The Siege of Syracuse

by Dan Armstrong

  Despite Hippocrates’ manners, Archimedes seemed disturbed by the visit, particularly the request to review the city’s defenses. Once the Carthaginian had left, Archimedes quit work on the proof. He paced and muttered to himself the rest of the morning. All signs pointed to a conflict by spring. Sicily would become yet another front in the war with Hannibal.

  And it wasn’t just Archimedes who was worried. War was on the lips of everyone in Syracuse and anyone within sight of the city walls. Though I had no real affinity to Rome, my experience in Croton set me hard against Hannibal and the Carthaginian cause. Hippocrates embodied all that had destroyed my life, and now it seemed my master was about to become one of his strongest assets.

  CHAPTER 31

  A few days after Hippocrates’ visit, I went down to the pantry before the evening meal. I recognized Eurydice’s stutter before I reached the bottom of the stairs. None of us had seen Eurydice since she’d told us of her pregnancy, but she had just arrived with three other slaves to help with dinner and deliver a special meal for Archimedes. Her surprise appearance brought everyone to life. The central feature of the reunion was Eurydice’s belly. It had grown, and she looked much happier than when we’d last seen her.

  Lavinia held Eurydice at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “There was some doubt when we last saw you, but not anymore.” You would have thought Eurydice was her daughter the way she beamed with pride.

  “What do you plan to do with it?” asked Agathe. “Poke out its eyes and leave it outside?”

  Lavinia puffed up. Even with her speech impediment Eurydice spoke before the pastry chef had the chance. “N—n—no, A—A—Agathe,” she stuttered as badly as ever. “I—I wa—wa—want to raise this ch—ch—child.”

  Hektor put his hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t say something awful. His heart had been broken by the tragic fate of this lovely young woman, who struggled so badly to speak that it was difficult for him to watch.

  Lavinia turned to Hektor. “Turn away, Hektor. You too, Timon. I want to see this belly. I’ll tell you if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  Hektor reluctantly turned his back. I did the same. The oohs from the women made it clear when Eurydice’s garment had been lifted. I could only imagine Lavinia stroking her hand across Eurydice’s stomach, somehow trying to divine the baby’s gender.

  “A boy! Yes, that’s what it will be,” Lavinia exclaimed. Hektor and I turned around just as Eurydice covered herself.

  “All the more valuable to the king,” Agathe said, her eyes narrow.

  “Arggggh, this makes me sick,” Hector snarled. He stomped out of the room and up the stairs.

  Eurydice started to cry. Lavinia wrapped her arms around her. Agathe prodded me with the tray of food that Eurydice had brought. “Take this and go.”

  I gladly left. I ran into Hektor on the ground floor. He spat as I walked by. “The son of a monster,” he muttered. “That’s what it’s going to be. The son of a monster.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Beyond Archimedes’ interest in pure mathematics and geometry, the activities in the workshop were focused on two projects. I was making two bronze mirrors, and Archimedes was teaching himself to cast glass beads.

  The capacity for transparent media to bend light was long known—who hadn’t extended a stick into a shallow pool and seen it bend? Like Archimedes’ crystal lens, a bead of molten glass had tremendous magnifying power. It was not as easy to use as the round lens, but small things could be seen with increased clarity and detail through a well-made transparent bead. Exploring these physical concepts, which seemed like magic to me, occupied Archimedes in his later years nearly as much as the solving of complex geometric proofs.

  Surely part of this drive was his failing vision. He was a man of detail who could no longer see anything up close. He wanted to use the tools of geometry and mathematics to design a lens that would allow him to see. Unfortunately, with his advancing age, the closer he got to a solution the more he needed my assistance.

