Only most of those possibilities were bad. After a moment he added doubtfully, "Do you really think it's wise that we should know each other better?"
"No," she said, half laughing, half sobbing. "I think it would be very stupid."
Only, only, said something in her blood, only I want to. I want you to kiss me again, I want to touch your face and run my fingers through your hair, your eyes are like honey, did you know? Ruin to you, and shame to Hieron. No.
"I thought this would convince me I didn't want to," she admitted miserably, "but it hasn't."
He sighed. No, she was no Phaedra, and he was no Hippolytos. He remembered the song he had been humming when he went to her door after finishing the Welcomer, beseeching Aphrodite to bring him this girl's love. The goddess had heard him, it seemed. Laughter-loving, they called Aphrodite, but her sense of humor tended to the black. He wished his father were alive. Not that he could have told Phidias about this- gods, no! — but at least then he wouldn't be burdened with this aching loss in the heart, this urge to find comfort. "Then what do we do?" he asked, and recognized even as he spoke that leaving the choice to her was fatally weak. Only it was perfectly clear to him what they ought to do, and it wasn't what he wanted to do at all.
She had always prided herself on her strength of mind. She might not be gracious and regal, like her sister-in-law; she might not be modest and charming, like the girls who had shared her lessons. But she had strength of mind. "We should do what's wise," she said firmlyand instantly regretted it. She looked at him and saw that he regretted it, too. She reached over and touched the side of his face, and at once he kissed her again, which was what she wanted and was not wise.
When she left the garden shortly afterward, they had resolutely made no arrangements to meet again. And yet already her mind was reflecting on how easy it would be, and already she suspected that wisdom would not prevail.
The Romans arrived before the gates of Syracuse only eight days later- twelve days after Phidias' funeral.
Archimedes had spent most of the intervening time making catapults. He had been in and out of the workshop even while he was preparing the demonstration; after the funeral he immersed himself in the work. He did not want to think about his father or his own future, still less about the net he was falling into with Delia. She'd sent him a note arranging a second meeting, and he'd told himself that he should not go, and had of course been there early. They had walked from the fountain of Arethusa to a quiet public square near the temple of Apollo, where they had sat down to play the flute- she'd brought her flutes. And they'd kissed, of course. It was innocent and very sweet, all of it, and he had no notion what was going to come of it, though he suspected nothing good. If he spent every waking moment thinking about catapults, he didn't have to worry.
The workshop hadn't been quiet before, but during those twelve days it was frantic. Extra workmen were drafted in from the army to help hammer and saw, and the catapults were assembled almost as fast they could be designed- two of them simultaneously, one by Archimedes and one by Eudaimon. The old catapult engineer had been sullen and resentful since the Welcomer passed its trial, but he gave way at every point of conflict and devoted himself to copying what Archimedes had designed: a one-talenter like the Welcomer and two hundred-pounders. Archimedes periodically went and checked that the dimensions of the copies were correct, and was rewarded with ten drachmae for every copy completed.
Kallippos, as chief engineer, had overall responsibility for the defenses of the city. This seemed to mean principally that he ordered buttressing or parapets for the walls and directed where catapults were to be sited. The copy of the Welcomer and two of the hundred-pounders went to the Euryalus fort, and another hundred-pounder to the south gate, overlooking the marshes. When Archimedes started the two-talenter, Kallippos came to see how big it really was, with a view to determining where he could put it. In fact, the machine was not as large as its designer had initially feared; the increase needed in the size of the bore was only five finger-breadths, giving a proportional increase of a quarter all round.
"We could put it almost anywhere," said Kallippos, scrutinizing the thirty-six-foot stock, which lay in the center of the workshop floor. "In the Hexapylon, for example, on the floor underneath the Welcomer."
"We could call it 'Good Health,' " suggested the workman Elymos slyly. "As in 'Welcome to Syracuse!' " He punched a palm. " 'Good health to you!' " Another resounding smack!
The other workmen laughed, and Kallippos smiled. "And the three-talenter could be called 'Wish You Joy'?" he asked Archimedes.
Archimedes blinked: he'd been trying to picture whether the catapult would fit on the floor beneath the Welcomer. "I suppose so," he said. "But look, I, um, think it will need a bigger platform. Not for the machine itself, but for the men operating it. The yard there is low, and even though the platform's on ground level you still have to climb a few steps to reach it. The, um, ammunition will be heavy, and they'll have to have a hoist to raise it. They'll need a space to stand while they lift it, and then…" He hesitated, then glanced around, found a stick, and squatted down to sketch on the dirt floor the things the catapult operators would need.
Kallippos watched intently, then squatted down next to him and began saying things like "The main roof support's about here," and "You can't put the crane on the roof- too exposed under fire." After a little while, the workmen went back to work around the two engineers; the engineers issued a few furious orders about not stepping on the sketches, then gave up, retreated to a quieter part of the workshop, and began chalking their plans upon the wall. Hoists gave way to arcs of fire and outworks. When the chief engineer finally departed, he shook Archimedes' hand warmly and declared, "I'll see to it." And when Archimedes accompanied the completed two-talenter to the Hexapylon, he found most of his suggested modifications in place.
That was the day the Romans arrived. The wagon with the catapult drew up at the fort to find the garrison buzzing with excited apprehension: a messenger had just galloped up to announce that a large Roman army was only a few hours' march away.
There had been some news of the enemy since Hieron's return to the city. Shortly after the Syracusans had left Messana, the Romans had sallied out from the city to attack the remaining, Carthaginian, besiegers. The Carthaginians, like the Syracusans, had managed to beat off the attack- and, like the Syracusans, had decided to withdraw afterward, unwilling to continue the siege without support from their allies. For a little while the Romans had remained in Messana, apparently debating whether to go after the Carthaginians or the Syracusans. When they at last made up their minds, they marched due south toward Syracuse.
The Romans had two specially strengthened legions- ten thousand men- plus the army of their allies the Mamertini, which alone nearly equaled the number of the Syracusan army. Outnumbered and facing enemies famed for their ferocity and discipline, the Syracusans had no intention of venturing into the field. Refugees from the outlying farms and villages came flooding into the city, laden with as many of their possessions as they could carry and lamenting the harvest they had been forced to abandon. As Hieron had said, the hope of Syracuse lay in her walls- and her catapults.
The captain of the Hexapylon was delighted to see Archimedes. "That's the two-talenter?" he asked, as soon as the wagon had rolled to a halt. "Good, good! See if you can get it up in time to wish the Romans good health when they arrive, hah!" And he gestured for his men to help move the catapult to its selected platform.