getting old, and he's clinging to his position by his fingernails. He doesn't want some Alexandrian-educated mathematical flute player traipsing in and showing him up- that much is certain. And I think he'll convince himself that that catapult would fail anyway, but still want to make sure it does. Yes, I think if he gets the opportunity to sabotage that catapult, he'll take it. You want me to ensure he doesn't get that opportunity.'
'Isn't that what Hieron would want you to do?' she asked innocently.
Agathon gave another snort of laughter. 'You and the master!' he said affectionately. 'I don't know where it comes from. Can't be from your mothers, because you don't share 'em, but it can't be from your father, because he was a fool.'
Delia smiled and got to her feet. 'Can you do it?' she asked eagerly. 'Without actually accusing Eudaimon of anything, I mean.'
'Oh, yes!' said Agathon comfortably. 'Few words in the ear of the foreman at the workshop. He knows who I am. He'll keep an eye on the catapult and Eudaimon both, and report anything suspicious. You want me to have a word with the regent as well?'
Delia nodded. 'But,' she added nervously, 'don't tell him I…'
'…have any interest in wine-stained players of the aulos. No.'
'It would be misunderstood,' said Delia, blushing.
'I hope so,' said Agathon, with a return of the disapproving look. 'I certainly hope that what he understood would be mistaken.'
Dionysios son of Chairephon helped Archimedes from the king's house as far as the temple of Athena on the main road. There he stopped. 'I'm headed for the barracks,' he said, gesturing to the left, 'but I think you'd better go home and lie down for a bit,' gesturing right, toward the Achradina. 'Eudaimon caught you pretty hard.'
'He's a bugger-arsed idiot!' said Archimedes, with deep feeling. 'By Apollo! Builds catapults and doesn't even know what a cube root is! Who's the real engineer for Syracuse?'
'Kallippos,' said Dionysios at once. 'A gentleman of good family and better skill. But he's with the king at Messana. The king thought Eudaimon could manage what there was to do here in the city, but there was more to be done than we realized. Wait here- I'll call your friend Straton and tell him to help you home.'
Archimedes shook his head- cautiously, because his eye hurt if he moved it suddenly- and began turning his lump of wet leather to find a cool spot in it. 'I'd rather go to the workshop and order my wood,' he said. The leather suddenly unfolded and revealed itself as a long wide strap. Archimedes blinked at it: it was a shape he knew well. 'Oh,' he said blankly. 'She's spoiled her cheek strap.' Then he realized that he now had an excuse to see her again- to give her a new cheek strapand despite the ache in his eye, he beamed. He folded the leather carefully and set it tenderly back in place.
'Do you really play the aulos?' asked Dionysios curiously.
'Of course I do!' said Archimedes, surprised. 'You don't think the king's sister would have spoken to me for two seconds otherwise, do you?'
'I hoped not,' replied Dionysios, relieved that his new associate realized when a girl was out of reach. 'And, my friend, you should not have spoken to her at all. When I saw you chatting with her there in the garden, I not only expected you to be sent off at once, but I thought I was likely to be in trouble myself for inviting you there in the first place. Nai by Zeus, you were lucky you confined yourself to flutes! Well, if you're really going to the workshop, I can show you the way: it's right next to the barracks.'
The royal catapult workshop was a big dirt-floored barn near the tip of the Ortygia promontory, secured by the same enclosing wall as the barracks of the Ortygia garrison. It was full of beams and presses and saws, and a forge jutted from one wall. The sides were stacked high with timber and iron, bronze and copper, oily boxes of sinew and of women's hair- the last the most favored material for stringing a catapult, a source of sorrow to slave girls and useful income to poor women. About a dozen people were busily at work about the room, some clustered around an arrow-firing catapult which stood half assembled in the center of the building, others making catapult bolts and heel plates. There was a smell of sawdust, glue, charcoal, and hot metal. Archimedes stopped in the doorway and took a deep breath of the scent, then smiled: it was a good smell, the smell of making. He wished Dionysios joy and strode forward eagerly to find the foreman and place his own order for wood.
