The Seven Hills

CHAPTER NINE

Their ship was a cargo vessel from Corcyra named Oceanus. It was an old but trustworthy craft, veteran of more than a hundred years of voyaging to every shore touched by the Middle Sea, or so her skipper boasted. Been in his family the whole time, he said. The ship was bright with paint recently renewed, and its graceful stem, carved in the form of a swan's neck and head, was brilliantly gilt.

They saw the smoking pinnacle of the Pharos lighthouse from many miles out at sea and passed between the island and Cape Lochias at midday. Since they had letters from the Roman Senate, they would be permitted to use the exclusive Royal Harbor. A small cutter drew alongside at the entrance to the little harbor, and Zeno presented his dispatch case, sealed with a lead medallion embossed with four simple letters in the Roman script: SPQR. This was a formula signifying the Senate and people of Rome, and was placed on all official correspondence, decrees and even public monuments. It was fast becoming a familiar sight.

The glittering official, his uniform the brilliant blue and gold of the Egyptian royal house, glanced at the seal and then at the two Greeks. His golden breastplate and helmet, Zeno thought, would not have withstood the assault of an angry bird.

"You two don't look much like Romans," he noted idly.

"All the Romans are busy fighting Carthage," Zeno told him.

"So one hears. Well, your documents appear to be in order. You may proceed to the royal wharf. The palace is hard to miss. Someone will lead you to the quarters where the Romans stay."

"What is that?" Zeno cried, staring upward. The two Greeks gaped, all philosophical impassivity forgotten for the moment. Above them soared something beyond the speculations of Aristotle: a winged thing that was clearly no living creature, but rather a fabrication of wood and cloth, with batlike wings and a great, wedge-shaped tail. So bizarre was this apparition that at first they did not notice the man hanging just below it like the prey of a great, flying hunter.

"But this is marvelous!" Izates said, apparently finding nothing Cynical to say about it. "A man flies!"

"Yes," said the official, "and no good will come of it, I assure you. This is the sort of behavior that draws the wrath of the gods. Flying men, boats that travel underwater-what next? Men should not aspire to the power of the immortals."

As if to show his contempt for such cavils, the flying man swooped low, almost knocking the gilded helmet from the official's head. The official's Greek polish abandoned him and he cursed at the flyer in native Egyptian. The crowd of idlers gathered along the waterfront cheered.

Zeno and Izates proceeded to a wharf and climbed the steps to the huge palace complex. A chamberlain examined their credentials and led them to the suite of apartments occupied by the Romans. There they found a man seated at a desk. He rose as they entered, extending his hand.

"Welcome to Alexandria, my friends. You've brought me dispatches from the Senate?" He had the Roman look, but he was a shade less martial in appearance than most others of his class they had encountered. He clearly was not as obsessed with physical fitness, being just a bit soft around the middle, his jaw and cheekbones not defined with quite the razor sharpness so noticeable in the others. "I am Aulus Flaccus, aide to Marcus Cornelius Scipio."

They introduced themselves.

"I am so pleased that the Senate has for once sent men capable of intelligent conversation and interests beyond war and conquest. Gabinius must be behind this. Only man in the Senate with more brains than ferocity. Please, sit down and I'll have some lunch brought in. You must tell me all about how Rome of the Seven Hills is progressing. It was a wasteland when Marcus and I passed through."

"It was Gabinius, indeed," Zeno told him. "He has become our patron and hospes in Rome. A most remarkable man." He looked around the room and saw the many models of machines being developed at the Museum. Some were clearly catapults and so forth. Others were utterly mysterious. "Remarkable as I have found the resurgence of Rome, however, developments here in Alexandria have been equally stunning. We saw a flying man when we arrived."

Flaccus smiled. "Yes, Marcus has become enthralled with military toys."

"I would think that a flying man has greater significance than the merely military," said Izates.

