because we were accompanied by a slave named Zenas who was perhaps ten years older than I and was often at his master’s side, ready to take dictation on a wax tablet or to run a quick errand. To our left was the footracing stadium; the long, low wall that supported the viewing stands was decorated with magnificent mosaics of gods and athletes. To our right was one of the long porticos that enclosed the palestra; despite the cool weather, between the columns I caught glimpses of naked youths wrestling on the grass while their tutors looked on and shouted encouragement. I was reminded of something my father had once said: “A Greek will exercise in the nude even if there’s snow coming down.”
Posidonius’s question about the Colossus was directed at me. I cleared my throat. “All I know about the Colossus, I learned from, er, Zoticus,” I began, thinking this a rather clever way to deflect any criticism of my erudition, or lack thereof. But Posidonius, an experienced teacher, would have none of it.
“Come, come, young Roman,” he said, “either you know something about the Colossus or you do not.” Zenas looked amused. He was probably used to watching his master make pupils squirm.
Chagrined, I started over. “As I understand it, the statue was constructed almost two hundred years ago. It was built in the image of the sun god, Helios, whom the Rhodians revere above all others, because it was Helios who at the dawn of time raised this island from the bottom of the sea. The first capital of Rhodes was Lindos, on the east coast, but a new city, also called Rhodes, was designed and built from scratch here on the northern tip of the island a little over three hundred years ago. So the city of Rhodes is relatively young, much newer than Rome or Athens—”
“All very true,” said Posidonius, “but you stray from the subject.”
“Yes, the Colossus. Well, the story of its creation is this: the city of Rhodes had just survived a long siege by Demetrius, king of Macedon, who in his attempt to take the city built enormous weapons of war and metal-plated siege towers on a scale never seen before. But Demetrius at last admitted defeat and abandoned the island. To celebrate their deliverance, the Rhodians melted down all the bronze from the battering rams, catapults, and towers, and sold whatever else remained of the hated weapons to build a gigantic statue of the sun god, a celebration of life and beauty to match the awesome scale of Demetrius’s engines of death and destruction.
“The commission was given to the sculptor Chares, a native Rhodian from Lindos. It took him twelve years to build the Colossus, and no one knows quite how he did it. Some say hoists were used to lift the pieces into place; others say that a succession of spiral ramps were built around the statue as it grew upward, and that each new section was forged, molded, and poured into place atop the previous section. However it was made, when the Colossus was complete, and whatever ramps or scaffolding that surrounded it were cleared away, all who saw the image of Helios were astounded. The statue was by far the tallest ever made—well over a hundred feet, and on its fifty-foot pedestal, it towered even higher. The fame of the statue spread all over the world, from the marshes of Lake Maotis to the Pillars of Hercules, from the upper cataracts of the Nile to…” I tried to remember what regions lay to the uttermost north.
“To Gaul,” suggested Posidonius.
“I was going to say Ultima Thule.”
“Yet I can personally assure you that the Colossus is known in Gaul,” said Posidonius. “Even when pairing hyperboles, a speaker should never choose mere rhetorical flourish when a true example is at hand. But go on.”
“And so the Colossus stood, astounding all who saw it—until, less than sixty years later, a great earthquake shook the island. Many temples and other buildings were damaged, but the most terrible catastrophe was the fall of the Colossus, which broke at the knees and came tumbling down, breaking into pieces as it struck the ground. And there the Colossus remains to this day, and people from all over the world still come to Rhodes to see the ruins, for no one has yet built a monument to match it.”
Posidonius begrudged me a smile. “Very good, Gordianus. Your tutor has taught you well.”
We came to an intersection where Posidonius indicated we should turn to the right. Rhodes is a city of wide streets laid out in a grid pattern, and the thoroughfare before us was the broadest and grandest in the whole city, adorned with splashing fountains and lush gardens. Lining the way were literally hundreds of statues depicting gods and famous heroes. Many were dedicated to the generals and city leaders who had defended Rhodes against the siege of Demetrius.
We passed a succession of splendid altars and temples, then came to the city’s vast public square, which the Greeks call an agora, and crossed it diagonally. I began to smell the sea and to hear the lapping waves and seagull cries of the waterfront. A few blocks beyond the agora we came to the dual harbors bisected by a broad mole, edged with boulders, that projected far into the water. The harbors were crowded with ships moored for the winter, but with no cargo to unload or vessels setting sail, there were few sailors about, and the waterfront had a strangely deserted feel.
A simple rope barrier barred us from proceeding onto the mole. From a nearby hut emerged a little bald-headed man with a grin on his face and his open palm extended.
“Come to see the famous Colossus, have you?” he asked. “You won’t regret it. One of the Wonders of the World, that’s for sure. Is it a guided tour you’ll be wanting, or—oh, but it’s you, master Posidonius. Back again, and bringing more guests? Always good to see you. For such a distinguished citizen as yourself, there’s no charge, of course. Here, let me unhitch the rope for you. No Gauls with you this time? My, how those two savages gawked and gaped when they saw our Colossus. Still, your friends are in for quite a treat, especially this young one. You’ll never have seen anything like the Colossus, my boy. Now watch your step out there—be mindful of the rocks and the sharp bits of metal as you go wandering among the ruins.”
Whether he was charging admission or not, the little man kept his hand out as we passed by, and at a sign from Posidonius I saw Zenas produce a small pouch and drop a few coins onto his open palm.
Under a gray sky and with a brisk wind in our faces, we hiked to the end of the mole. Ahead of us loomed a sight that grew ever stranger as we approached—the fragments of the Colossus, which lay in pieces like the body of a warrior hacked asunder. There were a few other visitors on the mole, wandering amid the ruins, and their presence served to show the scale of the statue. The thing was man-made, but so bizarre, so unearthly, that it evoked a kind of religious wonder. Here was a thumb so huge I could barely wrap my arms around it, and here a finger larger than most full-size statues. Here was an arm, lying athwart the mole like a gigantic serpent, and there a torch the size of a lighthouse that must have been held in one of the statue’s hands. Inside some of the fragments I could see the iron bars and hidden bolts that had secured the structure from within; the lower extremities had apparently been filled with stones to act as ballast. In some places the bronze was as thick as my forearm, but in others as thin as a coin.
A thought occurred to me. “With so much of the Colossus intact, why was it not rebuilt after it fell? Could it not have been reassembled?”
“That idea was debated,” said Posidonius. “Some wanted to rebuild the Colossus. Others proposed that the
