“Volume and density,” Nicholas gushed. “That is so close to the formula you’ve been working on.”
“There is still a missing element,” Archimedes uttered. He shook his head slowly as if they were weighing the weight of the world.
“Can we get to the hearing?” Gabriella asked.
She had walked back to collect the men standing and blocking the walkway.
“Yes, of course,” Alerio concurred.
He fell in beside her and the four entered a side door and found seats in the hearing room.
***
“Under authority of King Hiero the Second, the state of Syracuse brings charges against the metalsmith Dryas Chrysós,” a Marshal announced. “His wife Febe Chrysós was found stabbed to death less than a block from their shop. Without an alibi, the guard officer in charge imagined the following scenario.”
Alerio leaned over and whispered to Archimedes, “What is it with you Greeks? Does everything have to be a dramatic performance.”
Gabriella tapped Alerio’s shoulder, “Sisera, hush.”
But to Alerio’s delight, she laughed when she said it.
“This is the disclosure segment of the trial,” the Judge announced. “I will not have interruptions from the choir during the presentation. Marshal.”
Alerio smiled at the concept of the audience being called a choir. There was an older man standing to the side of the Judge. Alerio assumed it was Dryas Chrysós.
“In the scenario imagined by the evidence, the couple argued,” the Marshal continued. “Febe fled into the rain. Dryas grabbed a knife and, in the downpour, chased his wife. Once he caught up with her, he stabbed her multiple times. Then leaving her dead in an alleyway, he coldly went back to his shop and continued working on the King’s project.”
To Alerio’s surprise, Archimedes stood.
“What happened to the knife?” he asked.
Another person in the choir stood and questioned, “And why did she run into an alley, if she was attempting to escape?”
“Did you find damp clothing?” someone else inquired.
“We didn’t find a knife at the scene,” the Marshal stated. “We can only assume Dryas pulled his wife into the alleyway to avoid detection while he murdered her. And finally, we did not find wet clothing in the shop.”
“I don’t see any real defense,” the Judge declared. “I submit to the choir…”
“Judge, if I might,” Nicholas requested. The Judge nodded his approval. “Although Master Chrysós has a reputation as an honest craftsman, if he truly murdered his wife, how do we know the gold in the Crown of Plutus is pure?”
The room fell silent. The Judge and the Marshal exchanged serious looks.
“We do not know,” the Judge admitted. “Justice for murder is a capital crime. However, a crime against the God of Abundance and Wealth has far reaching ramifications.”
“To have an impure artifact residing in a Temple threatens the stability of Syracuse,” the Marshal added. “We must discover if the God Plutus will be offended before we can reach a decision about the fate of Craftsman Chrysós.”
From the choir a unified ‘yes’ echoed around the room.
“And there you have it,” Nicholas boasted. “You now have time, Alerio, to investigate the murder.”
Alerio had his eyes on Dryas Chrysós. At the postponement, he sagged against the Marshal. Most people watching would assume the collapse was a display of relief. But Weapons’ Instructor Sisera knew toppling sideways was usually associated with fear. Without realizing it, the accused leaned away from the imagined punishment.
“Archimedes, you are called on to perform a civic duty,” the Judge informed the inventor. “The Crown of Plutus will be delivered to your workshop. We expect a decision in two days. Is the crown pure gold?”
“It will be my pleasure,” Archimedes confirmed.
“How can you tell the purity between a gold bar and a golden crown?” Gabriella asked the inventor. “Without destroying the artifact, I mean.”
“It shouldn’t matter because the craftsman is an honest man,” Alerio suggested.
“No, no, Tribune Sisera,” Archimedes declared. “I will solve this puzzle. I must.”
He and Nicholas with their heads together rushed from the hearing room.
“Can I buy you breakfast?” Alerio asked Gabriella.
“That would be nice,” she agreed.
Before they reached the door, a timid little girl stepped in front of Alerio. Her small arm reached up, and as she handed him a piece of paper, he noticed callouses on the tiny assassin’s fingers.
