The Bronze God of Rhodes

BOOK V — PYTHON

When I rejoined my crew, limping on a stick, the first thing I saw in the dim light before dawn was their crop of beards. (I let mine grow for a while, too, but alas! it was no success, being sparse and straggly, with bare patches. Since then I have kept my face well shaven, in accordance with modern fashions.)

The Lightning was mounted atop the harbor wall, midway between the arsenal and the base of the East Mole. Pronax, the loader, was missing; a man named Mys had taken his place. Berosos had a bandage around his neck where an arrow had grazed him.

Of the battery as a whole, the ill-fated Eros was gone for good. It had been smashed by a ball in the waterfront fighting, the day after Demetrios had seized the South Mole.

As for the wall itself, the pounding from Demetrios' stone throwers had opened cracks in the towers and curtain walls into which a man could thrust his hand. Other balls had knocked gaps in the parapet, so that it gaped like a row of broken teeth.

Even before dawn the ugly little brown figure of Makar dashed about, ordering his men to the repair and reinforcement of the wall. But he seemed to be losing ground.

Out on the South Mole stood Demetrios' two new giant stone throwers. The frames of these catapults towered twenty-five feet into the air, and their throwing arms alone were over ten feet long. There was a familiarity about them that nagged me until I realized that they were the full-sized versions of the model that I had seen the engineer Apollonios demonstrate.

Smaller catapults, including those captured from us, stood on the penthouses. Two of Demetrios' sea engines lay moored to the mole, one bearing three stone throwers on its platform and the other four dart throwers.

The waterfront was littered with broken stone and with cracked and broken catapult balls. The unbroken three-talent balls from the heavy engines had not been collected, because we had nothing to shoot them with.

My comrades told me of our unsuccessful attack on Demetrios' fleet with fireboats the night after the capture of the mole; of infantry attacks with ladders against the wall; of how Pronax was slain by a dart.

As the sun, glowing like molten bronze in a crucible, rose behind them, little black figures moved about the mole. Nearby, Bias passed the command:

"Shoot at will!"

"We are laid for the right-hand one of the big fellows," said Onas.

"Cock your piece," I said.

Apollonios' great engines took a long time to cock. When the recoiler of the right-hand one was at last pulled back, the loaders rolled one of the balls up on a kind of stretcher or litter: a long wooden frame with a handle at each corner. Then four men raised the frame shoulder high and decanted the ball into its place in the trough.

Another wait, and the stone thrower went off with a tremendous crash. The three-talent ball sped high into the air, whispered down upon us so that we all flinched, and struck the wall with a thunderous boom. The impact shook the entire wall; I could feel the structure rock beneath my feet. The ball, rebounding, rolled back across the waterfront almost to the water's edge and stopped, spinning slowly for a few turns before it lay still.

Then the other engine discharged. Boom!

We cranked and shot, shading our eyes against the rising sun and making tiny adjustments to try to drop our darts amid the laboring crews of the heavy stone throwers. Demetrios' other catapults on the mole and on the moored sea engines opened up also.

As the sun, now a golden disk, sprang clear of the blue horizon, a mass of hostile ships appeared at the entrance to the Great Harbor, with masts lowered and oars rising and falling. Two triremes rowed into the harbor, as far apart as the width of the entrance allowed. Each held the end of a boom of floating logs, chained together and studded with iron spikes. The triremes pushed this boom out of sight around the arsenal to face the Rhodian fleet, which lay, fully manned, prepared to sally forth.

Following the boom, several light missile ships took stations in the harbor and added their barrage of three-span darts to those whistling up from the mole.

Towards noon the Lightning fell still. Bias called up from the ground outside the wall:

"O Chares! Why don't you shoot?"

"We're down to our last six darts, sir. I am saving those for an assault. When can we get some more?"

"Plague! The god-detested smiths promised a hundred for the battery by noon, but I doubt if they'll get them done. I've sent Phaon to pick some from the salvage pile. Meanwhile, eat."

While we ate, we grumbled over the conditions imposed by the siege. Mys, our new loader, said: "All this talk of keeping prices down is a lot of ordure. Do you know what happened to me last night?"

"What?" I said.

"I went into Evios' tavern for a drop, and the abandoned rascal had the impudence to say he was out of Rhodian, though he had some rare Chian and Lesbian at twice the fixed price! I drank a cup, but it was the same old local wine. This is Evios' way of getting around price control."

"The joy girls have put up their prices, too," said one of the cockers. "They claim the Assembly's decrees don't apply to them."

"If they go much higher," said another, "I may have to become a boy-lover after all."

"And a water-drinker as well," said Mys.

Said another: "But that's unhealthy!"

"Which is?"

"Why, water-drinking—"

Boom! went a three-talent ball. With a rumble and roar a section of the wall slid into ruin. When the cloud of dust had cleared, the wall looked as if some Titan had taken a huge bite out of it. From a height of twenty feet it swooped down to a mere ten, then up again. Below the broken section lay a heap of shattered stone and mortar, providing attackers with a ready-made ramp.

Trumpets blasted. Demetrios pulled his men together for an assault, while our officers shouted orders to repair the break and to mass to repel the attack.

Makar and his men, heedless of missiles, swarmed into the gap and began building it up again, stone by stone. Others brought timber balks and some of the three-talent balls that Demetrios had been shooting at us, to build into the wall. Rhodian infantry gathered around the break.

I said: "Boys, to cover the base of the wall at the break, we must move our piece so it hangs out over the waterfront."

"How shall we do that?" said Onas.

"Do you see yonder break in the parapet? We'll slide old Lightning down there and push the right-hand strut of the base out through the gap."

Berosos: "Take care that you overbalance the engine not, lest it topple from the wall."

With rope and crowbar we did what I had said. Now, by shooting with the trough horizontal, I could make our darts skim the top of the parapet at a narrow angle and drop down where I expected the foe to swarm.

The Antigonians advanced again. First came the two sea towers and the sea engine bearing the dart throwers. With them came the troopships. Ahead flew clouds of missiles, skipping and bouncing from the masonry; an arrow stood quivering in Lightning's outer upright.

Two troopships rowed up between the sea towers and put out gangplanks. The soldiers tumbled ashore and clattered across the pavement, crying: "Eleleu!" Some carried ladders. A standard-bearer, holding aloft a golden eagle on a pole, led each company. Their officers harkened them on with shouts.

They rushed towards the break in the wall, their horsehair crests nodding. The sunlight, flashing on their bronze cuirasses, made them look like a swarm of glossy beetles. The cry arose from the defenders:

"Ladder! Ladder!"

Two other troopships, seeking places to put their men ashore, struck hidden rocks. As they settled, their men screamed for help; some cast off their armor to swim.

Those who had rushed to the break in the wall placed their ladders against the pile of debris and climbed, holding high their small Macedonian shields to ward off missiles.

"Shoot!" I cried.

A dart from Lightning plunged into the crowd. As nobody else had turned his catapult at such an angle as mine, Lightning was the only heavy weapon that, at the moment, bore upon the attackers.

The Rhodians on the wall shot arrows and hurled twirl spears down upon the Antigonians, who swarmed like ants up the pile of tailings. As the Antigonians neared the top of the pile, they became jammed together, for the pile tapered to the top. Lightning struck again and again, but for every man who fell, two took his place. Presently an Antigonian hoisted himself into the gap; then another.

We shot the last of our six darts. Every one was a fair hit, but when they were gone there was nothing for us to do.

"Where's the polluted Phaon?" I cried.

As the Antigonians began to climb down the inner side of the gap in the wall, missile troops on the ground inside let fly such a storm of arrows, scorpion bolts, and bullets that several of the invaders were slain, tumbling head over heels to the ground inside. The rest shrank back.

Other Antigonians sought to climb up the sides of the break to reach the top of the wall. Our soldiers jabbed down at them with spears.

"Chares!" screamed Mys. "Ladder!"

The loader was reaching over the parapet and slashing at an Antigonian on a ladder, not three cubits away. Sweat ran down the mercenary's red face from under his crested helm. He caught Mys's blows on his shield, raised himself to the level of the parapet, shifted his spear from his left to his right hand, and prepared to spring.

I snatched a crowbar and rushed at the man. The point took him in the chest. As he started to topple, he caught the top of the ladder. I pushed; man and ladder fell over backwards.

"Did somebody call me?" said Phaon.

He and another man appeared, each bearing a bundle of darts on his shoulder. Phaon dropped his bundle at my feet and ran off, followed by his companion, while more Rhodians ran up to tip baskets of stones over the parapet on the heads of the attackers below.

"Resume shooting!" I cried. "Cock your piece ..."

We renewed our bombardment. Some darts, assembled in haste, were the wrong size. We shot them anyway, making what allowances we could for differences of weight.

On the far side of the gap several ladders were raised against the wall. Some were thrown down; but the Antigonians gained the tops of others, because our men were too few there. A din arose: shouts and screams, and the clatter of steel against steel and bronze. I raised our range and began dropping darts among the crowd around the feet of these ladders.

Then help came. Several of the merchant ships on which we had erected catapults, by paying out and hauling in their mooring ropes, had turned themselves around so that their catapults bore upon the attackers on the waterfront. Darts began streaking in from several directions. They scarcely could miss. Missiles plowed through the mass, sometimes striking down two or three men at once.

