The Arrows of Hercules

Four – SYRACUSE

They stood at the rail of the Atalanta, watching Syracuse grow before their eyes. Before them lay the main city, the Achradina, occupying a semicircular mass of land thrust out into the Ionian Sea. Behind the Achradina, the suburbs rose stepwise to the plateau of the Epipolai, famed for fierce fighting during the great Athenian siege. Much building seemed to be going on in these suburbs. New houses were springing up on the plateau and the slopes leading to it, among the groves and tombs and shrines.

Inland, beyond the city, rose the long slopes of the Heraean Mountains, which filled all of southeastern Sicily. Typical Sicilian mountains, though huge in bulk, they were not craggy like the mountain of Old Hellas. Their smooth, grassy slopes culminated in rounded, breast-shaped summits. They bore few trees, save for patches of woods in the deepest clefts between the ridges.

Northward, the colossal mass of Aetna stood half hidden by clouds. A pallid, shadowy blur betrayed the snow fields of its lower slopes. Remembering his dream, Zopyros shuddered. Nevertheless, he stared at the volcano, wishing he had the vision of a god, so that he could see right through the mountain to Messana and his beloved. Then he looked back towards the shining city to southward.

"Sicilian cities have such a new look," he remarked.

"The reason is simple," said Archytas at his elbow. "As fast as the Siceliots get a city built, some army sacks and destroys it. Then, when the survivors trickle back, they have to start anew. Think of Kamarina, Selinous, Akragas, Gela, almost any place you can name ... They say Syracuse will soon be a greater city than Athens. I, too, could build the world's largest city if I were allowed to kidnap the people of neighboring towns and force them to live in mine, as Dionysios has done with the Naxians and the Leontines."

"By the Silver Egg!" exclaimed Zopyros. "I'm a stupid ox!"

"I knew that all along," said his friend with a grin. "But what proves it now?"

"If I had only stopped to think! I'm sure my father has at least one hospitality token from somebody in Syracuse. I know he's done work for several Syracusans, but I can't think of a single name."

"Well, considering how suddenly we left Taras, I don't blame you. Yet we must have acquaintance with somebody in Syracuse."

"I'm thinking. If there were a Pythagorean Society in Syracuse—"

"You'd better not go around asking for one," said Archytas. "The Dionysios is said to be a very suspicious ruler. If our own democratic city can go into a frenzy over imaginary Pythagorean plots, you can imagine what Dionysios would do."

Zopyros grumbled: "The godlike Pythagoras' biggest mistake was to let his followers mix in politics."

"Somebody has to run a city, and who better than philosophers?"

"Well, you know what happened. Philosophers seem to like power for its own sake just as other men do. Perhaps we ought to rename the Pythagorean Societies after some other truth-seeker, such as Philolaos."

"Ah, but he, too, was suspected of political ambition. That's why he fled to Old Hellas ... What are you thinking of, old chap?"

"Zeus on Olympos! I just remembered. Do you recall, in our last year under Philolaos, there was a younger student from Syracuse, Archonides son of Philistos?"

"Only vaguely."

"Well, I saved this boy from some bullying, so he became attached to me for a time. He was a terrible snob, always boasting of his father's position and wealth and lineage. However, I remember hearing from others about this Philistos, a man with pretensions to being a philosopher. He financed Dionysios' early rise in politics, when Dionysios was just a humble clerk in the tax office. Perhaps Archonides could put in a word for us."

"How shall we find this Philistos in so vast a city?"

"I've been wondering, too. But speaking of the tax office, everybody knows where it is, doesn't he?"

"Certainly, unless he's a blind beggar."

"And the tax office is the one place where they keep a record of where everybody lives. So we'll ask at the tax office. That's logical, isn't it?"

"Yes, unless they toss us in prison as tax delinquents."

The island of Ortygia, guarding the southern flank of the Achradina, came into view. Massive battlemented walls girded the island. Behind it lay the Great Harbor with its dockyards. The masts of ships, tied up at the wharves and anchored in rows in the harbors, formed a leafless forest. Out in the sea, a squadron of triremes maneuvered. The coxswains' flutes came faintly across the water.

"Look, Archytas!" said Zopyros. "Dionysios has built his walls of stone!"

"By the Mouse God, so he has! With these new Phoenician battering rams and suchlike engines coming into use, I suppose we shall see many cities replacing their brick walls with stone. At least, there'll be plenty of work for us engineers."

The tax office lay to landward of the wooden bridge that joined Ortygia to the mainland. Here Zopyros and Archytas learnt that Philistos lived on Ortygia, along with the tyrannos' other trusted friends.

A pair of soldiers stood at attention on the far end of the bridge. As Zopyros and Archytas stepped out upon the resounding planks of the bridge, Zopyros grasped his companion's arm.

"Look at that!"

"Those chains?"

"Yes! They start here—and go through those holes in the wall over there—" Zopyros, becoming excited, rushed about the bridge like a dog on the scent. "Dionysios must be able to haul the bridge up whenever he doesn't want visitors. Oh, plague! Why didn't I think of that?"

"I say, Zopyros!" cried Archytas, becoming excited in his turn. "Look at this gate affair that slides up and down!"

Zopyros rushed to examine. Where the island met the water, he saw massive stone fortifications. Beyond the drawbridge the walls were pierced by a lofty gateway, which tunneled through the masonry. A pair of heavy wooden doors stood open at the far end of the tunnel; while at the near end, instead of a pair of hinged wooden door valves, the passage was controlled by an openwork portcullis, which was made of iron-sheathed timbers and which slid up and down in a slot in the masonry.

Zopyros became so fascinated by these novel mechanisms that, in striding about and craning his neck to see better, he bumped into one of the soldiers of the guard.

"Ē!" roared the man, recovering his balance and aiming his spear at Zopyros' midriff. "What in the afterworld do you think you're doing, you collared rascal?"

"Excuse me," said Zopyros, feeling very cold inside as he gazed at the spearhead. "I was so interested I didn't see you—"

"Maybe you'd like a few ten-days in the House?" snarled the other soldier, also bringing his spear to the stabbing position.

"Now, now, it's too nice a day to quarrel," said Archytas. "You see, boys, my friend is such a genius that half the time he doesn't see what's going on around him. I'm sure the price of a drink will make up for his clumsiness ... Now could you tell us how to get to the house of Philistos?"

"Where's your pass?" growled the first soldier.

"Must we have passes?" said Zopyros.

"By the gods, you two are new here, aren't you?" said the second soldier. Listening to their accents, Zopyros guessed them to be Campanians, Lucanians, or perhaps half-barbarous Sikels from the interior of Sicily. "Of course you have to have a pass, or else an escort." The speaker turned his head and bawled: "File leader Segovax!"

