Maybe fifty slaves had been sold, and the process had become so sickening that I could barely watch, when I recognized Adeon, the younger of the two slaves from my household, being led onto the stage. I frantically pushed through the others in the corral to get as close as I could. I called out to her. She didn’t seem to hear me over the hubbub of the crowd and simply hung her head while the bidding proceeded. I shouted to her several more times with no reaction—except being told to shut up by a man standing beside me.
Although I felt my father must certainly be dead, thinking back on that night I realized my mother’s fate was not so clear. If I could somehow talk to Adeon, she might know something more. I waved my hands and shouted her name, but to no avail. When she sold for one hundred drachmas, I watched as closely as I could to see who had bought her. I didn’t have a good view of the transaction and only managed to catch a glimpse of one side of the buyer’s face. He was above average height and had a red scar or upraised birth mark across the top of his right cheek.
As Adeon descended from the stage to be taken away, and the noise of the crowd subsided, I shouted her name at the top of my lungs.
She looked over her shoulder in my direction. I saw the surprise in her eyes. Her lips moved, saying my name almost as a gasp. Then she was yanked away by her master, disappearing from my view—and pulling my heart right out of my chest.
I didn’t get a chance to speak to Adeon, but it gave me hope to know that she was alive. Perhaps one or both of my parents were too. There was no telling where I was headed, but if Adeon and I remained within the walls of Syracuse, I would find her somehow—no matter how long it took.
This possibility so filled my thoughts that I had to be shaken when it came my turn to be sold. It didn’t help that I’d been beaten the night of the kidnapping and several other times during the trip south. I favored my right leg as I climbed onto the stage and struggled to breathe evenly through my badly swollen nose. Even stripped, and shaved of what little hair I had, I received the worse insult of all—not a single bid.
“What use does this skinny youth have?” called out someone.
“He appears lame. I doubt he could do much more than sweep a floor!” another voice shouted from the far side of the crowd. The hooting and crude sexual suggestions that followed made me wish I could shrink so small that I would fall through the cracks between the platform’s planks.
I couldn’t have felt more humiliated, when a man up front yelled, “Well, boy, what can you do?”
My anger overcame my embarrassment. I shouted back, “I am no classless beggar. I’ve been educated and can do more geometry than any twenty of you.”
My outburst only caused more laughter and howls. “Geometry? What good is that for cleaning hog pens?”
Just as the bidders had determined I was a valueless human, wasting the air I breathed, a gray-bearded gentleman in a bright white toga of fine Egyptian linen eased up to the edge of the platform with a courtesy that seemed out of place. “What about the numbers, young man?” he asked gently, looking me in the eye. “Can you manipulate the numbers, too?”
“More than that,” I said, firm with anger. “There is no problem I can’t do.”
The crowd roared with laughter.
The man, however, smiled warmly into my bravado. “Then tell me, what is the area of a rectangular plot of ground twelve stadia on one side and six on the other?”
“That is no problem at all,” I said. “Seventy-two square stadia.”
The gentleman nodded approvingly. “And how do you define geometry?”
This was a more interesting question. I was surprised the man had the insight to ask it. “A point, a ray, and a plane,” I answered, wondering what my father would think if he knew my life had come down to this. The form and the figure. Geometry and mathematics.
The gentleman’s brow lifted. Then he turned to the slave dealer. “I’ll give you fifty drachmas for this youth.” That was about the value in silver of two small goats and not the lowest offer of the day.
The bid prompted several boos from the crowd.
“Can anyone make that sixty?” called out the dealer. The crowd responded with a chorus of groans and laughter.
“How about fifty-five?”
“I’ll go ten,” rasped a hoarse voice in the back to yet another explosion of laughter.
“I raise that to five,” yelled some other comic.
The auctioneer gave the crowd one last appraisal, then announced, “Sold—to the nobleman with an eye for rabble. Fifty drachmas.”
After the purchase and paperwork were completed, and my dirty and torn tunic returned, the gentleman led me away from the crowd. As we reached the edge of the market, he turned to me. “What is your name, lad?”
