This brought another burst of laughter from both of us, but this time it was Hektor whose hysterics abruptly ended like a slap in the face. He pressed two fingers to his lips and stared into my face for longer than I could bear. Finally, he said as seriously as I had ever heard him say anything, “A woman’s anatomy is a science that few men can speak on with intelligence.”
My blank face was all the prompt he needed.
He took a slug from his cup. “Were you paying attention when Eurydice gave birth?”
I thought back to that morning. “Well, a little bit.”
“What’d you see?”
“A big patch of hair and a baby’s bloody head coming out. Then I turned away.”
Hektor nodded, took another gulp of wine, then proceeded to give me an anatomy lesson that later experience would prove to be mostly wrong. But he was pretty clear about the source of womanly odors. “It’s not from the rear,” he said firmly. “That’s something altogether different.” He nodded like he knew something he wasn’t going to tell me. “It’s the front, where that baby came out. It gets wet and sweaty when a woman gets worked up—sexually. You know?”
My blank face made him grin.
“It puts off a strong, musky odor that you’ll never forget once you get it on your fingers. It’s an aphrodisiac to a man.”
“A what?”
“Afro-dees-e-ack.” He sounded it out as deliberately as Archimedes detailed the laws of optics. “It inspires the love muscle.”
“You mean, like,” I pointed to my groin, “it gets hard?”
Hektor chuckled. “You ever see a female dog in heat?”
“They bleed a little bit from where they pee.”
“And they leave little drops of blood wherever they go. It carries a pungent smell—similar to what a woman gives off. And when a male dog smells it, it drives him nuts. He gets so horny he’d swim a river just to get at that bitch. It’s the same way with a man. Once you get it in your nose, it goes down to your balls.” He dropped his hand to his crotch for emphasis. “Just like a dog, you’d swim a river to get at that bitch.” He winked at me, then laughed.
This was profound information to me, and at fourteen much more interesting than the motion of the planets by a long stretch. I thought of the time the wind had lifted Moira’s tunic at the Temple of Zeus. “I noticed the girl’s got a little hair between her legs, Hektor,” I said with all the sobriety I could muster. “Not as much as Eurydice, but some.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “What’s that mean?”
A huge smile illuminated Hektor’s face and his eyes grew big and round like Plato’s. “That means she stinks.”
My mouth fell open. “Is that good?”
“You been following me at all, boy? Damn, of course, it’s good. It means she’s ready. That girl’s becoming a woman!”
I knew what he was telling me, but the wheels were turning slowly in my alcohol-enfeebled mind.
“Do you know where you put it?” he asked, serious as dirt.
“Right in the middle of that hair?”
“Close enough,” said Hektor, who then broke out into uncontrollable laughter again—which got me laughing and him laughing more. Both of us rolled around on the bags of grain laughing until I fell on the floor—causing more laughter.
Finally I climbed to my feet. “Hektor, I think my master’s calling me. I better get this food up to him.”
Hektor nodded. “And into you, too. It will help with the hangover.”
The workshop was lit by a single oil lamp when I entered. Archimedes sat before its feeble halo, head down, working. I put the tray of food on the workbench beside him. He didn’t so much as turn his head. I was tired. There was only one place for me to be now.
I ate a big piece of bread and some cheese, then slipped out the door. I went down to my room all set to collapse on my cot, but stopped short. There was just enough moonlight coming in through the landing window to see that something long and thin lay across my pillow. I approached it slowly. I stepped back when I saw that it was a snake, a Sicilian viper, dangerously poisonous, and only the third I had seen in my life. But it wasn’t moving and looked suspiciously still. I took off my sandal and tossed it onto the pillow. The snake didn’t move. I took off the other sandal and used it to prod the viper. Again it didn’t move. Good old Plato, always thinking of me. I took the dead snake by the tail and flipped it out the landing window. I went back to my cot, turned over the pillow, and fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER 63
After the initial shock of the failed attempt on Syracuse, Marcellus gathered his generals for a council of war. No one had an answer for Archimedes’ machines. The accuracy and range of the catapults could hold the entire Roman army at bay. One of the officers suggested attacking at night—as a way of nullifying the long-range weapons. Marcellus liked the idea.
A week later, in the hours before daylight, Marcellus again mounted simultaneous attacks from the north and the east. Under the cover of dark, the long range catapults never came into play. Roman soldiers were assembling at the base of the north wall and warships were entering the Little Harbor by the time the first alarm sounded.
I woke to the sound of shouted commands. I ran to the landing window. The garrison was being assembled at the base of the tower. I dashed up the stairs for a view of the city. What I saw in the pre-dawn gray was so remarkable that I thought I must be dreaming.
Three pairs of ships with sambucas were in position in the Little Harbor. I watched as all three raised their sambucas and dropped the protected ladders into place against the wall above the quay.