The Celt appeared from the guardroom, wearing the panoply of one of Dionysios' non-commissioned officers. The sweeping mustache and the long sword, however, betrayed his barbarian origin.

"By the horns of Cernunnos!" he cried, wringing their hands. "If 'tis not the brave Tarentine lads! Are you here to get a job from himself, too?"

"Perhaps," said Zopyros, smiling warmly at the sound of a friendly voice. "We thought we'd call on Philistos first, since I used to know his son."

"That's the clever Hellene for you, always thinking ahead. Master Philistos is the second man after himself." He turned his head and shouted: "Egnatius! Escort duty!" He turned back. "When you are settled, come and see me for a bit of a talk and a drop of wine."

The escort guided them through a maze of fortifications and past Dionysios' palace and the temple of Apollon and Artemis. In front of the temple stood a heroic statue of a nude Apollon bending his mighty, bow. They trudged past barracks and other governmental buildings for half the length of the island. About them was a constant bustle as the dictator's soldiers and civil servants came and went. At last, near the huge Olympieion, they stopped before one of the few private houses on Ortygia and rapped.

The doorkeeper swung open the heavy door. Behind him stood Philistos, a heavy-set man in his forties, with the first streaks of gray in his beard. He leaned on a crutch-headed walking stick. To Zopyros' questions he answered:

"No, my son is not here. He is in Athens, studying under Gorgias. You claim to have known him in Taras, eh? Have you a token to prove it?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," said Zopyros.

"Well, it doesn't matter. For the next ten-day my house will be full of kinsmen, gathered for the religious rites of our clan. So I could not invite you to stay here in any case. However, the President is granting audience this afternoon. I am on my way thither and can introduce you to him."

Following the limping Philistos and the escorting soldier, Zopyros and Archytas retraced their steps around the temple of Apollon and Artemis to the palace. The palace of Dionysios resembled an ordinary square Greek courtyard house, except that it was larger and was made of stone instead of mud brick. The escort spoke briefly to the two soldiers who stood sentry go at the doorway.

"Raise your arms," said one of the sentries, stepping forward.

"Do you want our swords?" said Archytas politely. "We'll save you the trouble of finding them."

He laid his bag of belongings on the ground, reached up under the hem of his chiton, and unbuckled the scabbard strapped to his thigh. Zopyros did likewise. At the sight of the smallswords, the soldiers and Philistos scowled suspiciously.

"You see," said Archytas smoothly, handing over his sword, "we have just arrived in Syracuse and have no place, yet, to leave our gear."

The soldier who had spoken nevertheless ran his hands over the bodies of the Tarentines. There was a muttered conference among the three soldiers, which ended when one of them said:

"All right, take them in, but warn the big boss."

Inside, a fountain played in the courtyard, its drops flashing rainbow gleams in the sunshine. More soldiers stood at attention behind well-polished shields, while several audience-seekers waited silently in the shade of the portico around the courtyard. Beside the fountain, on an ordinary chair, sat Dionysios, looking up at a small man who was talking earnestly to him.

Dionysios shifted his level gaze as the new arrivals entered. He called: "Rejoice, Philistos! Come and see what you think of this tax proposal."

While the three men put their heads together, Zopyros studied Dionysios. The President of Syracuse, he called himself, although everybody knew that under his rule the form was all that remained of the democratic constitution. Dionysios was a full-fledged tyrannos, whose power rested upon the fortifications of Ortygia and upon his tough mercenary troops.

Dionysios was a strikingly handsome man, about thirty years old, with regular features and clear gray eyes. He was as tall as Zopyros, mightily muscled, and clad in a simple but spotlessly clean white tunic. His dark hair and beard were shaggy. Zopyros remembered the story that Dionysios insisted on either trimming them himself, or having them singed with a hot coal, for fear of letting even a barber close to him with any sharp implement. His movements gave the impression of vast controlled power. One minute he would be sitting as still as a rock, listening; the next, he would blur into motion as he jumped up and strode about. A secretary sat nearby, writing busily, at a table piled with waxed wooden tablets and rolls of papyrus.

The little man with the tax proposal was through at last. The next petitioner showed a toy-sized model of an armored four-horse chariot, with roof and sides covered over with iron scales. After listening, Dionysios said:

"This looks promising, O Simon. Make me a set of detailed drawings, with estimates of weight and cost. Then we shall go on from there. Rejoice! Who's next?"

The escort stepped forward and spoke in low tones to the tyrannos. At last Dionysios beckoned, and the two young engineers approached his chair.

"Are you the son of Megabyzos?" he abruptly asked Zopyros. "Yes, sir."

"I know of him and should be glad to have him work for me. What chance of getting him to come?"

"I doubt if he would leave Taras."

"Too bad. What can you do?"

To his horror, Zopyros found that his voice refused to obey him. A gag of shyness choked him, so that he could only croak: "I—ah—I—"

"He's a good all-around engineer—" began Archytas, but Dionysios silenced him with a gesture.

"Come, come," said Dionysios. "I didn't expect an orator, but I thought you could at least answer a simple question. What can you do?"

"I—ah—" Then Zopyros burst out, hardly knowing why he said it: "I can make machines to cast missiles farther than any bow or sling can shoot. I needn't tell you, sir, the advantages of range in missile warfare."

"That is interesting," said Dionysios. "You shall have your chance. Are you sure you are not trying to learn pot making on a wine jar?"

"No, sir, I am not. What I say I can do, I can do."

"Well then, after so bold a claim, you had better produce something useful. By the bye, are you not a Pythagorean?"

"I have had the training," said Zopyros, wondering how the tyrannos knew. "But I'm not a very good one, I fear. I eat meat and, sometimes, even beans. I work on contracts for military engineering, not all of which, I think, the godlike Pythagoras would approve of."

"I do not care what you eat," said Dionysios. "But I do care about organized cults and clubs with political programs."

"Oh, sir, my Pythagoreanism is strictly non-political."

"Strictly?"

"Yes, sir. Rhegion is the only place I know of where the Pythagoreans have any political influence or interests."

"Your interests had better remain strictly non-political; for I, Dionysios, do not tolerate subversive conspiracy of any kind. Now you, young man!" He wheeled suddenly on Archytas, so that the latter started.

"Oh, ah, I'm an all-around engineer, too," said Archytas. "I can handle waterworks, fortifications, shipyards and docks—"

"Fortifications? My architect Pyres is designing a new fortress for the Epipolai, and he needs an assistant. You shall work for him. You, Master Zopyros, shall report to Drakon, my master of the Arsenal. Pyres and Drakon report to Philistos here, who commands this citadel; and Philistos reports to me. Prepare preliminary designs and estimates of the materials and workmen you will need."