He opened the paper, glanced down at the writing, then upward searching for the child. She was gone and so were the moments for breakfast with Gabriella.
“I am sorry. I need to cancel our meal,” Alerio apologized. “Something has come up.”
“I understand,” she replied. “Maybe we will breakfast together, another day.”
Alerio bowed to her before running from the hearing room. After sprinting down the pathway, he raced off in the direction of the nearest stable.
***
The note from the girl informed Alerio of a tradesman matching the description of Febe’s lover. Hyperion, the driver, had resigned from his job this very morning. After buying a horse and used tack, he left the city with a large bundle tied to the rear of the horse.
An ‘informal group’ at the Golden Valley trading house surmised that Hyperion planned on permanently moving away from Syracuse. Alerio smiled at Milton hiding his opinion behind a made-up collection of people. Misdirection, stealth, and camouflage were tools of the assassins and used to their advantage. It appeared the subterfuge of the Sweet Fists extended to the written word.
The intelligence seemed solid and the actions of the tradesman fit a man fleeing his conscious and seeking a new life. Alerio continued running.
At the stable, he flipped more than enough coins to the owner for a saddle and the rental of a horse. Then he saddled the beast and rode north. According to the note, Hyperion left by the northwest gate but much earlier in the day. By the time Alerio reached the exit, the sun hung high above the horizon.
As an access point, the northwest gate created a small portal in the defensive wall. Being adjacent to the strong point of Fort Euryalus, the gate needed only to serve farmers bringing food to the market.
Kicking its flanks to encourage the mount, Alerio passed through the gate and drove the horse down the road. In long strides, it galloped from Syracuse chasing Febe’s killer. At least that’s what Alerio hoped.
***
Two of the King’s men-at-arms arrived with a Judge holding a box. Nicholas DeMarco met them at the front door.
“Come in and watch your heads,” he instructed while indicating the instruments hanging from the low ceiling. “We will place the crown on the far end of the workbench.”
Nicholas guided them past ceramic bowls of various sizes. They grew in volume from mugs easily held between the thumb and one finger to enormous clay fired tubs suitable for soaking an entire head.
Barrels of clean water spaced every few feet rested on the floor. A couple leaked creating wet pools. The crown’s honor guard had to dodge around the containers and the damp spots to reach the end of the bench.
“This is it?” Archimedes declared when he rushed into the room.
Reaching into the package, he lifted out the golden crown.
“It certainly feels heavy enough to be gold,” the inventor announced. “But opinion is not fact and untested theories make for bad judgements.”
“How will you test the purity?” the King’s Judge inquired.
“I propose to cut it into pieces,” Archimedes told him. “Nicholas, I seem to have misplaced the saw. Please fetch my ax.”
The Judge stepped forward while reaching with both hands.
“I cannot allow you to destroy the Crown of Plutus,” he exclaimed.
Archimedes spun, moving the crown out of the man
’s reach, and began laughing.
“I have no intention of harming the coronet, Judge,” the inventor assured him. “But I will need to experiment on it.”
“Do you swear that no harm will come to the crown?” the Judge questioned.
“I am Archimedes, a great inventor and mathematician,” he replied. “The task before me is daunting. But as always, I will rise to the challenge.”
“You are Archimedes Phidias, a local of twenty-nine years,” the Judge reminded him. “I remember you as a snot nosed boy. So, don’t brag to me. Show me, King Hiero, the people of Syracuse, and the Priest of Plutus that the crown is made from pure gold.”
“My humble beginnings offer no restraints to the level of success my genus will achieve,” Archimedes professed.
“Your father is Phidias, a well-respected astronomer and navigator,” the Judge corrected. “And you are a second cousin to King Hiero. Those are not humble beginnings. However, if you will stop promoting yourself and get to work, I will give you a round of applause.”
With that the Judge clapped several times before walking to a chair in the corner. He planted himself there and glared across the workshop at Archimedes.
