There was a long silence. Marcus realized that he had no idea how long the music had lasted, and that while it had lasted he had been aware of nothing else. Archimedes blinked at the flutes in his hands as though he'd forgotten what they were.
"My darling," came Arata's voice from an upstairs window, "that came from a god. But the neighbors may not appreciate it, and you ought to be in bed."
"Yes, Mama," Archimedes called back at once. He slid the reeds out of the auloi and set the instruments back in their cases, then stood up and ran his hands through his stiff hair.
"What was that?" asked Marcus, in a shaken voice.
Archimedes hesitated. "I think it was a farewell to Alexandria," he said bemusedly. "But there's no hurry to decide." He wavered across the courtyard, and Marcus heard the stairs creak as he went up to bed.
Marcus sat down on the bench and stayed there for a little while, trembling. Then he noticed that the lamp was guttering, and blew it out.
The door to the dining room opened soundlessly, and the two fugitives slipped through it. "Jupiter!" whispered Fabius. "I thought that young fool would never stop playing!"
"You be quiet!" Gaius whispered vehemently back. "Gods and goddesses, that boy can play the flute!"
"We don't have time for concerts!" replied Fabius. "If we're going to get out of the city, we need to go!"
"Sshhh!" said Marcus. "Let the household settle."
Gaius sat down on the bench; Marcus could feel the taut linen of the sling that supported his brother's splinted arm. They sat together in silence, feeling the heat of each other's body through the warm, soft dark. Marcus remembered a time when he was eight years old and his father had beaten him, and Gaius had sat beside him, like thisnot touching because he was bruised raw and a touch was painful; merely giving him the comfort of his presence. The love he had always felt for his brother, which had lurked baffled under his own shame and confusion, now flooded him, and with it a blind, bewildered grief that they should meet again only like this.
The house was still, still. If the neighbors had been disturbed by the concert, they had chosen to say nothing about it and gone back to sleep. Marcus at last rose and went to the storeroom next to the kitchen. Archimedes had built machines at home when he was still a child, and the storeroom still contained all his equipment. There was plenty of rope- there had been a phase when every machine was a kind of crane. Marcus took all of it, setting it in a large wicker basket, which he slung over his shoulder, then added a windlass and little wooden anchor that had been part of a hoist. Fully equipped, he went back to the courtyard. "All right," he whispered. "We can go."
As he unbolted the door, he caught a faint gleam out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced around quickly to see Quintus Fabius checking the knife. He shivered, reminded himself that the man had, after all, kept his oath, and set out.
The back streets of the Achradina lay dark and deserted under the stars. A watchdog barked as they went past, then fell silent. Marcus led the others quickly through the maze, then up along a narrow path which zigzagged up the side of the Epipolae and emerged on the plateau opposite the temple of Fortune. He kissed his fingers to the goddess and trotted past her temple to the right. They quickly passed the last of the hovels of the Tyche quarter and struck off across the bare scrubland of the heights.
"Where are we going?" asked Fabius, moving up beside him and taking advantage of the open country around them to talk.
"I'm going to let you down the sea wall just where the plateau turns inland," Marcus replied. "Since you don't have a fleet, there aren't many guards posted on it. The wall runs along the top of the cliff and the cliff's steep, but we've got plenty of rope. At the bottom there's a bit of broken rock to scramble along, and once you're over that you've only got to walk north and inland a bit to reach your camp."
"You keep saying 'you,' " observed Fabius. "It should be 'us,' shouldn't it?"
"No," replied Marcus evenly. "Not while you're besieging Syracuse."
"Marcus!" exclaimed Gaius, also moving forward to join him. "You're coming with us!"
"No."
"You are a Roman!" Fabius protested angrily. "You don't belong here!"
"I'm a slave," Marcus said harshly. "A Roman would have died at Asculum."
"Stop it!" cried Gaius. "Asculum was a long time ago. You panicked, but you were sixteen, and you'd had about three weeks' training. You should never have been in the legion to begin with. I was the one who brought you along- what happened was more my fault than yours."
"Liar," said Marcus wearily. "You know I'm the one who insisted on coming. I didn't want to stay home with Father. I'm the one who ran away, and I'm the one who chose to stay alive afterward."
"You were telling that flute player that a sixteen-year-old can't be expected to make a sensible decision about the future," said Fabius. "Why are you making an exception for yourself?"
"You speak Greek?" asked Marcus in surprise.
"A little."
"Asculum's over with," said Gaius, returning to the point. "You can come back now."
"To accept my punishment?" demanded Marcus.
"No!" said Gaius, catching his shoulder. "To come home. I'm sure you'll be pardoned. It was a long time ago, and you've redeemed yourself by helping us escape. You can go to the consul and tell him what you know about the defenses of Syracuse, and he'll give you a free pardon. I'm sure he will."
"Oh?" asked Marcus bitterly: he had thought of this. "But what if I don't tell him what I know about the defenses of Syracuse? What would happen then?"
"Why wouldn't you tell him?"
"Because I'm not going to help anyone take Syracuse," said Marcus firmly. "May the gods destroy me if I do!"
"B-but, Marcus!" stammered Gaius disbelievingly.
"You're the ones who have no business being here!" Marcus exclaimed, turning on him furiously. "Don't you see that? Rome and Carthage have both been expanding their power, neither trusts the other, they've been building up to war for a long time. Fine! All that makes sense. But now Rome makes an alliance with Messana and attacks Syracuse! Where's the sense in that?"
"It's what the Senate and People decided was best," said Fabius reprovingly. "You think you know better than they do?"
"Yes!" declared Marcus. "I know Syracuse, and you've proved to me yourselves that the Roman people don't. Some bandit spews out a brazen-throated lie about Syracuse, and the great Roman people lap it up like dogs! When Rome started this war I don't think she had any more idea what she was doing than your general did when he sent your maniple out against the catapults. Gaius, I'm sorry, but it's true."
"Marcus," said Gaius urgently, "Marcus, you must come with us. Those guards will remember you came to see us, and they'll guess that it was you who helped us. If you stay here, they'll crucify you!"
"You really don't know anything about Syracuse," Marcus told him in disgust. "It's the Carthaginians who crucify: Greeks behead or poison. But I don't think they'll do that, either. Nobody knows I saw you. As far as the guards are concerned, I was looking at the quarry. My master's well-known and trusted, and his reputation will protect me. And even if I'm caught- listen to me, Gaius! — even if I'm caught, I'm willing to pay the penalty. I deserted my post once, and I've had to live with it. I destroyed my own place in life, and crawled into slavery for a refuge. Now my place is here. I'm not deserting my post again."