Zopyros said: "Sir—ah—how much—ah—"

Dionysios flashed a brief smile. "Naturally, where there is no fee there is no art. How would two drachmai a day suit you?"

This was excellent pay for young men without established reputations. Both murmured their pleasure.

"I also pay bonuses to men who achieve outstanding results," added Dionysios. Then he spoke to his secretary. "Enter Zopyros son of Megabyzos and Archytas son of—what did you say your father's name was?—Mnesagoras, both of Taras, on the payroll at two drachmai a day. Prepare passes for them."

Zopyros said: "O President—ah—do you mind—we have always helped each other in our work."

"By all means continue to help each other. I shall be glad to see a little cooperation between different teams, instead of the usual jealousy and mutual interference. What count with me are results. I expect hard work and achievement, and I pay well for them. No la-di-da young gentlemen who want to spend their days in cultivated leisure, and who are horrified at the thought of working with their hands, need apply here. My men will tell you how I've worked with my own hands on our fortifications. Right now, our task is to strengthen the state against its foes. We never know when the enemy will strike."

"Enemy?" said Archytas innocently.

"That enemy," said Dionysios, pointing southwest, in the direction of Carthage. "The accursed moneygrubbers hate our superior Hellenic culture. They do but await an opportunity to destroy us. To hold our own against them, we must work harder than they. Well, that's enough oratory for today. You will find Drakon and Pyres in the Arsenal. Be in good health! Who is next?"

The secretary had meanwhile prepared the passes. These were two disks of clay, each with a hole through which a thong was passed to tie around the wearer's neck. On each disk, the secretary had scratched the name of one of the new employees, together with an identifying symbol.

The Arsenal, on the west side of Ortygia near the fabled spring of Arethousa, was a huge boxlike building of mud brick. Inside the building, along the two long walls, ran a pair of balconies. Down the center of the main floor, a row of columns paralleled the balconies to permit extra width. The balconies and the main floor beneath it were piled with military and nautical gear: spars, sails, rope, oars, anchors, and planking; jars of nails, tar, paint, and grease; spears, javelins, swords, shields, cuirasses, greaves, bows, arrows, and sling bullets. Steel and bronze glimmered in long lines where weapons and defenses hung on pegs in their racks.

The central part of the building was divided into working areas where teams of men strove at various tasks. The flames of forges lit the floor with a flickering, reddish light; the din of hammers made it necessary to shout. Here a man was pouring molten bronze from a crucible into a multiple mold for arrowheads; there another was shaving a pikestaff, looking along it endwise between strokes to test its trueness.

"Look at this!" said Archytas.

A huge blacksmith, naked but for a leathern apron, was holding a red-hot object on an anvil with tongs and hitting it with a hammer. As he came nearer, Zopyros saw that the object was a breastplate. Then he blinked. It was a breastplate of iron. A matching back plate lay, unfinished, on the earthen floor beside the anvil. Sparks flew as the smith hammered; black scale crumbled from the cooling surface.

"Excuse me," said Zopyros, "but are you making an iron cuirass?"

The breastplate ceased to glow. The smith dropped his hammer, picked up another pair of tongs, and with tongs in each hand pushed the breastplate back into the furnace. His apprentice, pumping a bellows, fanned the coals to a golden glow.

"That's right, son," said the smith. "Everybody says it can't be done, but I'll show 'em."

"Won't it be pretty heavy?"

"We'll try it first on the President. If he can manage it, then we'll see about the rest of you pygmies."

Zopyros turned away to hunt for Drakon. A voice called: "Ea! Aren't you the Tarentine who was on the Muttumalein?"

It was Alexis the Velian. The young man had been crouching over some large sheets of papyrus on the floor and drawing on them with a charcoal pencil. Now he rose and slapped the charcoal powder from his hands. Zopyros introduced Archytas.

"Glad to have you among us," said Alexis. "I told you the Dionysios would appreciate my talents. I'm planning the largest galleys ever built."

"Whose idea was that?" said Zopyros.

Alexis hesitated, then said: "The President made the original suggestion, but of course all the real mental work is mine."

"How can you make war galleys larger?" asked Archytas. "If you lengthen them more, they'll break their backs in a heavy sea."

"These ships will be, not longer, but wider," said Alexis smugly. "Instead of three rows of oars on each side, they shall have four or five rows!"

"Pest!" cried Archytas. "Why didn't I think of that? Just because standard warship has had three banks of oars ever since King Midas' reign, we've stupidly assumed that it would always have three banks."

Alexis said: "Don't feel bad; we can't all be the reincarnation of Daidalos. But, even without the divine spark, I don't doubt you will both turn out some good, sound engineering."

"Thanks," said Zopyros. "But, man, how will you ever get so many rowers packed into one hull and all moving in time? I can see difficulties."

"That's where the divine spark comes in. The greater the difficulty, the greater the glory. See you later." Alexis waved in a careless manner and turned back to his drawing.

Drakon, the master of the Arsenal, sat at a table on one of the balconies, whence he could see everything on the floor below. A small, knobby, wrinkled man, Drakon sat quietly while Zopyros explained his mission. At length he said:

"Let me explain how we operate. The workers in the Arsenal are divided into teams, each with an engineer—when we can find them— at its head. The teams are of two kinds. I suppose you'd call them— ah—let's see—production teams, which turn out weapons of kinds already known, and—what would be a word for inventing new things on purpose?"

"Hê exetasis?" said Zopyros. "Research?"

"That's it! Research teams. As far as I know, this is a completely new idea of the boss, to hire men in time of peace and set them to inventing things against the time of war. Even in the Punic cities and the lands of the Great King, where they have brilliant engineers, the rulers never do things like this. If a man can make arms and engines of the old kinds, they're satisfied, and he has to work like a helot to get his employers to try anything new.

"Now, our President stimulates competition among the various teams, by raises, bonuses, and medals. He's generous with those who really produce, believing that a good race horse deserves to be pampered. But you'd better bring out something that works, and not be too long about it. We've had too many starry-eyed, self-styled geniuses trying to build flying chariots that won't fly and diving ships that won't dive—or, if they do, won't come up again.

"The first thing you'll need is drawing materials: papyrus, charcoal, compass, straight-edge, strings, and so forth. Make out a list on this t tablet, give it to me to sign, and take it to Achilleus, in stores ..."