Rhodian archers pushed through the crowd atop the wall towards the break, to ply their bows. I glimpsed Gobryas, wearing the garb of a Rhodian archer over his trousers, bending his powerful Persian bow towards the foe. Soon the Antigonians who had crowded into the gap in the wall began to tumble out of it and to slide and stumble down the pile of debris.

An officer bawled in my ear: "Shoot faster! They break!" The Antigonians on the waterfront milled uncertainly, stumbling over the bodies and catapult balls which littered the pavement. Some straggled back to their ships despite the shouts and blows of their officers.

The gate opened; our infantry sallied. The Antigonians scuttled for their ships. Those who had gained the top of the wall were cut off, and soon those who survived gave up. Demetrios' attacking force withdrew once more, leaving the waterfront carpeted with bronze-clad bodies and puddled with crimson pools.

The Rhodians pried the bronze beaks off the wrecked Antigonian ships for trophies and burnt the wrecks, lest Demetrios' people tow them away and repair them.

Seven days passed; the fourth year of the 118th Olympiad began. Demetrios repaired his engines and ships while Rhodes busied herself with rebuilding her defenses.

Despite the continuing bombardment from Demetrios' stone throwers, Makar and his men, sweating like horses in the heat of Hekatombaion, labored on the gap in the wall. It was hard to get much done during the day, especially after one of the men was mashed flat by a three-talent ball. Instead, they worked all night, by torchlight, when the catapult crews could not see to correct their ranges.

Makar's crew not only filled the gap in the harbor wall with well-fitted stones; they also raised the entire wall and its parapet by six feet. Running short of stone of the proper sizes, they dismantled the half-built temple of Aphrodite, with apologies to the goddess and promises of a better temple when the siege should be won. Mys asked Bias:

"Aren't you afraid the goddess will smite us with impotence?"

The carpenter gave him a wry smile. "When you get to my age, son, it don't make enough difference to matter."

Then, on the morn of the eighth day after his last retreat, Demetrios' fleet again appeared before the Great Harbor. The heavy artillery opened up, pounding the harbor wall.

Beside me on the wall, Berosos called off the ranges: "Fifteen plethra—fourteen and a half plethra—fourteen plethra—"

"Shoot!" I cried.

Onas struck his knob, and the game was on. We cranked and shot and trained the dart thrower right and left and shot again.

Demetrios had learnt from his last defeat. His men could not press their attack on the wall under cross-bombardment from the catapults on our merchantmen. His sea engines therefore moved towards these craft. Streaks of fire laced the air as fire arrows and fire darts flew towards our catapult ships. Soon the ships were covered with missiles, sticking in the planking with their balls of tow ablaze. Here and there a plume of blue smoke arose from a ship as the fire caught.

While the archers on the merchantmen crouched behind their screens, shooting fast at the attackers, the marines fought the fires. They wrenched out the missiles and threw them overboard; they beat at the flames and dashed water upon them.

The din rose and rose. Again the sea towers shouldered up to the breakwater. Jugs of incendiary compound flew from our stone throwers. Our counter-bombardment was weaker than it had been; Bias' battery, for example, was down to three catapults.

The troopships rowed shoreward. This time a man stood in the bow of each with a long pole. This he thrust into the water ahead of the ship to guard against hidden rocks. As the crews of our catapult ships were busy fighting fires, they could not shoot at the assaulting Antigonian infantry.

The first troopship pushed out its gangplank; the infantry swarmed ashore, its armor blazing in the sun.

"Train left!" I said. "All the way round!"

"The stars boded evil—" began Berosos.

I shook him. "Shut up and bear a hand!"

We sent a dart plunging into the first wave of attackers. Near us, two men appeared on the wall, leaning over the parapet. One was a scorpion man; the other, looking very martial in gold-chased armor, was Kallias.

The weapon that the scorpion man bore was unusual. Instead of a bow affixed to its muzzle, it had a frame, like that of a torsion catapult but smaller. This frame held a pair of torsion skeins and throwing arms. The whole contraption was so heavy and awkward that Kallias had to lend a hand to cock it and then to raise it so that it lay across the parapet. The scorpion man placed a bolt in the groove.

"O Chares!" said Kallias. "Move your men aside for an instant, to give me a clear shot."

The scorpion man raised the butt plate to his chest and squinted along his trough. As he depressed the muzzle to aim at the Antigonians, the bolt began to slide down the grove, faster and faster, until it fell off the end and dropped to the waterfront below.

"Baalim!" shouted Kallias. "How do you make these things stick in their groove?"

"There's several ways, sir, but this one isn't designed for shooting down."

"What can we do with this one, now?"

"I suppose a drop of pitch or honey, sir, or anything sticky—"

"Well, where is it? Where is it?"

"I haven't any, sir. I tried to tell you, but you hustled me here before—"

"Liar! Traitor!" screamed Kallias, hitting the man in the face.

"I am not!" the man shouted back. "If you would only listen—"

"Resume shooting, men," I said.

We sped more missiles into the thick of the Antigonians, leaving Kallias and his unfortunate arbalester to argue. A cry rang along the wall:

"The ships are coming out! The fleet is coming!"

From our post we could not yet see our ships putting out of the dockyard, because the roof of the armory blocked our vision. Three of our heaviest triremes, however, had already burst through the spiked boom. Now, around the end of the armory, our yellow-hulled ships appeared, the water foaming over their beaks.

The first to receive their attack was a light missile ship. A Rhodian trireme took her amidships. With a tremendous crackling and splintering the missile ship broke up. The trireme plowed on through the wreckage.

"Keep your minds on your shooting!" I said. For it was all we could do not to stand idly gauping at the sea fight that developed in the Great Harbor.

One of our triremes bore down upon the nearer of the sea towers. The tower was meant to be towed, not rowed, though it had a few oars for emergencies. The trireme that pushed it into place had withdrawn out into the harbor. Men on the sea tower rushed about, putting oars in the ports and trying to get the machine under way. But their oar power was so feeble, in proportion to the mass of the engine, that the thing had hardly moved when the ram of the Rhodian crunched through its side.

Farther out another trireme sank another missile ship.

The ship that had rammed the sea tower withdrew. A huge hole had opened in the port hull of the pair on which the tower stood. Water poured into the rent, so that the pierced hull settled lower in the water. As the other hull did not settle, the tower leaned more and more. The more it leaned, the more it pressed the damaged hull down into the water.

Men screamed, dashed about the engine in confusion, and jumped or fell over the side. A couple of unlucky archers fell from the top of the tower.

Then the structure gave way. With a terrible groaning, crashing, and splintering, the whole mass of timber and hide collapsed, hurling spouts of white water into the air. The pile of junk drifted out into the harbor while the survivors among its crew waved frantically for rescue.

Another Rhodian trireme, out in the harbor, dueled with an Antigonian trireme, each backing and filling to try to get her ram into the other's side. Two Antigonian triremes picked up lines from the remaining sea tower and began to tow it away, while the smaller craft—the missile ships and troopships— hastily rowed out to sea.

The third Rhodian trireme rowed towards the remaining tower. The engine, towed at a slow walk, was a helpless target. Although darts and arrows rained on the Rhodian, our ship held on until her beak plowed into one of the tower's hulls.

When the attacker withdrew, this tower, in turn, began to lean. Over it went, farther and faster, until the tower struck the water with a splendid splash. The engine floated on its side with one supporting hull under water and the other in the air.

Cheers arose from the Rhodians along the shore, and screams of rage from the Antigonians. For, without the protection of the towers, the men who had landed on the waterfront had little hope of scaling the harbor wall.

Now a trumpet blew retreat. The Antigonians hurried back to the troopship that had put them ashore. The landing party left its dead, its wounded, and its ladder littering the pavement. The ship pushed off and rowed for the open sea, following the other troopships.

The Rhodian triremes converged upon the remaining Antigonian sea engine, the one bearing the dart throwers. But three Antigonian ships had taken the engine in tow and were pulling it swiftly out of the harbor.

Meanwhile the larger Antigonian warships pushed in between the fugitives and entered the harbor. A confused contention arose, with ships ramming and backing and ramming again, while flights of arrows arched overhead and deck fighters thrust at one another with long pikes. We of the Lightning did not dare to shoot, because our ships were too closely entangled with those of the foe.

Presently two of our galleys backed out of the fight, low in the water and with many oars broken or unmanned. I could see cracks and rents in their sides where Antigonian rams and catapult balls had struck home, but by arduous efforts their rowers got them back to the dockyard before they settled. We groaned as we saw the Antigonians board the third yellow-hulled ship and sweep her decks, though most of her people leaped overboard and struck out for shore. A Rhodian who cannot swim is like an Athenian who cannot argue.

In the end Demetrios called off his force. We hauled ashore the loose timbers from the wrecked sea towers and burnt the rest.

The next day, after a ten-day of bright clear weather, was overcast. We manned the Lighting again, but for a time nothing happened.

By noon the tale went round of how Admiral Exekestos, on the leading ship of the three that made the sortie, had been wounded and captured, along with the captain of the trireme. We sagely wagged our heads, agreeing that such rash tactics were justified only in such an emergency. Without his sea towers Demetrios would think twice before assailing our harbor again.

"Unless," said Mys, "that supertower we hear of really exists."