"I suppose so. At the moment, however, we are at war and surrounded by enemies, so military applications have pride of place. No doubt you've heard of the underwater boats. They are developing new ways to propel vessels, and people are doing amazing things with mirrors: ways to see over walls and around corners, directing light.into dark mines and galleries. And now lenses."

"Lenses?" Zeno said.

"Yes, they are pieces of shaped glass with strange properties. Glass is a Babylonian invention, and the purest glass is still made by artisans from that part of the world. Actually, the Egyptians have been making glass for a thousand years or more, but they only use it for things like perfume flasks and other frivolous uses. Anyway, there is a man here named Aristobulus who has a workforce of these glassmakers who turn out lenses of varying properties. They can make small objects appear large and vice versa. He uses arrangements of these lenses to make distant objects seem closer. Other glass objects, too-prisms, he calls them. They cast a very pretty beam of many-colored light, like a flat rainbow."

"Very interesting," Izates muttered. "Not as impressive as a flying man, though."

"That is true. They seem to have the flying gadget under control now. A number of slaves got killed getting it to work, but now they have free men using them. Makes sense when you think about it. I mean, give a slave a flying machine and you've lost your slave, haven't you? The flyers have grown insufferably arrogant, though. They swagger around the city as,if they're a superior breed of men."

"Well, they do fly," Izates said. "I suppose it could make a man conceited."

"Ah, here's our lunch," Flaccus said. Slaves carried in trays and pitchers, and the new acquaintances confined themselves to small talk while they ate. The Greeks described the rebuilding of Rome as they had observed it; Flaccus told them of the latest Alexandrian gossip. The huge, polyglot city with its vast number of inhabitants of many nations was a bottomless well of social and political prattle, which the Roman seemed to find hugely amusing.

"The Greeks are trying to be philosophical about this sudden expansion of Roman power, but they hate to see anything eclipsing the prestige of Greek culture. The. Jews are abuzz over the way our colleague, Titus Norbanus, has unified their nation under a single king. We just got the word a few days ago. They don't seem entirely pleased with the news, though. I get the impression that they like disunity, being a naturally fractious people. The natives are biding their time. They believe that eventually all the foreigners will be expelled and the great days of the pharaohs will return. Egyptians are patient. Their history goes back thousands of years, so the last few centuries under foreign rule don't amount to much."

"They have been conquered by foreigners before," Izates observed, "and expelled them."

"Their ancestors were more manly," said Flaccus. "Those I've met seem to be natural-born slaves."

"You Romans are born with swords in your hands," Zeno said. "I think it would take a warlike nation indeed to impress you."

Flaccus waved a dismissive hand. "Qh, the discipline and fighting skills are only a part of it. It's what everyone raves about, but I believe our political instincts are what have made us supreme. The Gauls are a brave people, skilled at arms. We've conquered them. You've never seen anyone as ferocious as the Germans, but we're conquering them, too. We haven't really outfought them, but we've outthought them."

"This has worked well against uncivilized people," said Izates. "Clearly, tribal societies devoid of unity cannot for long prevail against a great nation with a splendid army. But now you are moving into the civilized world, and kingdoms are very different from tribes."

"Only in degree," Flaccus said. "A kingdom is one big tribe under one big chieftain. If the king is a fool, the whole nation suffers. If the royal succession is disputed, there may be civil war. We think a republic is better, and we prefer to have our disunity at the top."

"How do you mean?" Zeno asked, fascinated.

"All philosophers agree that monarchy is the wisest form of government, aristocratic oligarchy the next best, and democracy the worst," Izates said.

"I take it you've stood in the Forum and heard the Senate debate inside the curia?" Flaccus said with a sly grin. "Sounds like a big dogfight, doesn't it? That's the way we like it. Let the senators thrash it out among themselves and leave the commons and the soldiers out of it. Eventually, they'll agree on a policy and then send it out to the commanders in the field. Once policy is set, the state acts as one man."