By the time Zopyros had obtained his materials, it was too late to start work. He found Archytas outside the Arsenal playing ball with three small boys; for Archytas had a way with children. Together the two young men watched the sunset across the Spring of Arethousa. In a rocky pool fringed by feathery papyrus reed and sundered from the nearby sea by a natural rampart of rock, the fresh waters of the spring churned and eddied.

"Do you suppose this water really comes all the way from Hellas?" said Archytas, dangling his feet.

Zopyros shrugged. "I suppose one could find out by clumping dye into the waters in Hellas and waiting to see whether it appears here. How did you make out with Pyres?"

"No difficulty, although there's not much scope for mathematics in planning this castle. I did pick up some gossip, however."

"Trust you. What did it say?"

"It seems there's bad feeling between the teams that produce old stuff and the teams that invent something new."

"Drakon and I," said Zopyros, "call them production teams and research teams respectively."

"Yes, illustrious sir. Anyway, the research men consider the production men a lot of stupid stick-in-the-muds, while the production men call the research men a band of lunatics wasting the city's money on ridiculous ideas. Each tries to steal away the other's men and materials. Since I'm in production and you are in research, we're supposed to be like Athenian and Spartan. And speaking of fantastic ideas, do you think you can really make this missile thrower?"

"Yes."

"But how? How will it work?"

"I don't know. Curse it, I had to say something when the boss looked through me with those piercing gray eyes! All I could think of was my dream of Herakles and the Kyklops. Still—

I suppose the first thing to try would be a simple flexible pole, like the one in my dream."

"What would you make it of?"

"I don't know, yet. Most woods are too stiff and brittle."

"They make bows of elm, ash, and yew," said Archytas. "They're not so good as a first-class horn bow, but horn is impractical for anything of the size you have in mind."

"Now all we have to do is find a supply of elm, ash, or yew within fifty leagues of here. I don't even know if these trees grow in Sicily."

"Hadn't you better start with a small model and go on from there to a full-sized one, as the man with the armored chariot was doing?"

"I suppose I had." Zopyros sighed deeply, wondering what he had let himself in for. "The shadow stands at ten feet, so we'd better start looking for dinner and a room to rent."

"Especially dinner," said Archytas. "I starve."

A ten-day later, Archytas found his friend on the archery range, with a carpenter and an apprentice, trying out a model missile thrower. This test had been held up for several days by a southerly duster, which had swirled the sands of the African deserts across the archery range with such violence as to make any sort of missile work impractical. The model consisted of a slender wooden rod, about three feet long, standing erect on a three-foot-square wooden platform and held upright by bracing at its base. The rod had a small fork at its upper end.

Into this fork, Zopyros was fitting the shaft of an arrow, just back of the head. Then he pulled the arrow back, bending the upright rod and trying to sight along the arrow. He released the arrow, and the rod snapped upright, tossing the arrow twenty feet or so.

"How goes it?" said Archytas. "Well begun is half done, as Pythagoras used to say."

"I don't know," said Zopyros. "It works well enough in the model, after you learn not to pull back too hard and break the mast. But in a full-sized engine ... The trouble is with the auxiliary devices, to make it possible to load, aim, cock, and discharge the device. Every plan I try to draw breaks down on those details."

"I should think you could simply bend a rope around the mast, pull it back with a windlass, and cut the rope."

"All very well for the first shot, but the boss will want something you can shoot over and over. You'd have to tie a new rope to the mast with every shot. After a while, you'd have a mass of short ends of rope flapping from the top of the mast like the hairs on a Celt's head. But wait—you've given me an idea. If there were a kind of trough, with a groove in its upper surface, along which the missile could slide, you could tie the rope to the missile—"

"And how would you get it to untie itself just as the mast snapped upright?"

"Out upon you! You spoil all my divine inspirations, Archytas. How would you do it?"

"I've been thinking along different lines. I'd make a kind of giant sling, attached to the rim of a chariot wheel, whirling round and round ..."

He went into an excited description, which Zopyros soon demolished by showing that the device would have to be mounted on top of a tall tower, to clear the ground in its swings, and would therefore be of little use. Back and forth they argued, throwing up one idea after another and knocking them all down again.

Suddenly Archytas clapped a hand to his forehead. "Herakles, I almost forgot! The President is giving a banquet for his engineers in the town hall tonight. We're invited."

"Then we had better leave a little early, to visit the bathhouse."

In the town hall, Zopyros found the tyrannos moving affably among his guests. However, he still kept a soldier on each side and another at his back, so that he could not circulate so easily as an ordinary host. Dionysios knew the name of every engineer and had some idea of how each project was going: "How is that design for a fourer coming, Alexis? ... Have you finished the first story yet, Pyres? ... I like that new shield design very well, Hippias ... How about the missile engine, Zopyros?"

"I—I've run into unexpected technical difficulties, sir ..."

"Yes, yes; that is to be expected. Keep at it. I think you have a sound idea, if only you can overcome the difficulties. What you do not know, find out!"

After a round of spiced wine, the guests reclined on their couches. Zopyros was trying to count the total number when Archytas beside him said:

"I see our young genius of a shipwright is bending every effort to charm the Arsenal master."

Zopyros looked across the room at Alexis, who shared a couch with Drakon and who was talking and laughing with all the animation of a paid entertainer. Zopyros said:

"Plague! We should have thought to grab the place next to the old boy."

"I did," said Archytas, "but the polluted Velian got there first. I can see where that young man will go far in the organization."

Dionysios poured a libation and led a prayer to Hephaistos, patron god of artificers. Archytas whispered: "He doesn't give a moldy olive for the gods, but he'll stick at nothing to keep up the spirits of his servants."

Dinner included fried squid, hare stuffed with chopped liver and brains, and kid stewed in milk and honey, all generously laced with fish sauces and condiments. After the meal came the diluted wine along with the dancing and singing girls.

The engineers were in a mellow mood when Dionysios stood up and rapped on his goblet. "Rejoice, my friends! We now have a little business to discuss. Remember that we hold the ramparts of civilization against encircling barbarism, which ever seeks to break in upon us. Eighty years ago it nearly succeeded, when the Great King conspired with the abandoned baby-burners"—he jerked his head in the direction of Carthage—"to hit us east and west at the same time. You know how we barely turned them back at Himera and Salamis and Plataia.

"Perhaps it never occurred to you that the death of Prince Cyrus at Cunaxa was a stroke of luck for Hellas, despite the fact that ten thousand Hellenes—the more shame to them!—fought for this Persian prince. For, they tell me, Prince Cyrus had in him the makings of a great king—as great, perhaps, as his namesake, who founded the Empire. And, had he overthrown his brother and become king, that had been a black day for Hellas.

