we fail, we expect to suffer the penalty.'
'They lack courage?' repeated Hieron. 'The wounds the men in my prison have suffered are the best testimony to their bravery, for few of them are uninjured. But the task they were set was impossible. Two maniples in loose formation without siege equipment were sent out in broad daylight against heavy artillery. They were ordered not to battle, but to execution! It astonished me that they nonetheless obeyed. What they lacked was certainly not courage, but a wise commander.'
Claudius opened his mouth, but even as he did so, the spreading whispers turned into a growl, and then a full-throated roar. Behind him the legions hammered their spears against the ground and cheered fiercely for the two slaughtered maniples; the men watching from the palisade rattled entrenching tools against the wall. Claudius' face turned crimson and he whirled on the tribunes and shouted, 'Silence! Make that rabble be quiet!'
Hieron's charger fidgeted uneasily at the uproar, and the king patted its neck.
'My fellow soldiers!' bellowed Claudius, when the noise began to die down at last. 'My fellow soldiers, don't listen to this man! He is trying to seduce you from your discipline. You, soldier'- to Marcus' stop repeating his lies!'
Marcus remembered Gaius' white face and agonized gasps as he was marched into the city, and was suddenly in a crimson fury of his own. He remembered that moment afterward like a witness remembering a fatal accident, mentally shrieking at himself, No, stop, not that way, you fool! But he could not stop. Because of this man, Gaius had suffered, and he had lost everything. Claudius could not be permitted to slough off the guilt.
'He's telling the truth!' Marcus shouted passionately. He waved with both shackles up the hill toward the Euryalus. 'What did you think they had in there- slingshots? Don't you know the standard range of a catapult? Or did you just expect a city that the Carthaginians have besieged with armies ten times the size of this one to crack like an egg? Jupiter! You had no idea what you were doing. It's inexcusable to blame your own failure on the men who suffered from it! If you're a Roman, Consul, accept the penalty yourself!'
There was another uproar. Claudius stared at Marcus in astonishment and rage; Hieron, with uneasiness. 'What did you say?' asked the king, but Marcus did not answer. He lowered his shackled hands and stood proudly, glaring back at the consul.
'I hope this man has not offended you,' said Hieron, speaking directly to Claudius in a more normal voice. 'His brother was badly injured in your assault, and he may have spoken passionately because of it. You must excuse him. I myself have no wish to insult you or your people.'
Claudius turned the furious glare on Hieron. 'And saying that I am not a wise commander is no insult?' he asked.
Hieron smiled. 'You are certainly inexperienced at sieges, O Consul- at least, at sieges of Greek cities which are well equipped with artillery. Wouldn't you agree that when a wise commander lacks knowledge, he proceeds only with caution? If you wish to improve your understanding of what you face, you may come up to the wall, under my protection, and view the defenses. You have underrated us, Consul, and treated us with a contempt we in no way deserve.'
Claudius spat. 'Your protection is as worthless as your boasts, Tyrant! I credit neither!'
'You are right in saying that they are both of the same value,' replied the king. The noise was dying down once more, and Hieron lifted his arms as he began to speak once more to the whole army; Marcus at once began his shouted translation. Claudius tried to protest, but even his own officers paid no attention to him, and the army instantly quieted to hear what Hieron had to say. While the consul fumed, the king's words rode out upon another ring of whispers.
'Men of Rome, I have heard that I am reported arrogant and cruel. Report lies, for I have ever acted with moderation, and honored the gods.'
'And that's true,' Marcus added, with a defiant glare at the consul. 'All those stories about bronze bulls and impalings were made up by the Mamertini to get Roman help.'
'There is no citizen of Syracuse who has just complaint against me,' Hieron continued. 'My lovely city is as united as she is strongand her strength you have all seen. Your own people can vouch for that when I return them. If you wish to receive them with honor, I will return them to you today, without ransom as I promised. If you do not, I will keep them unharmed to give to the first Roman who asks me for their freedom.'
'It is a trick!' bellowed Claudius.
'It is offered honestly and in good faith,' replied Hieron. 'Do you wish me to send them?'
Claudius looked as though he might burst. 'You are growing desperate for a peace, Tyrant!' he shouted. 'Where are the allies you abandoned at Messana?'
'And you are in a great hurry for a triumph, Consul!' replied Hieron sharply. 'You're even willing to trust the Carthaginians to get it- willing to gamble the lives of all your men on that chance that they stay away. Yes, where are the Carthaginians? In your rear? At Messana, sacking it in your absence, and destroying the ships on which you intend to sail home? You've chosen to fight Syracuse instead of Carthage, and forgotten that you offered to fight both. Can you, O Romans? But you haven't answered my question, Consul. I have ninety-two of your people prisoner. Do you want them back?'
Claudius was silent for a long minute, while the whispers spread through his army, the translation almost obscured by the buzz of angry discussion. Then, in a choked voice, the consul said, 'Yes. Return them.'
'You will receive them with honor?'
'Since you say that they fought bravely, they will be received as brave men,' grated the consul.
Hieron inclined his head graciously. 'And the women of Echetlawhat price do you want for them?'
'None!' a voice from among the legions shouted suddenly. Claudius spun toward it, but already a dozen other voices had joined it, 'Honor to those who honor the Roman people! Return the Echetlans without ransom!' There was a thunder of spears against the ground, and then a full-throated roar: 'Honor to the Roman people!'
Claudius looked back at Hieron. Marcus had never seen such a look of bleak vindictiveness. 'You shall have them without ransom,' he muttered.
'I will have your men brought from their prison and delivered to you here,' said Hieron. 'It will take perhaps four hours. I take it this truce holds until then?'
Claudius nodded, then, not trusting himself to say more, turned his horse away.
Hieron snapped his fingers, and the Syracusan aulist struck up his marching tune again. The files divided, leaving a space for the king to ride through them. Marcus followed between his two guards; behind him the Syracusan battalion turned about and marched back up the hill.
When the gates of the Euryalus had closed behind them, the king drew rein and looked down at Marcus thoughtfully. 'What did you say to the consul?' he asked.
'That what you'd said was true,' replied Marcus shortly.
Hieron sighed. 'That was unwise.'
'It was true.'
'It is not usually a good idea to speak truth to kings- or to consuls. I am going to have to return you anyway. If I keep you, Claudius will say that you were really a Greek in disguise, and it will be easier for him to convince his army that he was right after all.'
Marcus nodded. Hieron looked at him a moment longer, then sighed again. 'You are a true Roman, aren't you? You accept the penalty for your own actions- whether it's justified or not. What's that you have in your belt?'
Marcus' face went hot. 'A flute,' he said. 'My mas- Archimedes gave it to me. He thought I would have time in prison to learn it.'
'I pray that the gods grant you a life long enough to become as skilled on it as he is himself!' Hieron snapped his fingers and said to the guards, 'Take the chains off him, and put him somewhere shady to wait for the others. Give him something to eat and drink- it's a long walk over here, and interpreting is thirsty work.'
The guards led Marcus to a room in one of the towers, a catapult platform with no catapult in it. They took off his chains and fetched him some bread and wine. 'With goodwill,' said one of the guards, offering the wine. 'I should have believed Apollodoros when he said you were philhellene.'
Marcus drank the watered wine thirstily, but had no appetite for the bread. He kept remembering the way Claudius had looked at Hieron. The consul would happily have cooked his enemy alive, in or out of a bronze bull. Hieron would be out of his reach behind the walls of Syracuse, but Marcus was going to have to face him again in about four hours.