"I wouldn't give much credit to that," I said. "You know how rumors exaggerate everything."

Berosos: "I know I saw something the night of the raid down the coast. It could well be the engine of the rumors, as tall as the star towers that once rose over mighty Babylon."

"Oh, stuff!" I said. "The rumors also say that this engine will walk right up out of the water and crush our city flat. Where would Demetrios get the power to do that?"

"The gods grant that you be right," said the Babylonian. "But—ari! Look out yonder! That is the thing whereof we speak! Istar preserve us!"

"No!" I cried. "By Earth and the gods, it is!"

The "thing" was the rumored floating supertower, towed by a whole squadron of warships. Our trumpets called the men to their posts. As the engine came closer, I saw that it was mounted, not on two ships, but on six, side by side. Reckoning from the size of the ships, I estimated the tower's height as over seventy feet from the water.

Behind this new monster came all the rest of the fleet. Demetrios never gave up. Repulsed, he always thought up some new scheme or device and tried again. He was, in his way, a great commander—almost as great as the divine Alexander. I should have appreciated his genius more, however, had he not chosen my beautiful little city to demonstrate it on.

"Where is Onas?" I said.

Then I saw him. He knelt a few paces away before a little copper statuette. In front of it he had started a small blaze of tinder and shavings, and he was muttering some spell or prayer.

With the ominously slow approach of this amazing engine, prayers no longer seemed foolish. As the tower neared, I could see that catapults were mounted around its base, while its vast height was pocked with arrow slits. In my mind's eye, I could follow the tragic course of the battle. The monster would be pushed up to shore, where its enormous missile power would drive our men from the wall. The troopships would swarm up all at once; ladders would rise everywhere along the harbor wall ...

Just then a clear, beautiful ray of the sun broke through the clouds. I thought: O Bright One, I may not have believed in you, or indeed in any of the gods of my fathers. But if you do exist, forgive this sin of the least of your children. Save Rhodes, the city that worships you, and whose ancestor and patron you are. Save Rhodes, and I shall never doubt you again; nay more, I will devote my life to making a statue to you, the like of which has never been seen ...

I opened my eyes. The beam of sunlight swept over the Rhodian waterfront. Half dazzled, I raised my glance. Skeptical philosophers may say that what happened then was but wish-begotten illusion, but I know what I saw.

On a cloud stood Helios-Apollon himself, nude, with a crown of spiky golden rays on his brow. His right hand shaded his eyes as he looked down from his height upon Rhodes.

Somebody nudged me. "Ea, Chares! They seem to be having trouble with that thing!"

The divine vision faded; I brought my gaze back down to the sea. An easy breeze had been blowing from the south, wafting the monstrous engine gently along. Now this wind freshened. The galleys labored heavily, their bows digging into the seas.

The five triremes towing the giant sea tower slowly dragged their burden level with the mouth of the Great Harbor, past the end of the South Mole. Then they turned shoreward and began rowing towards us. To us, the five ships in line seemed to be standing still, oars rising and falling without progress.

Still Notos freshened. The sky darkened, and the swell from the south increased. The tower, instead of docilely following the galleys into the harbor, developed a will of its own. It drifted northward, away from the harbor mouth, sluing around the galleys that towed it. Soon the whole mass of equipment was turned completely about, facing south. The galleys still strove to reach the harbor mouth, but ever the tower drifted northward.

Said Berosos: "Meseems, O Chares, that this tower presents to the wind an area equal to that of many sails."

"No wonder," I said, "that, when the wind blows adversely, the tow ships can't make head against it."

The waves rose higher. Across the water I thought I could hear the groan of timbers and the creak of ropes as the tower's structure was strained.

The tow ships angled in towards shore but could not bring the tower squarely in front of the harbor mouth. Nor did they dare to come too close to the moles of the Little Harbor lest their engine run aground.

A confused shouting came from the galleys, thin in the distance, as the officers strove to incite their rowers to greater efforts. The other ships of the invasion fleet hovered about their prized machine.

Now the wind whipped the cloaks of the Rhodian officers on the wall and fluttered the crimson crests of their helmets. The sea tower, slowly swaying, drifted farther north as if pushed by a giant unseen hand.

We watched in fascination. The swell rose until the triremes towing the tower had trouble in handling their oars. In the rest of the fleet, some ships took in their lower oars and closed the ports.

The sea tower swayed like a drunken man. The cries and commands from the tower and from its tow ships merged into a continuous high screaming. A larger, single-banked galley—a fiver or sixer—backed cautiously towards the mass of ships as if to help tow. The five triremes tossed in the swell and fouled one another's oars.

And even the wind rose and rose.

At last the sea tower swayed over, over, over—and did not recover. It leaned slowly, farther and farther, until, with a terrible crunching, crackling, groaning, crashing, and roaring, the structure settled down upon its side, throwing spray and broken timbers high into the air. One of the ships that formed its base was lifted clear of the water before it broke loose and fell back with another mighty splash.

Then there was only a huge mass of wreckage: timbers, ropes, hides, and bobbing heads. The five tow ships cast loose at once and circled to pick up survivors. One of these galleys, however, was soon in trouble herself. She had shipped so much water through her oar ports that she settled. While she was signaling for help, she suddenly capsized and floated bottom-up, surrounded by struggling men.

The other ships wheeled and rowed back into the teeth of the waves. Silently, one by one, they slipped out of sight. On our walls, officers and men cast upon the whistling gale a lengthy sigh of relief and nameless gratitude.

As for me, I thought: I need no mortal model for my colossus. It shall depict the far-casting Apollon himself, ancestor and savior of Rhodes. What a fool I have been to think that any mere human being could be worthy of such a labor! Nor need I fear wounds and death, because the god will protect me until the task be done.

An hour later we were eating in Evios' tavern when Bias entered. "Men!" he said. "Finish up and come back to your posts."

We uttered simultaneous groans, of which mine was not the softest. "But, Commander!" I said. "Surely Demetrios won't try another attack today, what of the weather and the loss of his tower."

"That's the point," said Bias. "We're going to retake the South Mole. The gods have given us this chance, and we'd be fools not to use it. While this storm lasts, they can't put fresh troops oh the mole, but we can attack them in relays and wear them down, see? Hurry up; I want a continuous barrage."

Thus we spent two hours dragging Lightning along the wall to a point near the base of the mole. We faced the engine along the axis of the mole to rake the hostile positions. Other catapults were crowded up against ours on the wall or were set up on the waterfront.

"Begin shooting!" commanded Bias.

We wound up and let fly. So did the others; so did the engines on the catapult ships.

Although the wind threw our aim awry, we loaded and shot again and again. Then infantry marched out the gate and massed at the base of the mole. A standard-bearer raised the golden sun disk on a pole, the trumpet spoke, and the men charged.

The Antigonians massed to repel them. Arrows sang; ladders were placed against the foe's defensive wall, thrown down, and replaced. The din of sword and spear on shield and cuirass arose. Back and forth over the wall the fighting surged, while the catapults dropped darts and stones all over the mole.

The struggle went on until darkness made it impossible to tell whither our shots were going. That, however, did not end the attack. As fast as one battalion of infantry tired, it was pulled back and another was sent in, while small boats with archers in the bows prowled up and down the mole, shooting at close range.

Towards dawn a light ship succeeded in putting a Rhodian platoon ashore on the tip of the mole before they were discovered. These men held the end of the mole while reinforcements poured in. When day came, the Antigonians found themselves attacked from both ends of the mole. A rush from the base of the mole carried the defensive wall and swept the Antigonians back from around the penthouses. Staggering with weariness—for they had fought all night, against troops that were ever fresh—the survivors of the four hundred Antigonians surrendered.

We manned the Lightning again that morning but had nothing more to do. The Antigonians, in good order but without their arms, marched in single file off the mole, to the internment center that we had set up in the old theater to wait until their ransom should be arranged. After the whole men, hobbled the wounded. Because of the excellence of their armor, the infantry had suffered only moderate losses, though many had minor wounds. The artillerymen, less well protected, had suffered worse from our missiles. The exact number of casualties was hard to tell, as the Antigonians, lacking means for honorable burial or cremation, had thrown the corpses into the sea.

By this victory we not only augmented our store of small arms and armor but also captured several of Demetrios' catapults. These included the two great three-talent stone throwers on the mole and the smaller stone throwers on the sea engine moored to the mole.

The god-sent wind continued brisk. During the night it had swung around and now came from the northeast.

After dark a squadron of ships appeared from the direction of Asia Minor. They grew larger and turned into a group of merchant sailing craft. These stood into our harbor and made signals of recognition. A pair of Demetrios' battleships rowed out to intercept them, but too late; the ships were safe behind the South Mole before the Antigonians cleared their own harbors.

The newcomers furled their sails and pulled up to the breakwater by means of their sweeps. A hundred and fifty little dark light-armed soldiers scrambled ashore; their officers embraced ours, gabbling in the Cretan dialect.

These were men of Knossos. We had a treaty with the Knossians, by which they promised to abstain from piracy and to help us suppress the piracy of the other city-states of Crete. The Knossians did not like to give up piracy themselves; in fact, many of their young men went elsewhere to enlist in piratical crews. However, they loved an excuse to meddle in the other cities' affairs; for, next to robbery on the high seas, cutting their neighbors' throats is the greatest joy of the Cretans. Now they reinforced us in our hour of need.

