Athena's Son

by Jeryl Schoenbeck

Alexander’s only response was to yank the stubborn boy out of the way and climb up on the wagon himself. He stood with outstretched arms and yelled to his men to gather around. “Soldiers of Rome! We now possess the body of my father, Alexander the Great. He is back with his rightful heir and soon he will be in his rightful place—the Republic of Rome! Soon, thousands of loyal followers such as you will join our legions as we march across Europe. Gaul, Iberia, Greece, and Syria will succumb to our armies. And then men, and then, we will return to this very land, Egypt, and depose Pharaoh Ptolemy and crush his armies under the heavy sandals of the Roman legions and make Egypt the final piece in our new empire!”

  To Archimedes, this assembly seemed more inspired by gold than glory. They gave the kind of cheer men bellowed when free wine was being passed around. After they quenched their thirst for silver, what would their appetite be for real battle? Alexander jumped down from the wagon and the rabble swarmed over the box like jackals on a carcass.

  They slid it off the wagon into the arms of 10 men who took several shaky moments to recover their balance, and then staggered with it toward the ship. Archimedes shoved his way through the mob and scanned the area. He paced anxiously around their disheveled camp, darting his eyes at every tent or shadow. There, sitting in the shade of a palm was Berenike. Her hands were tied behind her back, but otherwise she appeared more annoyed than upset. A lethargic guard with a rusty sword and a fat belly that revealed too much food and too little work, stood nearby.

  “Berenike!” Archimedes ran and slid up beside her, wrapping her in a quick embrace. “I’m so happy to see you! I wasn’t sure where you were or what they did with you.” He began working hurriedly on the ropes around her wrists. He wanted both of them to get out of there as quickly as possible.

  “Archimedes, thank Isis! Where were you?” She shook her arms free of the remainder of the rope and threw her arms around Archimedes’ neck. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” He stood up and took her by the hand, pulling her up. “We haven’t any time. Let’s get the Hades out of here.”

  As Berenike got up, she couldn’t resist picking up a stick and swinging it at the guard. “Fat slob! After Pharaoh Ptolemy gets hold of you, you’ll all be hanging from stakes providing food for vultures that aren’t picky about what they eat!”

  The fat guard woke from his trance and took hold of her arm. “Why you little banshee. I haven’t gotten orders to release you yet.” Alexander was walking by, directing the straining men carrying the box toward the ship. “Sir, is this feral cat free to go?” The guard shook her as if Alexander wouldn’t be able to tell what other prisoner he had in hand.

  Ignoring the question and holding up his hand impatiently, Alexander waited until the precious cargo was safely aboard before sauntering over to Archimedes and Berenike. “You are an intelligent boy, Archimedes. I am impressed. At your age, to accomplish what you did with the life of your girlfriend in jeopardy, was remarkable. Your skills can be valuable to a conqueror such as me. My father had the great engineer Aristoboulus to help him conquer Persia. Perhaps I would let you help me in my conquest of Europe.”

  Archimedes put his arm around Berenike and began to walk away. “If your conquests consist of kidnapping children and robbing tombs, I think I’d rather stay in school.” He knew the tyrant was unstable, but he hated this despot to the marrow of his bones.

  Alexander took a step forward. “Either your brains or your mouth will get you a Roman sword in your guts, schoolboy.” He reached down to the hilt of his gladius. “Don’t let…”

  Just as he began to pull the sword from its sheath, they felt the ground shudder, then grow to a rumble that caused the crew to look up and over to the east as the thunder of hooves shook the earth.

  Over the crest of a small hill charged Pharaoh Ptolemy leading a troop of war chariots. Ptolemy’s own chariot was a dark wood vehicle with silver railings driven by a grim, bare-chested soldier wearing a wide silver necklace. He cracked his whip at the necks of the frothing horses as they tore out of the flare of the rising sun toward the thieves assembling onboard the ship.

  Alexander snatched Berenike away from Archimedes and threw her into the clutches of the fat guard. “Take her aboard!” He finished pulling the gladius out and held the blade against Archimedes’ throat. “Tell Ptolemy that if he tries to stop us I will slit the throat of the princess and toss the coffin into the harbor. The sea will swallow his daughter and kingdom in one fateful stroke.”