By this time the defenses were coming alive. Archimedes’ cranes swung out over the battlements as dawn was breaking. One held a large stone and dropped it on the deck of one of the ships. It broke through the decking and on through the hull, sinking the ship and dragging the platform and the sambuca down with it. A second crane used its claw to lock onto a ship’s prow. It lifted the ship straight up, halfway out of the water, pulling the platform’s planks from the gunwales and causing the sambuca to slide off into the water. A third crane caught hold of the platform between a pair of ships. When it levered upward, the sambuca, half-filled with soldiers, slid down the wall and into the water. A fourth crane got hold of a single ship and hauled it all the way up out of the water. It dangled there, twisting on the line with soldiers leaping frantically into the harbor. When the claw released its grip, the ship fell aft first into the drink. It dropped out of sight then bobbed back up like some kind of child’s toy.
At this point Marcellus called off the attack.
I couldn’t see the north side of the city, but I would learn the details of what happened later. The attack relied on tortoises—large wooden shells—to gather clusters of soldiers at the base of the wall. From there they raised scaling ladders so the soldiers could climb one after another onto the battlements.
The Romans were positioning their ladders when the defense answered. The catapults were of no value, but again the claws came into play. Light wasn’t needed to drop huge rocks straight down onto the invaders. The soldiers were crushed whether protected by a tortoise or not. Where the Romans were able to secure their ladders, the scorpions within the embrasures easily picked them off as they climbed. The defenders also extended long poles from within the embrasures, pushing the ladders backward off the wall, climbers and all.
The element of surprise and the protection of darkness did allow many more Roman soldiers to reach the base of the wall, but they suffered more casualties because the effort lasted longer and the attack pressed harder. In the end, Marcellus had no more success in the second attack than in the first.
Archimedes never came out of his bed chamber. And yet the action was so loud and raucous that he must have known what was going on.
CHAPTER 64
Two full days passed without any sign of the Roman forces. Archimedes had hardly said a word since we had spotted the Roman fleet through the lenses. He was
clearly at war with himself over the application of mathematics to weaponry.
The morning of the third day, four soldiers came to Archimedes’ workshop. They ordered Archimedes to come with them to survey the battlements and check the condition of the equipment. I thought they would have to carry him out. Instead, a disheartened Archimedes made no effort to resist. He asked if I could accompany him. The soldiers were polite but firm. They could give him all the help he needed. I was left alone in the workshop copying his latest letter—though who could know when it might be sent? The content of the letter was so removed from what was happening in Syracuse that it was almost comic. Archimedes made no mention of his machines or the presence of the Roman army.
I was seated at my desk, absorbed in drawing a complex diagram, when I suddenly became aware of the presence of someone else in the workshop. I lifted my head and was startled by the sight of Hippocrates standing in the middle of the room not ten feet away. He wore a long black robe of the Carthaginian style, embroidered in red, with no body armor or helmet.
I immediately stood from my desk.
“You have no reason to be afraid of me, Timon,” he said evenly, further surprising me by knowing my name. He came over and looked down at the material I had been copying. “What’s this you’re working on?”
“A geometric proof to be sent to Diocles of Arcadia.”
Hippocrates nodded, then walked around the room as he had during his first visit many months before. He gave the terrella a spin, ran his hand over the surface of the water screw, picked up Archimedes’ brass compass, then came to the six concave mirrors from the disassembled array that were stacked one inside the other on the floor beside the workbench. Hippocrates lifted the one on top. He appraised himself in the polished surface, then put it back on the pile. He went over to the workbench and peered into the box of sand that Archimedes used for geometric tinkering. He drew a line in the sand with his finger. It was almost as though I wasn’t there. He inspected the tools and vises, then pulled open a drawer. This made me uneasy. I thought of the crystal lens and the collection of glass beads. But there was nothing I could say or do.
Hippocrates opened another drawer. It contained Archimedes’ most recent set of scrolls. Hippocrates took one out and unrolled it on the workbench. I recognized it immediately as the plans for a large array of focusing mirrors. I could see the Carthaginian’s brow knit as he looked over the drawing. He took out another scroll and unrolled it over the first. It was a more primitive attempt at the same device. He rolled it up and put it back in the drawer, then returned to studying the first drawing.
He looked up and saw that I was watching him. “Could this be related to the child’s toy I saw you working on several months ago?” There was nothing of force in his voice. There was no suggestion that I was merely a slave.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, surprised he had made that connection.
“But larger. No child’s toy?”
“Yes.” I didn’t dare lie to the man. For all his courtesy, the potential for physical violence seemed to hold behind every word he said, every move he made.
“Can you tell me what it does?”
I took a deep breath. “My master has made me swear never to talk about his work.”
He cocked his head and looked at me as though thinking, but he said nothing. He continued to study the drawing. I was all but shaking with fear for what might come next.
He lifted his eyes to mine again. “What has happened to the toy?”
I bit at my lower lip. “It’s been dismantled.”
This seemed to puzzle him. He came around from the other side of the workbench. “Why is that? I thought it was for King Hieronymus.”
I stared at the floor, not knowing what to say.
“Why was it taken apart?” he asked again, coming up close to me.
“I’m only a slave, sir. I follow my master’s orders. I don’t always know his reasons.”