I wasn’t in the best of moods, and probably looked worse, but despite all that had happened, I could sense that my new master was a decent man. “Timon,” I said. “Timon Leonidas, son of Nicoledes Leonidas.”
“Well, Timon, I am Laius Aufidius. I will get you cleaned up, and some new clothing. I’ve a friend I’d like you to meet.” He paused to look at me, as if now that he’d bought me he could give me a closer inspection. One eye narrowed. “How many total degrees make up the inside angles of a triangle?”
It was a terribly simple question for anyone who knows the slightest thing about geometry. “One hundred and eighty,” I said, full of suspicion.
He nodded. “Timon, today might be your lucky day.”
I stared at him from the depths of the last ten days, wondering what he’d do if I made a break for it. But where would I go? Syracuse was a huge city of irregular streets and walled districts. It would be a struggle just to find my way out of this labyrinth, much less find Adeon or my way back to Croton.
We headed south from the market across the plateau. I walked beside Laius in resolute silence. I was angry and scared, but relieved to be off the auction block. This upper portion of the city was quite open, with areas of scrub brush and small trees. Some of it reminded me of Croton with its simple brick buildings and dirt streets. We passed a working rock quarry, a bed factory, a large tannery, and many busy workshops—a cartwright fixing a broken axle, a cobbler stitching the sole of a woman’s sandal, a blacksmith hammering the blade of a sword.
Gradually the sights of the city and my master’s kind manner drew me out of my gloom. I limped along on my sore knee, taking in all that was new to me, and looking, for the first time as a slave, into the faces of a populace as mixed as my feelings.
Still well within the walled perimeter of Syracuse, we reached a wide stone staircase at the south edge of the plateau. It descended to a lower level of the city and provided a panoramic view of the most beautiful parts of Syracuse. There may as well have been two cities it seemed to me then. The wide open portion on the plateau—an industrial, working class area not unlike the neighborhood where I grew up, and the immaculate city of cut white stone and sharp clean lines stretching out below me—a modern city, full of prosperity and promise.
Laius pointed out the king’s palace to the east, in a district called Achradina, and the island of Ortygia, where the first Corinthian colonists landed five hundred years earlier. To our immediate left was a huge Greek amphitheater cut into the side of the plateau like an enormous fan. Laius said it was the largest theater in the world and could seat thirty thousand people. Directly below, at the bottom of the staircase, was Neapolis, the newest part of the city and where Laius lived. A massive Temple to Demeter and Persephone dwarfed the surrounding residences. Thick, fluted columns, topped with florid capitals of sculpted acanthus leaves, circuited the building. A brightly painted relief on the pediment told the story of Persephone’s descent into the underworld. The temple was as beautiful as any I’d ever seen, but it was the setting that added to its presentation. The new homes with cinnamon-colored terracotta roofs, the paved streets, the Greek sculptures and fountains, the tropical palms of southern Sicily, all served to lift the temple to an ether
eal majesty. It seemed as though I were descending one step at a time into another world so lovely and uplifting that the gods might actually live there.
Halfway down the staircase, Laius, clearly trying to draw me out, directed my attention to the distant south beyond the city walls. On a slight rise beside the Anapus River stood the Temple of Zeus. I could just make out the giant stone Zeus inside, sitting on his throne, looking out upon the harbor and the sea beyond.
The entire setting transported me—the city laid out below me, the surrounding countryside rolling off to the temple in the distance, the vast blue sea to the east, the sun overhead in an infinite azure sky. I may as well have been a barbarian entering Athens for the first time. I had been to Rome once, but that city was austere and plain in comparison to what I saw now. This was the leading edge of civilization. Even at thirteen, and all I’d been through, I could see that.
Laius took me directly to his home. The house was considerably more luxurious than I expected—than anything I had ever seen! A pillared, two-story cloister enclosed a spacious courtyard with a shallow pool. The floors were inlaid with colored ceramic tiles. Black figure vases from Athens and woven wall hangings from Corinth decorated the rooms. I would soon learn that all of Neapolis was like this. Sprawled around the temples and public art was a neighborhood of aristocrats and rich merchants, most of whom had homes just like these in other cities around the world.
