Eurydice began to cry. Lavinia embraced her again, hushing her sobs. “You’ll see him. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Then we can make a decision about his future.”
Eurydice eased out of Lavinia’s arms. Even a hug seemed too much for her sore breasts. “I s—s—suppose you’re right,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “W—wh—what kind of life ca—ca—can I give a boy as a—a—a slave? Be—be—besides the pa—pa—palace is so—so tense right now. The ro—ro—royal f—f—family is under a l—l—lot of pr—pressure.”
“That’s for sure.” Hektor tried to take a sip from his empty cup, then frowned. “I heard it in the market today. The council wants to draft a new treaty with Rome. And everyone knows where Adranodorus stands on that.”
“This city doesn’t know its ass from its elbow,” said Agathe. “Expect the worst and you won’t be far from wrong.”
Hektor refilled his cup from the amphora. “I’m just glad those extra soldiers are gone.”
“You’re just glad that bottle has a hole in it,” nagged Agathe, handing me a tray. “Take that to your master, then get back down here. We might have fewer people to feed, but we’re still short on staff.”
Hektor called after me. “Timon, you ever find out if that girl you were wrestling with has a hole in her?”
I could hear his laugh echoing up the stairwell all the way to the third landing. What an ass he could be.
CHAPTER 46
Hippocrates and Epicydes were commanding separate forces in another part of Sicily, well south of Syracuse, when they learned of the assassination. Their soldiers immediately demanded that they go back to Syracuse.
No one could have been more upset by this turn of events than Hippocrates. He had all but completed his task of placing Syracuse under Carthaginian control. It was a testimony to his determination, and the importance of Syracuse to Hannibal, that Hippocrates and his brother did not simply leave Sicily to rejoin the Carthaginian forces in Italy. Instead the two brothers boldly returned to Syracuse along with their troops.
Looking back after nearly fifty years, I am still amazed by the Carthaginians’ temerity. Almost all of the city council and certainly the three officers who had been elected to the city council—Theodotus, Sosis, and Sopater—knew who the two brothers were. That they weren’t thrown into prison the moment they rode into the city seems impossible. Hippocrates, however, was a man who could tell many lies—and like Homer’s Odysseus, he could tell them well. In Syracuse’s fledgling democracy beguiling rhetoric counted for a lot.
It cannot be overstated that Hippocrates was an exceptional individual, albeit in my mind a charter member of the dark side. He had so much confidence in himself that he would take on long odds, much like Hannibal, as a matter of course—mostly because he knew he had the gall and the wit to get away with it.
Upon entering Syracuse, Hippocrates and his brother went straight to the city council and appealed for protection. Hippocrates contended that they were envoys from Hannibal and should have diplomatic immunity. Anything they had done while in Sicily had been on orders from Hieronymus when he was still the king. Now they wished to return to Hannibal’s camp in Apulia. Because of the upheaval in Leontini after the assassination, Hippocrates told the council, the roads north of Syracuse were filled with Roman soldiers. He asked if he and Epicydes could be escorted to Locri with an armed force. This request appealed to the council because it meant the two brothers would be leaving on their own accord. Had they been imprisoned or executed, Hannibal might have sought retribution. The magistrates were simply glad to be rid of them, even if it meant providing an escort.
That same week I completed the last of the six parabolic mirrors. They were small, not much larger than my open palms placed side by side. Archimedes had me assemble a round wooden scaffold, about the size of a shield, built from the pieces of wood Orestes had given me two weeks earlier.
I attached the six mirrors so that each could be adjusted, up or down, left or right, by two screws. Then I mounted the scaffold on a wooden tripod with a pivot so the entire array of mirrors could be turned and aimed.
I presented it to Archimedes in the early afternoon. He told me to place the array in the patch of sunlight coming through the south window, and to position it so that it reflected the sunlight onto the east wall. When I did this, six overlapping disks of light, each about the size of an apple, appeared on the stone wall.