Marcus spent most of that day digging out the latrines- a job too heavy for young Chrestos to manage easily on his own, and thus one which had been postponed since the beginning of the summer. In the Sicilian heat the delay had made the job even fouler than it would have been ordinarily, but he set about it stoically, and carted the night soil off on a borrowed donkey.
At evening, when he returned from dumping the last load, he found his master in the sickroom, just arrived back, cloakless, with an aulist's cheek strap tied over one eye, but enormously cheerful. A knot of unease that had been situated somewhere between his shoulders unraveled. He was only too keenly aware of what would happen to the household slaves if the young master failed to get a job.
Archimedes was happily telling the assembled family about the royal catapult workshop when Marcus came silently to the door. 'They weren't very helpful this morning. They just pointed me at the stores and left me to my own devices. I thought that was fine- you should see the stores! Top-quality Epirot oak in any thickness you like, and a dozen sorts of glue! But about noon the king's doorkeeper came in to check that I had everything I needed, and after that they realized I was official. After that they set about doing anything I asked. It's amazing how much it speeds things up. I thought it was going to take me a month to make this catapult, and I was cursing the pay. But with this sort of help I can do it in a week.'
'But how much is the pay?' asked Philyra anxiously. Marcus looked at her approvingly: it was what he was very anxious to know himself, but hadn't quite dared to ask, in front of his owners and still stinking of latrines.
'Fifty drachmae,' said her brother, with satisfaction.
'Fifty!' cried Philyra, her eyes lighting. 'Medion, fifty in a month would be good pay; fifty in a week…!'
Archimedes nodded, grinning. He had not thought fifty a month good pay, but he supposed he'd been spoiled by the water-snails.
'You don't have to pay for the supplies out of that?' asked Arata anxiously.
Her son nodded. 'I don't need to pay for the supplies unless the machine doesn't work. And you don't need to worry about that, Mama: I know what I'm doing.'
Marcus frowned, suddenly anxious again, and Philyra caught some restless movement he made and glanced over. Their eyes met, and each recognized in the other the same anxiety: how much did the supplies for a one- talenter cost? This worry, however, was almost immediately eclipsed. 'What happened to your eye?' asked Arata, and Archimedes told them about Eudaimon, then, obedient to their urging, took off the cheek strap.
The area around the eye had by this time turned blue-purple and swollen up, and, even worse, the white of the eye itself had turned red, and a veil of blood hung across the light brown iris. 'Medion!' cried Philyra in horror. 'You ought to sue him for assault!'
Archimedes just shrugged. 'I'm going to stay away from him as much as I can,' he said.
'Absolutely right,' said his mother approvingly. 'He's senior to you, and you don't want trouble.' She frowned, sniffed, and glanced around at Marcus. 'Oh, it's you,' she said. 'Go and wash.'
Marcus bobbed his head and retreated back into the courtyard. He was engaged in cleaning himself when Philyra came out of the old workroom, still frowning. She paused when she noticed him, then came over resolutely. Marcus at once pulled his dripping tunic back on, embarrassed to be naked in front of the young mistress.
'How much do the supplies for a one-talent catapult cost?' asked Philyra.
'I don't know,' Marcus admitted. 'The strings would be the worst of it. They sell prepared hair by the drachma weight, and for a one-talenter you must have to buy it by the pound.'
Philyra was silent for a moment. 'He can build it- can't he?' she asked at last.
'He's good,' said Marcus flatly. 'He can.'
Philyra studied him a moment, then let out a long unsteady breath. 'I don't know anyone else who makes machines.'
He nodded; naturally she had no way of judging her brother's skill. 'In Alexandria,' he informed her, 'the best engineer in the city offered him a partnership. He wouldn't take it, of course- it wasn't geometry- but he could have had it if he'd wanted. He's exceptional. This fellow Eudaimon's absolutely right to be worried. Mistress, the only worries I have are about what happens if something outside your brother's control goes wrong.'
