The Siege of Syracuse

by Dan Armstrong

  CHAPTER 11

  I ran into Hektor that day as I was passing through the Achradina gate. He was carrying two baskets of fresh vegetables. I took one and walked with him back to the island. He was unusually sober for the middle of the day and very quiet. I had mud all over me and expected a ribbing.

  Instead, after walking the length of the agora in silence, he confided in me. “The king had a very bad time last night.”

  “Might he die?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hektor answered, but it seemed clear that he thought he would.

  When we reached the drawbridge, one of the guards noted my appearance as we passed. “Looks like someone emptied their slop bucket on you,” he teased.

  Hektor grinned in spite of himself. “I saw you taken down by a girl at the market this afternoon. Were you able to give her a nice little squeeze?”

  “No,” I said as we crossed the canal. “I was lucky to get away with all of my fingers.”

  Hektor chuckled. “She looked like a cute one to me. I hope you made plans with her for another roll in the mud.”

  I shook my head. “That girl was a monster. The only reason I would dare get near her again is to buy more of her grandfather’s figs—and that would be with caution.”

  Hektor finally let go and laughed freely, then he became serious again. “You ever known a girl, Timon?”

  “You asked me that before, Hektor. You know I haven’t.”

  “Ever diddle a finger down there,” he pried, closing one eye. “Where it gets wet?” he added, as if this were really important.

  I kicked absently at the ground. “No.”

  He shook his head, disheartened by my predicament. “Ever get a kiss?”

  I wanted to say from my mother, but again my answer was a reluctant, “No.”

  Hektor stepped back and appraised me as though I were some kind of farm animal. “How old are you anyway?”

  “Almost fourteen.”

  “Better get with it. I was doing it by the time I was twelve. Puts hair on your ass.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted any. “I don’t see the hurry.”

  We reached the tower entrance. The sentry stood aside to let us in.

  “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing.” Hektor laughed again, gave me a poke in the ribs, then descended to the pantry with both baskets of vegetables.

  CHAPTER 12

  The following morning I climbed from my cot and stumbled down to the pantry. The staircase was so dark I could have been descending into the shaft of a mine instead of coming down from a tower. The narrow flight of stairs into the pantry was darker still. But I always looked forward to the morning, sitting on the bags of grain, listening to the staff talk about the upcoming meal, and sipping Hektor’s sweet kykeon.

  On this black morning, I headed to the pantry expecting just this, but as soon as I arrived at the last stair, I knew something was wrong.

  Lit by only three oil lamps, the pantry was always dark and shadowy, but the conversations and the energy of the morning usually provided a kind of social glow. This morning, however, the shadows seemed to press in from every corner like an oppressive fog, and the staff sat in a circle, faces downcast, absolutely silent.

  Agathe looked up from her cup of kykeon. “The king died during the night. Beware.”

  The king had been loved by everyone in Syracuse, but the staff, those closest to him, took his death the hardest. Part of it was grief, but part of it was the knowledge that their working conditions could only go downhill.

  After a while, the staff went outside to begin preparing the morning meal. The palace slaves who had brought the news were tending the fires. Everyone went about their business in a gloomy silence.

  I carried Archimedes’ tray of food up the tower stairs, thinking about Agathe’s warning and wondering how Hiero’s death would affect my life. I didn’t want to be the one to break the news to Archimedes. I wasn’t even sure if I was supposed to know. So I placed the tray of food on the table and said nothing. He was writing a letter and made no acknowledgment of the food. I took a hardboiled egg, a piece of bread, and some cheese, then retired to a corner to eat and await my instructions for the day.

  As I sat there peeling the egg, I watched Archimedes take the ivory box that I’d seen before from the drawer of his workbench. He looked up at me, as though making some kind of decision, then opened the box and removed a round, flat crystal. Without further pause, he returned to writing his letter, occasionally glancing at the disk as he wrote. I watched him for a while, thinking perhaps he was describing the disk in his letter.