Following Archimedes’ instructions, I fine-tuned the aim of each mirror with the screws until the six disks of light became just one bright circle.
“Now slowly draw the entire frame back, Timon, so that you make that circle of light as small as you can.”
I scooted the frame away from the wall, causing the circle to decrease in diameter. When the circle got very small, and I had made a few more minor adjustments to the individual mirrors, the wall began to steam. Archimedes told me to ease the frame back a little bit more, and to continue adjusting the mirrors, until the circle became a tiny dot. Archimedes knelt beside the wall and used a stick of wood to touch the dot of light. The stick burst into flame before I could count to three.
We exchanged a look. Archimedes was as impressed as I was. “Can you imagine what an array of fifty mirrors might do?” he asked.
I nodded my head in wonder.
“We are only just beginning, Timon, but we are learning how this works,” he said with unusual animation. “Come look at this.”
He went over to the abacus. He stood on one side of the workbench. I stood on the other. He dampened and smoothed the sand in the abacus, then used his wooden stylus to draw the cross section of a parabolic mirror—a simple curved line. “The work of Apollonius in Alexandria and Diocles in Arcadia,” he said, “provides the geometric basis for what we just saw.”
He drew five parallel lines in the sand. “Imagine these are rays of sunlight. When they strike the mirror, they are reflected and meet at a single point.” He extended the lines to a central point. “The distance from the center of the mirror to this point is called the focal length. Diocles’ work allows us to calculate this distance for any parabolic curve. The greater the curvature, the shorter the focal length. The flatter the curvature the longer the focal length. This is our key design parameter.” Archimedes stopped. He looked at me hard with his one eye. “Can you understand this?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good. Now disassemble the array and put the pieces away so that no one can recognize how they go together.”
He read the question in my eyes.
“It’s important to me, Timon, to see these optical principles proven by physical demonstration. Unlike my colleagues, I believe these devices, these applications, can lead us to further insight. But the way that we do this—that we do it at all—must remain secret.” He looked at me and he nodded. “Dismantling the device is the best way to ensure that.”
CHAPTER 47
A week later, Archimedes asked me to deliver more drawings to Orestes. This would be the first time I had left the island since Hieronymus’ death. I passed through the island gate and broke into a run. Today I would ask Moira to help me find the man with the port-wine birthmark.
When I reached the Altar of Concord, the forum was filled with people, talking and milling about as though something had just happened. I slowed to a walk. A man yelled out over the hubbub, “Adranodorus and Themistos are dead!” Another man said they had just been murdered in the city council chambers. The crowd seemed divided on what this meant. Why would Adranodorus be murdered after his recent landslide election?
I saw a punch thrown and a man fall to the ground. A woman screamed. Angry shouts burst out from all directions. The crowd turned into a mob and swarmed across the agora to the city council chambers to demand an explanation. I tried to go around the throng, but got caught in the pushing and shoving. Suddenly I was right there at the foot of the building’s stairs.
The doors to the council chambers burst open. Thos
e at the front of the crowd pulled back. Two corpses were tossed out onto the stairs. Blood splattered across the white stone. I recognized Adranodorus lying face up not ten feet from me—with five dagger wounds in his chest. The mob went silent.
Theodotus and Sopater stood boldly in the doorway. Sopater spoke in a powerful voice. “These two men have been behind every criminal act, every foul deed in this city since the death of Hiero. They are dead now because it was revealed to the council last night that Adranodorus has been conspiring to overthrow the council and take back the throne that he so graciously gave up just the other day! Never has this city known a pair of scoundrels as deceitful as these. Young Hieronymus was but a plaything for these monsters. Yes, that’s right! You may be angry about their deaths right now. But you’ll be grateful when you’ve heard the whole story, their ambitions for the throne, their betrayal of trust, and their desire to please their equally deceitful wives. Mark my words, we’ve only just begun to root out the evil in this city.”
