"I think so," agreed Delia, beginning to be intrigued. "You're certainly right that he liked Alexandria. He talked about it even to me."
"Everyone Agathon spoke to about him mentioned it! He was apparently supposed to come home two years before he did. Don't look so surprised- you're the one who set Agathon onto him. All right, my first catapult has passed its trial and I've happily agreed to work for what Leptines offered me. I make some very large, very advanced catapults; I also produce countermeasures to seige towers and mines. I'm good at that, of course- the key to siege machinery is the accurate calculation of size and distance, and the key to that is geometry, at which I am adept. At first I don't notice that I'm exceptional, because I haven't made war machines before and I don't have any standard of comparison. But before long it dawns on me that none of the other engineers in the city can do the things I'm doing. And eventually the fame of my machines spreads, and other cities and kingdoms try to hire me. Now: am I a loyal citizen?"
"I think so," said Delia. "After all, you did come home when you heard about the war, and you hurried to place your abilities at the disposal of the city."
"Ye-es- but on the other hand, making catapults is the easiest way for an engineer to earn money during a war, and with my father ill my family needs money. Still, we'll say I'm a loyal Syracusan as well as a dutiful son. I reject the offers of Carthaginian Akragas and Roman Tarentum; I scorn Cyrene and Epirus and Macedon- but I feel aggrieved. My family's not rich, my younger sister is of an age to marry and needs a dowry, and I know that I'm worth more than I'm getting. Besides, it's mathematics, not war machines, that is my soul's passion: the yoke frets me. When one of my old Alexandrian friends writes to tell me that King Ptolemy would give me a job in Egypt- five times the salary and half the work- I accept it, take my family, and go. Any comments?"
Delia frowned. "You wouldn't abandon your city in time of war!"
"Maybe we'll be out of the war by then: gods, let us be! But if we aren't, won't it mean that I'm eager to take my family out of danger? Particularly when it means returning to a place I love and never wanted to leave. Besides, Egypt is an ally: serving her isn't betraying Syracuse."
"Would Ptolemy really offer that much?"
"Oh, that's certain!" exclaimed Hieron in surprise. "Ptolemy's spent a fortune on investigating catapult design, and his advisers perpetually scan the horizon for improvements. And Egypt is rich."
"Well then," said Delia, smiling with satisfaction, "you should offer him more from the start, so that he's got no cause to feel aggrieved and discontented!"
Hieron took a deep breath. "Perhaps. But start again. My catapult has passed its trial, and I'm made the equal of Kallippos and paid two or three times as much as I expected. On the strength of this, I can arrange for my sister to marry a man of good family, and perhaps marry a woman of good family myself. I become a citizen of some standing. I have wealth, I have respect. I'm grateful to the city. Even when I realize that my reward is merited, I'm still grateful, because the city recognized me before I recognized myself. When the offer from Egypt comes, I reject it…" Hieron paused, then went on softly, "Or do I?" He stood up suddenly and crossed the room to the book rack. He ran one plump finger down the shelves, then put the scroll of Euclid's Conics back in its place. "The thing I don't know," he went on quietly, "is whether he's merely very good, or invaluable. If he's merely good, treating him generously should be enough to keep him. But if he's what I think he might be, he'll be off to Alexandria eventually however much I pay him- unless I take steps to prevent it. Ptolemy can offer him the Museum, and that's something for which I have no substitute. So perhaps I would do better to save my time and money, treat him as nothing out of the ordinary, and profit by what he's willing to do before he leaves. Or perhaps- perhaps I should decide to keep him whatever he costs, and start chaining him to Syracuse now, before he can realize his own value and assert his freedom." Hieron dropped back down on the couch and put one foot on the cushions beside Delia. "So, what do you think, sister? Is he merely a clever young man, or is he inspired by the Muses?"
"I don't know," said Delia, low-voiced in confusion. She had imagined herself drawing her brother's attention to merit, and watching proudly as the merit was rewarded. Hieron, however, was not talking about reward, but of use, even of exploitation. She remembered Archimedes laughing with excitement at the thought of what his friends in Alexandria were doing, and suddenly regretted that she had mentioned him to her brother at all.
"What's the matter?" asked the king.
"You talk about him as though he were a slave," said Delia uncomfortably.
Hieron shrugged. " 'One man is my master,' " he quoted softly,
" 'Custom, yours- and he masters a myriad others too.
Some are slaves to tyrants, tyrants to fear.
Men are slaves to kings, kings, to the gods, and gods, to Necessity: for Necessity, you see, endows all things with natures great or less and so forever is master of us all.'
"Although," he added, in a more normal tone, "I didn't feel like a king's slave even before I was a king myself, and tyrant as I may be, I don't think I'm slave to fear. But I'll grant the poet Necessity and the gods." He smiled at his sister. "Don't worry," he added. "I'm not going to hurt your fellow aulist. In fact, I've invited him to dinner."
Archimedes was late for the dinner party. he had spent the day at the naval docks, preparing his demonstration of ideal mechanics; when he did not come home to change his clothes late in the afternoon, Marcus was sent to fetch him. The slave found his master covered in dirt and soot and smelling strongly of mutton-fat pulley grease, perched on the roof of a ship shed fixing a pulley to the main roof beam.
Marcus hauled him down and bore him off to the public baths, ignoring the enthusiastic attempts to explain the system of compound pulleys and wheels- "toothed wheels, Marcus, so they won't slip"- by which Archimedes expected to move a ship. He saw to it that his master was washed and barbered, then brought him home, where a frantic Philyra was waiting.
"You're going to be late!" she told him furiously. "You're going to be late for dinner with the king! Medion, how do you expect him to pay you if you're going to be rude to him?"
"But he's the one who ordered the demonstration!" protested Archimedes, blinking.
Philyra gave a shriek of frustration and hurled his good tunic at him. "You never care about anything except your stupid ideas!"
Arata, calmer by nature and more resigned, ignored her children's quarrel and drew Marcus aside. "You go with him tonight," she ordered quietly. "But be careful."
Marcus looked at her with narrow-eyed reserve. He'd guessed that he'd be ordered to accompany Archimedes to the king's house. A guest did not arrive at a dinner party carrying his own flutes, like a hired musician: a slave had to act as porter, and he was the most natural slave for the job. But- be careful? "Is there some special reason for caution, mistress?" he asked.
Arata sighed and brushed back a wisp of graying hair. "I don't know," she said slowly. "But- there have been these people asking questions about my Archimedion. I suppose it's just because of the catapults, and understandable- but I don't like it, Marcus. Who can tell what's in the mind of a tyrant? Watch what you say to them in the king's house."