The Siege of Syracuse

by Dan Armstrong

  Two of the arrays were placed on the city’s northern perimeter where the walls were lowest. One was placed on the east wall, above the Portico of Scytice. All three were parked at the back of the battlements and covered with sailcloth. No one knew what they were except Hippocrates, Archimedes, myself, and the crews who built them and were trained to use them.

  Once these three arrays were in place, construction began on a fourth parabolic array. The wooden frame would be hinged so that its curvature could be changed manually. This meant the focal length could be lengthened or shortened as needed, giving the array an adjustable range. This fourth array was also larger and would hold one hundred mirrors.

  CHAPTER 67

  Construction of the more complex fourth array went very slowly. Much of Archimedes’ time was spent in the workshop reviewing the geometry. I was rarely called upon for more than a redrawing of his sketches. This was a welcome relief after the hurricane of work in the previous two weeks.

  I finished copying one of Archimedes’ drawings of the adjustable frame just before noon, three weeks after the Romans’ second attempt on the city. The frame’s construction involved some special parts that Archimedes wanted Orestes to make. I was sent into the city to deliver drawings of those parts. Orestes greeted me at the front of his shop and gave the plans a quick review. He never saw the final product. He only made the parts specific to his talents. Archimedes’ work crew would assemble the structure from the collection of its pieces. While I waited, I peered into the shop looking for Cales. He didn’t seem to be there. After a short time, Orestes verified that he could do the work and that the parts would be ready in a week.

  I went directly to the auction stage in Tyche. Since our chance meeting at the park, Moira had occupied my thoughts night and day. I stood beside the stage and stared into the sea of tents. Just knowing the general area of her tent did not make it easy to spot. When I didn’t see her right away, I methodically scanned the rows tent by tent. I saw her grandfather first, sitting on a fruit crate in front of a makeshift tent, but I didn’t see Moira. I got closer, trying to get a look inside the tent without her grandfather noticing me. The tent appeared empty. I hung around for some time without seeing Moira, and finally concluded that she might be at the garden in Neapolis.

  I headed across the plateau and went straight to the cluster of laurel bushes in the center of the park. Moira wasn’t there. I stayed a while to look for the man with the birthmark, hoping that Moira might show up. I came up empty on both accounts and left Neapolis despondent.

  My route back to the island was across Neapolis to Via Intermuralis, then north to Achradina. On my way, I heard a ruckus coming from one of the alleys off Via Intermuralis. I looked down the alley and saw a man hitting a youth with a crutch.

  “Father, stop, stop,” the youth was crying, lying on the ground, his arm up to protect himself. I should have moved on, but I stayed and watched. The man looked like a veteran. He was missing his leg below the knee and had several scars on his face and arms. The youth managed to gain his feet and get away. He came running down the alley toward me. It was Corax from the street gang.

  “What are you staring at,” he spat at me as he dashed by.

  “One bully getting beaten by another,” I yelled back at him.

  He shouted something unintelligible over his shoulder before disappearing down the street.

  I went down to the kitchen late in the afternoon that day. Since the freeing of the palace slaves, the kitchen staff had been reduced to the original crew plus Eurydice. If the work got too heavy, I was called on to help.

  I was feeling quite low because I hadn’t found Moira, and the mood in the kitchen did nothing to help. Lavinia silently rolled out dough. Agathe stood beside one of the fire pits watching five skewers of pigeons. Eurydice cut vegetables. Hektor was tasting wine, and periodically exhausting gas. But something more than Hektor’s wine-rotted intestines was in the air. Curious about what was wrong, I wandered over to help Eurydice, who was halfway through a basket of carrots. She gave me a look, then glanced at Lavinia. It was all the hint I needed.

  For quite a while no one said a word. Eurydice and I finished with the carrots and moved on to potatoes. Then I heard her. Lavinia stood at the bread table, staring down at the dough, crying. I couldn’t imagine what was bothering her. I had seen her husband earlier that day. Nothing was said then.

  I looked to Eurydice. Without a break in her slicing or her usual stutter, she whispered, “Cales joined the militia.”

