around Archimedes and, with the scribe Ipuwer leading the way, ushered him to the School of Alexandria.

  Chapter 9

  Archimedes remembered back in Syracuse when he widened the small hole at the bottom of his teacher’s water clock. The water dripped out inconspicuously quicker, letting the boys get out of class early. It took the old teacher a week before he discovered it and when he did he took a willow branch to Archimedes’ backside. Archimedes never held a grudge against the teacher because he deserved the punishment.

  But this was different. He did not gamble in front of the temple and did not intend anyone else to. Slapping a man’s face was an insult; it is what a hysterical girl does. A whipping would have been better. The pain of the slap was gone, but the humiliation and anger still burned in him.

  For five years Archimedes had anticipated the day he would walk in triumph up the steps of the School of Alexandria. New students were handed a ceremonial scroll that symbolized the world’s accumulated knowledge inside the library. For one week on a heaving ship, the thought of earning that scroll kept him sane. Now he was being escorted in humiliation by temple guards and was going to start his schooling in disgrace.

  Seven shadows glided across the white dirt road in silence, except for the crunch of sand grinding under the wheels of the new cart. In the hot, arid winds of Egypt, Archimedes’ cut dried quickly. Palm trees offered only sporadic relief from the relentless sun. Occasionally a stray dog would wander close but Ankhef would send it away with a kick. They passed a bakery with the warm, heady smell of yeast and barley heavy in the air. A woman was bartering down the price of several loaves, contending that they were a couple of days old.

  It was near mid-day, and most people sought shelter in their homes or under awnings. Two women and a girl were talking in the street, but stopped and stared as Ipuwer and his guards walked by. The little girl pointed at Archimedes and asked her mom, “Is he dangerous?” The mom shushed the girl and pulled her aside.

  Archimedes looked dissolutely at the dust his sandals kicked up while his insides churned like he was back on the ship. He actually wished he was back on the ship, where the nausea was caused by powerful waves. That sick feeling was natural and temporary. Now he walked in shame and his queasy insides were caused by a violent priest. This feeling could prove eternal if the school rejected him. Would the teachers accept him once they found out he insulted a priest? Could he really end up fodder for the crows? He couldn’t imagine how disappointed his father would be.

  When Archimedes lifted his head again everyone had stopped at the front lawn of the school. He was finally here. And he wished he wasn’t.

  The entrance to the school was faced with large Corinthian columns. The marble building was rectangular with a large dome in the center. Leading up to the entrance were marble steps. Surrounding the grounds was a park with statues of famous Greeks situated in it. Everything was finely manicured, with rounded bushes, stone walkways, and beautiful fountains. The only sounds came from the song birds darting in the trees.

  Archimedes was like a sapling surrounded by four stout trees, one guard at each corner. Behind was Ankhef and in front of the small assembly was Ipuwer.

  Ipuwer scanned the exterior and finally noticed a tall, slender man standing alone on the street examining the school. The man had wavy black hair and was dressed in a full Greek tunic. His hands were clasped behind his back and the heat did not seem to bother him. A small, spotted cat was coiling around the man’s leg but not getting any attention. Ipuwer strode over to him.

  “Get someone out here I can talk to,” Ipuwer said. He learned to be abrupt from Ptahhotep. But the man did not reply, except to walk a few steps away to get a better view of the school.

  “Do you teach the mute?! I represent Ptahhotep, First Prophet of the God Horus. Get someone out here…now!”

  The cat darted away and the man turned to Ipuwer. He looked at Ipuwer as a man would look at a bug about to be swatted. He leaned sideways to look past him and scanned the four guards and then his eyes settled, and stayed, on Archimedes.

  The man extended his arm to push Ipuwer aside so he could walk a straight path to the mortified Greek student. The affront left Ipuwer momentarily stunned, but he regained his senses and tramped after the bold man.

  “You do not…”

  The man turned and now squashed the bug.

