Archimedes looked at him in surprise. "Papa, you know that giving up mathematics is the last thing in the world I want to do!"
"You think that," said Phidias, "but it isn't true. The last thing in the world you want is for your family to starve or suffer- and that's right, that should be the last thing you allow. But promise me that however you have to snatch at learning and struggle for it when the day's work is done, however tired you get, however little anyone understands you, you'll never give it up and devote your soul to the earth. Swear to me."
Archimedes hesitated, then went to the basin of water beside the bed and ceremoniously washed his hands and lifted them to heaven. "I swear by Delian Apollo and Pythian Apollo," he declared solemnly, "by Urania and all the Muses, by Zeus and the Earth and the Sun, by Aphrodite and Hephaistos and Dionysos, and by all the gods and goddesses, that I will never give up mathematics nor allow the spark the god has given me to go out. If I do not keep this my undertaking, may all the gods and goddesses by whom I swore be angry with me and may I die a most miserable death; but if I honor it, may they be favorable!"
"So be it," whispered Phidias.
Archimedes came back to the bed and took his father's hand, smiling now. "But I didn't need to swear, Papa," he said. "I try to give it up, I tell myself, 'No more games!'- and it never works. I can't give it up. You know that."
Phidias smiled back. "I know," he whispered, "but I don't want you to try. Not for catapults or for anything else."
6
To most of the city, the following day was the Day King Hieron Returned- but to Archimedes, the king and his army were merely an annoying interruption on the Day We Moved the Welcomer.
Only one workman- Elymos- assisted him with the catapult; Eudaimon insisted that the rest remain in the workshop to help on another arrow-shooter. Straton was still in charge of transporting the machine, however, and Archimedes was very glad of his assistance before the day was done. It took the heavy ox-drawn wagon more than two hours to reach the Hexapylon, and when they arrived at the fort they found that there was no crane to move the one-talenter to the enclosed platform on the tower selected for it.
This platform was the first floor of one of the fort's outer towers- large catapults were normally placed on the lower floors of towers, leaving the upper stories to the lighter machines. A stone stairway ran up past the platform, which stood open to the fort's interior yard, but it was not possible for three men to maneuver a thirty-foot stock up the stairs. Straton cajoled the fort garrison into lending some rope and pulleys, and Archimedes rigged up hoists, but it was still the middle of the afternoon before the pieces of catapult were all lying on their platform, and then they needed to be fitted together. King Hieron and his army appeared before the gates while this was being done. All the fort garrison went off to cheer the king as he rode past, and Straton joined them- quite unnecessarily, thought Archimedes, as he struggled to rearrange his hoists so that the catapult stock could be refitted to its stand. Straton, he told himself angrily, should have remained to haul on ropes when he was told to.
But when the king had gone, Straton said he must return the wagon and oxen to the Ortygia, and departed as well, leaving Archimedes and Elymos to continue the struggle alone. It was dark before the catapult finally stood intact in its place. Archimedes was staggering with exhaustion by that time, and his hands were blistered from the rope to the point where he couldn't feel any one particular ache. When the job at last was done, he examined his blisters, then looked at Elymos, who was, if anything, even more blistered and exhausted than he was himself. "If you don't want to walk all the way back to the Ortygia," he told the slave, "you can sleep at my house tonight."
"That's very kind of you, sir," said Elymos gloomily, "but Epimeles told me to stay here tonight."
"Here?" asked Archimedes in surprise, glancing about the bare room. The catapult was under cover, but nobody would describe its location as comfortable. The yard side of the platform stoodopen and the floor was rough planking. In one corner stood a pile of forty-pound shot, left over from the platform's previous catapult.
"That's right," agreed the slave mournfully. Epimeles had ordered him not to let the catapult out of his sight, and to make his bed beneath it.
"But- why?" asked Archimedes, totally mystified.
Elymos just shrugged and spat out the artillery port. Epimeles had also told him not to worry Archimedes. "We don't want that lad's mind distracted," he'd said. "We don't want him spoiling his chances. He'll win the crown now if he just runs easy down to the finish line; if he starts thinking he has to put on a spurt, maybe he'll trip over his own feet."