"But the god-detested barbarians never give up. We must always be on our guard. And you engineers are the very boss on the shield of Hellas. For the time is coming when wars will be won, not by him who puts the most spearmen in the line, but by him who commands the newest and deadliest weapons. And you are the men who invent these things. I need you and the others like you.

"Enough of that. The old-timers among you have heard my harangues on this subject often enough. Now, let us talk of other things. First, the meeting is open for beneficial suggestions to increase production. Speak up!"

There was a moment of silence, while the tyrannos' eagle gaze roved the room. Then a man held up a hand.

"Yes, Menedemos?"

"Please, sir, that pile of trash against the east wall of the Arsenal is a fire hazard. Shouldn't it be removed?"

"Indeed it should." Dionysios nodded to his secretary, who scribbled. "Next?"

Another man wanted more slaves assigned to moving materials about the shipyards. Another urged a patrol of soldiers around the Arsenal to rout out slaves and apprentices who sneaked off to loaf or sleep in corners.

When the engineers ran out of suggestions, Dionysios said: "Now I have the pleasure of announcing an award. Master Pausanias, come forward with your masterpiece!"

The burly smith approached the dais, holding the new iron cuirass, polished to mirror brightness. Archytas whispered behind his hand:

"I hope for Pausanias' sake that it fits."

It did. The guards helped the smith to put it on the tyrannos, over his head, and to buckle the straps at the sides. Dionysios drew a breath and slapped the breastplate with a resounding bong. He looked magnificent in it.

"I had been told," he said, "that no smith in the world could forge a complete cuirass of iron, because of the difficulty of working that metal in such large pieces. But, as you see, Master Pausanias has done it. As far as I know, he is the first. Here, sir, is a small token of my regard!"

Around the smith's neck, Dionysios hung a golden disk on the end of a golden chain. The smith, ducking his head and twisting one toe back and forth like an embarrassed schoolboy, said:

"O President, I—ah—anyway, thanks a lot, sir. Now do you want me to start production of these cuirasses?"

Dionysios cocked his head. "That is something I shall have to think about. I may like this so well that I shall wish to keep its use exclusively to myself. In any case, you have done a noble piece of work."

As the smith retired, Dionysios said: "Three more matters before we break up. First: There is entirely too much loose talk in the city about our plans and projects. Too many of you, when you go home at night, hunt up the nearest drink shop, sit with cronies, and tell everything you know in a voice that would carry from Karia to Carthage. By Zeus the King, no wonder foreigners call us garrulous Greeks! I have never believed the tale that Pythagoras compelled his disciples to keep silent for five years, for I doubt that the God himself could render Hellenes mute for so long.

"After this, there shall be no more discussion, off the island, of what goes on at the citadel. What boots it to devise new weapons against implacable foes, if we describe them to these foes so they can equip themselves likewise? I should not like to make you live on the island in barracks; but, unless this loose talk stops, I shall be compelled to do so.

"The second matter is this: Our production of standard military items, like shields and spears, should be increased and, I am sure, can be increased, even without buying more slaves or hiring more free workers. I have been considering why the Athenian potters can undersell all the others in the Inner Sea, although their pottery is finer and shipping is costly. The reason is that they use a new method of production—mass production, we might call it.

"Have you ever seen an Athenian pottery? I have not been to Athens, but my agents have described one to me. Instead of having each workman make a complete pot, the Athenians split up the task among a number of specialists. One man mixes the clay, another turns the wheel, another throws and molds the clay, another gives the pot its finished form, another paints it, and so on. Each worker, by constant repetition, becomes more expert in his particular task than he could be if he scattered his talents among several operations. Working thus, a given number of potters can turn out twice as many pots as they could if they worked each on his own. Now I, Dionysios, want you to think about applying this lesson to the making of warlike gear.

"Lastly: I have tried several means of signaling the start of work in the morning, and none works very well. The trouble is that all signals depend upon some human being to blow a trumpet or strike a gong; and human beings are fallible. As things stand, people straggle in over a period of an Egyptian hour, and those who come early cannot work efficiently because those who should fetch them materials or otherwise help them have not yet arrived.

"Now, I want some device that can be started in the evening, when I can see to its setting, and that shall give its signal the following daybreak without further attention. Think hard, my friends!

"And speaking of getting to work promptly in the morning, tomorrow is a working clay, so we must all seek out our beds. Good night!"

Crossing the drawbridge on the way to their rented room, Archytas asked Zopyros: "What do you really think of the big boss?"

"I have mixed feelings, Archytas. Sometimes I think him the most brilliant man I have ever known. And he certainly can manage men. But, when he starts ranting against the Phoenicians, I don't know. I've known enough of them to realize they're not monsters, despite their horrible religion. If our aims were peaceful, I could happily spend my life in such a place, inventing and designing new things. What's your opinion?"

"Dionysios is one of those who, like the Athenians a few years ago, justify themselves on the ground that it's a law of nature to rule wherever one can. Calling his tyranny a 'directed democracy' doesn't change its nature.

"Look who's quoting! How about your own political ambitions?"

"I have never aspired to be king of the Tarentines, as Dionysios is king of the Syracusans in all but name. Politics is something else."

Zopyros shrugged. "Play politics if you like. It doesn't interest me."

"It should! Politics is how any large group of people manage their affairs."

"Which they do badly, under any form of government."

"No doubt, but that's no excuse for being worse villains than we need be. Therefore I wonder if we are doing the right thing."

"How do you mean?"

Archytas: "Helping this tyrannos to develop machines for killing our fellow men. You know how the Man felt about aggressive warfare."

"Dionysios talks only of defense against Carthaginian aggression," said Zopyros. , "Do you really believe him?"

"I suppose not. It's a logical flaw in the divine Pythagoras' argument: every belligerent claims to be acting in self-defense; therefore it's always the other party who is the aggressor."

"Except among barbarians like our friend Segovax," said Archytas. "They're at least honest. They come right out and say: 'You've got something I want, so I will kill you for it.' But I'm still uneasy about working for this eagle-eyed tyrannos, despite our handsome salaries."

Zopyros shrugged. "Men have always killed each other, for reasons good or bad, and I suppose they always will. If we didn't help him, he'd get other engineers. As for his tyranny, I think that if a people are ruled by a tyrannos, it's only what they deserve. It means there are so many knaves and fools among them that they're not competent to govern themselves. The Man said—"

"You always oversimplify political questions," said Archytas. "That's because you have no experience at politics. I know something about it at first hand. The usual reason for a tyrannos is not so much the depravity of men, but the fact that the rich have borne down too heavily on the poor and stopped them from bettering themselves. Then some demagogue says: 'Follow me, fellow citizens! Kill the rotten-rich, divide up their possessions, and live in ease and luxury forever!' And the poor boobies believe him."