The next day another group of ships appeared. After some anxious moments of speculation, we made out the scarlet lion of Ptolemaios on their sails. Some were merchantmen and some triremes, but the latter had their oar ports blocked and moved under sail alone in the brisk breeze.

The Egyptian ships filed into the harbor. They brought five hundred men from the forces of the satrap of Egypt, bedight in richly decorated armor, that of the officers glittering with gold inlay. As the soldiers marched ashore, cries of recognition went up from the watching Rhodians, for among these soldiers were many men of Rhodes who had gone to Egypt to seek service as mercenaries. The Ptolemaios had shrewdly chosen these as the soldiers most willing to go to Rhodes and most likely to put up a stout fight when they got there.

The heat of high summer declined. As days passed without further attacks from the sea, spies brought word that Demetrios was preparing a huge assault by land. To this end he was gathering material wherewith to build unheard-of engines of war.

Again the sound of ax blows rang from the hills, and the remaining houses in the suburb, all but Protogenes' studio, were pulled down. Soon men began to pile timbers, three or four furlongs from the South Wall.

In Rhodes food grew so scarce that a well-padded paunch became a thing of reproach. Now and then a blockade runner, attracted by the bonuses offered for foodstuffs by our government, would slip into the Little Harbor at night. But still our food stores shrank and shrank.

Boys were sent around in bands to collect scrap metal for melting up to make weapons. A full citizen was brought to trial for trying to engross the supply of onions. When he was let off with a nominal fine, it was whispered that strings had been pulled by the other magnates, who were up to the same tricks and feared exposure in their turn.

Wild rumors circulated of the life, death, or dramatic moves of Antigonos and the other Successors of Alexander. A condemned criminal was sacrificed to Kronos inside the Great Gate. This was as near as we could get to the temple of Artemis Aristoboule, outside the South Wall, where such sacrifices were traditionally observed.

Under Bias' direction we moved the dart throwers of the Lightning class from the waterfront to the South Wall. The wall itself was strengthened by Makar and his masons. When they had used all the stone intended for the new theater, they dismantled the old one. One of their tasks was to erect a wall against the inner side of the South Gate. Any serious attack would probably try to batter down the gate, and the best counter to this was to wall it up in advance.

Bias was promoted to battalion commander, and Phaon was moved up to take Bias' place as battery commander.

On my way to the armory, one morning in Boedromion, I got a surprise. Our entire active fleet at Rhodes—all nine ships—was gone from the dockyards. Nothing was left but two ships under repair and two new ones a-building.

I hastened into the armory building and found Bias. "What has happened?" I cried.

Bias grinned. "They've gone off on a raid. We figured it wouldn't do no good to tell everybody ahead of time."

I was amused to note that, since his promotion, the carpenter had come around to referring to the high command as "we." Theretofore it had always been "they," usually with a scornful tone and a sneer.

Later I persuaded Bias to give me the details. "You see, son, as long as it looked like the boy wonder was going to attack us by sea, we needed the fleet to take care of his engines. But now he's committed to a land attack, we thought the ships would be put to best use by raiding Demetrios' bases. All his big warships are gathered here, which leaves his staging points as bare as a newborn baby. And who would expect us, shut up here, to attack his rear? We'll give him a prod in the arse he'll remember!"

Half a ten-day later the ships came back, a squadron at a time, slipping past Demetrios' patrols at night when the wind favored them. Their hulls had been painted a piratical blue-gray before they set out, to make them less visible; even the gilded statues of Helios-Apollon on their sterns, which identified them as Rhodian, had been coated with this drab color. We gave them a whooping reception.

Damophilos' three triremes had sailed to Karpathos, halfway to Crete. There they had destroyed many of Demetrios' ships, while from the crews Damophilos impressed the best men into the Rhodian forces and sold the rest.

Menedemos, commanding three triemiolias, went to Patara in Lykia. Here he found an Antigonian trireme at anchor while its crew took its ease on shore. Menedemos burnt the trireme and captured several merchantmen. As he was preparing to return to Rhodes with his booty, an unsuspecting Antigonian quadrireme rowed into the river mouth. With a leonine pounce, Menedemos captured this powerful warship also, before its many deck fighters could get into their armor.

The quadrireme had come from Kilikia, bearing letters and money for Demetrios. It also carried a personal gift: a set of royal garments which the oldest of Demetrios' several wives, the lady Phila, had prepared for him with her own hands. There was also furniture decked with gold and ivory, and letters from Phila to her husband.

These robes were borne into the city in triumph. I recall a lively argument about them in Evios' tavern. Gobryas the Persian said:

"If it were up to me, I would publicly burn them. Thus should I show my contempt for the foe and gain great honor."

"They're too pretty for that," I said. "And if the Demetrios spares our art, I am not inclined to destroy his. I would hang them in a temple—say, the temple of Helios-Apollon."

"Oh, you and your art!" said Phaon. "Let's set up a scarecrow on the South Wall and hang these robes upon it. That would infuriate this proud popinjay!"

"That is the trouble," said Berosos. "Wroth already with us he is, so why make him angrier? Fain would I give him the garments back with a polite letter of apology."

We all hooted at this suggestion, though looking back I can see that it had much sense. Giskon, now a platoon leader in the Foreign Regiment, said: "At least we should sell these gauds back to him, to get something for our trouble in capturing them."

"Harken to the moneygrubbing Phoenician!" cried Onas. "Were I a true Egyptian wizard and not a mere lapidary, I could work a powerful spell on these garments, to bring down Demetrios with thirty-six fevers, itches, and other ills."

And so it went. Somebody wanted to auction off the garments; somebody else, to offer them as a prize to the bravest Rhodian soldier. The Council, which had custody of the raiment, said nothing.

Our third squadron, under Amyntas, had cruised along the Ionian islands. Here they sank many ships bringing materials to Demetrios and captured many others. Our harbors, from which most traders had long since fled, grew crowded again as in peacetime.

This last sortie affected my work. Reporting to Bias one day, I found him in talk with a small man of about his own age.

"O Chares," said Bias, "this is Polemon of Athens, one of the engineers captured by Amyntas. He's your new assistant."

"Oh?" said I.

"Yes. He is said to be famous as a catapult designer, but we'll see. You watch him to see he don't bugger our designs to get even."

The Athenian gave me a mocking smile. "I am sure, my dear fellow, that a technician as experienced as yourself would have no trouble in detecting my knavish tricks."

I flushed. Bias said: "Don't let him scare you, son. He knows his only chance of getting free again is to do right by us."

So I went to work with Polemon. In truth, I found it far less difficult than I had feared. Polemon really cared little about my youth, or about my inexperience, or even about which side he fought on. He was as devoted to his art of military ordnance as I was to sculpture. He would argue passionately for hours as to whether the trough of a catapult should be a digit longer or shorter, or whether there should be sixteen or eighteen notches in the rack. How fortunate for Rhodes that Amyntas had captured not only Polemon but also ten other engineers, equally famous and dedicated, on their way to join Demetrios!

Early in Pyanepsion, one morning, I was summoned to the Town Hall. Here I found a meeting of notables. These included President Damoteles; the Council; Kallias, municipal architect and general of artillery; Damophilos, now admiral in Exekestos' place; and Captain Python. Bias, too, had been summoned.

"Rejoice, O Chares!" said Admiral Damophilos. "We have decided to give Demetrios' fancy robes to the Ptolemaios, in hope of persuading him to send us more help. We wonder if we should put you and your catapult crew aboard the Halia, which will bear this gift."

I gave a broad grin of delight. Here was a chance not only to get away from the grind of the siege but also to see the wonders of Egypt—especially those in the fields of sculpture and architecture—of which Onas had told me.

Bias, however, was of another mind. He rasped: "Look, gentlemen, I slave to make these men into artillerymen. Out of Phaon's whole battery, half are half-wits and fumble-fingers. A couple of pieces have got pretty good crews, thanks to me beating them over the head for two years. Finally I get one real crew that can hit the side of a mountain two tries out of three—and then, by Herakles, you send 'em off on some chase after gryphon's eggs, just when they're most needed here! It don't make sense."

President Damoteles: "O Bias, we appreciate your work.

But today nearly all of Demetrios' large warships carry catapults. With our small fleet we dare not give the foe any advantage. We could be wiped out in an hour's engagement, whereas Demetrios can lose a score of ships and never feel it."

"But a couple of this crew are engineers, too," said Bias. "Are you trying to cripple our war production?"

Captain Python broke in: "Excuse me, but as I shall command the ship for this voyage, I know what I need. With all our newly captured engineers, you can spare a couple of Rhodians."

"But why this particular team?" persisted Bias. "I've got a couple of others you could have, and welcome."

"This crew has special virtues, my good Bias," said Python.

Python of Kallithea had captained the Euryalê in the previous actions; in fact, there had been criticism of his handling of the triemiolia in the nocturnal raid down the coast. His critics said that as a result of his hesitation to close with the pirates, his ship had not done the half of the damage wrought by the Halia. Now, with the Euryalê laid up for repairs and the Halia masterless since the promotion of Damophilos, Python had been given the latter ship. He was a tall, light-haired man with a long, narrow face, a bulging forehead, jutting ears, and a tremendous nose. Whatever his ability as a naval tactician, he was the most affable of all our ship's captains.