  Archimedes watched in disbelief as his Muse was again stolen by a murderous maniac. The guard pushed Berenike off the dock onto the deck of the ship. The sail was raised to catch the light northwest wind and the men were already at the eight sets of oars and pulling away from the pier. Alexander stood on the pier and took one last look at Archimedes, then at the arriving chariots, and jumped aboard next to Pollux.

  Archimedes ran in front of Ptolemy’s hurtling chariot, waving his arms. “Your majesty, stop! Pharaoh Ptolemy, stop!” The chariot bore down on him but he stood his ground. “In the name of Zeus, stop your chariots!” He could see the furious look on the Pharaoh’s face as he directed the driver to swerve to the side. The company of chariots drew in behind, the panting horses stomping impatiently to carry on the attack.

  Ptolemy jumped off the chariot and advanced on Archimedes with his khopesh sword. “What the Hades are you doing, Archimedes? Where is Berenike? Where is Alexander’s coffin?”

  “Pharaoh Ptolemy, Princess Berenike and the coffin are aboard that ship.” Archimedes pointed toward the ship plowing through the waves, its sail filling with the wind to make better speed with its escape.

  Ptolemy appraised the ship in one angry glance and turned to a captain who stepped up next to him. “Alert the warships Seth, Medusa, and Sobek. They are at anchor in the Royal Harbor. Tell them to pull up anchors immediately and intercept that ship. It cannot get clear of the Portus Magnus and into the Mediterranean. Go!” He turned to Archimedes. “Is there really a maniac calling himself Alexander IV behind all this?” Remus must have somehow alerted Ptolemy of the theft of the coffin and kidnapping of Berenike.

  “Yes, it is the son of Alexander the Great. But you can’t send warships, your majesty.” Archimedes stepped in front of the captain, halting him momentarily. “Alexander said he would kill Berenike and throw the coffin into the deep harbor if you tried to stop him.”

  “What do you propose I do? Sit here idly while my daughter and the body of Alexander slip out of my harbor?” Ptolemy was shaking with anger, but Archimedes wasn’t sure which loss was bothering him most. After witnessing his affection toward her at court, he believed he feared for his daughter’s life. “I don’t knuckle to threats, Archimedes, especially from a megalomaniac like the phantom son of a dead king!”

  “But I know how he thinks,” Archimedes said, as he had to again step in front of both the captain and Pharaoh, who were intent on marching toward the waiting chariots. “He is desperate and dangerous. He has nothing to lose and will kill Berenike, and I can’t—won’t—let that happen.”

  For the first time, Ptolemy looked directly at Archimedes. There was a passion and conviction in the boy’s voice that gave the Pharaoh pause. He thought of all the things this simple schoolboy accomplished, from solving the crown to finding the lighthouse murderer.

  “What do you suggest, Archimedes?” Ptolemy asked.

  “In order to get out of the harbor, he has to pass the lighthouse, right?” After a curt nod from Ptolemy, Archimedes looked around at the expectant faces of the captain and his charioteers. Then he recognized the thin, grinning face of Agrippas. “Pharaoh, if you keep your forces here, Alexander will not do anything reckless. Let Agrippas take me to the lighthouse. I know a way to stop the ship and save Princess Berenike.” He waited anxiously for a reply.

  Even before Ptolemy finished saying, “Save my daughter,” Archimedes was dashing off toward Agrippas. Ptolemy stepped forward and yelled, “Your plan better i
nclude saving the body of Alexander the Great!” But Archimedes didn’t hear him; he was already clambering into the chariot and giving hurried instructions to Agrippas.

  If he couldn’t save Berenike with a sword, he would save her with strategy, just like Athena would do.

  Chapter 32

  If Archimedes’ first ride with Agrippas was a terror, this one was a quest for death. There were only three ways this ride could end: He’d be killed if the chariot flipped over; Berenike would die in the harbor; or, if Archimedes’ idea actually worked, Alexander would. And the reckless way Agrippas was tearing down the road toward the Heptastadium, Archimedes was sure it would be the first. Archimedes was not terrified this time. He was too busy visualizing the mechanics and materials needed for his plan to save Berenike.