"That's what I said; the masses are so stupid that they're just as well off under a strong master—"

"No, it isn't the same. You forget that, once in power, the tyrannos concerns himself much more with enlarging and securing his power than with the welfare of the masses. To protect his power, he goes to any extremes of treachery and cruelty, like Phalaris of Akragas roasting people alive in his bronzen bull."

"I should like to see that interesting piece of bronze work," said Zopyros, "but I hear the Carthaginians took it away when they sacked Akragas. However, Dionysios has done a lot for the Syracusans, and they certainly seem to admire him."

"Some do, no doubt. But many proclaim their love because they're afraid to complain. Whoever knows black from white knows what happens to Dionysios' critics."

"I thought it was years since he had any opponents killed?"

Archytas glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Yes, but they remember the last time. He bribed a Spartan named Aristos to make the rounds of the drink shops, treating people and damning Dionysios. Naturally, Aristos got many to agree. He kept a list of names, and one fine day Dionysios arrested the lot. He drowned Nikoteles, the noisiest of his foes, and put such fear into the rest that they've kept quiet ever since. You must admit it takes more than ordinary terror to make a Hellene stop talking."

"Why does he favor drowning as a method of execution?"

"Dionysios drowns people because he loves neatness and order. Hanging turns them an ugly blue, while stoning and beheading are messy and attract flies. A drowned man, on the other hand, looks almost as good as new ... But enough of this Stygian talk. Have you heard from your girl yet?"

"No, although I've written twice. You know how it is, sending letters by sailors, who get drunk and lose ... Archytas!" He suddenly grabbed the arm of his companion, who uttered a yelp. "I just had an idea! Why am I trying to make my missile engine the hard way?"

"I'll ask; why are you? But please don't grab me like that on a dark street! I thought we were going to be murdered."

"Remember that statue of Apollon in front of the temple, with his drawn bow?"

"Yes."

"If I used a solid post—corresponding to that statue—instead of those limber rods I've been working with, and mounted the bow on some sort of pivot ..." Zopyros rattled off details and suggestions at such speed that Archytas cried:

"Help! Help! Wait until you reach some writing materials, to take notes of all these ideas! I can't possibly remember—"

"Then let's hurry! Dear Herakles, I've wasted a ten-day on a false scent. Never mind bed; I want to get this stuff down. For the experimental models, I can draw a couple of standard bows from stock. Then I'll try two alternative plans: pivoting the bow about the vertical axis and about the horizontal axis ..."

"It's all very well for you to say: 'Never mind bed,' " grumbled Zopyros' friend. "You're only half human anyway, like the bronze giant Talos who guarded Crete. But I can't live on bright ideas alone."

The spring days lengthened into summer, the shepherds and goatherds drove their flocks to higher pastures, and the long green slopes of the Heraean Mountains began to turn a golden buff as the grass died. With the coming of summer, the second year of the ninety-fifth Olympiad began, when Aristokrates was Archon of Athens.

Three model engines stood on the archery range. Each consisted of a platform, a four-foot post standing upright on the platform, and a bow fastened in various ways to the top of the post. At the rear edge of each platform was tackle of cords, hooks, and pulleys.

A puffy wind whipped across the archery range, stirring swirls of dust. A young dog, barking, chased a scrap of papyrus whirled round about by an eddy. At the far end, a squad of soldiers did spear drill to shouted commands. From the Arsenal and the shipyards came the clatter of tools. Zopyros sat alone on a stool with his chin on his fists, glowering at the models.

Archytas, plump and glowing with good spirits, approached. "O Zopyros!"

"Rejoice!" said Zopyros in a lugubrious tone. "What brings you here?"

"We ran out of stone—the polluted quarrymen let us down—so Pyres gave me the afternoon off. Do you know what I've done?"

"No; what?"

"I think I've solved the problem of doubling the cube!"

"You mean an abstract, mathematical cube; not a real one?"

"Of course I mean a geometrical cube!"

"Well, I hope the boss hangs a medal round your neck, although I don't suppose he will."

"Nonsense! I did it not for medals, but for the advancement of knowledge and my own curiosity. Man was made to investigate the universe."

A movement caught Archytas' eye and he turned; so did Zopyros. At the far end of the range, where the soldiers were drilling, Drakon, the master of the Arsenal, was strolling with Alexis. They had their arms about each other's necks, and the older man was giggling like an adolescent.

"Guess who'll be promoted next," said Archytas. "If that's the price of advancement, I'll stay on the bottom rowing bench. What's the matter with you, old boy? You look as if you'd been bitten by a Tartessian eel."

"My troubles are as many as the sands of the shore," replied Zopyros.

"Well, the good are not immune to sorrow. What grieves you?"

"I can't make these cursed things work! It's easy to rig a tackle to draw the bowstring back. The problem is to make the arrow stay in place while the mechanism releases the string. Or rather, that's one problem; the other is the release mechanism itself. Either the thing lets go too soon, while you're still cranking the windlass to pull back the bowstring; or it won't let go at all when you want it to; or you have to yank the release lever so hard that the bow wobbles and spoils your aim. What's worse, there's no solid support for the arrow, which falls to the ground at the slightest jar."

Archytas stood in thought for a while, then said: "That night when you first suggested using a bow instead of a single casting arm, you also said something about a fixed beam or trough, with a groove in which the projectile could slide back and forth."

Zopyros jumped up, clapping a hand to his forehead. "How could I have forgotten! I must be losing what little mind I have. Of course that's the answer! That trough would serve both functions: to hold the missile steady, and to mount the mechanism. It'll also brace the upright structure; these single posts tend to work loose. I'll find my men and put them to work at once."

"Where are they now?"

"Alexis wanted them to help make models of his supergalleys, and I had no immediate use for them. So I lent them to him." Zopyros started down the range with long strides. When he came within shouting distance of the strollers, he called: "Ea, Alexis!"

"What is it?" said the shipwright with a frown.

Zopyros hurried closer. "If you don't mind, I should like Skylax and Hermon back. I have urgent work for them."

Alexis looked down his nose, as well as he could at a taller man. "So, my dear Zopyros, have I. You shall have them back when I am good and ready to send them back, and not before."

"Well, grind me to sausage! When I sent them to you, it was with a clear understanding—"

"That I should keep them as long as I needed—"

"It was not!"

"It was! The God rot you, go away and stop bothering busy people!"

"Lying knave!"

"Bungling incompetent!"

As the two young men began thrusting their faces forward and clenching their fists, Drakon pushed between them, shouting:

"That's enough! Hold your tongues, you two! You're quarreling over the shadow of an ass."

