Sokrates said, "Two days ago I spent my last obolos for a meal for Dromon and myself, and hence must depend upon my friends until my next rents come in. Being a bachelor, I have no wife to cook for me in any case."
"Oh!" said Bulnes. "You must allow us! While fare at our inn are not that of Persian kings ..."
"A kind offer," said Sokrates, "but I have a better idea. Whom did you wish to meet? Meton? Let us therefore sponge on him for dinner!"
And the philosopher set off at a pace that made the short Flin pant, and forced even Bulnes to stretch his long legs.
Chapter Nine
Sokrates banged the door of Meton's house with his stick and roared, "Boy! Boy!"
When the spy hole opened and a wrinkled face appeared, the philosopher added, "Tell your master the greatest dunce in Athens is here with two other ninnies from far countries."
The hole closed and after a while opened again, to disclose a man older than Sokrates but younger than Protagoras — a thin man with a sharp, glittering-eyed expression.
"O Sokrates!" said the man. "I have not seen you since the banquet at the house of Alkamenes last year, when you got drunk and danced the kordax."
"I am never drunk! Besides, you were asleep under your couch at the time and could not see what I was dancing."
"And who are these?" said Meton.
"My new acquaintances from far Tartessos. You will find them quite gentlemanly even though they be not Hellenes, let alone Athenians." Sokrates introduced them, adding, "They say they have an astronomical problem for you."
"Come in, come in, do not stand there like so many herms," said Meton. He turned and shouted back over his shoulder, "EJ You women, out of there!"
There was a twitter of female voices and a scrambling sound. Bulnes started to follow Sokrates through the vestibule, but was stopped by Meton, who said in a marked manner, "Are you not going to leave your shoes?"
"I is sorry," he said, and doffed his sandals before following Meton into the open court at the end of the passage.
The court was nothing but a bare rectangle of beaten earth with an altar in the middle, from which a thread of incense smoke arose. The barren patch was surrounded by wooden columns holding up the inner edge of the roof; and the columns in turn were encompassed by a lot of dark little curtained cells opening onto the court. In the courtyard stood a table on which was spread a mass of sheets of papyrus held down by a stone for a paperweight. In one corner a very old man sat at a smaller table, working on some similar sheets.
"Rejoice, Anaxagoras!" Sokrates called across the court to the oldster, who replied in kind.
"What is your problem, men of Tartessos?" asked Meton.
Bulnes had been composing sentences in anticipation of this question. He said, "You — uh — know the theory, Meton, that the earth is round like a ball?"
"What did you say?"
Bulnes repeated.
"Yes, of course," said Meton. "The silly Pythagoreans have been making that claim for several years, and I begin to think they have hit upon the right answer by the wrong method. It would explain many things, such as the shape of the earth's shadow during eclipses of the moon."
"What do you mean, silly Pythagoreans?" said Sokrates. "Perhaps you, who know so much more than I, would condescend to explain wherein lies the silliness of their divine teachings?"
"Their approach, my dear Sokrates, is entirely unscientific: number mysticism, intuition, and all that moonshine. By the way," and Meton sent a sharp look at Bulnes, "I trust you two foreigners are not here to spread that pernicious Babylonian superstition that is ruining scientific astronomy?"
"What do you mean, sir?" said Bulnes.
"Oh, that species of astronomical divination that pretends that the stars control our destinies here on earth and can be used for purposes of prophecy."
"Not at all," said Bulnes.
Sokrates said, "My good Meton, this materialistic so-called science of yours is bankrupt, and you might as well admit it. You and your colleagues have gazed at the stars and plucked at lyre-strings and tried to weigh smoke in a bag, and you have come to a dead end. The material senses alone can do no more for you. If you would seek divine aid in bettering your character, now ..."
"Later, later," said Meton. "Let us finish with these strangers first. What about the roundness of the earth?"
Bulnes said, "We Tartessians believe if we can get measurement of height of the North Celestial Pole from the horizon in enough places, we shall be materials for a complete — uh — complete — what's the word, Wiyem?"
"Map."
"A complete map of the world."
"Papai! Now that is an idea," said Meton, making gestures with his fingers. "The angle from the North Celestial Pole to the horizon will be the same as the angle the observer stands at from the equator toward the North Pole, would it not? A neat point. O Anaxagoras!"
The old man looked up.
"Come here and take some notes. These men have brought an interesting theorem with them."
Anaxagoras came over with a papyrus sheet and wrote as Meton dictated.
"Are you really Anaxagoras of Klazomenai?" asked Flin.
"Indeed I am," quavered the oldster. "Do the Tartessians then know of the poor old Anaxagoras, neglected of the world and sunk to a pensioner of the generous Meton?"
"Nonsense!" gruffed Meton. "He enjoys feeling sorry for himself. That is all for the present, old man. Well then, Bouleus of Tartessos, what more do you wish?"
"We thought if you had instruments at your house, you might let us make observations of the position of the Pole to find it height here at Athens."
"Hm. That could be arranged. I tell you, come back here this evening after dinner and we will take a look from the roof. You will stay, will you not, Sokrates?"
"I shall not need much urging," said Sokrates. "Good-bye for the present, my foreign friends."
Bulnes said to Flin in English, "That's what in America they call the bum's rush." Then to Meton, "Many thanks, my dear sir. It is an honor to have meet you."
"Nonsense. It is no honor at all. Be back after dark, but do not keep me up all night waiting — what is it, Anaxagoras?"
The oldster had been plucking at Meton's chiton. Now he muttered into Meton's ear. After a whispered argument Meton said, "Anaxagoras asks me to invite you to stay so he can question you on the geography of Spain. He is always after such details to improve his world map, you know. How about it?"
Bulnes smiled broadly. "You are much too kind ..."
"Of course, if you have an engagement ..."
"... but my colleague and I would not miss an hour in such learned company for anythings. We accept with heartfelt thanks."
Meton, looking none too pleased, turned to shout to a slave to set extra places. Anaxagoras laid a bony hand on the arms of Flin and Bulnes, saying, "If you will step into my room, my dear friends ..."
The room turned out to be one of the airless, lightless cubicles opening on to the court. Anaxagoras thrust the curtain aside and ushered them in.
Inside, Bulnes saw, leaning against one wall, a huge -rectangular sheet of papyrus in a wooden frame. On it was drawn a world map with Greece in the center of a great circular mass in which the Mediterranean, Red, and Caspian Seas made indentations from different directions. While Greece was drawn with fair accuracy, the other parts became less and less recognizable as one went outward from the center. After some puzzling, Bulnes made out that the tapering horn on the left extremity of Europe was supposed to represent the Iberian Peninsula.