“Nicholas, fetch the lump of gold from my room,” the inventor ordered. “We will start with untangling the volume of the objects.”
***
Alerio urged the horse to the top of a hill. From the crest, he noted a tall, broad-shouldered man riding slowly in the distance. Even if he didn’t recognize Hyperion, the huge bundle tied over the back of the horse identified him.
Nudging his horse forward, Alerio walked the mount down the slope. At the base he kicked the beast into a trot. Hyperion grew as the horse caught up with the unsuspecting tradesman.
“Don’t run,” Alerio warned.
Hyperion glanced to the rear to see a man holding a knife by the blade. Angled back as if in mid throw, the position told him he was targeted.
“Few men can stick a point at distance,” Hyperion challenged. “Let alone do any real damage by throwing a knife.”
The weapon flew from Alerio’s hand. It blurred as it twirled before hitting and sinking up to the hilt in the bundle.
“I can,” Alerio assured him as he pulled the Golden Valley dagger from the small of his back. “Get down. We need to talk.”
Some tall men used their size to intimidate. With greater reach came the ability to hit an opponent while avoiding a counter punch. Others, when physically threatened, acted as if their height made them as frail as a young sapling. Alerio realized which category Hyperion fell into when he dismounted.
“What do you want with me?” the tradesman demanded. With his head and shoulders visible over the horse’s back, the tall man hid behind his horse. “I don’t know you.”
Alerio dropped off his mount, walked over, and retrieved his knife from the bundle.
“What happened to Febe?” Alerio inquired.
The tradesman shifted as if ducking a swing.
“I don’t know anyone named Febe,” he lied.
“Do you have a twin brother?” Alerio inquired.
“No, why?” Hyperion challenged.
“Because I saw you and Febe Chrysós in the alleyway swapping spit,” Alerio told him. He flipped the knife and caught it at shoulder height as if preparing to throw it again.
“She was a friend,” he rushed out the wording, then corrected himself. “I mean, she is a friend.”
Alerio had learned from his experience in the Legion to observe as much as talk. Looking over the huge bundle, the older horse, and the used tack, he realized none were valuable. Yet, the young man had received one, if not more, gifts from the wife of a goldsmith.
“What did you do with it?” Alerio demanded.
Alerio had no answer for the test question and wasn’t sure what to expect. When Hyperion looked down, Alerio prepared for an attack. But the tradesman stared so long, Alerio thought it might be remorse. But it was neither bracing for a fight or an act of repentance.
“It’s right here,” Hyperion admitted. He raised his hand and displayed a square piece of gold. “I couldn’t sell it in Syracuse. When I get to Messina, we can split the coins.”
“Why did you kill Febe?” Alerio asked.
“She wouldn’t leave me alone,” Hyperion said as tears welled up in his eyes. “I am young. She followed me, saying if I left, she would say I was a thief. Say I did horrible things to her. When she kept pulling my arm and screaming, I had to shut her up.”
“So, you dragged her into the alleyway and stabbed her,” Alerio offered, “ten times?”
“No, that is not correct,” Hyperion stated. “She followed me into the alley.”
Alerio sheathed his knife and rubbed his eyes. Last night’s beer had worn off and he had a headache.
“Get on your horse,” Alerio ordered. “We are going back to Syracuse.”
***
Archimedes lowered the Crown of Plutus into a ceramic container of water.
“What’s that,” the Judge asked. “Are you washing it? Hoping to rinse away the gold?”
“We are ascertaining the volume of the crown,” Nicholas told him.
Suspended by strings, the crown sank into the vessel and the water rose. Water displaced by the volume of the crown spilled out of the big container, rolled down a tube, and fell into a smaller bowl.
Nicholas replaced the bowl containing the measured amount of water with an empty bowl that matched the first. While he was refilling the larger container, Archimedes placed the crown on the benchtop and tied a string around a lump of gold.
“The crown is a lot bigger than that nugget,” the Judge stated. “You cannot balance them on a scale.”