Python continued: "Berosos the Babylonian is a keen-eyed astronomer who can help with navigation, for we shall have to cross the open sea. Onas can interpret, should we make a landfall where no Greek is spoken. Chares is a sculptor, and the Ptolemaios has a weakness for artists and intellectuals."

Bias screwed up his wrinkled, mottled face. "I don't know about them foreigners. How do you know they won't desert as soon as they touch Egypt?"

Damoteles looked at me. "What say you, O Chares?"

I said: "Onas I am sure of, sir. His wife and child remain here, and he is a devoted family man. Berosos I am less certain of, though I believe he is in love with a local girl—let me see—I think it's the younger daughter of Thales the cobbler."

Said Bias: "Don't put too much faith in that. Berosos is in love with a new girl every month."

"We must take some chances," said the President. He turned to the Council. "Now that you have heard all sides, gentlemen, how do you vote?"

The Halia nosed southward over a bright blue sea. To ready the trireme for her voyage, the shipwrights had completely blocked the oar ports of the lower or thalamite and the upper or thranite bank, leaving a single bank of intermediate or zygite oars. For these, the workmen had rearranged the benches so that the oars could be pulled either by one or by two men. Then we embarked two-thirds of the normal complement of rowers, for use when the wind was foul.

During the first day we had a hazy sky and a gentle southerly breeze, bothersome only in that it made the rowers, pulling in hourly shifts, sweat to make head against it. There was a light fall of dust on the decks, a condition that we recognized as the blowing of sand from the African deserts.

The sun set without reddening; it sank into the dusty haze, fading to a grayish-yellow ball which simply disappeared long before it reached the horizon. A long, glassy swell from the west made us roll uncomfortably, and compelled our rowers to use a short stroke with a high recovery. Captain Python kept his soothsayer busy reading omens.

During the night the ship continued to roll. Polaris was invisible in the murk, but Berosos showed Captain Python where it would be by sighting on two stars of the Bear. The captain came up to the forecastle deck, where we lay rolled in our cloaks, around the old Talos. (The Lightning had been taken over by a new crew in Rhodes.)

"How are you doing, fellows?" he said.

"Very well, sir," I said.

"Good. Let me know if anything is amiss."

"I never knew a sea captain so friendly and democratic," murmured Mys, the loader.

"That is all very well," muttered Onas, "but the main matter is, will he give us the right commands in time of danger and doubt?"

The roll increased; the ship's timbers groaned. Towards dawn the stars were blotted out; the wind shifted; rain pattered down.

Rain continued through the morning. Then the rain ceased; azure holes appeared in the tattered clouds. As a strong west wind set in, the ship rolled more than ever. Many were seasick.

Captain Python, on his quarterdeck, conferred at length with his executive officer, his boatswain, and his soothsayer. At last he had the oars pulled in and the covers lashed to the oar ports. At the same time the sailors raised the sail. The wind was now westerly enough so that by bracing the sail around, we could run due south.

All day we sailed while the rowers took their ease. The ship heeled ominously with every swell, so that we on the forecastle deck looked down into blue-black depths. Captain Python slouched about with tight-pressed lips and a nervous, uncertain air. After Damophilos' perfectionism, Python's discipline seemed lax.

The wind continued through the night. The trireme leaked, for the shipwrights had done a hasty job of repairing her after the battle in the Great Harbor, and the rough weather had loosened her seams again. Rowers and sailors bailed with buckets and pumps.

We on deck were cold and soaked. During the night Berosos was often awakened to try to find a star through the tumbling clouds. Some of Python's geniality had gone by the board, for I could hear him over the sounds of wind and sea, shouting:

"Stupid ox! Lying barbarian!"

When Berosos came back, he settled down in his corner, grumbling: "He thinks I can see a mouse through a millstone."

With dawn the sun appeared through the clouds to set us on the right path again. The wind swung round to the north and became the normal etesian trade.

Dawn of our fourth day showed us a long, slim line of yellow beach, topped by a band of green, between sea and sky. Python strode up to the bow.

"Onas!" he said. "What part of the African coast is that?"

The Egyptian, who had been glum and despondent as a result of being parted from his wife, roused himself. "I know not, sir. From the Pelusiac mouth to Cyrene the coast of Egypt looks much the same."

"Berosos, do you know where we are?" said Python.

The Babylonian spread his hands. "I should guess, sir, that the strong west winds of the last two days have eastward borne us."

"East of Alexandria?"

"Who but the gods should know? But I do think so."

"Then would you sail westward until you came to a town where we can ask?"

"Aye, sir."

"How about you, Onas? Do you agree?"

"Aye, sir, but I would also take soundings, as the water along this coast is shoal."

Python: "Have you any ideas, Chares?"

"Nothing to add to what these men have said, sir."

Python looked around uncertainly, then went away, issuing his commands.

As we neared the coast, the Halia put about and headed westward. Presently a sailor came up to the bow with a sounding lead, which he whirled by its cord and threw ahead of the ship from time to time.

My first impression of Egypt, whereof so many romantic tales are told, was of flat, dreary monotony. Ever stretched the beach, and beyond it the low sky-lining mass of palms and reeds. After a while the sameness was broken by a fishing village. Python turned inshore to question the villagers. As we approached, however, the Egyptians fled.

"They think us slavers," explained Onas.

The lookout in the bow called: "It's shoaling!"

The next instant the Halia grounded with a creak of timbers. The mast swayed like a reed in the wind; men who had not braced themselves were sent staggering.

"What in the name of the Dog?" yelled Python. "I will flay that lookout alive!"

The officers rushed forward, shouting at the lookout as he reeled his lead in. The terrified sailor said:

"But I did call out, sir; indeed I did, sir; these men heard me, but the ship kept on, sir—"

"Your pardon, sirs," said Onas, "but were it not well to get off soon? The folk in these parts live by brigandage, and if they see us stranded, they will swarm out to assail us."

"Oh," said Captain Python. "Come aft, everybody. Coxswain, put the full crew on the oars."

We went aft to raise the bow by shifting our weight. The rowers, braced themselves, two to each oar, and backed water with all their might. After they had made several strokes without moving us, Python called a halt.

"We dare not wear them out," he said. "Who has an idea?"

The executive officer said: "If the rowers make their strokes alternately, first on one side and then on the other, we may wriggle off."

"Good," said Python, and commanded the coxswain.

This time the men pushed first on one side, so that the ship swung about its bow as about a pivot; then on the other side, so that it swung back. After a few strokes somebody shouted:

"She moves!"

The Halia backed off the shoal, turned, and continued along the coast, while the first lieutenant went below to look for new leaks. The catapult crew returned to its post.

"Does this go on forever?" I asked Onas. "Forsooth, not much is Egypt to see from the sea. All our great cities and monuments he inland."

"What lies back of that shore?"

"A land we call the Pasture, being nought but reed-bordered lakes and lagoons, inhabited by thieves and pirates." He broke off staring ahead. "Berosos, look and tell me if we near not that whereof I spoke."

The Babylonian shaded his eyes from the glare. Ahead, but closer to the beach, lay a ship, her mast rising at an angle. Berosos said:

"A merchantman I see—a large one, methinks—with smaller craft about it. Nought else can I see."

"Beshrew me," said Onas, becoming cheerfully animated again at the prospect of a fight, "if the merchantman have not grounded and if those small craft be not the pirates of the Pasture!"

I went aft to tell Python. He came forward at once and watched as the grounded merchantman slowly grew to our gaze. Soon we could all see the big roundship, heeled over, with the small craft of the Egyptians circling about it. The sun blinked on pinpoints of metal.

"Right you are, Onas," said Berosos. "There are ten or twelve boats. Some stand back and shoot arrows at those on the merchantman, while others close with it and strive to clamber up the sides. Archers in the basket at the merchantman's masthead shoot down at the attackers."

A faint sound of shouting came to our ears. I asked Python: "Shall I prepare the catapult for action, sir?"

"Oh?" he said. "Do you think we should try to rescue them?"

"Why, could Rhodians do otherwise?"

"I do not know. I have a mission to carry out and must not risk it. We leak, and another grounding would finish us. But—Berosos, what would you do?"

"The less fighting I see, the happier I am," said the Babylonian with a lugubrious countenance.

Python chewed a fingernail. Then he went aft. I could see him asking his other officers their opinions while the soothsayer scanned the empty sky for birds and the placid sea for fish. Then Python commanded the sail to be furled and the oars to be put out, but took so long that at last I went aft and spoke boldly:

"Captain, if we don't aid that ship soon, they will be beyond help."

Python gave a kind of shudder. "Prepare the catapult." This time Python posted two lookouts on the bow. We brought up our darts from the storeroom.

With short, gentle strokes we nosed inshore. We had an advantage over the merchantman, for a big roundship fully laden has more draft than a trireme.

Berosos called ranges: "Fifteen plethra— Fourteen plethra—"

I trotted back and forth along the deck, pointing out targets to Python. At last we were lined up and at the right distance.

"Shoot!"

The dart struck one of the attacking craft. As one man, the Egyptians leaped into the water and began swimming ashore, though the boat, being made of tarred bundles of reeds, did not seem fatally damaged.