The once seething mob was still with shock. I took the opportunity to dodge my way through the crowd to Via Intermuralis. I didn’t know what further commotion these recent murders might bring, but I went straight to the market anyway.
News of the murders spread faster than I could run. Many of those who might have been at the market were coming the other way, rushing to the forum to get the details. An uneasy feeling filled the city. Some of the vendors had already taken down their booths and left the market for fear of further violence. Others were in the process.
When I reached the far end of the aisle that contained Moira’s booth, I saw that she and her grandfather were still there, attending to several customers. Moira didn’t see me coming. I was at the front of the line before she noticed.
“Timon,” she gasped in surprise—for the first time lost for words by her excitement to see me.
“Hello, Moira,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “I’m wondering how many figs I might get for two coppers?”
“Not so many,” she teased, “if it means it will be that much longer before you come again.”
Her grandfather stepped in. “Stop this silliness, Moira. One copper buys fifteen figs.” The old man who had seemed so nice the day of our first encounter scowled. “Now hurry. I want to pack up and get out of here.”
Moira looked at her grandfather. “Go home? It’s only midday.”
The old man frowned. “You heard it as well as I did. There’s been two murders. Fill this boy’s order so that we can leave.”
“I had hoped to go to the garden in Neapolis,” I said as she counted out the figs. “I’m on an errand for my master and have a little time.”
The grandfather stood close enough to overhear my last few words. “Your master?” he queried, lifting a box to begin packing.
“Archimedes is my master,” I bragged.
“Really?” said the old man suspiciously. “I thought Archimedes was dead.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “He lives in the tower on Ortygia. He’s old but still very much alive.”
“Well, Timon, perhaps you should get back to your master. He must need your help as much as I need Moira’s.”
Moira looked at her grandfather then me. It was clear she wouldn’t be going to Neapolis.
“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to be polite. I knew I could only see Moira through the good graces of this man. “You’re right. I do need to hurry. Thirty figs, please, Moira.”
As Moira dropped the figs into my hands, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Timon. You’ll find the garden easily enough without me.” She took a quick glance around. “Is there anything more on the king’s child?”
“Moira!” her grandfather called.
“Another day,” I said, turning to go.
“You know where to find me,” I heard over my shoulder.
It was a short walk to Orestes’ shop. I dropped off the drawings, and despite the upheaval I had seen that morning, I headed south across the plateau to the stone stairway that overlooked Neapolis, determined to visit the public garden.
I ate several of my figs on the way, and though I was in a hurry, I took a moment at the top of the stairway to appreciate the view. The Temple of Zeus in the distance meant more to me now that I had been there, and made me wish that Moira was with me. But the primitive map she had drawn in the dirt was all I needed. It was clear from the top of the staircase where the public garden was. I hurried down the stairs and was soon walking into a beautifully manicured park.
A circular stone walkway lined with tropical flowers and cactus circuited the garden. Inside the walkway was a broad, green lawn, dotted with flower beds and clusters of thick laurel bushes.
Knots of people relaxed on the lawn, apparently unaware of the murders that had occurred on the other side of the city. Couples strolled around the walkway, talking or looking at the flowers. Children played games of tag or tossed balls. It was clearly a popular midday retreat.
I took two circuits around the walkway, then found a spot on the lawn and sat cross-legged watching the people, imagining that I would see the man with the birthmark at any moment. But I didn’t. Concerned about what I had seen at the city council chambers earlier, I cut my stay short, knowing I would be back as many times as it took to find Adeon.
