Archimedes had largely forgotten his humiliation early in meaclass="underline" his flute-playing had been a success. The barbitos player in particular had been very gracious, and said that they must play together again. Since the barbitos player was one of the richest and most important men in the city, well known for his patronage of the arts, this was gratifying. Not that it mattered, Archimedes told himself- he was a democrat, after all- but still, it was gratifying. He set off down the road at a good pace, swinging a corner of his cloak and humming.
Marcus hurried after him, clutching the flutes and looking grim. When they reached the main road, the slave ran up beside him and said in a low voice, "Sir, something happened up there that you should know about."
"Mmmm?" said Archimedes, without paying attention.
"I was listening to the music in the garden," went on Marcus, "and the king's sister came up to listen as well, and-"
"Delia?" asked Archimedes, stopping short and turning to Marcus. The moon had risen and shone full into the wide avenue, and it showed plainly his look of delight.
Delia? thought Marcus, in disbelief. "I don't know her name," he said in bewilderment. "But she was the king's sister. She said to tell you-"
"Delia gave you a message for me?" cried Archimedes, even more delighted.
Marcus stared at him. He remembered now the girl's hesitant speech, and the way she had run off after trying to deny her message. In retrospect it seemed very like a maiden's first shy steps toward love. "Perii!" he exclaimed, surprised into swearing in his own language. "No wonder the king's been sending people to spy on you!"
"What?" said Archimedes, surprised in turn. "On me? Don't be ridiculous! There's nothing for anyone to find out."
"May the gods forbid that there should be anything between you and the king's sister!"
"I just met her twice in the king's house when I went there to see about the catapult," said Archimedes stiffly. "She plays the aulos too, and we talked about it. She's very good. What was the message? You said I should know about it."
Marcus rubbed his hands through his hair. Maybe it was that innocent, he thought- but the fact remained that the king's sisterthe king's sister! — was sending Archimedes clandestine warnings about her brother's intentions. What did she see in him? He wasn't particularly good-looking, wasn't rich, and certainly possessed no polished seducer's charm. But in Alexandria he had won the favor of La[i..]s, and now there was this!
He could not even tell Arata about it- a thing he regretted, because he knew she was concerned about the king's spies and he had deep respect for her good sense. But he could not inform his master's mother, of all people, about his master's romantic follies!
"Well?" demanded Archimedes.
"She said to tell you that she wishes you well," he said at last, "and she warns you that if your demonstration goes well you must be careful, because her brother may try to get you into a contract that binds you to something you might later regret."
Archimedes beamed. "That's wonderful!" He began walking again, this time with something of a swagger.
"Wonderful? Didn't you hear what I said?" demanded Marcus furiously.
"Yes, of course. Delia wishes me well, and the king is going to offer me a contract if my demonstration goes well. I thank the gods!"
Marcus groaned.
"What's the matter now?"
Marcus regarded his bright-eyed assurance and groaned again. "Nothing," he said despairingly. "Nothing at all."
In the King's house, Hieron was sitting in the doorkeeper's lodge, feet up on the arm of the couch, sipping a cup of cold water and discussing the evening with Agathon, as was his custom after a dinner party. He listened to his guests, his doorkeeper listened to his guests' slaves, and afterward they compared notes; it was a technique that had often proved valuable. The doorkeeper had revealed that the slave of one of the officers was worried that his master had been drinking too much, while one of the councillors had been spending a great deal of money lately.
"And Archimedes' slave?" asked the king. "Anything useful from him?"
Agathon snorted. "I think somebody must have noticed that we were asking about his master. He arrived determined that he, at any rate, was not going to tell us anything. Once the music started he slunk off and hid in the garden so that he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. But he was claiming to be a Samnite, and he's quite plainly a Latin."
"You're sure of that?"
"Oh, yes. His name's Marcus, and when he found out that Aristodemos' slave is a real Samnite, he was horrified." Agathon gave a cackle of laughter. "He had to pretend he'd forgotten how to speak Oscan, and he was such a poor liar it was pitiable."
The king frowned. "Has he had access to the workshops?"
"I'll check it," said Agathon at once. "But he's been in Phidias' household for thirteen years, and my impression is that he's loyal to his master."
Hieron nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of water. "Probably no use," he said. "But one never knows. Keep an eye on him."
"Yes, sir," said Agathon. He watched his master for a moment, then said, "And you, sir? What did the guests think about the war?"
Hieron stretched and sat up. "We did not discuss it."
Agathon raised his eyebrows. "That must have been difficult."
Hieron grinned. "Not too much so. Archimedes discussed ideal mechanics from the eggs through to the turbot. After that the other guests were perfectly happy to talk about anything nonmechanical. It needed very little steering."
Agathon cleared his throat nervously. "Sir…" He stopped.
"What?" asked Hieron.
When Agathon did not answer, the king leaned forward smiling and said, "Do you want to talk about the war, Aristion?"
It was an old nickname- the diminutive of "best" for Agathon's proper name, which meant "good." The slave plucked courage from it, met his master's eyes, and said, "What's going to happen, sir?"
Hieron sighed. "Whatever is fated, my friend. But what I hope for is that once the Romans have blunted their teeth on our defenses they'll offer me better terms than they offered at Messana."
Agathon sat silent for a long moment. It was stark hope, and severely limited. "There's no hope from the alliance, then," he said at last. "No hope of victory."
"There is always hope," replied Hieron evenly, "but I don't expect anything, no. Carthage has not made terms with Rome and has not moved openly against us, and as long as that's true I will continue to speak in public as though she were our steadfast ally. But the Carthaginians had a fleet which was supposed to be guarding the straits, and it notably failed to stop the Romans from crossing to Sicily. And while we were besieging Messana, the Romans negotiated with me and with the Carthaginians- separately. When I suggested to my allied commander that I send someone to observe his negotiations and he send someone to observe mine, he turned me down. And when the Romans attacked us, the Carthaginians did nothing. The enemy had two legions, Agathon- ten thousand of the fiercest fighters in the world. They quick-marched out of the city and attacked our siege works. We threw them off and chased them halfway back to the walls. If the Carthaginians had attacked the Romans in the flank as they retreated, it would have been a real victory. But they did nothing- nothing! Drew up their troops to defend their own camp, and stood watching. Oh, afterward Hanno sent a messenger congratulating me on my victory and explaining that he had not had time to arrange his forces, but it was perfectly clear from that battle how Hanno intends to fight this war. He hopes to use us to weaken the Romans and the Romans to break us, and to claim Sicily for Carthage when all is done. So I disengaged under cover of darkness and came home- Don't repeat any of this, Agathon, my dear. I will call Carthage my ally as long as there is any chance of her remaining so. And there may be something to be done at Carthage. There are always factions: I have some friends there and Hanno has some enemies."