"Maybe," added Elymos hopefully, "you could ask the captain of the fort to give me a mat and a blanket and a bit of supper?"
"Very well," said Archimedes, bewildered. "I'll see that you get some wine, too, if you like."
"Thank you, sir!" said Elymos, eyes gleaming.
Archimedes decided during the long walk home that it was actually very sensible of Elymos to stay at the Hexapylon overnight. The Achradina wasn't quite as far as the Ortygia, but it was still a long way, and by the time he arrived home it was very late. Marcus, yawning, let him in, but the rest of the family had been asleep for hours. No, Elymos was quite right to get some sleep at once, with the catapult.
But despite his exhaustion, Archimedes had trouble falling asleep. He tossed in the heat, blistered hands aching, mind running swiftly through things that could go wrong with his catapult. When he did at last slide into an uneasy sleep, it was to dream of an army attacking the Hexapylon, equipped with battering rams and siege towers. He knew that if the enemy reached the walls, they would get in and kill everyone; he knew that if he could fire the catapult he could keep them back- but the catapult kept coming apart in his hands. In desperation he slammed at it- and the impact of his blistered hand against the bed woke him again fully.
He groaned, rolled onto his back, and lay staring up at the darkness. His hands throbbed. After a minute he got up, went downstairs, and poured some water into a bucket so that he could soak his blisters. Above the courtyard, the Milky Way hung shimmering. The stars had wheeled far around toward morning. Archimedes sat against the wall, soaking his hands in the bucket, and watched the stars. Infinitely far away, eternally lovely. All the earth was incomparably small, and Syracuse a speckle upon a mote of dust. He closed his eyes, imagining the illimitable sphere of the universe, and the image of the catapult faded at last.
Archimedes was still asleep the next morning when there was a staccato knocking at the house door. Marcus, who was in the courtyard, opened the door and found two men in full armor. One was Straton, polished almost out of recognition; the other a wiry man in the crimson cloak and scarlet-crested helmet of an officer, wearing a beautiful bronze breastplate decorated with glittering silver medallions. "This is the house of Archimedes son of Phidias?" asked the officer.
Marcus nodded, his face dropping into its mask.
"I need a quick word with him," said the officer.
Philyra came down the stairs into the courtyard in her tunic with her hair loose, realized that there was a strange man at the door, and backed into the stairway with a squeak. The officer grinned at her in an appreciative way Marcus very much disliked. "The gentleman wants a word with your brother, mistress," he announced, stressing the title to make it plain that this was the daughter of the house, not a slave girl. Philyra nodded and shot back up the stairs.
She burst into her brother's room, shouting, "Medion! Medion, an officer has come for you!" Archimedes picked his head up, then groaned and pulled the sheet over his head.
Philyra hauled it off and threw him the first tunic that came to hand, and presently he stumbled down the stairs to the courtyard, barefoot and unshaven. Dionysios son of Chairephon had been admitted to the courtyard and was chatting to Arata, while Straton stood at attention by the street door. When Archimedes appeared, the captain raised his eyebrows.
"Get dressed," he
commanded.
"I, uh," said Archimedes, running a hand through his tangles. He was never at his best first thing in the morning, and he'd been too tired for supper the night before- and, come to think of it, too busy for lunch before that. "I, uh- are we going to do the catapult trial this morning?"
"The king is reviewing the forts along the wall this morning," said Dionysios shortly. "He has specifically asked to witness the trials of your catapult. I don't know when exactly he'll reach the Hexapylon, but I'm off to join his escort now. So- get dressed. If he shows up and you're not there, you're out of a job." He gave the company a nod and set off. Straton shot Archimedes a grin, and followed at a smart march.
Archimedes scratched his head again, then sighed. Philyra once more vanished upstairs, then returned with his good cloak. "Let me at least eat first!" he protested, gazing at the garment with loathing and wishing that Philyra had thought to weave of it of linen.
"Medion!" exclaimed Philyra angrily. "That was the captain of the Ortygia garrison, telling you the king wants you to hurry!" "I believe in the equality of all citizens in law!" said Archimedes proudly.