  The workshop had a large walk-in hearth on the north wall. Archimedes had built a small, highly efficient furnace inside the hearth. Though the winters in Sicily were mild, Archimedes did get cold at times, and the furnace allowed me to build small fires to keep the workshop warm. It was also equipped with a bellows and could get as hot as any blacksmith’s fire when the wood was properly cured and I really worked the bellows. Archimedes used this furnace to melt bronze for small casting projects—like tiny gears or the mirrors I was making. Now he was using it to melt silicates, adding magnesium and lime to make clear glass.

  Glass making was an ancient art. Glass artisans kept their formulas secret, particularly for clear glass, and Archimedes was no exception. He had learned to make glass from the masters in Alexandria when studying at the library. Now he began to apply what he’d learned to vision. He was already using the crystal lens to help with writing and detail work, but it was awkward and imperfect. This inspired him to try his hand at crafting clear glass beads. He followed his special recipe, then pulled out threads of molten glass and twisted them into irregular spheres. It was difficult for him because of his vision. I often helped. There was a great deal of trial and error, entailing many hours of work.

  At this same time, I had begun the final polishing of the bronze mirrors. I mixed an extremely fine grade of sand into a wet paste, then used it to buff the surface with a piece of linen. It was hard work, and I did this for hours on end.

  Early one afternoon I presented Archimedes with the two finished mirrors, each with a diameter comparable to that of a muskmelon. They were the first real pieces of scientific equipment that I had made for Archimedes, and I was anxious for his response. I placed the polished bronze bowls on his workbench. “I believe these are done, master.”

  Archimedes put down the bead he was working on and picked up one of the mirrors. He held it at arm’s length, turning it this way and that. He laid it on the table and ran his finger tips over the polished surface. Then he used the crystal lens to inspect it as closely as possible. When he had completed this process with both mirrors, he stood, and with no comment on the work, took them across the room to a patch of sunlight coming in through the tower’s south window.

  “I want you to observe this closely, Timon,” he said. “The pattern of light should tell us how accurately you’ve reproduced these curves.”

  He began with the hemispherical mirror. Kneeling down, he positioned it in the sunlight so that the light reflected from the concave surface created a patch of light on the floor—like any reflection of sunlight off a bright object. I knelt down beside him to get a closer look. As he turned the mirror in the sunlight, changing the shape of the patch of light, Plato appeared out of the shadows. He sat beside me watching the spot of light dodge and dart around like a moth.

  Archimedes asked me to get a piece of firewood and to put it on the floor. He moved the bronze mirror forward and backward, aiming the reflected light at the piece of wood, trying to bring the patch of light to as small a diameter as he could, just as he had with the crystal lens. The spherical mirror was not very good at this. The best Archimedes could do was an imperfect disk of reflected light about the size of a lemon, not nearly small enough to burn the wood.

  “Notice, Timon,” he said. “I can’t bring the sunlight to a sharp enough point to concentrate the heat. This is suggested by Diocles’ geometry. He says a parabolic surface will yield better results. Let’s try the other mirror.”

  He put the spherical mirror down and picked up the significantly flatter parabolic mirror. Again he caught the sunlight in the glistening bowl of bronze and aimed it at the piece of wood lying on the floor. As he had before, he turned the piece of bronze slightly this way and that, trying to concentrate the light into as small a spot as he could. Gradually he was able to draw this patch of light into a tiny point with a slight flare off to one side. Suddenly smoke began to rise. I could smell the wood kindling—then a flame arose. “Do you see that
, Timon? It does focus the light, but imperfectly. That little flare off to one side is the telltale. The light should come to a sharp point. Your mirror is quite a good first attempt, but it needs refinement.” Archimedes turned the mirror, moving the point of light along the piece of wood very slowly, leaving a trail of smoke and a line of charred wood in its wake.

  I sat there watching, saying nothing. Plato got up close enough to sniff at the curls of smoke and poke at the spot of light. He quickly pulled his paw back when he felt its heat.