  Cales was seventeen. It was the age when young men joined the military. I would have expected this to be hard on Lavinia, but the history between Agathe and Lavinia and the terrible damage the war had done to Agathe’s husband made it worse. Now they both had sons in the militia, and Syracuse was at war.

  “Lavinia,” Hektor said, crossing the kitchen, “we have food to prepare.”

  Lavinia didn’t move. I watched Agathe watching Lavinia. She was sure to say something nasty. Eurydice and I exchanged a glance.

  Lavinia had stopped crying, but her head was down and her hands gripped the edge of the table as if she were holding on for dear life. Hektor, who rarely cared what he said or how he said it, was at a loss. “Maybe a little wine would help?” He put his cup on the table beside her.

  Lavinia took a deep breath, then reached for the cup and tipped it over. The wine ran across the table and dribbled over the edge. Lavinia turned and faced us. Red wine stains streaked across the front of her apron.

  Agathe said what we were all thinking. “That looks like blood.”

  Lavinia burst into tears. Hektor cursed. Eurydice and I concentrated on cutting potatoes.

  CHAPTER 68

  Marcellus used the cover of night for his third attack on the city. I was asleep when I heard the alarm. I ran from my room up the stairs to the workshop. Two pairs of warships were in the Little Harbor by the time I reached the north window. Sambucas lay flat on the platforms between them. Ropes from the ends of the sambucas were attached with pulleys to the ships’ masts. I watched the soldiers hoist the huge, protected gangplanks into an upright position.

  Defenders scrambled along the battlements. A crane swung out over the wall and hooked its mechanical talons to the prow of one of the ships. But the Roman soldiers were prepared. Three of them leapt onto the thick ropes that opened and closed the claw. The soldiers quickly severed the ropes with their swords, disabling the claw.

  Teams of archers advanced to the bows of all four warships. They let go with their arrows all at once, clearing two spaces on the ramparts of defenders. The sambucas dropped into those spaces. Roman soldiers scurried up the gangplanks as two more cranes swung out over the walls. One dropped a large boulder over one of the ships, but missed its target. The second gripped a sambuca in a location where no Roman could reach its rope lines. The crane pulled the sambuca from the wall and twisted it in half. The whole thing, soldiers and all, went crashing into the harbor. A third claw managed to hook onto the platform supporting the other sambuca. For a second time, the soldiers cut the lines before any damage could be done.

  I heard the scrape of sandals on the floor. Archimedes came through the doorway. He crossed the room and stood beside me at the window. Without a word, we watched the battle unfold from the best vantage point in the city.

  From what I could see in the dim morning light, this attack seemed more artfully conceived than the first two. Twelve quinqueremes were now aligned along the quay. Their decks swarmed with teams of soldiers, some ready to climb the sambucas, some shooting arrows to clear the ramparts, others simply there to disable the claws.

  The poor light made it difficult for the defenders to aim the scorpions and ballistae. The huge number of darts coming from the embrasures took its toll, but one after another, Roman soldiers reached the battlements—something that had never happened in the two previous attacks.

  As a crease of light appeared on the eastern horizon, the sound of footsteps on the stai
rs thudded through the background of war cries and agonizing screams. Hippocrates appeared on the landing. Five guards were behind him on the stairs. He swooped into the room with his black cape wafting out behind him. He was dressed in full battle attire—a leather cuirass, a kilt of thick leather straps, bronze greaves, a crested helmet, and a long sword. Hippocrates shot a hot glance at me, then barked, “The sun will be up soon, Archimedes. Let’s give these Romans a show they’ll never forget.”

  Archimedes turned slowly and faced the huge Carthaginian who positively glowed with the flush of battle, his usual calm ignited with the energy of war. “I’m not feeling well this morning, Hippocrates. My eyes are strained from the burden of work.” His voice was deep, but barely above a whisper. He turned to me. “My slave must come with us. He knows the mirrors. He will act as my eyes.”

  Hippocrates scowled at me like I was nothing. “So be it. Let’s get going.”