"I believe in this household having an income!" Philyra hurled back.
Arata clicked her tongue approvingly: support for democracy was fine in theory, but money was good in practice, and you needed to bow to authority for that. "You can take some food with you," she told her son soothingly. "I'll pack a basket, and Marcus can carry it."
Archimedes, trailing Marcus, reached the Hexapylon before the middle of the morning. The king was not there: he'd begun his tour of inspection at the south end of the city, and nobody knew when he'd reach the Hexapylon. The fort's garrison were still busy polishing and tidying. Morosely, Archimedes went to the catapult platform where he'd erected the Welcomer.
Elymos was still lying underneath the great machine, but he sat up when they came in. He was pale and queasy: he had been generously provided with wine the previous night, and was suffering the consequences. Archimedes nodded at him vaguely, and began checking that the catapult strings were correctly tuned.
Marcus set down the basket of food and gazed at the catapult. He had never seen one so large. After a moment, he ran his hand along the rough oak of the stock, then went to the end of the slide and sighted along it out the aperture, one hand on the lax trigger. He imagined sixty-pound shot flying, and shivered.
"It's a beauty, isn't it?" Elymos asked him.
Marcus said nothing. "Beauty" was not the word that leaped to his mind at the sight of the Welcomer. He glanced over at his master, who had now opened the shutter on the artillery port and was gazing out. It was hard to associate anyone so vague and soft-hearted with anything so powerful and deadly. He felt for a moment physically sick in the self-contradiction of his own desires. He had wanted this machine to be an outstanding success, for the sake of the household, for the sake of Syracuse. But he did not want it used on Romans.
Archimedes pulled off his new cloak and dropped it across the sill of the artillery port. "Marcus, where's the food?" he asked plaintively.
They sat together by the open artillery port and ate the bread and figs Arata had packed for them. Elymos sat with them, but did not want food.
The morning sun flooded the landscape below them. The view was stunning. The founders of Syracuse had enclosed the harbor area alone, but this had left them vulnerable to any invader who could command the heights of Epipolae, above them to the west, so as the city grew mighty she had rebuilt the walls to run along those heights, miles from the heart of the city, commanding the landscape from all sides. The fortifications had not only been kept in good repair, but had also been renovated almost continuously to keep up with developments in warfare. The initial open ram-parts were covered over with a steeply pitched roof to protect the defenders from catapult fire, while bronze-shuttered artillery ports had been added to the guard towers and to the wall itself. From the tower of the Hexapylon Marcus and Archimedes could see the north road winding off across the fertile landscape through field and vineyard, while Mount Etna loomed, snowcapped and smoking, in the far distance. When he'd finished his meal, Archimedes gazed at the volcano, wondering what made it erupt and whether its fiery nature had anything to do with its shape, which was certainly an obtuse-angled cone. Sections of obtuse-angled cones did have some extremely interesting properties. He looked around for something to sketch with.
When King Hieron finally arrived at the tower of the Hexapylon and climbed the steps to the tower, it was to find a young man in a worn tunic scratching on the floorboards with a bread knife. Two slaves who had been seated on the end of the enormous catapult beyond him jumped to their feet and stood at attention as soon as the king's head appeared up the stairway, but the young man scratched on obliviously.
The king climbed the last few steps and emerged onto the catapult platform. His entourage followed him: four staff officers; his secretary; Dionysios; the captain of the Hexapylon; Eudaimon, the catapult maker; Kallippos, his chief engineer; and six guardsmen, including Straton. Archimedes took no notice of any of them. He sat back on his heels and chewed on the hilt of the bread knife, frowning at his sketches.
Marcus eyed the king nervously, then took a step forward and despairingly hissed, "Archimedes!"
"Unnh?" Archimedes asked around the bread knife.
The king stepped closer and gazed down at the scratches: twin curves sliced from a broad double cone. "Hyperbolae," he observed.
Archimedes gave a grunt of agreement and took the knife hilt out of his mouth. "I wish I had my compasses," he said. "And a ruler."
"Here's a ruler, anyway," said the king.
