CHAPTER 93
Hippocrates was dead, Epicydes had retreated to Agrigentum, and the Carthaginian Senate had given up on Syracuse. But three Carthaginian officers still remained in loose command of two thousand ragged soldiers defending the besieged and starving districts of Achradina and Ortygia.
When Marcellus learned of Bomilcar’s departure, he realized that the nature of the siege had changed. It wasn’t Rome against Carthage. It was the Roman army cleaning up the mess Carthage had left behind. What remained was a pack of caged refugees divided into three elements—the remaining Syracusan population, the Sicilian allied militia, and the remnants of the mercenary force originally organized by Epicydes and Hippocrates.
Achradina and Ortygia were essentially separate strongholds, connected by a drawbridge. The Carthaginian officers ran military operations from the palace. Their men were professional soldiers, and they were armed with the most sophisticated weapons in the world, now mounted in the battlements along Via Intermuralis.
The island garrison had grown from the one hundred soldiers when I first arrived to three hundred, and included a well-trained contingent of mercenaries as well as the local militia. The island battlements were equipped with all the various ballistae of Archimedean invention, along with several large catapults capable of controlling entry to the Great Harbor. Also in the arsenal was the fourth array of mirrors, though it remained unassembled in the warehouse. Ortygia was all but impossible to take by force. The city’s two most valuable possessions—Hiero’s treasure and Archimedes—were secured there. With its own kitchen and barracks, it could hold out as long as our provisions.
Marcellus knew that routing these renegade soldiers out of Achradina and Ortygia would be costly in Roman lives and time. He was putting together a plan of attack when an independent contingent of Sicilians from several towns in the region came to him offering to mediate a surrender. They recounted what Marcellus already knew. Syracuse had been caught in the middle of someone else’s war, and Hieronymus was a child who had been manipulated by Hannibal through Hippocrates. Neither the actions of Hieronymus nor Hippocrates represented the desires of the people of Sicily. But now that both of these tyrants were dead, would he, Marcellus, allow them to negotiate a peace with those remaining in Achradina? Maybe they could save the city from the ruin of a continued siege.
Marcellus had little to lose by working with these envoys, but he made his terms of surrender clear. All that had belonged to the royal family would be Rome’s. That included the city’s treasure, the Greek sculptures, the decorative fountains, and even the stones from the temples. The citizen’s lives would be protected, but their personal possessions would be subject to the plunder of his soldiers.
The envoys approached the Achradina gate. Because several of the envoys had friends and family in the besieged district, they were allowed inside. The envoys waited at the base of the Altar of Concord while the forum filled with people. A good portion of those in attendance were not soldiers, but rather residents of Achradina or the island. Even Hektor attended. I watched from the tower’s north window.
An envoy from the nearby town of Thapsus spoke first. He had a good reputation in the region and knew many of those present. He told the gathering of the talks with Marcellus and the terms of surrender. He explained that those remaining had little chance of surviving the siege. With Carthage no longer sending ships and supplies, they would soon starve. He reminded them that Hieronymus had been drawn into the war by Hippocrates. All of their troubles, he continued, could be traced to the influence of Carthage.
The envoy’s speech generated a great deal of emotion in the crowd. The populace and the mercenaries began talking among themselves, asking who they were fighting for and why they were there.
The three remaining Carthaginian officers had been standing on the outer edge of the agora, watching and listening. All of a sudden ten mercenaries burst out of the crowd and attacked the officers. The crowd cheered as the soldiers slaughtered the Carthaginians, scattering pieces of their bodies across the forum pavement like chunks of raw meat.
The envoys could not have hoped for a better outcome. They organized the gathering into a democratic meeting. Three magistrates were chosen to represent the whole, and a plan for surrender was devised. This process took all night. The next morning the envoys and magistrates left Achradina to meet with Marcellus.
Marcellus drew up a treaty that afternoon, and the magistrates returned to Achradina. They called a second meeting in the forum and began the process of ratifying the agreement.
Midway through the reading of the treaty, however, several of the mercenary soldiers became angry. The real refugees of the war, the mercenaries and the deserters, suddenly realized that the only rights talked about in the document were for citizens of Syracuse. There was nothing about the treatment of foreign soldiers. Word began to spread through the forum that Marcellus would kill the outsiders and let the locals go. One of the mercenaries strode up to the Altar of Concord and struck down the magistrate with his sword. A fight broke out. In the melee the mercenaries killed the other magistrates and anyone who objected. The mercenaries took charge of the besieged zone. They appointed six commanders to organize their men in six different sectors. All talk of surrender ceased. These men were fighting for their lives and nothing anyone could say or do would change that.
Marcellus was back to square one—though not quite. He had the experience of too many failed negotiations. From the moment the Sicilian envoys appeared in his quarters, he began to double down on his strategy. In the back and forth process of the talks, the envoys’ escort had included one of Marcellus’ most trusted allied soldiers, a Spaniard by the name of Belligenes. During one of the trips to Achradina, Belligenes met a fellow Spanish mercenary, Moericus, who was one of the soldiers on Ortygia. They talked about the war that was going on in Spain. Belligenes told Moericus he would be better served by returning to Spain and fighting for his country—as he, Belligenes, was planning to do. He also told Moericus that he could help him escape from Syracuse and gave him directions to the barracks in the Tyche district where he stayed.