Though Laius’ kindness never lessened, I remained skeptical that this experience could be anything but humiliating. Slaves did all the manual labor. My father had said our society could not exist without them. They were so cheap in Croton that three-quarters of the citizens owned slaves. While we treated Lucretia and Adeon like family, a slave was just as likely to be beaten and abused. I wanted no part of it. My father had trained me for science, not menial labor.
Laius turned me over to his wife, Alexa. She was a tall, very thin, middle-aged woman with a long, somber face and clear, gentle blue eyes. That day she wore a pleated lavender chiton with a matching himation to cover her shoulders. She took me to the quarters for the household’s twenty slaves. I was given a fresh tunic and an opportunity to bathe. Afterward, I had a much needed meal of black pudding, lentil soup, and a slice of sprouted barley bread with honey.
Alexa proved to be as kind as Laius and ran the household with a very light hand. Only three of the slaves were men. They were Laius’ age and worked outside, managing the garden and maintaining the house and the stables. I helped them clean the courtyard pool. I pulled weeds. I carried water wherever it was needed, and I shoveled so much horse manure I could taste it. The women worked inside. They were of all ages and never seemed to have a free moment. When they weren’t preparing a meal or cleaning or attending to Alexa, they spun wool and sewed clothing.
I did what I was told and tried to be civil, but would not allow anyone to draw me out. As kind as everyone was, I remained deep within a defensive shell. The night of my kidnapping and the nightmare that followed had turned me inward and made me suspicious of everyone and everything. Alexa, perhaps sensing my troubles, did not press me with questions. It was just as well. I wanted my parents and my old life back, not this.
I thought a lot about Adeon. Nothing prevented me from leaving Laius’ house and looking for her—except the laws of enslavement and the slim chance of my finding one woman in a city of two hundred thousand inhabitants. And yet this is how I fought my grief, clinging to the hope of finding Adeon and asking her about the fate of my parents.
CHAPTER 4
I remained in the home of Laius Aufidius for the next week. My nose returned to its normal size and my knee regained its strength. Although I thought about slipping away during the day and cried myself to sleep at night, I reluctantly accepted my new circumstances as a slave. My mood was sullen at best. I couldn’t have made a good impression on anyone. And no one asked me about geometry or the numbers.
One evening while I sat on my cot in the slaves’ quarters at the back of the house, one of the slaves came to me and said that our master had requested my presence. The slave directed me to a room off the courtyard.
Laius had little to do with the daily management of the slaves. I had hardly seen him since I arrived. When I entered, he was sitting at his desk in a white toga, reading from a papyrus ledger. He lifted his head and smiled. He rolled up the scroll and put it aside. “How are you, Timon?”
“I’m fine,” I answered, staring at the floor.
He allowed me a moment to say something more, but when I didn’t, he went on. “Tomorrow I will be introducing you to King Hiero. He is a great man, beloved by his subjects, and a close friend of mine.”
I didn’t even look up.
“Don’t you want to meet the king? He was a celebrated soldier and rose to the rank of general under Pyrrhus of Epirus. Surely that must interest you?”
All Greeks knew Pyrrhus. He was a legendary king and general, who had threatened Rome’s domination of Italy fifty years before I was born. I should have been impressed, but I continued to stare at the floor, angry and confused.
Laius remained patient. “You’re very smart, Timon, and you’ve been well educated. Can you tell me anything about your upbringing?”
My eyes remained on my toes. A slave could easily be struck for not responding to a direct question, but Laius clearly saw more in the situation than insubordination.
“It was a stroke of luck that I passed by the auction last week at the moment you spoke out about your knowledge of geometry,” he said gently, again giving me a chance to speak.