We crept closer, dropping dart after dart among the attackers. Some became panicky and began to swim or paddle shoreward. Others were made of stouter stuff. Several boats paddled towards us "while men in their waists shot arrows of reed at us. They were tall dark men with long black hair, naked but for strips of dirty linen about their loins, and they yammered and gabbled and screeched like a cageful of monkeys.

Python swung our bow and headed into the cluster of boats from which the arrows came. Most of them scuttled out of the way, like water beetles when one steps into a pool, but one we caught on our ram. The boat was tossed on its back, and its screaming occupants were thrown into the water. They struck out for shore while our archers picked them off.

The boats that had remained around the merchantman now drew off, also. At first they stood off at a bowshot's distance, but a few darts sent them scuttling out of range of the catapult. There they remained in a sullen line, bobbing on the gentle swells, in water too shallow for us to pursue them.

We pulled alongside the merchantman. Python called down: "This is the Halia, of Rhodes. I am Python of Kallithea, commanding. Who are you?"

A stout, broad-shouldered ox of a man with a long black beard, a dented helmet, and a bloody sword, called back: "Thank the gods for beautiful Rhodes! I am Sapher of Sidon, master of the Anath. Can you pull us off?"

A group of men crowded up behind the Sidonian: six sailors and eight passengers, most of them wounded but all armed with swords, spears, and improvised clubs. Three men lay dead on the bloodstained deck: a passenger, a sailor, and a pirate, the last still clutching his copper-bladed hatchet. Two sailors with bows clambered down the mast from the fighting top.

"I will look at your ship first," said Python.

He climbed down the ladder to the deck of the Anath. He and Sapher walked about the slanting deck, talking in animated undertones. Then they vanished into the hold, from which a straggle of women, children, and slaves emerged. When the two captains reappeared, they had plainly come to a private agreement.

We made lines fast to the Anath. But though our rowers strained at their oars and stirred the clear, shallow water into muddy foam, they could not budge the merchantman. They pulled straight, and they pulled from side to side. After an hour of this they became too fatigued to pull strongly.

"We cannot get you off, my friend," Python called over the water.

"Then I am ruined!" The Phoenician burst into tears and pleaded. Python agreed to one more try, but this did no good either.

At last Sapher called: "Can you then take off my people and goods?"

"We shall see. I am coming aboard," said Python.

We backed up to the Anath, and again our captain went aboard the trader. I suppose they struck another bargain, for soon Sapher's sailors began passing cargo up to our deck: jars of Byblian wine, sacks of Syrian wool, and bars of Kilikian iron. The largest element in his cargo, a shipment of Lebanese timber, he had to abandon, because the Halia lacked room for anything so bulky.

The passengers climbed up another ladder, while our boatswain waited at the top to collect passage money from them. One, an elderly Hellene with a bloody bandage around his head, seemed familiar. When his eye lighted upon me with a look of recognition, I cried:

"Apelles!"

For it was indeed the great painter. We embraced.

"I didn't know you with that rag on your face," I said. "What do you mean, a man of your age, getting involved in brawls with vulgar brigands?"

"Chares, when a man comes at you with an ax to dash your brains out, you hit him with whatever you have. How come you here?"

When I had seen Apelles settled in a corner of the forecastle deck, I told him of our mission. He said: "I have heard of Demetrios' attack on Rhodes; a pity. As for me, having painted all the notables in my part of the world, I thought I would have a try at Alexandria, whither many eminent persons have removed in recent years."

"Why not paint the Ptolemaios himself?"

"I shall do better to keep out of his way. He and I fell out many years ago."

"Oh? Tell me, sir!"

Said Apelles: "Well—ah—it is not exactly the kind of thing one talks about. However, it was while the divine Alexander was campaigning in Asia Minor and I was painting his portrait. The Ptolemaios was one of Alexander's Companions. Also, there was a young lady named Pankaspê, a victim of war's upheavals, who had found favor with the king. When I finished his portrait, the Alexander liked it so well that he sent Pankaspê to me with orders to paint her nude.

"Enter Eros. Word came to the ears of the king that his painter had fallen madly in love with the lady, and, in truth, I trembled so at the sight of her glorious form that I could scarcely hold a brush steady. The Alexander called me in and asked if this tale were true. Not knowing whether he would have my head for it, I stammered an assent.

" 'Then take her, friend,' quoth he. 'It will make you happy, and in the long run she, too, will be happier than with me. I have no time to cultivate the art of pleasing women. Now be off with you. I am preparing to march.'

"So Pankaspê and I have dwelt together in harmony ever since. She was the model for my 'Aphrodite Rising from the Sea' and for many other paintings. I even wedded her legally a few years back."

"How does the Ptolemaios come into it?"

"Ah, you see, he had had his eye on this same lady, but naturally he couldn't go to the king and say: 'Give me your favorite mistress, sire.' I was told that he was in a great rage when he heard of the king's gift and swore to cook my heart in a stewpan someday. I doubt, however, that he would go out of his way to molest me after all these years, and that is how I come to be here. A good thing it is that you people came when you did. But what took you so long once you saw us? We wondered for a while if you were in league with the pirates."

I lowered my voice. "Our captain is an amiable fellow and a good enough officer as long as he has a higher officer to tell him what to do. But he goes to pieces when he's forced to act on his own. How came you to be stranded?"

"Becoming impatient, Sapher tried to sail from Gaza before he was assured of fair winds. Hence we ran aground in a sandstorm, and the north wind that followed pushed us up on shore so that nothing could pull us off save a battleship."

A tall, lean, bald, bushy-browed man, younger than Apelles, spoke in a mixed Italiot accent: "It is too bad that this grounding was not on the shores of the ocean. There, the water rises and falls several cubits each day, so that if grounded at low tide, you will float off later."

Apelles: "Allow me to present some of my fellow passengers, O Chares. This"—he indicated the lean man who had just spoken—"is the learned Dikaiarchos of Messana, a geographer on his way to Egypt on behalf of Kasandros, to obtain information about the country and its commercial needs. This is Theodoros of Cyrene, a philosopher."

"Rejoice!" I said. "O Theodoros, I heard you lecture in Athens several years ago."

"You did?" said Theodoros, a lively little graybeard. "Which lecture was it? The one on the folly of supernatural-ism?"

"Yes, sir. You certainly smote the demon superstition with might and main."

"He smote it once too often," said Dikaiarchos. "He preached on the absurdity of all supernatural belief, and the Athenians turned him out of Attika."

"Proving my point," said Theodoros.

"How?" asked Apelles.

"If the gods do not exist, as I maintain, there is nought to fear from my lecturing. If they do, they might well be wroth with me; but in that case they would smite me as an individual, and the Athenians need not fear for themselves. Therefore, only superstitious people would expel a lecturer for expressing opinions such as mine; hence, the Athenians are superstitious, which was to have been demonstrated."

"The gods might aim a thunderbolt at you and miss," said Apelles.

"If they be such poor shots, they are no gods."

I spoke up: "You are no doubt wiser than I, O Theodoros, but I wouldn't joke about the gods. With my own eyes I saw the far-casting Apollon save Rhodes in answer to our prayers."

"Eh? What is this?" said Theodoros.

I told the story of the overthrow of Demetrios' giant sea tower by the providential windstorm. "And if that isn't evidence," I said, "I don't know what is."

Theodoros cackled. "It is evidence that you, young sir, were in a wrought-up state from excitement and lack of proper sleep and victuals, and so liable to see anything. And how about all the cities that have fallen despite the prayers of their people? Where is your logic?"

"I don't know about other cities—" I began with heat, but Dikaiarchos cut me off.

"Pay him no heed, Master Chares," said he. "Theodoros will argue on any side of any subject, for sheer love of disputation. I prefer to assemble good, substantial facts and let others play intellectual games with them."

The last of Sapher's cargo was moved to the Halia, where it was stowed here, there, and everywhere. We cast off and pulled away from the Anath. Captain Sapher stood with his elbows on the rail, weeping into his beard.

"I grieve with you," I said.

"Twenty years," he said. "For twenty years I slave and scrimp, from common sailor to master mariner, until I can own my own ship. And then, on my third voyage—"

"Could you get a battleship to pull your vessel off?"

"Nay. The bribes to Ptolemaios' officials would eat up most of her value, and by the time the galley got here, the natives would have plundered her of what cargo remains and burnt the rest. Or else the first strong north wind will break her up. Forsooth, the gods have requited me hardly for my sins."

"Indeed, they are not to be trifled with," I said. "May we all keep on then good sides from now on."

Crowded as was the forecastle deck already, several more rescued travelers squeezed in with us. There was a young Hellene on his way to enlist in the Ptolemaic army as a mercenary, a couple of traders, and three whom I came to know better. One was Azarias ben-Moses (or, as we should say, Azarias Moseos) a Judaean weaver of Bousiris: a subdued, round-shouldered, bearded little man who said little because he knew but a few words of Greek. I discovered, however, that with some difficulty and repetition I could speak to him, using my limited Phoenician, because the Judaeans speak a dialect of that language.

"I was visiting Jerusalem in connection with an inheritance," he said, "and was on my way home when this disaster struck. By the one god Iao, I thought we were all dead men, when your ship sailed into sight! Though I am but a poor man, I would do aught that lay in my power for any of you, should you ask a favor of me."