  “There’s a fundamental difference between these two mirrors. One focuses to a point, the other to a disk.” Archimedes stood. “Diocles’ geometry tells us that there is something special about the parabolic curve. We often try to fit our descriptions of physical reality to perfect shapes like circles and spheres. But the world doesn’t seem to behave that way. Natural relationships are more complex, like these second order curves.”

  He paused, pondering what he’d just said, then looked at me. “I don’t want you to say anything to anyone about what you’ve just seen, Timon. I would have preferred not to show you, but you have become my eyes. My work cannot proceed without you. You needed to know how to refine these mirrors. The closer you are to perfect, the tighter that point of light will become. What we see with this first parabolic mirror is almost a point, but not quite. I want you to perfect this mirror using this technique, then make five more just like it.”

  I nodded in awe.

  Though he rarely changed his facial expression and seemed somber and thoughtful all of the time, when he did get excited it showed in his one good eye, the right one. It gleamed now as though the ideas incubating in his head were shining outward. This bright eye of insight and wisdom was eerily matched by the milky white one brooding beside it on the left. It added a mysterious, almost numinous quality to Archimedes’ presence—that was made all the more profound by the magic of his work.

  CHAPTER 33

  Work with Archimedes could be exciting, but for the most part my tasks were highly repetitive. The polishing of the mirrors and the rewriting of his letters was good work, but it was tedious. My social life, if you could call it that, was limited to trips to the kitchen and running errands in town. The kitchen provided a good diversion, but the trips to town kept me going.

  During one of my trips to the market, toward the end of my first year in Syracuse, Moira asked me to wait for her at the auction stage. She would make up an excuse to tell her grandfather and be there as soon as possible.

  The few times we had done this, we had just walked around the market, laughing at almost anything. We were young. She was thirteen. I had just turned fourteen. But this time when Moira arrived at the stage out of breath from running, she announced, “I need to show you something.”

  “I don’t have much time,” I said.

  “Then we’ll have to hurry. Come on!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me up from where I sat. We took off at a run, headed east across town through alleys and side streets to the Hexapylon at the north end of Via Intermuralis.

  “Are you afraid of the dark?” Moira asked, slowing to a walk. Both of us were breathing hard.

  “Not so much,” I said, thinking it a strange question to ask in the middle of the day. We were very close to where Achradina’s west wall met the city’s northern perimeter. There were no shops or houses, and at that moment, no other people.

  Moira dropped to one knee. “Look here.” There was an iron grate in the street. I knelt down beside her and peered into the hole covered by the grate. It was dark except for a hatched patch of sunlight on the floor below.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  She was one step ahead of me. “I’ll take you down there to see.”

  “Why? What’s down there?” But she was already headed over to a cutout in the perimeter wall.

  I followed her into the little alcove. She was kneeling on the ground. “I found this opening last year.” She used her fingers to lift a stone that was set into the pavement. “Help me with this.”

  I took hold of the stone from the opposite side. We lifted it up and pushed it out of the way. At first all I saw was a dark hole, but as my eyes adjusted, I could see that this was part of the same subterranean chamber we’d viewed through the grate.

  “What is this?” I asked again.

  “I’ll show you.”

  I looked on in disbelief as she lowered herself into the narrow opening feet first. “You’re really going down there?”

  “It’s easy. There’s a ladder.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ve been down here three times before. It leads to a tunnel. I think it connects to others that extend beneath the entire plateau.” With that she disappeared into the hole.

  What choice did I have? I followed her down the ladder twenty feet to the floor of the chamber. We stood in the rectangle of light coming in from the opening above. Off in the distance, I saw light coming through the grate we’d looked through from the street. Farther south, beneath Via Intermuralis, I could see light from another grate and beyond that, another. Otherwise it was damp and cool—and smelled musky. “What are these tunnels?” I wasn’t particularly happy to be down there.

  Moira laughed. “I don’t really know. I think they’re very old. I’ve never seen anyone else down here. Let’s go down to that first patch of light. You can get a better sense of them from there.”

