The visitors kept arriving all evening. When it began to grow dark, the slaves found torches and set them up in the courtyard and by the door. They had just been lit when Archimedes became aware of a commotion in the street outside- and then Hieron came through the open door, followed by his secretary. The unexpected appearance of the lord of the city caused an alarmed ruffle in the now-crowded courtyard, but Hieron ignored the stir and walked straight to Archimedes. "My condolences," he said, shaking hands. "You have lost a father who was one of the best men in the city, and your grief must be great."
Archimedes blinked, fiercely pleased by such a public declaration from such a source. The neighborhood had always liked Phidias- but it had always laughed at him, too. "Thank you," he replied. "I do grieve for him, very much."
"It would be your shame if you did not," said Hieron.
Like any other mourner, he went on to the sickroom to view the body; when he entered, the women were so startled that they stopped keening, and there was a sudden, profound, reverberating silence. Once again, Hieron ignored the effect he produced, and he bowed his head respectfully to the dead. "Phidias, farewell!" he said. "I always regretted that I could not study with you longer. May the earth be light upon you!" Then he went up to Arata, who was still sitting veiled beside her husband's body. "Good lady," he said, "your loss is great. But I trust that the outstanding promise shown by your son is some comfort to you."
Arata was utterly speechless. She clutched her cloak tightly against her breast and nodded wordlessly. Hieron nodded back, in farewell, and withdrew.
Back in the courtyard, he turned again to Archimedes. "Please," he said, "allow me to show the esteem in which I held your father, and the respect I have for you, and permit me to provide for the funeral. If you agree, my slaves and the resources of my house are at your disposal."
"I, uh," stammered Archimedes, almost as speechless as his mother. "I, uh- thank you."
Hieron smiled. "Good. Just tell my secretary Nikostratos here what you want, and he'll see that it's arranged for you." He gently directed Archimedes toward the secretary with a pat on the arm, and turned to go. Then he turned back again. "Oh," he added, "it struck me that you haven't yet been paid for that astounding catapult you built. I'm ashamed that I can't possibly pay as much as such a fine machine is worth, but Nikostratos has something for it. I wish you joy!" With that he gave his hands a perfunctory ceremonial wash in the water which stood ready by the narrow door, then stepped out into the night.
Archimedes looked at the secretary. Nikostratos, a bland-faced, nondescript man in his thirties, burdened with a heavy satchel, looked back. "Do you wish to tell me what arrangements you want now, sir?" he asked.
"Uh- yes," said Archimedes, keenly aware of the astonished neighbors. "Um- I suppose we should go into the dining room."
Marcus fetched lamps for the dining room, then stood listening while the secretary jotted down the requirements for the funeral. He added up the bill in his own mind as they proceeded: wood, incense, wine and cakes for a hundred- Archimedes said sixty at first, but the secretary thought this too mean. It was not going to come to less than twenty-five drachmae, Marcus concluded, and would probably be considerably more. The king was not going to save money by paying for a funeral and skimping on a catapult. And Marcus doubted that Hieron meant to skimp on the catapult either, despite his words about not paying as much as it was worth. He just wished he knew why the king of Syracuse was putting himself out to flatter and conciliate a catapult engineer.
When the funeral requirements had been fixed, the secretary took out an olive-wood box, which he set down before Archimedes. "The money for the catapult," he stated. "Can I ask you to sign for it?"
Archimedes looked at it vaguely and asked, "How much is it?"
"Two hundred and fifty drachmae," replied the secretary matter-of-factly. He pulled a ledger out of his satchel.
Archimedes stared, then lifted the lid from the box. New-minted silver which had been packed to the rim spilled out onto the dining table. He shook his head. "It was supposed to be fifty!" he protested. "And the king said that-"
"I was instructed to say that if the catapult were priced according to its value, it should be a thousand," said Nikostratos.
Archimedes stared at him for a long moment in silence. Then he looked down and picked up one of the coins which had fallen onto the table. Hieron's face, diademed and smiling, had been stamped in profile on the obverse. He studied it. A number of things he had seen and heard without really paying attention fell into place. He had always known that he was exceptional as a mathematician, but he'd thought that at mechanics, which were merely a hobby to him, he was only ordinarily good. But he realized now that Epimeles had not been flattering him: the Welcomer really was the best catapult built in Syracuse in twenty years. That pivot- that was something nobody had thought of before. The reason the workshop slaves had laughed was that he hadn't realized that. Eudaimon had been not merely short-tempered, but jealous. Kallippos had really believed that it was impossible to move a ship single-handed.
He was the best engineer in the city, and what his mind and hands could shape was so powerful that the king himself was now trying to cultivate him. This piece of silver, shining in his hand, was a tribute to his power. It was deeply satisfying, but at the same time frightening. The Roman army might soon be arriving to lay siege to Syracuse, and his own abilities would be in the first line of defense against it. The danger at once seemed much closer, and much more real.
He took fifty drachmae out of the box, then pushed the box itself back toward Nikostratos. "Tell the king I thank him for his generous offer," he said, "but I will take the price agreed, and no more."
Nikostratos was genuinely surprised- a strange sight, in such a dry man. He tried to push the box back. "This is the sum the king instructed me to pay you," he protested. "He won't want it back!"
Archimedes shook his head, "I am Syracusan; I don't need to be paid extra to defend Syracuse. I will take the agreed price for the catapult because my family needs it, but I will not profit from my city's urgent need by taking more."
The secretary stared. Archimedes took the ledger out of his hands and found the entry- "To Archimedes son of Phidias, for the one-talent catapult for the Hexapylon, 250 dr." He crossed out "250 dr" and wrote above it, "50 dr., as agreed," and signed his name.
Nikostratos suddenly smiled widely. "The gods have favored Syracuse," he said quietly. He took back his ledger and the olive-wood box, and put both away. Still smiling, he murmured his good nights and departed.
Archimedes looked at Marcus, who still stood watching by the door. "I suppose you disapprove of that?" he said challengingly.
But Marcus grinned widely and shook his head. "Not me," he said. "If a man isn't willing to fight for his own city, he deserves slavery."
And you, Marcus thought to himself, have just refused to be bought.
9
Four days later, Delia watched Agathon set out sour-faced and hurrying on some errand of the king's. Then she walked up to the great double door of the mansion on the Ortygia, opened it, and stepped through.
It was as easy as that: open the door and step out into the street. Nothing there, she told herself, to cause this pounding of the blood in her ears, this sense of vertigo that slowed her footsteps as she started down the road. There was nothing dangerous in what she was doing- it was just that she had never done it before.
Never before walked through that door without someone in attendance upon her. Never before set off, telling no one, for an appointment of which the household would not approve.