“Very astute of you,” Archimedes respond. “I can’t balance uneven masses, but I can… Eureka.”
“What did you see?” Nicholas asked. “You mentioned mass then went silent.”
“Not mass, Master DeMarco,” the inventor corrected. He ran to a desk in the workshop, opened a jar of ink, selected a pen, and began writing on the desktop. “I said, masses.”
Nicholas leaned over and studied an equation scrawled on the desk.
“Density equals volume over mass,” he read.
“What does that mean?” the Judge inquired.
“It means,” Archimedes informed the Judge while puffing out his chest, “that by morning, Archimedes Phidias will have proof of the purity of the Crown of Plutus.”
“From dipping it in water?” the King’s man teased. “It sounds like alchemy to me.”
“Sir, alchemy is the study of turning lead into gold,” Nicholas described. “This formula will turn the weight of water into gold. Or reveal the crown as a mixture of gold and other metals.”
Chapter 14 - And One Evil
No note was needed to remind him about the hearing. Having delivered Hyperion and his confession to the city guard yesterday evening, Alerio felt connected to the case. He wanted to see the final resolution. Plus, he felt good about completing a task important to Gabriella DeMarco.
“Maybe she will reward me,” he whispered while stepping through the doorway.
“Who will do what?” Gabriella inquired.
Positioned just inside the hearing room, she obviously was waiting for her brother and possibly Alerio.
“Maybe Themis, the Goddess of Wisdom and Good Counsel will bless me. Because, yesterday, I captured Febe’s murder,” Alerio jabbered. “And delivered him to the authorities. I served justice. Maybe she will bless me was all I was saying.”
Nicholas came through the door. His appearance saved Alerio from any more babbling.
“You found the murderer?” Gabriella cooed. “Sisera, that is wonderful.”
She threw her arms around Alerio and crushed her body against his.
‘Justice has its own rewards,’ Alerio thought.
“Dryas didn’t kill his wife?” Nicholas questioned.
After Gabriella freed him from her lusty embrace,
Alerio responded.
“He did not,” Alerio assured Nicholas. “It was a tradesman she loved who did not love her.”
***
The Judge, Marshal, and Dryas Chrysós entered and the attendees faced forward while moving to claim spots on the benches. Alerio guided the brother and sister to an empty section.
“Where is Archimedes?” Gabriella asked.
“We ran experiments and made notes until late in the night,” Nicholas reported. Then he stared off into the distance before adding. “Archimedes is searching for time.”
“What does that have to do with the hearing?” Alerio inquired.
“When I left him, the inventor had figures and symbols written on every flat surface,” Nicholas described. “As Menander the dramatist said almost sixty years ago, time leads truth toward the light.”
“The choir will settle,” the Marshal announced. “Guards bring in the accused.”
Murmurs and questions ran through the audience. ‘Wasn’t Dryas the accused?’ ‘Was there a second conspirator in the death of Febe?’
The idea of a love triangle or some other salacious activity drove the choir to loud talking and projecting. Then a guard escorted a tall and handsome young man into the hearing room. The attendees quieted.
“Hyperion the Tradesman, the Marshal and I,” the Judge proclaimed, “have witnessed your confession to the murder of Febe Chrysós. Please enlighten us as to the motivation for committing this dreadful act.”
“I admit, as a young man, I use my appearance to flirt with the wives of shop owners,” Hyperion told the Judge and choir. “Mostly it’s harmless. The women get the attention of an attractive and vibrant man when I make deliveries. And sometimes, I received gifts. No harm is done. In fact, I consider my flirtation acts of kindness to those poor, bored women.”
An uncomfortable energy rolled over the choir. Some men wanted to rush home and shower love and attention on their wives. Others, the jealous types, thought of investigating their spouses’ acquaintances and recent whereabouts.
“I ask for mercy because I never started any of the liaisons,” Hyperion insisted. “It was always the women who made the first move.”
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