At the limit of catapult range the Romans were faced with a deep ditch and a bank; they hesitated a moment, then raised their shields above their heads and began tramping down the ditch and up the other side. The shields were painted red, and as the men descended into the ditch they looked like a swarm of brightly colored beetles.
Archimedes heard someone come up behind him, and he glanced around and recognized Straton. 'Oh,' he said vaguely, and looked back at the advancing Romans.
'I was sorry I missed your demonstration,' said the guardsman, as casually as though they were meeting in the marketplace. 'The fact is, the captain had me cleaning the latrines that day.'
Archimedes glanced back at him, surprised, and Straton grinned. 'I'd made some bets with the other fellows in my unit that you'd do it, and there was a bit of argument about it. The captain doesn't like arguments. But you earned me a month's pay when you moved that ship. I've come to say thanks.'
Archimedes gave an embarrassed shrug. 'I don't know why people thought it was so impossible. Pulleys have been around for centuries.' His eyes were drawn irresistibly back to the Romans. They were well within catapult range now, and were looking more like men and less like insects. 'How close does King Hieron mean to let them come?' he asked.
'You heard him!' said Straton, surprised. 'As close as they're willing to come! See, they've been sent up here to have a look at us, to find out what kind of defenses we've got. They've probably got orders to fall back as soon as we start shooting. The idiots have come too close for safety already- and in loose formation, too.'
Archimedes chewed his thumbnail. There was a limit to how far a catapult could be depressed: if the Romans got too close, they'd be inside the arc of fire. 'What if they run for the walls?' he asked.
'Shouldn't think they will,' said Straton. 'If those fellows knew anything about catapults, they wouldn't have come as close as they have- and it takes a lot of experience to convince your feet that you'll be safer running toward your enemy than away from him. But if they're stupid enough to try it, we've got enough men here to wipe them out.'
They both stood for another endless minute gazing down at the advancing ranks of shields: two squares in an open formation, twelve men deep, with a double line before them. It was now possible to see that the men in front were light-armed skirmishers, equipped only with a few javelins, a helmet, and a shield; the men in the rank had breastplates and heavier spears. At the front of each square gleamed the standards- gilded eagles, set upon tall poles, trailing crimson banners which juddered as the standard-bearers made their way cautiously over the uneven ground. 'Idiots!' whispered Straton. 'Don't they realize?'
The Romans might be idiots, but the silence of the walls was clearly making them nervous: they marched more and more slowly, and at last stopped altogether.
At his shoulder Archimedes felt the air stir as Good Health's nose dipped. He retreated from the artillery port and went back along the catapult stock to where the new team of operators stood. There were three of them: one to load, one to fire, and one to assist. All three grinned- and then the captain of the team, a tough-looking man twenty years senior to Archimedes, stood aside from the trigger. 'You want to test your new catapult, Archimechanic?' he asked.
Archimedes blinked at the nickname, but nodded, then moved to the foot of the catapult to sight along the stock; the machine was already aimed and loaded, and he found himself staring through the aperture at the air above one of the Roman standard-bearers. The man was only a couple of hundred feet away. Archimedes could make out the sandy color of his beard under the wolfskin he had tied over his helmet. The standard-bearer had lowered his shield while he talked to a man in a red-crested helmet. As Archimedes watched, the light-armed troops began to move back past the two into the gaps left in the formation of the heavy infantry: clearly, the Romans had decided that they'd come far enough and should retreat. It seemed to be what Hieron was waiting for: from overhead and along the city wall came a barking order, and then the sudden crack of catapult arm against heel plate; the air darkened with bolts. The standard-bearer at once lifted his shield above his head again. From the floor directly above came the deep bay of the Welcomer- and then there were screams.
'Now, sir!' said the catapult captain impatiently. 'Now!'
Archimedes fumbled at the trigger.
