son of Phidias?' asked the officer.
Marcus nodded, his face dropping into its mask.
'I need a quick word with him,' said the officer.
Philyra came down the stairs into the courtyard in her tunic with her hair loose, realized that there was a strange man at the door, and backed into the stairway with a squeak. The officer grinned at her in an appreciative way Marcus very much disliked. 'The gentleman wants a word with your brother, mistress,' he announced, stressing the title to make it plain that this was the daughter of the house, not a slave girl. Philyra nodded and shot back up the stairs.
She burst into her brother's room, shouting, 'Medion! Medion, an officer has come for you!' Archimedes picked his head up, then groaned and pulled the sheet over his head.
Philyra hauled it off and threw him the first tunic that came to hand, and presently he stumbled down the stairs to the courtyard, barefoot and unshaven. Dionysios son of Chairephon had been admitted to the courtyard and was chatting to Arata, while Straton stood at attention by the street door. When Archimedes appeared, the captain raised his eyebrows.
'Get dressed,' he commanded.
'I, uh,' said Archimedes, running a hand through his tangles. He was never at his best first thing in the morning, and he'd been too tired for supper the night before- and, come to think of it, too busy for lunch before that. 'I, uh- are we going to do the catapult trial this morning?'
'The king is reviewing the forts along the wall this morning,' said Dionysios shortly. 'He has specifically asked to witness the trials of your catapult. I don't know when exactly he'll reach the Hexapylon, but I'm off to join his escort now. So- get dressed. If he shows up and you're not there, you're out of a job.' He gave the company a nod and set off. Straton shot Archimedes a grin, and followed at a smart march.
Archimedes scratched his head again, then sighed. Philyra once more vanished upstairs, then returned with his good cloak. 'Let me at least eat first!' he protested, gazing at the garment with loathing and wishing that Philyra had thought to weave of it of linen.
'Medion!' exclaimed Philyra angrily. 'That was the captain of the Ortygia garrison, telling you the king wants you to hurry!' 'I believe in the equality of all citizens in law!' said Archimedes proudly.
'I believe in this household having an income!' Philyra hurled back.
Arata clicked her tongue approvingly: support for democracy was fine in theory, but money was good in practice, and you needed to bow to authority for that. 'You can take some food with you,' she told her son soothingly. 'I'll pack a basket, and Marcus can carry it.'
Archimedes, trailing Marcus, reached the Hexapylon before the middle of the morning. The king was not there: he'd begun his tour of inspection at the south end of the city, and nobody knew when he'd reach the Hexapylon. The fort's garrison were still busy polishing and tidying. Morosely, Archimedes went to the catapult platform where he'd erected the Welcomer.
Elymos was still lying underneath the great machine, but he sat up when they came in. He was pale and queasy: he had been generously provided with wine the previous night, and was suffering the consequences. Archimedes nodded at him vaguely, and began checking that the catapult strings were correctly tuned.
Marcus set down the basket of food and gazed at the catapult. He had never seen one so large. After a moment, he ran his hand along the rough oak of the stock, then went to the end of the slide and sighted along it out the aperture, one hand on the lax trigger. He imagined sixty-pound shot flying, and shivered.
'It's a beauty, isn't it?' Elymos asked him.
Marcus said nothing. 'Beauty' was not the word that leaped to his mind at the sight of the Welcomer. He glanced over at his master, who had now opened the shutter on the artillery port and was gazing out. It was hard to associate anyone so vague and soft-hearted with anything so powerful and deadly. He felt for a moment physically sick in the self-contradiction of his own desires. He had wanted this machine to be an outstanding success, for the sake of the household, for the sake of Syracuse. But he did not want it used on Romans.
Archimedes pulled off his new cloak and dropped it across the sill of the artillery port. 'Marcus, where's the food?' he asked plaintively.
They sat together by the open artillery port and ate the bread and figs Arata had packed for them. Elymos sat with them, but did not want food.