  Plato appeared out of nowhere at my feet. He paced back and forth, brushing lightly across my bare shins to attract my attention. I knew what he wanted and broke off a little piece of cheese. “What happens now that the king is dead?” I whispered to him.

  Plato twitched his tail twice.

  “That’s what Agathe said.” I dropped the bit of cheese on the floor for him. “Beware.”

  Well into the afternoon I heard a knock on the door. Archimedes, still holding the crystal disk and writing his letter, didn’t seem to notice. Laius pushed the door open as I stood to get it.

  I had not seen Laius in several weeks, and I smiled immediately, but the expression on his face said he wasn’t there for pleasantries.

  “Please, Timon, announce my arrival to Archimedes.”

  I went to Archimedes’ side and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He was no longer holding the crystal disk and the ivory box was nowhere to be seen. “Laius is here to see you, master,” I said directly into his ear.

  Archimedes lifted his head. He smiled at the sight of his longtime friend. “Laius, so good to see you. I very much enjoyed the play last month.”

  Laius nodded slightly. He looked much older than he did the day he had purchased me. “I come with sad news, Archimedes. The king died in his sleep last night. We have lost a great man.”

  Archimedes bowed his head. Hiero had been one of Archimedes’ best friends and a dedicated patron. Archimedes could never have accomplished all that he had without Hiero.

  Laius advanced to the workbench where Archimedes was seated. Archimedes looked up at him. There was always a sad cast to the mathematician’s countenance; now it was even deeper.

  Laius placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “We knew this day was near, and it’s sad to lose the king, but his life was full and good. My sadness is not for him.” He peered out the window in the direction of the palace. “The king’s grandson, a mere boy, has been placed on the throne in the ugliest coronation I could possibly imagine.” Laius grew so agitated that he began to pace. “I just came from the forum. It was less ceremony, more mob rule. It would have made Hiero sick. I’m still shaking.” He slammed his fist into his open palm. “Adranodorus and Zoippos presented Hieronymus, wrapped in purple no less, to a crowd at the Altar of Concord. Paid hooligans called out praise for the young prince as Adranodorus placed the crown upon the boy’s head. What a sham! And oh, so unfitting an end to the rule of one of the greatest of kings.” He stopped pacing and glared fiercely from across the room. “The madmen have their plaything now. They will use him to ally the state with Hannibal. I see war coming like a storm on the sea.”

  For quite a while nothing more was said. Finally Laius bowed his head. “Please forgive me, Archimedes, for coming in here to vent my frustration. It seems the entire city has lost its mind. I came here looking for reason and have given you only emotion.” He gasped in exasperation.

  Archimedes spoke slowly. “As you said, our friend had a long life. And a good life. His death is not a tragedy but merely a passing.” The old man sighed, probably thinking of his own age and mortality. “I have lost track of the politics, Laius, but we have always known that no matter who replaced Hiero, even Gelo were he alive, it would be a step down.” Archimedes had liked Gelo, and had dedicated his book The Sand Reckoner to him.

  “More than a step down, my frien
d,” replied Laius. “Judging from what I saw today, we may have dropped straight through to the underworld.”

  Another long silence followed. Archimedes knew as well as Laius that Hiero’s death would cause considerable upheaval in Syracuse. There was good reason to worry.

  Before Laius left, he told Archimedes that there would be a state funeral for Hiero in the coming week. The affair would draw ambassadors and emissaries from all over the Mediterranean to express praise and mourn the departed king.

  “People will be discussing the war,” warned Laius. “No matter where the guests come from, east or west, north or south, the conflict between Rome and Carthage will provide a dark undercurrent to the funeral. Hiero’s loyalty to Rome meant a lot. With him gone, we can expect a reshuffling of alliances. And the first round of talks will be, quite literally, over his dead body.”

  Laius was right. A murderous game of politics would dominate Syracuse for the next three years. I was fortunate to be secluded in the island tower with Archimedes for much of that time, but even that sanctuary would not protect us completely from what was to come.