  She started off in that direction. I hesitated, then hurried after her, unnerved by the vast extent of darkness. Then I saw her silhouette beneath the first grate. I started to run, but tripped and fell. The tunnel floor was wet and sticky.

  Just as I reached the patch of light, Moira took off again.

  “Now to the second one,” she shouted.

  “Wait,” I called after her, but it was too late. I hurried after her again, catching her at the second patch of light.

  “I’ve never been farther in than here,” she said excitedly. The next grate was a much longer distance away. “Let’s go one more.” She gripped my hand tightly, leading me deeper into the chamber.

  “What if it suddenly gets dark outside?” I asked as she tugged me along. “We won’t be able to see at all?”

  Moira just pulled me ahead, all the way to the third grate. The street was busier there and we could hear the voices of people above.

  Our faces were illuminated by the daylight coming in from the grate. We were very close together and still held hands. “This is pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she asked.

  It was exciting, but I was frightened too. “Yes,” was my reluctant reply.

  “Let’s go one more, Timon,” she said letting go of my hand.

  “One more?”

  But she was gone. I couldn’t see her at all. I ventured again into the darkness. I went slowly, waiting to see her appear in the next patch of light. It seemed to take forever. When I reached the patch of light, Moira still hadn’t arrived yet. I stood there terrified that I’d get lost or that she was in danger. I was afraid to call out her name. I whispered instead. No answer. She must be playing a game with me. She must be! But time dragged on. I wanted to go back the way we’d come, but I couldn’t leave without her. I called out again, louder. No answer. I finally yelled, “Moira, where are you? Don’t play this game.”

  No answer.

  Now I was really worried. What could have happened to her? I yelled again at the top of my lungs.

  A male voice sounded from somewhere farther south in the tunnel. “Who’s there?”

  I saw a torch coming my way in the distance. The light showed how incredibly long and intricate the system of tunnels was.

  “Who’s there?” came again from the man carrying the torch.

  I ducked out of the light. Someone grabbed my hand, and I cried out.

  “Did I scare you?” whispered Moira, now pulling me back to where we’d entered. “I was beside you in the dark all along.”

  The man was closer now and shouted at us again. “What
are you kids doing down here?”

  “Run straight to the patches of light,” whispered Moira. “But avoid them as we get there.”

  The man behind us was running now too, but we were way ahead. When we reached the ladder, Moira went up first. I hurried up after her. The man must have seen us climbing. He shouted at us, but we were already out on the street. We slid the stone back over the hole and ran down Via Intermuralis without looking back. We didn’t stop until we were off the plateau and outside the Achradina gate.

  We were out of breath and gasping. Moira glistened with sweat. She pushed her hair back behind her ears. “Well, was that fun or what?” Her dark eyes sparkled.

  “Scary is what it was,” I said. “What if that man had caught us? And why did you disappear like that?”

  “For fun,” she laughed. “What’s more fun than a thrill?”

  I looked at her, still annoyed, but now that the risk was over, I found myself enchanted by her adventurous spirit. “Nothing,” I admitted, giving in to laugher also.

  “I need to hurry back,” she said. “I’m really late.”

  “I am too.” I looked to the gate. “This is the way I go.”

  “You live in Achradina?” she asked.

  “On the island,” I said. “In the tower.”

  “Really? Can you take me there one day?”

  “Maybe,” I said, knowing it would be next to impossible.

  My hesitation made her laugh again. “Timon, you’re a funny one.” She leaned into me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. Then took off at a run down the street.

  My feet didn’t touch the ground all the way back to Ortygia.

  CHAPTER 34

  I was late getting down to the kitchen that evening. The place was so busy no one noticed my arrival. One after another, five female slaves hefted platters laden with bowls of stew from the counter and headed to the barrack mess. Archimedes’ tray of food hadn’t been prepared. Agathe was standing over a cauldron ladling out bowls of stew that smelled heavily of mutton.