Hippocrates frowned. “But the parts are still here?”
He surely knew; I’d seen him looking at the mirrors. “Yes.”
“Would you reassemble it for me?” It wasn’t an order, but his voice was firm and hard to resist.
“I would need my master’s permission.” I couldn’t believe my own words.
Hippocrates lifted a single finger to his bearded chin. I was so sure I was about to be struck I flinched. A little grin curled at the corners of his mouth. “But Archimedes would understand if he knew I requested that you do it.”
I gulped. “One can’t be sure.”
“But you’ll do it anyway.”
For all the gentleness of his words, he may as well have threatened to cut off my hands. I gathered up the mirrors and retrieved the pieces of the wooden frame from a box on the other side of the room. The small array didn’t take long to assemble. I found myself excited to give a demonstration, knowing that Hippocrates had surely never seen such a thing as this before.
I set the device in a patch of sunlight coming through the east window and aimed the array so that it focused a disk of light on the south wall. I found a piece of firewood and placed it against the wall where the light was aimed. Gradually I adjusted the six mirrors and the position of the array so that the disk became a point of light. The piece of wood began to smoke and char. A small flame began to dance around the point of sunlight.
The magic of it was irresistible. Hippocrates knelt on the floor to observe the burning more closely. He reached out and used the back of his hand to intercept the beam of light midway between the array and the block of wood. He moved his hand along the ray toward the wall so that the patch of light on the back of his hand grew smaller and smaller. The black hairs on his hand began to curl and singe. He suddenly pulled his hand away. A red blister the size of a copper coin appeared in the patch of burnt hair. He glared at me suspiciously. “What is this? Some kind of trick?” For the first time, the ease in his voice was gone.
I was so scared my teeth began to chatter. “I—I—I believe it’s the result of concentrating the sunlight.”
“What do you mean, concentrating the sunlight?”
I was helpless to tell him anything more. He reached out and grabbed my arm so tightly I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying out.
“Tell me what more you know.”
“Let go of my slave!” Archimedes commanded in a tone I had never heard him use before. He stood in the doorway, his right eye so alive it seemed to propel a beam of light.
Hippocrates graced me with an ugly smile, then let go of my arm. He stood up. “Your machines have been so successful, Archimedes, I thought I should stop by to see what new ideas you might be exploring.”
Archimedes came all the way into the room. “Leave my workshop.”
“Archimedes,” replied Hippocrates gently, “what kind of hospitality is that for a man who is here to praise you?”
“I have reviewed the weaponry as you requested, Hippocrates. Now please leave. I have work to do.”
Hippocrates could have crushed Archimedes with one hand and me with the other. Still Archimedes’ voice made me tremble. Even Hippocrates must have felt the old man’s intensity. He smiled right through it. “The world has never seen such weapons of war as yours, Archimedes. We are invincible in this stronghold.” He laughed out loud, free and wild. “We have grand Marcellus pulled back so far we can’t see him. We might even get some brave souls to cultivate the fields that are beneath the umbrella of those fabulous catapults.” He moved up close to Archimedes. I expected him to grab his arm like he had mine. “But I am especially interested in this little toy that starts fires.”
Archimedes’ glare met the Carthaginian’s smile.
“I saw drawings for a larger one.” The drawings were still open on the table. “I want you to build it.”
Archimedes’ expression remained unchanged. Hippocrates continued, “Marcellus can be a patient man. He will try these walls again. But if we build one of these devices,” he motioned
with his hand to the array on the floor, “on a larger scale, mounted with scores of polished shields, that can set the Roman soldiers on fire, Marcellus will give up. He will run and hide and leave Sicily altogether.” Hippocrates bent over and with both hands lifted the array off the floor. He held it out toward the scientist. “Build me one of these,” he said. “Just like this only larger.”
Archimedes made no response. He had redrawn the plans tens of times in his head, refining them each time. Then he had dared to put the idea down on paper—a parabolic array of sixty burnished mirrors, focusing sunlight on a single point. It would be capable of setting wood ablaze at a hundred feet. All too aware of the success of his other machines, he wondered if he hadn’t already gone too far. Plato had voiced the same concern more than a hundred years earlier. It was why the philosopher had called the mechanics of Eudoxus and Archytas vulgar.
“Such a device cannot be built,” said Archimedes.
Hippocrates shook his head slowly from side to side. “Then why did you draw this?” He turned away from the mathematician and took the drawing off the workbench. With both hands he held it out before him. “This is a complete engineering plan. Every piece is detailed. This is genius, Archimedes. To not build this would be a crime.”
“If you want to set the Romans on fire, Hippocrates, use flaming arrows.”
Hippocrates laughed. “It’s not the fire, it’s the method that will instill fear.” He nodded as if verifying what he had said and put the plans back on the table. “Such a weapon could end war forever. Give me an order for whatever you need to make this device and it will be ours.” He stretched out this last word with a clear pleasure.
“There can be no work order for something that cannot be made.”
The Siege of Syracuse Page 26