"Just where are we?" I said.

"I think we are a little east of the Phatnitic mouth. Soon we shall reach Tamiathis* (* Modern Damietta or Dumyat), where I leave you to ascend the river to my home. These two go with me, or rather, I go with them as far as Bousiris."

One of the two indicated, a big blond man, spoke Greek with a strong Kilikian accent. "I am Alexis of Tarsos, sir, and this is my partner, Semken of Koptos." He indicated a small dark man with a scar on his chin. "What does a Rhodian ship so far from Rhodes, with a war on?"

I told the tale of the capture of Demetrios' royal robes, and of our present mission.

"Could one see these robes?" queried Semken.

"You would have to ask Captain Python. He keeps them locked up, I suppose. How do you make your living?"

Alexis and Semken pointed to a huge leathern bag they had brought aboard. "Here is our stock," said Alexis. "We are bookdealers. We export rolls of raw papyrus from Egypt to the Greek lands, where we sell them and buy completed manuscripts to bring back to Egypt. Such books find a ready market among Ptolemaios' Greek officials."

"It sounds interesting," I said. "Is it profitable?"

"It is a living," said Alexis, "save that there is too cursed much governmental interference in trade. The latest rumor has it that the Ptolemaios plans to nationalize the papyrus industry."

"If that be true, we are ruined," said Semken. "At least I am. As a Hellene, Alexis can no doubt get a job in some governmental office; but, as an Egyptian, I cannot rise even in my own land, all the good posts being reserved for Hellenes. Is that not an outrage?"

"I had rather find some other commodity to trade in," said Alexis. "Long ago I swore never to do as Semken suggests: become a governmental clerk and sit all day in an office, squeezing bribes from the people and intriguing against my fellow bureaucrats. No, give me a life of travel and adventure."

Onas said: "Has either of you ever seen the terrible Book of Thôth?"

The bookdealers looked at one another. Semken spoke: "Once in my life have I seen it. In a shadowy crypt beneath the pyramid of an ancient king it was, in the hands of an aged wizard. For years this warlock had sought the book, to master the mighty spells that should enable him to stop the sun in the sky and to raise and lower the Nile at his will. At last he found it in the bony hands of the withered mummy of this king of olden times.

"Quickly the wizard tore the book from the hands of the mummy, which crumbled into dust as he did so. Hastily he unrolled the book and began to recite its cantrips. Our rushlights flickered, and the darkness deepened. A sense of gloom and horror descended upon me. And then—oh, my masters, what a memory is this!—there came upon us some presence from the nighted gulfs beyond the grave. A living darkness folded the wizard in its batlike wings; he screamed and was no more. How I escaped the demon's claws I know not; they found me wandering in the desert, screaming mad. Even now, years later, I fear to sleep lest I dream of this awful event."

I shuddered with the rest. If a liar, Semken was a most artistic one.

As the sun set redly before us, Python ordered the anchors dropped lest we run aground in the darkness. I spent the pleasantest night since the start of our voyage, since the air was mild and the ship barely moved.

The next morning I observed Alexis in converse with Captain Python. They walked the deck together; the Tarsian seemed to be wheedling the captain, who long frowned and tossed his head in the negative. But at last Alexis' grin showed that Python had yielded.

Itching to know what went forward, I fell in with them. "Sir," I said, "we used almost half our darts in yesterday's fight. Ought we not to obtain some more at Alexandria?"

"Yes, yes, I suppose so," said Python. "Remind me of it when we get there."

"When will that be, sir?"

"We shall reach Tamiathis by noon, and there we shall lay up for repairs. I do not care to have this leaky old basket sink under me in the middle of Alexandria's harbor."

"And then, sir?"

"We shall be several days in Tamiathis. Then, if the omens let us sail at once, Alexandria is less than two days' sail, with reasonable winds."

Alexis of Tarsos said: "Pray then, Captain, may we see that of which we spoke now, before we reach port and leave you?"

"Oh, very well. Fetch your comrade."

"What's this?" I said.

The guileless Python spoke: "This man has talked me into showing him the royal robes."

"If he, a stranger, may see them, then surely I may also."

"Well—ah—I do not know. I cannot admit everybody—"

"Not all at once, sir, but surely common justice entitles your own warriors ..."

In the end Python gave in once more. I fetched the catapult crew aft to Python's cabin. As soon as the other passengers, the archers, the marines, and the sailors saw that something was afoot, they hastened aft also. Soon there was a jostling crowd on the deck, which pushed and shouted until the marine officer and I beat and cursed them into line, filing into the cabin and out again.

When most of the crew had been through the cabin, I fell into line behind Azarias. When the Judaean saw the garments, he uttered a guttural exclamation and reached out as if to try the goods with his fingers.

"Hands off, fellow!" snapped Python.

"What, sir?" said the weaver, but in his native tongue. I translated; Azarias had wished to determine if the quality of the robe was as fine as it seemed, as he was in the business.

The suit consisted of a white linen shirt with a purple stripe, a silken, sleeved robe of Persian cut, a purple felt hat, and high felt boots. All were bright with gold. The robe was pale blue, with a purple border and astronomical symbols worked in golden thread and spangles. The hat had a band in the form of a golden laurel wreath. Certainly Demetrios would have presented a godlike spectacle in this ornate array.

We killed time as the ship plodded westward. While Onas taught Egyptian checkers to Dikaiarchos the geographer, and others engaged in other pastimes, Azarias attached himself to me. He seemed a nice little man, and I was glad to practice my rusty Phoenician. When I told him of my art and of my plans for the world's finest colossus, he said:

"Ouai, young sir, how sad for you! How I grieve!"

"By the gods, why?"

"Because the only true god, the lord Iao, has forbidden the making of graven images. I fear it will go hard with you in the next world."

"He may have forbidden you, but I have heard nothing of this. Anyway, what makes you think that your god is the only one?"

"He himself has said so, through his holy books and the mouths of his prophets."

"Well, the god I worship has approved my plan for his statue and will guard and guide me to its completion, for the glory of the god and of beautiful Rhodes. It's too bad that you and Theodoros have no language in common, for there would be hot theological argument."

"Why, what is his view of sacred matters?"

"Whereas you believe in no gods but Iao, he carries this skepticism to its logical conclusion and believes in no gods at all. The difference seems slight to me."

"Mock not the lord Iao. I had an uncle ..." Azarias went into a long tale of the calamities that befell this uncle as a result of flouting the singular rules of eating that the Judaean religion imposes upon its followers. The uncle's wife had run off with a Nabataean smuggler; his daughter had become a belly dancer in an Egyptian tavern in Gaza; and sickness and poverty dogged his path.

In the afternoon we reached the Phatnitic mouth of the Nile and turned into its broad stream. We passed two of Ptolemaios' black-hulled triremes, anchored in the shallows with gilded wooden statues of Alexander shining on their sterns. Then, twenty or more furlongs from the mouth, we came to Tamiathis, standing in a sandy waste on the eastern shore of the river.

Tamiathis lies on a narrow neck of land, with the Nile in front and the reedy borders of Lake Tanis behind. Basically a fishing village, it has grown to something more because of Ptolemaios' building a small naval station with a slip for minor repairs. Furthermore, here travelers for Memphis and points south leave the coastal ships and take to river boats.

Three fat-bellied merchantmen were tied up to the, crumbling quay. Fishing smacks and river boats clustered along the waterfront. Loafers slept in the sunshine; mangy dogs fought over scraps of offal; a barber shaved the scalp of a customer.

The Halia pulled up to one end of the quay. Using Onas as interpreter, Python shouted orders and threats at the masters of the light craft until they made space for the trireme. We drew in our oars and tied up.

A gleaming Ptolemaic officer and two Greek civilians climbed aboard and went to Python. "I am Tauros, commadant of the port," said the officer, "and these are Chief Customs Inspector Pelias and his assistant. Pray assemble your crew and passengers."

The trumpeter blew; the rowers, smelling strongly of sweat, filed up on deck. Commandant Tauros raised his voice:

"O strangers! You are entering the domains of Ptolemaios son of Lagos, king of Egypt and the surrounding lands!"

King? I thought. The Ptolemaios must have heard of Antigonos' assumption of royal rank and done likewise.

"Before you go ashore," continued the commandant, "you must show your baggage to the assistant customs inspector and pay the import tax that he levies. When you go ashore, behave as a guest in the house of another."

"He means," put in Python, "that if we catch any of you abandoned rascals fighting with the natives, we will hang you from the yardarm."

"Another thing," said Tauros. "Do not kill any animals while you are in Egypt. Many animals are sacred to the Egyptians, different ones in different parts of the land. The cat, the dog, the bull, the hawk, and the ibis are sacred everywhere. Be particularly careful not to harm a cat—not, that is, unless you wish to be torn to bits by a frenzied mob. Also, Egyptians deem it extremely uncouth to relieve oneself in the street, so it is better not to do so."

The commandant and the chief customs inspector turned aside to plunge into a wrangle with Python and Sapher. My crew and I went ashore to trudge the dusty streets with sand in our shoes and to sit in a tavern, drink beer, and scratch fleabites.

Dikaiarchos, who happened by, kept treating us—"Because," he said, "I wish to test the dictum of Aristoteles, that men who are drunk on wine fall prone, while those who are drunk on beer fall supine."