The disputants began to drench their superior in arguments, until he stamped and screamed: "Shut up, Zeus blast you! I'm the manager here. Now hear my judgment. Alexis is right in one way: that it wastes a workman's time to keep jerking him from job to job, like a fish on a line. So he'll keep the two men for the time being. Now, don't you hoist the red flag at me, Master Zopyros! I'll find you another carpenter and helper as soon as I can; there's always somebody who hasn't enough to do. Get along about your business, both of you, and not another word."

Alexis strolled towards the Arsenal, smirking. Zopyros returned to Archytas.

"Lover boy buggered me good and proper," he growled as he came up.

"You mean he kept your workers?"

"Exactly. Drakon promised me others, but that means breaking them in to my way of doing things. What's more, they'll probably be the men nobody else wants, for various good reasons."

Archytas clucked. "Alexis already has more men under him than any other research engineer. He can always find pretexts for adding more to his team, although half of them stand around doing nothing. I suppose he reckons that, if he can only collect enough, he can go to Philistos and say: 'My dear sir, a man of my vast responsibilities should obviously be paid more than mere tinkerers like those Tarentines.' I'm sorry I'm not with you in the Arsenal, because I can foresee these political angles."

"A murrain on this intrigue! If we could only prove that he's incompetent—"

"Don't count on that. He's a bright lad who knows his shipbuilding. But then, prosperity is harder to endure becomingly than adversity ... Here's somebody for you."

A soldier approached with a small roll of papyrus. "You Zopyros son of Meg-somebody?"

"Yes."

"I've got a letter for you ... Thanks."

As the soldier put his tip in his purse and walked off, Zopyros opened the letter with trembling hands. Then he gave Archytas a joyful slap on the back that almost knocked the smaller man down. "Archytas! It's Korinna! Listen to this!

All is well here, and I hope all is well with you, too. Father's health is no worse. He has received a courteous letter from your father and has opened negotiations for our marriage. On one point, however, Father is adamant. He insists that my son be recovered; and, to tell the truth, I shall never be happy without the boy. With my parents' knowledge and consent, I send you my love. Farewell.

"She loves me! She loves me! Alexis and his ships can go to the crows; she loves me!"

Zopyros bounded about the field like a satyr in spring, shouting and waving his arms. He sang in rasping, out-of-tune voice:

"Calm down, old boy!" said Archytas. "You're not the first man in the world to be in love. I've been in love with three different girls already since coming to Syracuse."

Zopyros knew that Archytas had already made a score of friends in Syracuse. Zopyros had few indeed. Luckily for him, he had obtained access to Philistos' library, the best in Sicily. He spent his feast days in the home of his superior, pulling books out of their pigeonholes and poring over them by the hour, unrolling them with one hand while he rolled them up with the other. He was already well into the third book of Herodotos' History. With a sigh he asked:

"Do you suppose I could get leave for a quick trip to Messana?"

"Perhaps; but you'd return to find that Alexis had taken over your project in addition to his own."

"I haven't seen Korinna for months! By Zeus on Olympos, I can't go on like this!"

"You can always go to the whorehouse with me when the strain becomes too great."

"And you call yourself a Pythagorean? Anyway, I don't seem to care for whoring any more."

"Genetyllides stiffen your yard! But, if you want to hold your job, you'd better stick."

"Bugger the job! Wiry don't I throw it up and go back to Taras? My family would be glad to have me back."

"Not so fast! Think of your future, which is hers, too. First thrive, then wive."

"Oh, corruption! I can't think; I'm too upset."

"Look, best one, you know that even a god's judgment is impaired by love. Don't do anything until you've calmed down and thought it over."

"I suppose you're right. But the first slack time that comes along ..."

Somehow, Zopyros rounded up enough help so that, by doing much of the carpentry himself, he built another model. This had the same thick post as the previous models. The bow was clamped horizontally atop this post. Another timber sloped aft from the top of the post to the rear edge of the platform. A deep groove on its upper surface ran the length of this timber, on the rear of which was mounted a winch to draw the bow. A hinged bronze trigger formed a separate part, which could be engaged with the bowstring in its cocked position and then disengaged by a handle to release the string.

Zopyros demonstrated the model to Dionysios. He placed an arrow in the groove, winched back the bowstring until the bow was taut, engaged the trigger, slackened off the windlass and unhooked the cocking gear, and pulled the release handle. The bow twanged; the arrow soared down the range.

"Ha!" said one of Dionysios' bodyguards. "By the gods, I can shoot an arrow farther than that, without all this fornicating machinery!"

Zopyros smiled. "You realize, O President, that this is only a pilot model."

"How big will your final engine be?"

"Since I plan to use a standard javelin for my missile, the finished missile launcher will be about thrice the size of this."

"Will it shoot thrice as far, though?"

"I don't know, sir. It will certainly shoot farther than a man can throw a javelin in the ordinary manner."

"Go ahead. We shall see what happens."

"That's fine, sir. But—ah—"

"What is it?"

"If I can have a few good workmen, it'll go faster."

"How many have you now?"

"Only occasional help, such as I can borrow from the other engineers. Most of the work I do myself."

"Zeus almighty! That is not efficient. It's fine to be willing to work with your hands in an emergency; but I hired you as a thinker. Have you asked for more men?"

"Yes, sir; but I'm told there is none to spare."

The tyrannos frowned. "Indeed? I'll have a word with Master Drakon about this. I want to see how this thing turns out."

"In that case, O President, I shall also need the help of your chief bowyer, to design the bow."

"You shall have him, too. What do you call this device?"

"So far I've called it simply a katapeltês, a hurler."

"A catapult it shall be, then. Push this project as fast as you can. Be in good health!"

The chief bowyer threw up his hands. "What god ever dropped me into a nest of madmen? I've been making bows for thirty years, young man, and I've never heard the like. Zeus and Apollon, a bow ten cubits long! Whom would you get to shoot it? Herakles?"

"No, he'd be too small," answered Zopyros with a smile. "Hadn't you heard? The boss has enlisted the services of the giant Polyphemos for his next campaign."

"But I thought Odysseus blinded Polyphemos, hundreds of years ago!"

"Oh, his eye grew back again; you know these demigods—"

"Young man, are you making fun of me?"

"Look, Master Prothymion, if you don't like my little joke, I withdraw it. Consider it unsaid. Now, you've seen those model catapults I've been tinkering with on the archery range?"

"Those fool things? Yes."

"Well, I'm ready to build a full-sized one, and for that I need a ten-cubit bow. Can you make me one?"