  “Do not presume to tell me to do—anything.” He did not yell; he only spoke with the confidence of a man who knew exactly who he was and what he could do. The man’s eyes were burning embers and chilling water at the same time. Ipuwer’s poise vanished like a stone in a muddy pond. The tall man turned back to Archimedes.

  He examined the scab on Archimedes’ cheek; he noticed the broken amulet that hung limply in his fingers. “Are you Archimedes from Syracuse?” he spoke as if no one else were around.

  “Yes.”

  “Come here.”

  The two guards in front of Archimedes dropped their spears to stop him. The muddy pond spit back Ipuwer’s confidence at the intervention of the guards. Ipuwer came up beside the guards and scrawled something on his papyrus.

  “These soldiers, and I, represent Ptahhotep, First Prophet…” Ipuwer was talking and writing at the same time.

  “Come here, Archimedes,” the man again spoke as if Archimedes was alone in the road. Archimedes walked around the guards and stood alongside the man. He turned to Archimedes.

  “I am Callimachus. I am the epistates and lead scholar of Pharaoh Ptolemy’s School of Alexandria. Whatever difficulties you had in arriving here, they are now ended.” He looked over to Ankhef. “Have you been paid?” Ankhef nodded. “Leave the crates there. I will see that they are taken care of.”

  Ipuwer looked at the guards, and then pointed at Archimedes. “This delinquent is going back to Ptahhotep for further questioning.”

  Callimachus turned back to Ipuwer. “Leave.” That was all he said. Archimedes looked at Callimachus and wondered what teacher had that kind of self-confidence to stand up to the whole temple of Horus.

  Ipuwer took a step forward. “These soldiers are under the authority of Ptahhotep.”

  The embers in Callimachus’ eyes began to evaporate the water. “I know who Ptahhotep is and I know what a soldier is. Ptahhotep spends his time inflicting wounds on the cheeks of schoolboys.” Callimachus cast his eyes at the four guards, “And these guards are not soldiers. This,” he pointed with his hand back toward the school, “is a soldier. Ajax!”

  Everyone, except Callimachus, turned to look up the steps. For a moment there was nothing. Then came the echoing clang of hobnailed sandals from inside the school. The footsteps rang louder on the marble floor as they approached. The sunlight gradually pealed back the shadow emerging from the lobby to reveal a colossal frame clad in muscle, scars and bronze.

  By the blood of Ares, it was a Spartan.

  His bronze breastplate, embedded with the scrapes of nameless battles, stretched across a massive chest. Across his broad shoulders was the traditional scarlet cape, meant to hide blood during battle. The cape swept each of the steps as his powerful stride took him closer to Callimachus. Knotted muscles in his right forearm gripped a spear 8 feet high. This was not the same decorative spear the guards clutched. The Spartan’s bronze spear tip was chipped from the bones of the wretched soldiers it had grated against. The ash shaft was mottled pink from the faded blood of those dead enemies.

  On his other arm was t
he heavy bronze-covered shield emblazoned with the Greek letter lambda, for Lacedaemon, what the Spartans called their home. Sheathed on his hip was a xiphos, the Greek short sword. Compact and wide, it was meant for rapid thrusts in the close combat preferred by Spartans. And sitting atop it all was the Corinthian helmet with a horsehair crest and bronze cheek pieces. The most intimidating aspect of the helmet was the narrow eye slits that gave the soldier a lifeless look of Hades.

  Archimedes sucked in some air and believed that Talos himself now stood on the other side of Callimachus. Talos was a giant metal automaton created by Hephaestus. The living bronze robot, forged in the searing furnace of Mount Olympus, patrolled the island of Crete. The giant machine was given the job of driving away pirates from the shore with volleys of rocks or a fiery death-embrace.

  Archimedes clenched his owl amulet tight and gave a silent prayer to Athena. “Goddess of war, protect me.”

  The guards stirred nervously like four jackals in a cage that a lion had just entered. The jackals were looking for a way out. Ipuwer swallowed.