  When Archimedes told Agrippas to get them to the lighthouse as quickly as possible, Agrippas only nodded and snapped the whip at the single black horse, who plowed its hooves in the soft earth kicking up clods of turf, and leaping forward at the command of its driver. He steered the accelerating chariot toward Canopic Way, a paved granite street that ran east toward the Heptastadium. The Egyptian war chariot, smaller and lighter than Berenike’s royal chariot, bolted through the streets even faster than the first time.

  “Canopic Way is more crowded and the granite more dangerous; but you said the fastest, eh?” Agrippas yelled over the crack of the hooves on the street. He gave Archimedes a brief, demonic grin, and snapped the whip. “Hayahh! Boreas, run you evil horse! Run!” They came howling down the street like the cold north wind that Boreas was named after. The Heptastadium was ahead.

  “Lean!” Agrippas yelled to Archimedes and shoved him to the left. Archimedes thought Agrippas would slow down, but he yanked the reins violently to the left, jerking the horse’s head toward the bridge as the wheels of the chariot skidded and sparked on the granite, slamming the chariot against the right side of the bridge. The horse snorted in frustration, regained his footing, the chariot careened and continued hurtling down the Heptastadium.

  As they sprinted down the bridge, people and carts dashed out of the way, cursing and throwing objects at the galloping demon and lawless cart. They passed the first workers of the day heading to the lighthouse. Archimedes looked to his left and saw the pirate ship continuing its course to the east, oars dipping in unison, about a half mile from the bridge. Agrippas hazarded a quick glance over his left shoulder. “Not much time, Archimedes.”

  They reached Pharos Island and veered right, across the narrow neck of the island toward the lighthouse. Boreas slowed to the light touch Agrippas applied to the reins.

  “Where do we go?” Agrippas asked when they reached the worksite.

  “There is a bonfire, there, past the base of the lighthouse,” Archimedes said.

  The worksite was deserted this early in the morning except for one loan guard. Seeing a war chariot dash through the worksite caught the attention of the Medjay on duty. Agrippas pulled back on the reins and the chariot slid up to the fire pit. The guard approached it warily, curious about a royal war chariot making an appearance at the worksite at the same time Ra’s chariot did.

  “You can’t gallop through here like some mad kheft!” the guard yelled. “Who are you and what do you want?” Age put a layer of flab over what at one time was a thick, solid frame. He appeared to be a grizzled soldier who had no patience for anything unusual at the worksite. He had his hand on the hilt of his khopesh sword.

  Archimedes and Agrippas jumped off the chariot and met the approaching Medjay “You recognize the Pharaoh’s war chariot?” Agrippas waved back at the chariot. Then he touched the wide silver band around his neck. “Do you know this necklace is only worn by Royal Charioteers? I am under orders from Pharaoh Ptolemy to use this site and any materials on it to stop a pirate ship. Aboard that ship are the same villains who butchered your Medjay brethren. Does that explain who I am?”

  The guard gave Agrippas a long look before uttering, “So it never was Anubis seeking revenge. Isn’t this a job more suited for the royal navy than the Pharaoh’s army?” He looked back to see if there were more coming, but only saw the dust from the chariot dissipating in the breeze.

  “You don’t understand,” Archimedes said. “They’ve kidnapped Princess Berenike and will kill her if they see even one warship. It’s just us.”

  Kemes grunted a short laugh. “Two men and a boy against a ship of scoundrels? I like those odds. I couldn’t fight a rumor but I can fight cowards. My name is Kemes. If stopping that ship means sending those demons down to the Devourer of the Dead in the underworld, I am your man.”

  “Thank you Kemes, we can use another strong back,” Archimedes said. He scanned the worksite. “There are a few materials you’ll need to retrieve and bring to this fire pit. I’ll be preparing the site while you get them. Agrippas, there are large iron tubes about 10 feet long over where the sculptors work.” He pointed to the west of the lighthouse. “Make sure you get the right ones. They are open on one end and sealed on the other. I need three of them.”

  “I’ll unhitch Boreas and drag them over,” Agrippas said. He jogged to the chariot and spoke soothingly to the stomping and sweating Boreas while removing the harness.

  “Kemes, over in the same area is a large statue of Poseidon. There are three marble pearls, about this big,” Archimedes held his hands apart, “being held by Nereids. Bring all three over here.”