Archimedes glanced from the drawing to the feet before him- then, suddenly taking in the gold-studded purple-laced sandals, looked up, leaped up, and went crimson.
The king smiled. He was a plump man, a full head shorter than Archimedes, and he had a pleasant face, round and good-natured, with curly black hair and sharp eyes dark as his sister's. He looked more like the host of a country inn than a Sicilian tyrant, despite his purple cloak and tunic and the purple band of the diadem across his forehead. He was younger than Archimedes had expected, too; not much above thirty-five. "I presume you're Archimedes son of Phidias?" he said.
"Uh, yes," stammered Archimedes, trying to remember what he'd done with his cloak. "Uh- good health, O King!"
"Good health! I knew your father," said King Hieron. "Studied with him for a couple of months, in fact, when I was young. I was sorry to hear that he's ill. What's wrong with him?"
Still scarlet with embarrassment, Archimedes stammered out a brief account of his father's illness. Hieron listened attentively, then asked Archimedes to convey his hopes for the sick man's recovery. "And tell him I've always wished I could have studied with him longer," he added. "But that's not what we're supposed to be doing today. This is the one-talenter you made for me, is it?" Hieron strolled across to the catapult. "Herakles, what a huge machine! What's this wheel for?"
"That's to help it pivot, lord," said Archimedes, and demonstrated.
Hieron's chief engineer, Kallippos, a tall hawk-nosed man of about forty, at once bore down upon the catapult and elbowed his king out of the way. He examined the system of pulleys and windlasses closely. "Is this Alexandrian?" he demanded.
"Um, no," said Archimedes uncomfortably, "I, uh, just developed that myself. It works, though."
Kallippos made a noise through his teeth, half hiss and half whistle, and looked disbelieving. Hieron gently moved his engineer out of the way again and took over the windlasses himself. He sighted along the stock through the aperture, aimed the catapult at an empty field to the north of the road, then reached for the third windlass to elevate it.
"That doesn't work so well," Archimedes told him, embarrassed again. "I'm going to try something different on the next one."
Hieron raised his eyebrows, then turned the windlass. It was very stiff, and Kallippos had to help him, but between them they tilted the
great catapult slowly back to its maximum elevation. "It works," said Hieron. "What were you going to do that was different?"
Archimedes explained an idea he'd had about a screw fixed to a wheel beneath the catapult. Kallippos made his hissing noise again and looked even more disbelieving. Screws had previously been used solely for holding things together.
Hieron's smile broadened. "I'll look forward to seeing that," he said. "But we'd better see how this one shoots before you start building the next one. I have to see it work before you can be paid, isn't that the arrangement?" He nodded to the fort captain, who nodded to the soldiers. One-talent ammunition had been brought up that morning, and now a sixty-pound stone was rolled over, and the catapult string was winched back with its fearsome groan, so that the missile could be set in its place.
Archimedes blinked: that groan had differed from the one the machine had made in the workshop- lower, more dissonant. "Wait!" he exclaimed. He went to one side of the catapult and struck the solid mass of twisted hair that formed its strings: they made a hollow sound. He ducked under the uptilted nose and struck the strings on the other side. Another hollow sound- but a deeper one.
"It's gone out of tune!" he cried in horrified disbelief. The strings had been fine that morning.
There was a displeased stir throughout the king's entourage. The catapult's drawstring was allowed to slip back so that the tension on the strings could be readjusted. Archimedes scrambled onto the stock, ran up the slide to the peritrete, and worked the bronze guard cap off the top of the set of strings which had produced the lower sound. Catapult strings were always twisted on a crosspiece which was then fixed into a bracket with wedges; the gear all looked fine, but when the two sets of strings were struck again, the difference in pitch was even more marked. Somebody handed up the heavy winding gear- windlass and crank- and Archimedes fitted it to the crosspiece without looking to see who. Hooking a leg around the frame to brace himself, he twisted the strings, secured them, then nodded to Elymos to strike the strings on the other side. Again, the deep note; he struck his own strings again- and they were still too low, and what was worse, the note slid downward as he listened to it: something was slipping. He frowned and checked the wedges: they were fine. He struck the strings again, and the note slipped even further.
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