As I walked along Via Intermuralis, headed back to Ortygia, I heard a commotion up ahead of me. An angry crowd surged down the street in my direction, waving sticks and hand tools like weapons. They shouted slogans and pushed over carts and anything that got in their way. I slipped into a doorway and fumbled with the latch, but couldn’t get it to open. Then the mob was there, rushing by. I slumped down into the corner of the doorway and curled into a ball for protection. I managed to peer out from beneath my elbow. Scores of people with grimacing faces were pushing and shoving down the street, seemingly bent on havoc of any kind. Four men ran past me pulling ropes tied to the legs of two naked corpses that dragged in the street behind them. I turned away in dismay when I recognized the corpses’ faces. Hiero’s daughter Damarata, bald without a wig, and his granddaughter Harmonia, once so beautiful, bumped and bounced down the street like ragdolls. My stomach heaved and I gagged. I looked up in time to see a cart drawn by three men clatter past. Piled in the back of the cart like sacks of potatoes were the corpses of Heraclia and her two young daughters. I vomited out all the figs I had just eaten.
Eventually the mob passed. A few stragglers ran helter-skelter down the street, but it was over. I climbed to my feet, shaken and frightened. I trudged through debris to Achradina. The gate stood wide open. There were no guards at all. I followed Via Lata to the agora. The vendors who were usually there were gone. All of the area around the forum and in front of the council chambers, that had been filled with people earlier, was empty. When I reached the drawbridge to Ortygia, I saw that the guard had been doubled. The soldiers knew who I was and let me pass.
The city had been turned topsy-turvy. All the direct descendents of the royal family had been murdered. It was the work of the pro-Roman cadre in the military—Theodotus, Sosis, and Sopater—and had been supported by the city council. This was not the kind of democracy Hiero had envisioned. The image of his daughter and granddaughter being dragged in the street ran through my head the rest of the day and into the night. I had trouble sleeping, wondering if I would wake up to all out civil war in the morning.
CHAPTER 48
As I look back on these events with the advantage of the intervening years, it’s clear to me that Adranodorus was guilty and deserved what he got. His seemingly heart-felt apology in the forum had all been theater. The plot he had hatched with Themistos included murdering the entire city council. It had been prompted and supported by Damarata and Harmonia. While the brutal public display of the womens’ bodies was barbaric, the two wives were culpable. Damarata had literally nagged and bitched herself to the end of a rope. Heraclia and her daughters, however, had nothing to do with it. Their murder was the impetuous act of a bloodth
irsty mob and would later be acknowledged as a terrible mistake. Zoippos, Heraclia’s husband, was in Alexandria at the time. He wisely never returned. The only remaining member of the royal family, though illegitimate, was baby Gelo—and only a handful of people knew about him. Of course, knowing the young king had taken no precautions in the spread of his seed, there might have been several other little Gelos scattered throughout the city.
It’s mystifying in retrospect that Hippocrates, the Carthaginian provocateur, survived the purge. He had been a huge influence on Hieronymus, and he had worked in concert with Adranodorus. If there was anyone else who needed to be eliminated, it was Hippocrates.
But the city council had offered Hippocrates and his brother a military escort to travel to Locri. A week had passed and they still hadn’t left Syracuse. In fact they were still on point. The death of Hieronymus had been a huge setback to their plans, but as long as the city remained in turmoil, as long as the mob ruled—and it surely did—they felt they were still players in the game.
The two brothers had made several successful raids on Roman settlements just a month earlier, and during those campaigns had earned the respect of the men they commanded, both the Syracusan recruits and the hired mercenaries. Quite a lot of this was Hippocrates. He was a talented orator who knew how to drink with his men, talk in bold terms, and manipulate through any lie he wished to tell. Since their return to Syracuse, the two brothers had hung out in the drinking establishments and infiltrated the street life, repeatedly telling fellow soldiers, Roman deserters, and the dregs of the city’s populace that Hannibal was certain to win the war.
In the days after Adranodorus’ election to the city council, Hippocrates had been in steady communication with the new magistrate. He assured Adranodorus that there was enough support within the military for a coup once the army returned from Leontini—which would be soon. Adranodorus immediately began planning for that day. In a fit of foolish bravado, however, he told a drinking partner, the actor Aristo, every detail of the plan. Aristo took the information to the city council. Adranodorus and Themistos were killed the next day as they entered the council chambers, thus beginning the purge of the royal family.
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