  I stood at Archimedes’ side. The old man put his hand on my shoulder and I led him to the stairs. Hippocrates followed us out.

  The siege was in full flower by the time we reached the east battlements. I could see the tower across the channel and the window where Archimedes and I had watched the attack begin. We went straight to the array above the quay at the Little Harbor. Because of its location, it would be the first mirror to catch the morning sun. The Roman warships were clustered below.

  I stood with Archimedes and Hippocrates beneath a wooden structure set back from the battlements to protect us from the arrows that sailed over the wall from below. Ten soldiers stood guard around us. Sailcloth still covered the array. Archimedes stepped from beneath the wooden structure and used a brass device to measure the angle of the sun. It was just five diameters above the horizon, not nearly high enough for our purposes.

  The fighting grew fierce. By bringing such a large number of quinqueremes up close to the wall and aggressively disarming the claws, the Roman soldiers were able to reach the battlements for the first time. Three sambucas leaned like gangplanks against the wall. Some of the Roman soldiers carried wide planks of wood instead of shields. With these a man could cover the scorpion-filled embrasures as others climbed past on the sambucas. Knots of soldiers fought sword upon sword up and down the battlement walkway. Men on both sides fell to slashing steel.

  All through the early morning, Hippocrates paced anxiously. Every few moments he’d turn to Archimedes, a single question in his war sparked eyes: Is the sun high enough yet? Each time Archimedes shook his head, no. The device had limitations. He had told Hippocrates that from the beginning.

  The fighting raged on. Bloody corpses lay scattered across the walkway like slaughtered cattle. I found myself staring at a severed arm. The index finger slowly opened and closed as though beckoning.

  Steadily the sun climbed higher in the sky. Finally at midmorning, Archimedes gave the signal. Soldiers yanked the sailcloth from the array. Four men put their shoulders to the carriage and rolled the device up to the edge of the battlement. Despite the danger, Archimedes advanced to the edge of the wall to supervise. I was at his side, hardly daring to breathe as he called out his orders. He had the operator aim the array downward at two quinqueremes with a sambuca raised between them. It took the operator only a moment to catch the sun. I saw the spot of light streak across the ships. It came to a point on one of the furled sails, not sixty feet away. By the count of three the canvas burst into flame.

  Archimedes directed the guards to push the carriage twenty feet farther south on the battlement walkway. The operator pivoted the array to target a sambuca. The reed-covered gangplank erupted into flames almost immediately.

  I could see the tribunes at the helms of the ships on either side of the burning gangway. They were staring in terror at the array of mirrors as though it were the eye of Jupiter himself. Roman soldiers began screaming of sorcery. One by one, they shed their armor and dove from the ships into the water. When a second ship burst into flames, I heard the Roman trumpets sound the retreat. Because the ships were packed so tightly beneath the walls, they struggled to turn. The cranes dropped one large stone after another into the building hysteria. Three ships went down. Those that made it out to open water became targets for the catapults. Four, five, then six ships were hit and sunk. Less than a third of the fleet managed to limp off to a distance beyond the catapults’ range. The damage to the Roman fleet far surpassed that of the earlier attacks.

  Hippocrates didn’t stay to watch the two burning ships founder. He directed Archimedes north along the battlements, headed to the Hexapylon, a distance of about three miles. Archimedes tottered behind me in his usual way, a hand on my shoulder. An impatient Hippocrates would have none of it. He called for a litter and had him carried at double time down the walkway.

  When we reached the Hexapylon, we found Epicydes there in his battle armor, more animated and seemingly more comfortable in the midst of combat than at any other time I had seen him. He greeted his brother with a smile of long gleaming teeth and a report on the action up to that moment.

  Like the warships, the Roman forces had crept up to the walls under cover of darkness. By the time the first alarm sounded, they were already throwing up scaling ladders. As the defenders hurriedly deployed, Roman catapults to the north let go with a barrage of rocks that sailed over the city’s walls, tearing through the Tyche district like marauding bulls. Only quick action by the cranes and smaller ballistae kept the Roman troops from overwhelming the battlements. With the light of day, Archimedes’ huge catapults came into play, peppering the Roman artillery with uncanny accuracy.