When I didn’t, he continued. “I didn’t buy you for my household, Timon, but because of a request made of me by the king. He sought a birthday gift for a longtime friend of his and mine. You are the gift. This friend, I’m certain, will be quite pleased by the extent and nature of your education.”
I lifted my head, my eyes blazing with the grief and anger that was burning inside me. “I’m not something to be given away like a goat. I’m not a slave. I’m the son of a citizen.”
Laius’ face grew serious. “Then why did I find you in a slave auction?”
I had yet to tell anyone about my parents. It was as though not saying the words would prevent them from being true. Again I did not answer.
Somehow Laius understood. He spoke to me more like a kindly uncle than a master. “Where did you learn geometry, Timon?”
My head flooded with bittersweet memories of my father, all the proofs we had gone through, the geometric puzzles and number games he’d taught me. I squeezed my eyes closed to hold back the tears.
Laius was a tremendously successful merchant, dealing mostly in oils—sesame, colocynth, olive, safflower. He owned several merchant ships and traveled extensively. He had a home in Corinth and another in Rhodes. He was an extremely influential man in Syracuse, but he was also decent and humane. Into my tears Laius softly ventured, “Tell me what it is, Timon.”
I sobbed and choked and wiped my eyes, then wiped them again. Starting very slowly at first, I told him what had happened that evening in Croton. I said my father was most likely dead, but that I wasn’t sure what had happened to my mother. It was good for me to get this out, but it was also very difficult. When I had completed my story, it seemed Laius felt my sadness nearly as deeply as I did.
“I’m sorry, Timon. The papers I received when I bought you said nothing of this. It’s questionable that you could be legally sold as a slave. But things happen in times of war that would never happen otherwise. Croton is in worse circumstances now than it was two weeks ago when you were there. The Carthaginians have taken control and given the city over to the Bruttians. Those who supported Rome have been murdered or evacuated to other towns in the region.”
This was terrible news. I took a deep breath, then let out what I’d been holding inside all week. “I saw one of my parents’ slaves at the auction, master. She was sold just before me. She might know what happened to my mother and father.” I was s
peaking very fast. “She’s a young woman by the name of Adeon. She was bought by a man with a red mark on his cheek. Have you seen a man like that in Syracuse?”
“No, I haven’t, Timon,” Lauis said, pausing deliberately to slow things down. “I will be on the lookout for such a man, and ask my friends about any new slaves they might have purchased, but Syracuse is a big city, and who knows, her master may not even live within the city walls.”
“Would you allow me to go look for her?”
Laius shook his head. “No. I will be giving you to your new master tomorrow.”
I started to object, but Laius stopped me. “You are an orphan, Timon, with no means of support. You will be best served by taking the position I have planned for you. It’s a situation that will provide you with food and shelter. It will also allow you to further your knowledge of the numbers and geometry. For now, you should forget about searching for your parents’ slave.”
“Am I to be a slave?” I asked hesitantly.
“Well, I’m not quite certain what to say about that, Timon. Perhaps we should pose that question to the king when we see him tomorrow. He can make a judgment on that. In any case, you will need a place to stay. And that’s already been arranged.”
CHAPTER 5
As I would gradually learn, Hiero II was no ordinary ruler. During his fifty-four-year reign, Syracuse had blossomed as a center for commerce and banking. Known for his benevolence and fairness, Hiero had become one of the most widely respected leaders in the Mediterranean world. Laius referred to him as the Philosopher King of Plato’s Republic. His life and accomplishments had proven him to be “the one who knows.”
Despite the king’s reputation as a soldier and a general, in Laius’ opinion, King Hiero’s greatest strengths were his steadfast loyalty to Rome and his progressive system of governance. Hiero promoted the ideals of democracy and freedom among his subjects. He created a city council and a set of administrative rules—the Lex Hieronica—which Rome would later adopt as her model. He enlarged the Greek theater built by Hiero I, decorated the streets with artwork from all over the world, fortified the city’s perimeter in ways never known before, and transformed Syracuse into one of the most culturally advanced cities in the world.
The Siege of Syracuse Page 4