  “Done,” Kemes said, jogging in the direction indicated.

  Archimedes searched until he found where the workers kept the large pots of fresh water. There were many wooden buckets used to ladle out or carry the water to the thirsty laborers. He filled several buckets and carried them over to the fire. Then he ran to the sculptors’ area and grabbed several long poles and a mallet.

  The signal fire was a searing pile of glowing embers rather than the roaring fire they kept ablaze at night. Even standing 15 feet away, Archimedes could feel the intense heat radiating from the coals. One by one, Kemes dropped off the pearls, while Agrippas and Boreas dragged over the iron pipes.

  “Now all we need is some timbers to raise the open ends of the tubes to the right height,” Archimedes said. “I have to calculate the correct angle for the trajectory the projectile will take based on the weight of each pearl and how much velocity will be created by the propulsion of the pressurized steam.”

  “What in the name of the gods are you talking about?” a frustrated Kemes asked.

  “It means I have to guess where the stone pearl will end up,” Archimedes said. The two soldiers gave a deferential shrug and Archimedes continued. “OK, look. An archer raises or lowers his bow so he can hit his target. We have to raise our bow to the right height.”

  Agrippas smiled. “That makes more sense.”

  The three collaborators rolled and levered the tubes into the fire pit, making sure each sealed end was pushed tight against the limestone blocks that encircled the pit. “If there isn’t something of substantial weight behind these tubes,” Archimedes said in halting grunts while shoving the first tube back against a stone, “they will whirl back and reap us like a scythe through ripened grain.” Using levers, they elevated the open ends of the tubes to the angle Archimedes calculated.

  They worked quickly because the tubes were already becoming too hot to hold on to for any length of time. Archimedes poured about a gallon of water down each of the tilted tubes and Agrippas and Kemes followed by hammering a bucket down the throat of each tube with a mallet and wooden pole. The seal made by the jammed buckets was to confine the steam in a small space to create the propulsion necessary to launch the pearl across the harbor. Finally, they rolled the marble pearls, donated by a gracious Poseidon, down the tubes.

  “What are we making, Archimedes?” Agrippas asked skeptically. “When do we stop the ships?”

  Archimedes eyes burned. “We’re building steam cannons. The ship stops when these explode.”

  Three iron tubes jutted out from th
e embers of the signal fire like the bony fingers of the ferryman Kharon, who transported the deceased over the River Styx. Both delivered death across the water.

  Archimedes tested the heat of each tube by spitting on it. The foamy gob sizzled away instantly. What Archimedes really wanted to hear was the shrill squeal of steam escaping past the jammed buckets. If these iron pipes did not heat enough, soon enough, the approaching pirate ship would pass by safely.

  Agrippas was posted on the south shore to signal him when the ship approached. Kemes and Agrippas would use poles to adjust the aim of the tubes, depending on how soon Archimedes guessed they would erupt.

  Archimedes stood looking across the narrow harbor entrance, waiting for Agrippas. A pale blue sky and the orange morning sun dappled off the waves that broke into white foam on shore. He was calculating distances, estimating wind speed, and assessing his chances. Along with Athena, move also your hand.

  The rapid thumping of sandals across the beach alerted Archimedes to the approaching ship before a breathless Agrippas whispered loudly, “They’re coming! The ship is rounding to the north. They’ll pass within range in 5 minutes. The men are working the oars as if the Siren sisters were calling to them.”

  The intense heat from the glowing embers warmed Archimedes’ face as he approached his newest invention. He looked it over and prayed.

  “Athena, grey-eyed goddess of wisdom and war, help us.” He took the wooden owl in his hand and rubbed it. “Ask your brother Hephaestus to stoke this fire and your brother Apollo to guide our cannon to strike our enemy.” Agrippas looked at Kemes leaning on a pole, who slowly shook his head. Archimedes pulled the amulet off his neck and threw it into the fire. “My simple offering to you, Athena Pallas.”

  A moment later, a hiss of steam sang a low whine that resonated out the end of the first tube to go in the coals. The steam picked up force as the whine, shrill and anxious, intensified. Soon all three cannons were reverberating, sounding like massive pipes played by the god Pan, and his notes were a cacophony of violence.