  “This is Ajax.” Callimachus addressed Ipuwer. “He protects the school and any students who attend it. Archimedes is one of my students. Take your temple guards and sheaf of lies, scribe, and leave.”

  Ipuwer, ensnared between the smoldering eyes of Callimachus and the death glare of Ajax, sputtered, shuddered, and then fled. The guards followed with as much dignity as they could muster. In his hurry to leave, Ipuwer dropped his papyrus sheet. Callimachus picked it up and rolled it into a scroll without reading it.

  “Here is your entrance scroll. It is the best we can do for now until we get your official one.” Callimachus smiled. “Welcome, young Archimedes, to the School of Alexandria.”

  Archimedes took the scroll. Moments ago it held the lies of Ipuwer. Now it represented Archimedes’ acceptance into the greatest institution in the world. He followed Callimachus and Ajax up the steps and entered as he had hoped. In triumph.

  Chapter 10

  Something brushed across Archimedes’ face and his eyes fluttered open. For a moment he thought he was sleeping aboard the Calypso and the reeking wood ceiling was rubbing against his nose. But the unrelenting rocking was absent and in its place was the flicking tail of the small, spotted cat. Archimedes pushed the cat off his bed and sat up.

  The cat jumped back on the bed and Archimedes promptly pushed it back off. He wasn’t a cat lover. He remembered last year when his sister brought a stray cat home. It tore through the house, shredded his mother’s robe and knocked over a pitcher of wine before his mother was able to herd it out the door with a broom.

  Archimedes looked around at his room for the first time. Last night, after eating a simple meal of beans and flat bread, he was shown his bedroom and went right to sleep. The room was small and sparse, but comfortable. The ceiling was high and an open window let in the first glimpse of sun. In the corner near the door was a wooden stool.

  There was a knock on the door and a young boy walked in hugging a large pitcher. Without looking at Archimedes, he timidly said good morning and waddled over to a stone table that had a wide basin on it.

  The boy hefted the pitcher onto his chest, embracing it with both arms. He did not have the strength to pour with his arms, so he bent forward and slowly tipped the pitcher filling the bowl with water, until it overflowed. He quickly pulled the pitcher back and more water sloshed over his shoulder onto the floor. The boy was horrified and shot a look at Archimedes, expecting to get a slap across the head.

  “Wait, wait. It’s all right.” Archimedes reassured the boy as he got out of bed. “Just get a towel and we can clean it up. It was an accident.”

  The boy still looked at Archimedes with alarm, but managed to nod and dash out for a towel. Archimedes avoided the puddle and walked over to the basin. It was filled to the brim with water. He gradually put in his two hands to wash his face, but more water spilled out onto the plate underneath. Archimedes lifted his two hands, looking at the spilled water as if it should crawl back into the bowl. He dipped both hands back in and the water rose back to the lip of the basin. He slowly lifted them out, then back in, watching the water level rise and fall with each immersion.

  The boy burst back into the room, stopped abruptly as if he expected Archimedes should have disappeared, then got on his knees and carefully wiped up the spill.

  “I am sorry master. I have been careless,” the boy murmured.

  “It is all right, boy.” Archimedes thought it was ironic to be calling someone else a boy. “There is always a balance in life. See, now my floor is cleaner.” The boy gave a wide smile that showed two missing front teeth. He got up, bowed, and left as hastily as he came.

  Some of the water spilled on his alchemy kit sitting at the end of his bed. Archimedes knelt down and wiped off the puddle, then set the latch and opened the kit.

  He picked up a green bottle and held it up to the light. He tipped the bottle to the left and then to the right. The chemical inside followed the movements like a metallic liquid ball. The label read Quicksilver, what the Romans called mercury. It was rare and expensive because it is the only metal that stays liquid at room temperature.

  Now that he was in Egypt, he planned to visit the marketplace sometime. Although Archimedes had a decent collection of chemicals and tools, Alexandria was the hub of trade in the Mediterranean, and all kinds of new inventions and mysterious chemicals could be purchased there. He liked that Greece was exact, but Egypt offered the exotic.