Before this philosophical point could be settled, however, Azarias of Bousiris pushed into the tavern and came over to me, asking:

"Have you seen Alexis and Semken, sir?"

"Not I. Why?"

"I had arranged to take a river boat with them, to share the expense. Now they have disappeared, and I fear they have gone without me. I know not how they got their baggage through customs so quickly. They must have bribed the inspectors."

I felt a pricking of unease, as if my guardian spirit were trying to warn me, but I brushed it aside. "What will you do?"

"I must needs wait until another party is bound upriver. I cannot afford to hire a boat all to myself."

"You might as well sit with us and drink, then."

"I thank you, but—avoi!—the rules of my religion forbid. I shall see you back at the ship."

As the team and I were heartily tired of cold meals eaten on deck, we arranged with the taverner for a proper dinner that night. Onas, knowing the Egyptian language, went to buy materials for this feast. I strolled back to the waterfront to watch the unloading of Sapher's cargo. Captain Sapher, standing on the quay and directing his men, said:

"There may be hope yet. I have arranged with the Royal Navy to try to pull off the Anath tomorrow, if the brigands have not destroyed her."

The last of the salvaged cargo came shore. The Halia pushed off into the stream, turned, and backed up to the slip. When it was made fast, the rowers let themselves down over the stern. With hawsers they pulled the ship up on the slip, on rollers. When the Halia was secured, Captain Python prowled around the hull, giving commands: "Scrape those barnacles— Drive an extra peg here— Recalk that seam— Oh, rejoice, Chares. It looks as though three days' work should see us through, if the omens let us sail then."

"Could the crew of the Talos feast you at the tavern tonight, sir?"

"Thank you, but I am entertaining the commandant on the ship."

"While she lies on the slip?"

"Surely. Nothing could go wrong, unless some joker cut the cables and let us roll back into the river, and the marines will guard against that. Have a good dinner."

Our feast, served on bean leaves for plates, went off splendidly, despite the absence of our genial captain. The taverner brought in a dancer, one of the class peculiar to Egypt and known as belly dancers. Her specialty was to stand rigid while her hips and breasts quivered and jiggled and rotated in small circles.

The crew roared its approval, and even Berosos and Dikaiarchos ceased their argument, as to whether the moon in its courses faces constantly towards the sun or towards the earth, to watch. As she was going out, I stopped her and asked if I might see her later.

"I have one more dance. I meet you in hour outside," she said.

Having time to work up my anticipation, I bethought me that I was not presenting my most seductive appearance. Although I had bathed and shaved, I wore my hard-used artilleryman's corselet, kilt, and hobnailed shoes. If I went back to the ship, I could get out my best soft shoes, shirt, and cloak, comb my curly hair, oil my skin, and borrow some scent from a shipmate.

Like the other men of the Talos, I had engaged a bed in the dormitory of the tavern, for even the most bug-ridden bed seemed like luxury after four nights on a pine deck. That, however, could wait.

On her rollers, the Halia loomed up as a huge black towering mass in the moonlight. I identified myself to the marine sentries and climbed the ladder. Snores from rowers and others who were sleeping aboard rumbled up from the oar deck, while light and snatches of song came from the captain's cabin under the quarterdeck. Python, I thought, was having quite a party.

I was finishing my toilette on the forecastle deck when the noise from the captain's cabin was broken by a cry of rage and anguish. There was a moment of silence, then a yammer of voices. The door to the cabin flew open. Out rushed Captain Python, shouting:

"Leonidas! Damon! Chares! Where is everybody? Something terrible has befallen!"

Some of the rowers roused themselves to grunt questions from the oar deck, but the first officer, the boatswain, and the marine officer had all gone into the town. I said:

"Here I am, sir. What is it?"

As I reached the main deck, Python ran forward, waving his fists above his head. He tried to speak, but only an inarticulate stammer came forth. Never had I seen our usually easygoing captain so excited. Behind him,' Commandant Tauros emerged from the cabin, together with two scantily clad girls.

"The—the robe is gone!" shouted Python at last. "Demetrios' royal robe?"

"What—what did you think I meant? Somebody has stolen it! Who took it? Where is it?" Python grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.

"Please, Captain!" I said. "I haven't seen this precious robe. Is it just the robe that is missing, or all of Demetrios' regalia?"

"Only the robe. I—I opened the chest to show these garments to my guests just now, and—but who could have done it?"

I said: "How about those so-called bookdealers, Semken and Alexis? Azarias the Judaean says they left in haste without him, early this afternoon."

"Herakles! I think you have it. It was the Hellene, Alexis, who was so eager to see the garments, was it not?"

"Yes, he it was who persuaded you to open the chest."

"Do not try to blame me, you young scoundrel! It was you who told him about these things in the first place. Therefore it is you who have ruined us and perhaps our city as well! I ought to hang you—"

With a snarl Python aimed a blow at my head. Luckily I saw it coming in time to duck.

"Captain!" I cried, dancing back out of reach of the frantic man's fists. "Pull yourself together! You'll never recover the robe by beating me."

"He speaks sense, man," said the commandant. "The main thing is to get your bauble back."

"What can you do, Tauros? What can anybody do?" moaned Python. "I am ruined! I should have paid more heed to the omens."

I said: "I remember now that a couple of years ago, when I returned to Rhodes from my apprenticeship, I was told of a daring theft of all the books in our public library. Suspected were a pair of bookdealers who had visited the island and whose descriptions are answered by Alexis and Semken. So I have no doubt that they are the thieves."

"Why did you not think of that sooner?" said Python.

"Call it stupidity, sir. The next thing, however, is to find out whither they went. Their plan was to go up the Phatnitic branch, taking Azarias as far as Bousiris. So they must be bound for some hideout south of that city."

"Sailing up the river, eh?" said Python. "Then why do we not launch the ship and go after them? With our oars we could easily catch them."

Commandant Tauros said: "You have never sailed a trireme on the Nile. This branch writhes like a serpent in pain. Hence you must go slowly, with a native pilot to show you the channel, lest you ground on a sand bar. These river craft, which can sail on a heavy dew, need not be so careful, and thus you lose your advantage of speed. Moreover—did you say these fellows fled in the afternoon?"

"Yes," I said, "or so Azarias told me."

"Then they are already halfway to Bousiris, with this brisk breeze. And with the calking out of your planks and your girding cables off, your ship could not pursue them anyway."

"Could you not go after the thieves in one of your ships?"

"My dear Python," said Tauros, "I should love to oblige you. But my orders are to watch for hostile fleets and protect the coastal shipping. It would cost me my commission to go haring off after a pair of petty sneak thieves. Why do you not present the king with the remaining garments and say nothing about the theft of the robe?"

"He would find out, fear not. And the robe is the most important item in this wardrobe. I could present the robe without the hat, shirt, and shoes, but not the other things without the robe. Besides, the omens are bad."

I thought, the Ptolemaios would certainly find out about it after Python had shouted the news of the theft in a voice that must have carried all over Tamiathis.

"Very well, then," said Tauros. "Let us gather our wits and take counsel as to how to retrieve your loss."

When we were gathered in the cabin under the wavering yellow light of a lamp, Commandant Tauros explained: "You will find many things strange in Egypt. For instance, many native Egyptians so lack appreciation of Greek civilization" —he cast an ironic glance at Onas—"that they plot to throw us out of the land. They form secret societies of liberation, and all that nonsense."

Onas said: "We had practice under the Persians, sir. It even worked for a time." He referred to the revolt of the Egyptians from the rule of the Persian king, Artaxerxes Memnon, whereby they achieved an independence which they precariously maintained for sixty years.

Said Tauros: "Well, let us not get into political argument. As I was about to say, many thieves and brigands take advantage of this situation. They cover their robberies by calling themselves liberators of the downtrodden Egyptian race. Believing this, the ordinary Egyptians will not inform on these rascals. Some thieves have formed virtual criminal kingdoms—invisible but covering great tracts of Egypt. Some, I suspect, have seized control of genuinely patriotic movements. They fight private wars, draw up treaties, and allot territories as if they were legitimate governments."

"Amazing!" said Python.

"Not so amazing, sir," said Onas, "when you consider how much longer we have been civilized than—ahem—than some other folk. However, Captain, I can tell you that Semken is no Koptian. I know a Memphite accent when I hear one." He turned to me. "Chares, ask Azarias whither these men said they were bound."

I repeated the question in Punic. Azarias replied: "Now that I think, they did not say. They were to drop me at Bousiris and go on—whither, I know not."

When this had been translated, I said: "You see, sir, the man Semken claims to be of Koptos but speaks the speech of Memphis, and avoids telling where he is going. I should guess that his hideout were in Memphis. That's a large city, is it not, Onas?"

"One of the world's greatest," said the Egyptian.

"Very well," said Python. "You, O Chares, are hereby charged with the recovery of Demetrios' robe. Pick the men to go with you—not too many—and make all arrangements. But do not come back without that garment."

"I will find it, sir," I said. "I shall need money, though."

"You shall have enough for your needs." Python smiled a weak, conciliatory smile. "I am sorry I lost my temper just now. Do not be angry with me. But we must have that robe back at all costs. The fate of our city depends upon it."