  Now, with the sun straight overhead, the battle seethed at the base of the wall. The defenders were so badly outnumbered that the situation appeared more serious than what we had seen on the east side. The soldiers on ladders fought for every step upward. Even when they were targeted by the scorpions’ darts and threatened by the cranes from above, they made headway. A group of Roman soldiers rolled a penthouse up to the wall close to where we stood.

  Without any prompting Archimedes ordered the sailcloth removed from the nearest array. The mirrors glittered in the sunlight like giant gold coins. Our crew pushed the array to the edge of the battlement. Shouts of fear broke out from the Romans at the mere sight of the gleaming weapon. Archimedes directed the operator to target the three-story penthouse some eighty feet away. The angle was difficult, but the target was large. I saw the dot of light streak across the wooden structure, then back across, then hold. The penthouse siding began to smolder and char. Smoke rolled up the side; flames followed. I could hear the men choking inside. Some burst out the rear entry. Others leapt from the top with their hair on fire.

  Archimedes, his white hair and beard wildly disheveled, pointed to a tortoise at the base of the wall. The operator cocked the array at a sharp downward angle. The dot of light appeared on the top of the protective wooden shell. It burst into flame. The men below threw it aside. The beam of sunlight then streaked across the mass of soldiers themselves. One by one, as the array slowly pivoted, men screamed and their clothing burst into flame. The horrified Roman soldiers turned to run even before the trumpets sounded for retreat.

  The third attack lasted much longer than the first two, but the devastation to the Roman forces was far greater and the infusion of fear more complete. The mirrors did little more than what archers with flaming arrows could do, but the mystery they inspired was profound. Judging from what I saw, it wasn’t clear if the Romans understood how the mirrors worked. From their perspective, it must have appeared that the mirrors themselves were the source of the fire. It was an impressive display. Marcellus would not attempt another all out attack on Syracuse again.

  CHAPTER 69

  By evening the victory was being celebrated all over Syracuse—except on the top floor of the tower on Ortygia. Archimedes sat in the corner of the workshop, staring at the floor. He hadn’t touched dinner and had remained as still as stone since returning from the north wall.

 
; I was overjoyed with the success of the parabolic mirrors. Of all the weapons, they were the only ones I had helped make. I was proud of my contribution, and yet I wasn’t celebrating either. I knew that the tent city in Tyche had been subjected to innumerable catapult strikes. There was every chance that Moira had been caught in the devastation. I lay in bed that night fearing the worst.

  When I entered the workshop the next morning with a tray of food, Archimedes sat just as I had left him the night before, head down, staring at the floor. From all appearances, he hadn’t moved all night. Here was as intelligent a man as anyone knew, perhaps the smartest man who had ever lived, and he was in absolute turmoil for having converted the pure knowledge of mathematics into machines of war. I knew there was a part of him that believed in the work, but there was another part of him that could not forget the three hundred year-old Pythagorean pledge of silence. After the demonstration of the focusing mirrors, he knew the secret was out. The world had been changed forever, and he was the one responsible.

  Although packet ships had not sailed from Syracuse in more than a month, Archimedes continued to write letters. Ten undelivered letters lay on a shelf beneath my desk waiting to be sent. Another five were stacked on top to be copied. I sat down to work on these letters.

  Something lay on top of the stack. I nearly brushed it off with the back of my hand. Instead I bent down to get a closer look. It was small, green, and rounded. I picked it up and squeezed it. It was soft and squishy. I immediately dropped it back onto the desk. It was an organ from a rodent—a lung or a heart or a spleen! And yet, as disgusting as it was, I knew it was a gesture from my friend the cat.

  I looked around the room. Plato sat upright and noble in the north window. He graced me with a haughty look, then turned his attention to watching seagulls. I crossed the room to where he sat. Plato tolerated a pat on the head and my words of appreciation.