The morning sun flooded the landscape below them. The view was stunning. The founders of Syracuse had enclosed the harbor area alone, but this had left them vulnerable to any invader who could command the heights of Epipolae, above them to the west, so as the city grew mighty she had rebuilt the walls to run along those heights, miles from the heart of the city, commanding the landscape from all sides. The fortifications had not only been kept in good repair, but had also been renovated almost continuously to keep up with developments in warfare. The initial open ram-parts were covered over with a steeply pitched roof to protect the defenders from catapult fire, while bronze-shuttered artillery ports had been added to the guard towers and to the wall itself. From the tower of the Hexapylon Marcus and Archimedes could see the north road winding off across the fertile landscape through field and vineyard, while Mount Etna loomed, snowcapped and smoking, in the far distance. When he'd finished his meal, Archimedes gazed at the volcano, wondering what made it erupt and whether its fiery nature had anything to do with its shape, which was certainly an obtuse-angled cone. Sections of obtuse-angled cones did have some extremely interesting properties. He looked around for something to sketch with.
When King Hieron finally arrived at the tower of the Hexapylon and climbed the steps to the tower, it was to find a young man in a worn tunic scratching on the floorboards with a bread knife. Two slaves who had been seated on the end of the enormous catapult beyond him jumped to their feet and stood at attention as soon as the king's head appeared up the stairway, but the young man scratched on obliviously.
The king climbed the last few steps and emerged onto the catapult platform. His entourage followed him: four staff officers; his secretary; Dionysios; the captain of the Hexapylon; Eudaimon, the catapult maker; Kallippos, his chief engineer; and six guardsmen, including Straton. Archimedes took no notice of any of them. He sat back on his heels and chewed on the hilt of the bread knife, frowning at his sketches.
Marcus eyed the king nervously, then took a step forward and despairingly hissed, 'Archimedes!'
'Unnh?' Archimedes asked around the bread knife.
The king stepped closer and gazed down at the scratches: twin curves sliced from a broad double cone. 'Hyperbolae,' he observed.
Archimedes gave a grunt of agreement and took the knife hilt out of his mouth. 'I wish I had my compasses,' he said. 'And a ruler.'
'Here's a ruler, anyway,' said the king.
Archimedes glanced from the drawing to the feet before him- then, suddenly taking in the gold-studded purple-laced sandals, looked up, leaped up, and went crimson.
The king smiled. He was a plump man, a full head shorter than Archimedes, and he had a pleasant face, round and good-natured, with curly black hair and sharp eyes dark as his sister's. He looked more like the host of a country inn than a Sicilian tyrant, despite his purple cloak and tunic and the purple band of the diadem across his forehead. He was younger than Archimedes had expected, too; not much above thirty-five. 'I presume you're Archimedes son of Phidias?' he said.
'Uh, yes,' stammered Archimedes, trying to remember what he'd done with his cloak. 'Uh- good health, O King!'
'Good health! I knew your father,' said King Hieron. 'Studied with him for a couple of months, in fact, when I was young. I was sorry to hear that he's ill. What's wrong with him?'
Still scarlet with embarrassment, Archimedes stammered out a brief account of his father's illness. Hieron listened attentively, then asked Archimedes to convey his hopes for the sick man's recovery. 'And tell him I've always wished I could have studied with him longer,' he added. 'But that's not what we're supposed to be doing today. This is the one-talenter you made for me, is it?' Hieron strolled across to the catapult. 'Herakles, what a huge machine! What's this wheel for?'
'That's to help it pivot, lord,' said Archimedes, and demonstrated.
Hieron's chief engineer, Kallippos, a tall hawk-nosed man of about forty, at once bore down upon the catapult and elbowed his king out of the way. He examined the system of pulleys and windlasses closely. 'Is this Alexandrian?' he demanded.
'Um, no,' said Archimedes uncomfortably, 'I, uh, just developed that myself. It works, though.'
