5
The catapult was completed in the middle of the morning four days later. It crouched in the center of the workshop like a predatory insect: a long low stock like an abdomen perched upon the three-legged stand, and at the far end, the great bowlike arms stretched wide like a praying mantis striking. The single eye of the aperture between those arms had the unblinking stare of death. When Archimedes winched back the string- an arm-thick leather cable- it gave a groan like a giant waking; when he released it, the clap of the ironclad arms against the iron heel plates was like the shattering of mountains. The workmen cheered and stroked the beast's bronze-plated back and wooden sides.
Archimedes had expected the machine to be finished that morning, but still he stood back and contemplated it with delight: his first catapult. "It's a beauty," he told Epimeles.
"The finest I've ever seen," the foreman agreed. Archimedes looked at him in surprise: he knew that Epimeles had been in the workshops for over twenty years, and he hadn't thought the man was given to flattery. Then he looked back at the one-talenter and grinned: best in twenty years or not, it was a beauty.
"Well," he said, and picked up the cloak he had brought along that morning in the expectation of another visit to the king's house. "I'll go tell the regent it's done, shall I? And ask him where he wants it, and when he wants the trial. But…" He dug in his purse. "Why don't you and the lads buy yourselves a drink to celebrate?"
"Thank you, sir- not yet," said Epimeles at once. "After the trials, sir, would be better."
Disappointed, Archimedes put his money back in the purse: he suspected that for all the flattery, Epimeles wasn't certain the machine would work. He sighed and walked off a bit disconsolately.
"What was wrong with a drink to celebrate?" asked Elymos, who was fond of wine.
"The gods hate arrogance," replied Epimeles. "We haven't got it safely through its trial yet. You want somebody to tamper with it while we're busy drinking?" He patted the huge machine with loving awe.
Archimedes recovered his good humor on the walk to the king's house. The week just past had been thoroughly enjoyable. It had been fun making the one-talenter, and things were well at home: his father actually seemed to have recovered a little. Perhaps it was just not having to worry about when his son would return, but Phidias was sitting up in bed, drinking barley broth three times a day, and taking an interest in things. He listened to the music the rest of the family played for him, he discussed Alexandria with his son, he even played a bit with the puzzle. Archimedes decided that it would help again when he himself got a salaried position as a royal engineer; it would take another burden off his father's mind. Well, that should now happen as soon as the catapult had proved itself.
And now- now he would see Delia again. Archimedes fingered the small package he'd stowed in a fold of his cloak, the new cheek strap and the old one, and walked faster.
He had no serious expectation that there could be anything between himself and the king's sister. But he had no expectations about anything: he was living in the present and trying not to think of the future, which held at best a life of drudgery and at worst the horrors of defeat in war. Delia was a pretty girl. She was clever, she had made him laugh, and she played the aulos very well. Today he would see her again and give her a gift: what more could he ask for? He began to whistle an old song as he walked, letting the words run through his mind:
Aphrodite in your gown of brightly varied hues,
Zeus's wile-weaving child, immortal lady:
My soul with grief and cares subdued,
Don't break me!
But come to me now, if ever, much-desired, you heeded what I sang to you in prayer and left your father's house as I required to save me,
Golden your chariot yoked, and you all fair,
Swift sparrows drew about the black earth,
Wingbeats thickly whirling through the air from heaven…
… to ask what next my mad heart longs for, who now shall I bring to love you?…
He reached the house and stopped whistling as he walked the last steps through the porch and up to the door. He straightened his cloakthe new yellow one, finally clean of lampblack- took a deep breath, and knocked.
The doorkeeper opened it at once and surveyed him with the usual expression of disapproval. "Your business?" he snapped.
"I've come to tell the regent that the catapult is finished!" said Archimedes triumphantly.
"Huh!" snorted Agathon. "The regent's out. I'll give him your message when he comes home."
Archimedes stood on the doorstep, crimson with embarrassment. He saw that he'd expected to be received like a victorious general- and he saw how stupid that had been. The one-talenter was, after all, only one catapult among several hundred owned by the city, and all the catapults in Syracuse were only a portion of the regent's responsibilities. Stupid! Still, out of some confused loyalty to his machine and the workshop that had produced it, he stammered, "C-could you tell me where the regent is, or when he's likely to be home?"
Agathon raised his eyebrows. "No," he said flatly- then, relenting a little, he explained, "Last night he had a message from the king. We have won a victory over the Romans at Messana, and King Hieron is lifting the siege and returning to Syracuse. He should arrive home tomorrow. The regent is likely to be extremely busy until he does. I'll give him your message as soon as I can."
"Oh!" said Archimedes, blinking stupidly and trying to take it in. Syracuse had defeated the Romans at Messana- Syracuse was actually winning the war? Praise to all the gods! But if Syracuse had won, why lift the siege of Messana and come home? Surely, if you won, you pressed the siege and took the city?
He shook himself and looked back at Agathon; something about the doorkeeper's face prevented him from asking for an explanation. Instead he returned confusedly to the subject which had brought him there. "I, uh, hope you can tell the regent soon," he said earnestly. "You see, the one-talenter- it's in the middle of the workshop, and it takes up a lot of space. We need to put it somewhere else, and we need to know where. Also, I don't get paid and can't start any more until it's been seen to work."
"I will tell the regent as soon as I can," the doorkeeper said shortly, then leaned back against the doorpost, crossed his arms, and gave Archimedes a cynical look. "And?" he said expectantly.
Archimedes licked his lips, wondering how the doorkeeper had known he wanted something else, and how to tell him what without appearing to be disrespectful. He fingered the package in the fold of his cloak. "I, uh," he began nervously. "The, uh, last time I was here I hurt my eye. The, uh, king's sister was kind enough to give me her aulos cheek strap soaked in water to put on it. I wanted to return the strap to her, and to thank her for her kindness." He fumbled the package out- a neat little bundle wrapped in a sheet of papyrus- and showed it to Agathon.
Agathon looked at him expressionlessly, debating whether to take the package and promise to deliver it and the thanks: the prospect of watching this young hopeful's face fall was tempting. But he decided against it. He had been deeply impressed by what Epimeles had told him about Archimedes' abilities, though the admiration he felt was all for Delia, not for the man she'd spotted. Hieron, too, could always pick out men who'd be useful, and Agathon found the skill wonderful. Delia, he decided, deserved to hear how her discovery was getting on. "Very well," he said tolerantly. "This way."
He showed the visitor through the front part of the house, past the waiting room, and into the garden with the fountain, where he commanded him to wait. The garden actually adjoined the women's quarters of the house, and men from outside the household were not permitted beyond it. Agathon disappeared into the house.