Good Health's voice was deeper than the Welcomer's, a fearsome bellow ending in a smash of iron. The stone was gone too fast to follow- and then the standard-bearer was down, and the missile was tearing through the Roman line behind him like a harpoon through water. Screams- they were close enough that he could hear the screams clearly, even over the whoops of glee that rose from the catapult team as they saw their target go down. Archimedes stumbled back, still staring along the stock through catapult aperture and artillery port. The standard- bearer's body sprawled backward on the ground, red-topped, helmetless- no, headless! The two-talent stone had knocked his head clean off his body and gone on to kill or maim everyone behind him in the line of fire.
'Quick!' yelled the catapultist, already winching back the string. 'Reload!'
His two assistants already had the hoist ready; another stone was dropped into place. On the floor above them, the Welcomer cried out again, and Archimedes glanced along the line and found another trail of bodies traced through the Roman maniple, but not quite so far; the one-talent stone seemed to fail after claiming its four or fifth victim. As he lifted his eyes, he saw that the rear ranks were falling, too. From the parapet of the city wall the small, long-ranged arrow-shooting scorpions struck methodically at the rear of the Roman force. The Romans were still trying to protect themselves with their shields, but catapult bolts went through shields, piercing wood and leather and bronze as easily as flesh and bone. From the upper towers of the fort, the lighter stone-hurlers volleyed steadily, sending weights of ten or fifteen or thirty pounds flying with hideous force into the middle of the rank. Battered by forty catapults at once, the Romans fell like grass to a scythe.
His survey had taken only seconds; beside him, Good Health now bellowed again. Another bloody furrow tore through the Roman force from front to back; a new set of screams rose audibly above a steady background of howls and the endless percussion of arms on heel plates. 'Reload!' screamed the catapult captain; and the string groaned as it was winched back again.
In the field beyond, the Romans were throwing away their shields and running away as fast as they could, but even as they fled, the storm of death followed and cut them down.
'Oh, gods!' whispered Archimedes. He had never in his life before seen anyone killed.
Straton too was staring out the artillery port, his face contorted in a grin that was more than half snarl, his fist rising and falling in sympathy with the baying of the big catapults. 'Welcome to Syracuse, you bugger-arsed barbarians,' he muttered. 'Good health!' He straightened abruptly and flipped down the cheek-pieces of his helmet. 'Almost time to pick up what's left,' he said, and ran lightly down the steps to join his unit. As he went, Good Health's bellow arose again.
Archimedes retreated from the catapult platform and sat down on the steps. He thought he was going to be sick. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the standard-bearer's body lying there headless. What had happened to that sandy beard? It must be smeared all over the stone- oh, Apollo! — with the man's brains and blood… his catapult!
There was a blast of trumpets, and then the high sweet sound of a soprano aulos, piping the men out into battle. The stone-hurling catapults stopped baying, though the percussion of the arrow-firers continued, picking off the Romans as they fled. No war cry followed from the Syracusans, however. As Hieron had promised, the Romans had already been smashed: all the Syracusans needed to do was pick up the pieces. And at last even the stuttering of the scorpions ceased.
Of the four hundred-odd Romans who had advanced on the city, perhaps twenty-five men made it back to their camp. Another thirty or so who had dropped to the ground to avoid being shot surrendered to the Syracusans, and fifty-four other prisoners were carried into the city, too badly injured to walk. All the rest were dead.
Hieron went through the Hexapylon, congratulating his men. When he reached Good Health's platform, he found the new catapult's team busily loosening the strings. The machine could not be kept at full tension without strain, and it was clear that the Romans would not try another assault on the fort that day. Of the king's new engineer there was no trace.
'Where's Archimedes?' asked Hieron, glancing about with a frown.
'Gone home, lord,' said the catapult captain, climbing down from the stock. 'He was looking a bit green. I don't think he's seen one of these in action before- and he'd finished here, anyway.'
'Ah,' said the king. His frown deepened.
'He can't have been upset by that!' protested the assistant in surprise. 'He built the machine- he must have