The connection would prove fateful. Moericus was one of the six mercenaries named to command the defenses. He was in charge of the southern tip of Ortygia and the large catapults that guarded the entrance to the Great Harbor.
In the days after the murder of the magistrates, Moericus began to have misgivings. For him, Syracuse was clearly a dead end. He wanted to go back to Spain to support his countrymen. He discussed the situation with his brother, who was also in the mercenary force. Together with two more Spanish comrades, they hatched a plan to sabotage the island’s defenses. There was a small gate near the Fountain of Arethusa on the harbor side of Ortygia. What if they left this gate open one night so that a small Roman force could gain access to the island? Moericus put the plan in writing and sent it with his brother across enemy lines to Belligenes. Belligenes took the plan directly to Marcellus. It was exactly what Marcellus had hoped for. The next day Moericus’ brother returned to the island with all the information Moericus needed to carry out the betrayal.
CHAPTER 94
The murder of the Carthaginian officers and the interim magistrates plunged the besieged zone into lawless chaos. The remaining collection of mercenary soldiers became a brutal gang, killing anyone who disagreed with them.
The regular hours in the kitchen fell apart. We served only one meal, a barley gruel at midday. When I wasn’t helping prepare this meal, I stayed in the tower for my own safety and out of loyalty to Archimedes. I knew the highest authorities treated him as carefully as a rare bird. Even Epicydes hadn’t struck him when he refused to cooperate. But these mercenaries were a different lot. Nothing in their actions could be predicted. If they had been smart, they might have tried ransoming Archimedes. I doubt they knew who he was or understood his value. Archimedes was a treasure to the world, and I made it my responsibility to make sure he lived through the transfer of pow
er that was soon to come.
We’d had no new stores of food since Bomilcar left for Carthage. Only our last sacks of barley remained in the pantry. Fortunately, Archimedes had thought ahead and stored some food in the workshop. I cooked an occasional meal on our small furnace. It seemed the greatest of luxuries at the time.
Although the chickens and goats had been eaten long ago, the garden was still intact. Hektor swore that its modest output was the difference between living and dying at the end. We scavenged everything out of it we could. The root crops were the last to go. Hector’s turnips were as sweet as fresh apples to someone who had been eating nothing but barley for the past month.
I remember going into the kitchen and rolling those last turnips onto the big chopping block. Eurydice came forward and announced in a long, hesitant stutter that she was pregnant. Hektor was the most shocked of all, but he was elated. I saw Eurydice smile the way she used to. Agathe managed a dry congratulations to Hektor, then hugged Eurydice as if she were her own daughter and brushed away tears of joy. “Gelo,” she said, releasing his mother, “you’re going to have a little brother or sister.”
The little king didn’t do a lot of talking yet, but I think he got the idea. He threw up his arms and did a little jig.
It was a rare moment of high spirits in the kitchen.
Late that night, a merchant vessel filled with five hundred hand-chosen soldiers slipped across the Great Harbor to the tip of Ortygia. Moericus met them at the little gate opposite the Fountain of Arethusa. He led them to a place to hide until dawn.
At the break of day, Marcellus staged three separate attacks along Achradina’s west wall. This engaged the entire mercenary force. Fighting became so intense that the mercenary leaders called for support from the garrison guarding Ortygia. As soon as these soldiers left their posts, Moericus informed the waiting Romans. They stormed across the island and into Achradina, attacking the mercenary defenses from behind. At first chance, they commandeered the gate and Marcellus’ troops came rushing in.
The conflict didn’t last long. The mercenaries quickly lost their spirit for the fight. Many leapt from the battlements or ran out the gate hoping to escape. By midday, the siege was over. The entire city was finally under Roman control. Once again the civilian populace sent representatives to Marcellus to discuss the terms of surrender. This time it was Marcellus who spoke first.
“In my estimation, all the services supplied to Rome by King Hiero in his fifty years of rule do not equal the disservice incurred against Rome by the tyrants who have controlled this city the last two years. Even the riches of Syracuse,” he added, “are not more than what it cost Rome in men and materials to take this city.
“You have asked me for leniency. You have asked me to spare your beautiful city. My terms remain the same. The lives of your citizens will be spared, but everything that belonged to the royal family goes to Rome. I will have the homes of those Syracusans who fought for Rome guarded, but all else will be plunder for my men.”
The representatives had no choice. They somberly accepted the terms. A quaestor was sent to Ortygia with an armed guard to secure the royal treasure. Then Marcellus gave the order to sound the trumpets. The soldiers were free to loot the great city.
CHAPTER 95
Archimedes and I had seen enough from the tower windows by midday to know the plundering had begun. He had me burn his letters and drawings in the furnace. He seemed unconcerned about the loss of his work or what would happen to him, but he saw that I was terrified.