  PART II

  THE REIGN OF HIERONYMUS

  “Certain things first became clear to me by a mechanical method, although they had to be proved by geometry afterwards because their investigation by the said method did not furnish an actual proof. But it is of course easier, when we have previously acquired, by the method, some knowledge of the questions, to supply the proof than it is to find it without any previous knowledge.”

  -Archimedes, The Method.

  CHAPTER 13

  In the days prior to Hiero’s funeral, I went into the city twice running errands for Archimedes. On the first trip I delivered a letter to the palace courier. Even during this short venture off the island, I could see the change that had come with Hiero’s death. The expressions of the people I passed revealed more than grief for the king. Their faces were also filled with uncertainty and fear. Nothing demonstrated this more clearly than the closing of the main gate to Achradina. It was now guarded by soldiers just like the gate to Ortygia. Anyone who wished to enter or leave Achradina was questioned and their papers were checked. The intrigue had begun.

  The second errand required a trip across the plateau to Fort Euryalus to deliver a replacement part for one of the catapults. This meant leaving Achradina and required a letter from Archimedes. Because his eyesight was poor and his handwriting equally suspect, he dictated the letter to me and I signed his name.

  My route took me past the Tyche market, so I decided to take a detour through the market to purchase some figs. After sampling figs from a variety of vendors, I felt the best ones were those I’d been accused of stealing—which I hadn’t bought again for fear of encountering the girl who’d accosted me. This time I dared to approach her fruit stand. From a distance I saw the girl out front conducting a sale. Hektor was right. She was a pretty girl, but not one I wanted to tangle with again. Maybe there would be a day when her grandfather was there alone. I left the market with lesser figs and headed to Fort Euryalus.

  This was my first trip to the western portion of the city. It contained a lot of open space and very few homes. I passed several small farms and an olive orchard. There were also some isolated warehouses and factories. The walk from the market was about two miles. I ate half my figs along the way.

  I left the catapult part with a militia officer at the fort gate and headed back to the island by way of the stairway to Neapolis. I paused at the top of the stairs and looked beyond the clean white lines of the city to the Temple of Zeus. Something about this particular view uplifted me, made me feel I was part of something larger. I would return to these stairs many more times during my stay in Syracuse to revive that feeling.

  I crossed Neapolis to the south end of Via Intermuralis. I was walking north to the Achradina gate, chewing a fig, when I became aware of being followed. Two rough looking boys were right behind me. I could hear them talking to each other.

  “I’d sure like a fig right now,” said one.

  “Sounds good to me too, Corax,” said the other, raising his voice so that I could catch every word. “You don’t know where we could find a couple figs, do you?”

  I took a quick look over my shoulder. Down the street were three, four, five more boys, my age or older, striding behind the other two. One of them called out, “What’s that about figs?”

  I sped up my pace. If I could just make it to the gate, where the soldiers were, I’d be safe. But that was half a mile away.

  The two closest boys jogged up alongside of me. “How about one of them figs?” said the one to my right, Corax, who appeared to be the oldest in the gang.

  When I turned to face him, I noticed he had a black eye. Then the boy on my left put his foot out in front of me. I tripped and fell to the ground. Corax put a knee in my back while his friend took the remaining figs out of my pocket. By this time the other boys had caught up. They stood around me in a circle, eating my figs. Corax got off me. I climbed to my feet prepared for a beating, wondering if I should try to make a break for it. I wasn’t much of a fighter, but I was a fast runner.

  “No more figs,” said Corax licking his fingers. “I wonder what else our friend might have to share.”

  The other boys laughed.

