"I, uh, thought maybe you could teach yourself to play it while you're here," said Archimedes. "It would be something to do while you're waiting to be exchanged."
Marcus picked up the flute; the wood was water-smooth in his hands, and warm. "I couldn't, sir," he said. "It's yours."
"I can buy another. I can afford one, after all. And you have a good sense of pitch; it's a shame to waste it. I don't know why you never learned an instrument before."
"It's not a Roman thing to do," Marcus told him helplessly. "My father would have beaten me if I'd asked it."
Archimedes blinked. "Because of all the jokes about flute boys?"
"No," said Marcus, in a low voice. "No- he'd say it was unmanly to waste time studying music. He'd say that music is a luxury, and luxury corrupts the soul. He tolerated it at work, or as an amusement, but he always said that the only studies worthy of a man are farming and war."
Archimedes blinked again, trying to accommodate his mind to this bizarre idea. Greeks too believed that luxury corrupted, but Greeks didn't consider music a luxury. It was an essentiaclass="underline" without it men were not fully human. "Do you not want it, then?" he asked, giving up.
Marcus ran one calloused thumb along the flute, then whispered, "I do want it, sir"- and his heart suddenly rose. Going back to his own people need not mean giving up everything he'd learned. Why shouldn't he play the flute? He had never agreed with his father anyway! "Thank you."
Archimedes smiled. "Good. I've put three reeds in the case. They should last you a little while. If you're here for a long time, I'll bring more- or you can get your guards to buy some. And when you're able to manage this one, you'll want a second flute. You can decide for yourself what voice it should be. There's some money." He gestured vaguely at the leather bag.
"Thank you," said Marcus again. "Sir, I'm sorry."
Archimedes shook his head quickly. "You couldn't abandon your own brother."
Marcus met his eyes. "Perhaps not. But I did abuse your trust and put you in danger. I think Fabius would have killed you if he'd realized who you were when you came in. I should never have brought him to the house, and never have given him the knife. So- I'm sorry."
Archimedes looked down, his face going red. "Marcus, my trust deserved to be abused. Do you remember when we came back to Alexandria after making the water-snails? How I told you to take all the money back to our lodgings? My friends said later that I was an idiot to trust you with so much, but it had never even occurred to me that you might steal it."
Marcus snorted. "It occurred to me!"
"Did it? Well, why not? After all, it would have been freedom and independence. But you didn't. You took it home, and then nagged me for days to make me put it in a bank. And what I meant to say was, I had no right to trust you that far. It was arrogant. I had never done anything to earn that sort of loyalty. As a master I was negligent and careless. Yet I relied on you absolutely, and never considered that you deserved any credit for not failing me. So- I'm sorry, too."
Marcus felt his own face go hot. "Sir…" he began.
"You don't need to call me that."
"I was in your debt for a great many things even before this morning. Music is one of them; mechanics is another. Yes, that is a debt. I don't think I've ever enjoyed any work as much as I enjoyed making the water-snails. Since this morning I owe you even more. If I'd been anybody else's slave, I would have been flogged and sent to the quarries. The king treated me leniently because you pleaded for me- you know that as well as I do. I have no way to repay what I owe. So don't burden me with your apologies as well."
Archimedes shook his head, but did not respond. After a moment he changed the subject and asked, "Do you want me to show you how to play that flute?"
There followed a short lesson on how to play the aulos: fingering, breathing, the positions of the slide. Marcus played a few wobbly scales, then sat stroking the silken wood. Its touch was a promise for the future, and gave him unexpected hope.
Archimedes cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well," he said. "They're expecting me at home. If you need anything, send me word." Marcus opened his mouth, and Archimedes said urgently, "Don't! You've been a member of my household ever since I was a child. Of course I want to help you if I can."
Marcus realized suddenly why he had felt so numb. He was losing home and family for the second time in his life.
"Please tell them at the house," he whispered, "that I'm sorry. And tell Philyra I hope she will be very happy, with Dionysios or whoever she marries. I wish you all much joy."
Archimedes nodded and got to his feet. "I wish you joy, Marcus." He turned to go.
The sight of him turning away suddenly filled Marcus with an almost panic-stricken urgency. Something between them was unresolved, and the thought of being left with that undigested lump of emotions terrified him. He jumped to his feet with a clank of irons, and called "Medion!" — then bit his tongue, realizing that he had used the family nickname for the first time.
Archimedes didn't appear to notice the slip. He looked back at Marcus inquiringly, his expression just visible in the growing dark.
For a moment Marcus did not know what to say. Then he held out the flute. "Could you play me that tune you played last night?" he asked.
Slowly, Archimedes reached out and took the instrument. He adjusted the slide. "I really need the soprano as well," he said apologetically. "It won't be the same without it." But he set the flute to his lips and at once began the same sweet dancing tune which had filled the courtyard the night before.
Everything in the shed seemed to hold its breath. One of the guards, who had gone to fetch a lamp, came back with it and stood silent in the aisle listening. All around the eyes of prisoners gleamed in its light, drawn into the dance, and then bewildered by the inexplicable grief that crept into the tune. The melody was clearer on a single aulos, the shifts of tempo and mode more precise. There was the same sense of disintegration, and the same almost miraculous resolution. At last the same sad march faded softly into silence. Archimedes stood for a moment with his head bowed, looking at his fingers on the stops.
"And now I wish you joy," said Marcus, quietly into the quiet.
Archimedes looked up, and their eyes met. The unresolved thing between them solved itself, and the ties severed. Archimedes smiled sadly and handed the flute back to Marcus. "May you indeed find joy, Marcus Valerius," he said, stumbling a little on the alien family name.
"And you, Archimedes son of Phidias," said Marcus. "May the gods favor you."
Archimedes walked home from the quarry through the dark streets slowly. He did not want to think about Marcus, so he thought about the tune he had played. A farewell to Alexandria, he'd called it. He did not like the way his mind seemed to be making up itself about Alexandria, without consulting him. Even before Delia. If Delia…
He lost himself for a moment in the memory of kissing Delia, then went on, more grimly. What he needed to know was whether Hieron saw him as an ally or as a valuable slave.
The test was Delia. Hieron might refuse his permission for the match for many good reasons, but if the request was viewed as an affront, he'd do better going to Egypt if he had to slip out of Syracuse in disguise.
In the house there were lamps burning in the courtyard, and the family was waiting: Arata and Sosibia spinning, little Agatha winding wool, Philyra playing the lute, Chrestos sitting in the doorway doing nothing in particular. Archimedes had not been home all day, though he had sent one of Hieron's slaves to the house to tell the family what had happened, and to tell Chrestos to pack up all of Marcus' things and bring them to him at the catapult workshop. He had not wanted to talk to his family: not about Marcus, and not about Delia- yet. Now they were all waiting to talk to him.