"Umm—well—I don't know ... These engines of yours will never take the place of well-trained archers. Not that any Hellenes are what you'd call well-trained archers." The bowyer spat on the dirt floor of the Arsenal. "They're all afraid somebody will mistake them for Paris of Troy, so they sneer at archery. The Persians, now, appreciate a scientific weapon—"

"Exactly!" interrupted Zopyros. "I'm the only man around here, besides yourself, who really understands what you can do with the bow principle. So, naturally, I come to you."

"We-ell, now that you put it that way, I'll give your idea some thought ..."

Afterwards, Archytas asked Zopyros: "Did he really agree to build your superbow?"

"He said he'd try. I told him I was the only toxophilite besides himself in Syracuse, and after that we got along fine."

"Congratulations; you're learning," said Archytas. "I'd have bet a stater against an obolos that he'd find some way to shear your oars. Prothymion is a hardshelled conservative who hates new inventions and finds an infinity of reasons for not doing what he doesn't wish to do."

As the month of Metageitnion*(*Approximately August.) wore on and the heat of summer declined, it became rare to see men strolling naked about the streets of Syracuse. When the Rhegines and Messanians invaded Syracusan territory, Dionysios mustered his army and marched north to meet them. However, the allied army, in characteristic Greek fashion, broke up through dissension. In the end, both sides marched home without bloodshed.

In the meantime Zopyros finished his drawings, while his carpenters got to work with saws and adzes on the main timbers of the large catapult. One day, when he and Archytas were studying the work in its corner of the Arsenal, Zopyros said:

"Archytas, are you very busy these days?"

"Not really. Fort Euryalos is so nearly finished that Pyres could do without me. But you know officials. Not one wants to let a subordinate out of his grasp if he can help it."

"Well, there's going to be a slack time here, too. It'll be another month at least before these boys get the catapult ready to test. Meanwhile, there's nothing for me to do but look in on them once a day to make sure they haven't committed some colossal blunder, like installing Prothymion's bow backwards."

"So?"

"I thought I'd ask the Drakon for a ten-day's leave to go to Messana. During that time, I should dearly love it if you'd make a daily inspection of the work. You've sweated with me so long over this thing that you know the plans as well as I. Can I leave you to watch the nets?"

"Wiry, I should be glad—"

"Master Zopyros!" said the voice of a barbarian mercenary. "Big boss says he want you in palace, right away."

Zopyros exchanged a puzzled glance with Archytas. "I wonder what I've done wrong?" he said. "Oh, well, here's the way to find out." He set out after the soldier.

In the courtyard of the palace he found the tyrannos sitting with Philistos and two other men whose faces were familiar: Segovax the Celt and Evnos the Karian ransomer. The latter jumped up and seized Zopyros' hands.

"Rejoice, Master Zopyros!" he cried. "It's a pleasure to see you again. So you took my advice, after all!"

Zopyros greeted the others and, at Dionysios' invitation, sat down, too. A slave passed wine.

"O Zopyros," said Dionysios, "Evnos has just returned from his tour of Old Hellas. He has brought back four or five engineers and an equal number of skilled artificers. After scouring the land, he says, these are all he could persuade to come."

Zopyros said: "Surely there are many such in the great cities of Hellas!"

"There are. But some are satisfied with their present earnings. Some are anchored by familial obligations. Some are terrified of sea voyages. Lastly, some dislike my advanced form of government, my—ah—directed democracy. They prefer their old, inefficient ways of running their affairs, wobbling unstably between oligarchic oppression and mob rule." Dionysios took a sip—Zopyros had noted that he was a sparing drinker—and continued: "My other recruiter, Matris, has already scoured the Greek cities of Italy. To glean the same ground twice were inefficient, yielding but small returns. And we cannot wait for a new generation of engineers to grow up."

"What then, sir?" asked Zopyros.

"The barbarian tribes would know no more of engineering than the jackdaw knows of the lyre. There remains but one rich, untapped source of technical talent within our reach. You can guess what I mean."

"You mean Carthaginian territory?"

"Exactly." Dionysios gave one of his rare smiles. "That were a joke for the gods, to snatch the help I need from under the noses of the enemy!"

"But, sir, if you so dislike and distrust Phoenicians, how could you bear to have them working on your secret projects?"

"For one thing, I should keep close watch on them. I'd make them live on the island. For another, I do not fear that they will desert merely because I may be forced to make war upon some of their own cities. These degenerate moneygrubbers are men without honor or patriotism. They would slit their own mothers' throats if you paid them enough. But many of the branded knaves are nonetheless excellent technicians.

"This is beside the point; I did not call you here to lecture you on foreign policy. I am sending a recruiting expedition deep into Punic territory—to the Punic cities of western Sicily and to Carthage itself. This expedition shall comprise these two men and yourself. In soliciting such people, you will of course say nothing of our preparations for defense. Stress the peaceful aspects of your work—the architecture, the waterworks, and the like."

Zopyros' jaw dropped. He had been rehearsing his request for leave to visit Messana, and now he was to travel a hundred leagues in quite a different direction! He started to utter a hot protest but softened it in the telling. "Why me, sir? I thought my present work was urgent."

"I have my eye on your present work, Zopyros. For one thing, your carpenters wll need only minor supervision until they complete the full-scale model. For another, amongst all my people, you three are the only men who speak Punic fluently. Although you could not pass for authentic Phoenicians, your knowledge of that tongue will make you more effective in explaining the rewards of working for Dionysios."

"O President! May I not wait—let's say a ten-day—to take care of some personal business?"

"No, you may not," said Dionysios in a voice like a well-honed blade. "Autumn is upon us. Even a day's delay might strand you in Africa when the shipping lines close down for winter."

"Why must three go, sir?"

"Because of the hazards of recruiting in a hostile land, I would not send one man alone. Evnos has the most experience in travel and in delicate negotiations. Therefore he shall decide on your routes, sailings, quarters—everything to do with travel—and he shall make the first contacts with the local people wherever you go. Since you know the most about engineering and can thus judge the worth of the men you solicit, you shall have the final choice of men. And Segovax is a seasoned warrior who, if it comes to swords' points, can best lead you in cutting your way out. Hence he shall be your leader in battle or flight. Besides"—he smiled faintly again—"with three men, if an accident does befall, at least one of you might get away to tell me the outcome."

As Dionysios spoke, while Zopyros was still boiling with suppressed rage over losing the leave he had promised himself, an idea struck him with blinding brilliance. If he were sent to recruit in the Punic lands, he might—Fate willing—snatch young Ahiram from his father after all! He covered his exuberance by a slow, deep draft of wine. When his mind stopped its dizzy spin, Zopyros raised his goblet, saying:

"To a rich harvest of Punic engineers! When do we start, sir?"