  I glanced up the street, measuring my chances. The guards were swinging both gates open. A boy shoved me from behind. I fell face down on the ground. Just then five armed soldiers on horses cantered out of the gate. The gang stopped to watch as the men rode our way. An ornate chariot drawn by four white war horses rolled out of the gate behind them. Another five armed soldiers on horseback followed the chariot. The entire contingent broke into a gallop and came hurtling down the street in our direction, forcing the street traffic to get out of the way. The boys took off at a run, leaving me in the middle of the street. I scrambled to my knees and dove for cover, narrowly averting being trampled. Looking over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of the chariot as it careened by. I had never seen the new king before, but I knew who he was immediately. Young Hieronymus was at the reins, his long red hair flying. A golden diadem sat on his head, and a purple cape stretched out behind him like a demon’s wing. I watched the chariot race down the length of the street, scattering people and their belongings.

  I climbed to my feet and continued up the street, thinking how lucky I’d been to escape that afternoon with my life. Along the way I heard people swearing vicious oaths against the young king as they stood and dusted themselves off. I hadn’t really known Hieronymus’ grandfather. I’d seen him only twice. But I would later learn that Hiero never wore his crown except for public appearances and affairs of state. He wore ordinary clothes through the course of the day, rarely the royal purple, and made no pretense to grandeur. His son Gelo had followed that tradition. The grandson, Hieronymus, was clearly cut from different cloth.

  CHAPTER 14

  Archimedes was a second cousin to the late king. As part of the royal family, he was expected to attend Hiero’s funeral. At this point in his life the old mathematician did his best to avoid social gatherings, and though he did have a real fondness for Hiero, he had no interest in seeing the rest of the royal family, funeral or not. With some subtle prodding from Laius Aufidius, however, Archimedes agreed to go. As his slave, I would accompany him.

  The morning of the funeral began, as usual, with a trip to the pantry, a cup of kykeon, and the latest gossip about the royal family. Since the coronation the palace staff had concluded that the young king was a spoiled brat. But it was more than simple rudeness. A particularly disturbing rumor had spread in the last few days. With his newfound power and freedom, Hieronymus had taken to drinking late into the night and making untoward offers to the palace maids. Hektor, of course, had turned this into a series of jokes and innuendoes about the boy king that made for quite a bit of laughter. But no one was laughing when I entered the pantry on this morning.

  Hektor sat on a bag of barley, his he
ad down almost to his knees. He lifted his head briefly as I came into the room. There was a scowl on his face and a cup of wine in his hand, but he said nothing and returned to his downward stare. Agathe stood beside him, looking as though she’d been eating stones. Across the room, Lavinia held Eurydice in her arms. Two other female slaves were beside them. Lavinia looked right at me. “Be forewarned, Timon, we have a goat for a king,” she said in a bitter whisper. “And a vicious goat at that!”

  The edge in her voice surprised me—until Eurydice looked up from Lavinia’s shoulder. Even in the dim light of the pantry her puffy black eye and swollen lip were obvious.

  “His aunts are so furious they want to neuter him!” continued Lavinia.

  “One day too late for Eurydice.” Hektor cleared his throat and hocked a wad of phlegm on the floor. “That boy is lucky I don’t prepare his meals.”

  Eurydice seemed to get smaller and smaller with each comment.

  Agathe came out of the shadows with a tray of food for Archimedes. “Enjoy the funeral, lad.”

  Archimedes and I left for the funeral a little before noon. It was a humid day with just enough sea breeze to make a hot day pleasant, but a thick bank of gray clouds was coming in from the south, adding a distant foreboding to the already unsettled feel of the day. With the old man’s hand on my shoulder, in what was now a practiced pose, I led Archimedes from the island to the palace entrance. We climbed the stairs one at a time and entered the great hall through the vestibule.

  The rectangular hall was separated from the rest of the palace by rows of fluted columns. Wooden galleries on either side of the hall provided seating and created an aisle to the throne. Family and friends sat on one side; foreign dignitaries and military officers sat on the other. The only light came from tall, narrow windows, high on the walls. Bright streaks of sunlight slashed obliquely across the chamber, creating the sense that something about the room was askew.