“The Romans will be coming for me very soon, Timon. This is surely the first place they will look. They will not hurt me, but they will take you as plunder. I suggest you leave the tower right away. Run, hide, do whatever you can to save yourself.”
I knew he was right. I could already see the Roman soldiers rampaging through the opulent homes in Achradina. Shrieks cut through the distance. Frightened citizens ran in the streets with their children in their arms. Soon the soldiers would be streaming onto the island. The homes of the wealthy would be of the greatest interest, but the tower would be an attraction as well. I had dreaded this moment for months. “Are you sure? You don’t need me, master?”
Archimedes smiled despite all that was going on. “No, I am fine. Go now while there’s still a chance to get out of the tower.”
I didn’t argue. I took off at a run, stumbling on the landing, then dashing three stairs at a time down to the first floor—with no idea where I would go or what I would do. The door to the tower was wide open. I thought to run outside, but I heard voices coming from the pantry—one was Hektor’s. I scrambled down the stairs and caught myself on the last step.
Three Roman soldiers stood in the middle of the room with their swords drawn. Hektor held a meat cleaver and stood between the soldiers and Eurydice, who was pressed up against the wall behind him. Agathe cowered in the far corner, holding a crying Gelo in her arms.
Hektor brandished the meat cleaver and shouted threats. But he had no chance. One soldier made a feint. Hektor swung the cleaver wildly. A second soldier plunged his gladius through Hektor’s midsection and pushed him to the floor. With one foot in the center of Hektor’s chest, the soldier withdrew his sword, then plunged it in again. The third soldier advanced on sobbing Eurydice. He tore her chiton from her body. She screamed and sank down the wall. Agathe, still holding Gelo, went for the meat cleaver on the floor. The second soldier stepped on her hand as she took hold of it, then sent her sprawling with a kick. Amazingly she managed to protect the child in her tumbling fall. Hugging the little king to her breast, she scrambled to her feet and bolted for the stairway where I stood frozen in terror. She grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me up the stairs.
Agathe went out the front door. I could see clusters of soldiers running through the courtyard. Agathe was low reward, but I was a young slave and would be fair game for abuse. I panicked and ran up the tower stairs.
When I reached the workshop, Archimedes was sitting at his desk, calmly drawing figures in his abacus. Plato sat stoically in the north window, watching the action below. I rushed across the room.
“They’re on the island, master! There were three soldiers in the pantry. One of them killed Hektor!” The image of the soldier ripping off Eurydice’s chiton flashed through my mind. “It’s only a matter of time before they’ll be up here.” I was out of my mind with fear. I remembered the bodies of Damarata and Harmonia being dragged through the street on ropes. I remembered my father being stabbed in our home in Croton and my mother being beaten.
Archimedes stood and put a hand on my shoulder. “Timon, listen to me. I intend to wait for them. I am an old man and my fate is sealed, but maybe there’s still a chance for you. Their attention will be on me. If they don’t see you right away, if you’re hidden, you might be overlooked.”
I nodded, not feeling very hopeful.
“Behind the drapes.” He pointed to the south wall. “There’s a shallow alcove. Duck into it and pull the drapes over you.”
I crossed the floor and lifted the drapes. I had seen the cutout before. I could just barely fit in. From inside I asked, “Can you tell that I’m in here, master?”
“No,” he said as I came out from behind the drapes.
Still I knew it was a long shot, and I’m sure Archimedes knew that as well. The Romans would tear the room apart piece by piece, looking for anything of value. The drapes might only give me a few minutes’ reprieve.
Archimedes began to pace around the room, tugging absently at his beard with his right hand.
“What is it, master?”
“Timon, you have been a great help to me. Your copying was of immeasurable value. You are smart and thoughtful. I very much want you to have a life beyond this day.” He stopped his pacing and turned to me. “Should they uncover your hiding place, Timon, there might be a way that my science can help you.”
Sounds of commotion and the clanking of men in armor filtered up the stairway.
&
nbsp; Archimedes lifted his gaze to the heavens and breathed a heavy sigh. “Pythagoras, I may have learned to manipulate the numbers better than you, but I didn’t have the wisdom to keep them in my head.”
I heard footsteps on the stairs, then slamming doors. It sounded as though the soldiers were rummaging through the rooms on each floor as they ascended. “Quickly, master, what is it?”
The old man peered at me with his one good eye. “If you are in danger, tell them you know one of the greatest secrets man will ever know.”
The sounds were one floor closer. Plato leapt from the window and disappeared into the shadows. “What secret?”
“Tell them the Earth moves. Tell them it’s round and revolving, and travels in an orbit around the Sun.”
“I know we talked about this before, but how will I make anyone believe me?”
“Tell them I told you, and that I said it was important.” He smiled as though both our lives weren’t in the balance. I heard the soldiers two floors below.
“And if that doesn’t work.” He crossed the room to his desk and retrieved the ivory box. He took out the crystal lens and the best glass bead. He offered them to me. “Tell them to take you to their general. Show him how these work.”
I heard a door slam on the floor below, but didn’t accept the lenses. “Master, you need the crystal lens to see.”
The Siege of Syracuse Page 36