  He lifted the two trays out and took out his most valued invention. He had been working on the machine for nearly two years, designing and creating a mechanism he believed would revolutionize man’s ability to plan the future. When the intricate set of interlocking bronze gears was turned, it showed the future phases of the moon, orbits of the planets, and solar eclipses using dials and small models of the sun and moon as they orbited the earth. He wrapped it back up in sheepskin, locked the lid, and went to get breakfast.

  The dining hall was large, filled with long wooden tables. Archimedes could smell fresh barley bread wafting in the air and hear a drone of voices resonating in the open room. As would befit a dining room, the walls were decorated with two of the Greek gods best identified with drinking and eating. Two of the stone walls were painted with scenes of Dionysus, the Greek god of wine.

  The murals showed Dionysus frolicking at one of his raucous festivals, dancing and drinking with satyrs and women. The other two walls had scenes of Demeter, Greek goddess of the harvest overlooking farmers reaping the grain and picking grapes from vines heavy with fruit.

  Archimedes found a seat and glanced around. There were about 40 men in various groups eating breakfast. He realized for the first time that he was the youngest man there. The person nearest in age seemed to be at least 18 years old. He sat by himself and was served warm barley bread soaked in wine and a terra cotta bowl of figs.

  Nearby were three teachers debating the best way to measure a year. Most Greeks used the erratic Athenian calendar that relied on inserting an extra month whenever needed to balance out the year.

  Many other city-states wanted to use their own calendar, adding to the confusion. For example, in Athens a new year started in summer, in Sparta it was fall, and in Delos a new year began in winter. Although the Greeks were well versed in astronomy, they couldn’t agree on one calendar, so each scholar was defending his own solution.

  That was a subject that interested Archimedes so he pushed his bowl over and sat by the three men. They all stopped talking and looked at the brash young man.

  “Good morning, sirs. My name is Archimedes, from Syracuse. I’m a new student here. I found your discussion of calendars very enlightening. May I ask something?”

  The three looked at each other in a mix of confusion and apprehension.

  “How old are you, young man?” the teacher across the table from him asked. He was thin, bald, and had a specks of grey in his beard along with some of his breakfa
st.

  “That is exactly what I was going to ask you, sir. If I used the Athenian calendar, I could be somewhere between 11 and 13, depending on when they decided to add months or what city-state I grew up in. If I used your system,” he looked at the man who liked to use solar eclipses, “I would be 10, as solar eclipses have proved to be less dependable than the moon.” He looked around satisfied that he had their attention. “My question is, how old am I?”

  The question was rhetorical and Archimedes took his terra cotta bowl of figs. “I am building a machine that would take all of these aberrations into account. Suppose this bowl is earth and this large fig is the moon. These other smaller figs represent our known planets.” He carefully laid out several figs around the bowl. “My machine calculates the motions of the moon and planets, giving us a more accurate calendar.”

  Enraptured in his model, he began moving the dried fruit planets in careful orbits around the bowl. “It will also organize the calendar into four-year cycles for our Olympiads. Everyone would use it, so it is universal, not arbitrary. It is not finished; I am still working on the ratios of the gears.”

  “You’re telling us you made a machine that thinks?” The younger man with a black beard asked.

  “Not think, it computes,” Archimedes said. “It uses finely calibrated gears,” He pushed the bowl against the cup and spun the bowl to keep up with the turn of the smaller cup. “Like this bowl, the main gear wheel transfers the power to the other wheels that interlock with it. The 12 months would be connected to the main wheel and they would all turn in relation to the orbit of the sun and revolution of the moon. It would compute the year for us.” Archimedes looked up, beaming.

  The oldest man slapped the table and laughed. “A machine to compute for man? Ha, that will be the day when a machine can think!”

  Archimedes ignored the jibe. “It is an improvement to what we have now because the gears provide accuracy, not an opinion. My computer is impartial, unlike men who calculate by personal bias.”