"Yet your General Norbanus," Izates said, "is off acting like a conquering king, a new little Alexander, without guidance from the Senate."

"Just a temporary expedient," said Flaccus. "The distances are vast and we haven't yet set up a proper communication system. Sooner or later he'll return to Italy and his legions will be back under senatorial control. The whole reason for winning glory is so that he can stand for higher office, and he must lay down his command to take part in the elections. It's all part of our scheme for keeping any one man from grabbing too much power."

His words sounded confident, but both Greeks could see that this was a touchy subject, in Alexandria as at Rome. Norbanus was setting a dangerous precedent.

"Still," said Zeno, steering to a safer subject, "your government is an oligarchy. In our conversations with Gabinius, we learned that most senators came from a small group of families. The commons really have little say in their government."

"True," Flaccus admitted. "We are far from democratic and the senatorial order is a hard nut to crack, but men of outstanding merit get into the Senate, I assure you. I've known consuls whose fathers were peasant farmers and who started their careers as common legionaries. It isn't easy, but it can be done. We purposely don't make it easy. We don't want mere demagogues to rise to power, any more than we want aristocrats aspiring to royal dignity.

"Likewise, we don't allow senatorial families to produce generations of nobodies who live in idleness on inherited wealth. If they can't produce men of courage and capability, they might as well join the class of merchants and businessmen. The elections will assure that. Though not exactly democratic, they express the will of the people with a fair degree of accuracy. Cowards and bumblers do not get elected to the higher magistracies, no matter how noble their families."

"Admirable," both Greeks muttered, wondering how far reality fell short of this ideal. From what they had seen thus far, it came chillingly short.

"But I am sure you want to see what is going on here," Flaccus said, signaling for the slaves to clear away the remains of lunch.

"Aren't you going to look over the documents we've brought?" Zeno asked.

Flaccus glanced at the scrolls and tablets on the table. "Oh, I shall. Eventually."

Izates cleared his throat. "Um, if you will not think the observation too impertinent, you seem to have a rather Norbanus-like disregard for senatorial guidance."

Flaccus shrugged. "Really, there is no rush. I already know what is in there. There will be a pompous official pronouncement from the Senate. Then there will be some letters from Gabinius and other friends and allies, telling us about the real political climate in Rome and what our enemies are plotting against us. Just the usual stuff. After all, what we do here in Alexandria is merely a sideshow. The real action just now is in Sicily and Judea and parts eastward, soon to be followed by the real war against Carthage. We really don't merit much senatorial attention."

Flaccus clapped his hands and a pair of young slaves came running with his armor and weapons. "The queen insists upon these military trappings," he grumped as, with some difficulty, the boys got his old-fashioned, muscled cuirass buckled about him. "She wants everyone to be in no doubt where her support lies. The locals are frightened of Carthage, but they have learned to be truly terrified of Rome."

"We've been told of how Titus Norbanus conducted his part of the battle between Hamilcar's army and that of the deposed advisors; Also of his progress down the Nile before he set off eastward," Zeno said.

"He's shown a flair for generalship nobody expected," Flaccus admitted. "Put the fear of Jupiter's thunderbolts into the Egyptians. And if an untried boy like Norbanus can do that, what will the seasoned Roman commanders be like, eh?"

He led them from his rather lavish quarters at the now-familiar legionary pace into an adjacent courtyard that had been converted into an exercise yard for the Romans. There they found another Roman dressed in full battle armor practicing sword work against a wooden post. By now the Greeks were familiar with the legionary sword drill and were no longer astonished at the subtle use of the shield andlightning jabs of the gladius.

"Marcus, I've brought friends," Flaccus said.

The other man stepped back from the post and sheathed his sword. He removed his helmet, revealing a face as hard-planed as any they had ever seen. This man looked like the final refinement of the Roman soldier ideal. He was sweating abundantly, but his breathing was slow and steady and he spoke easily.

"Welcome. You look like a pair of seasoned travelers. What brings you to us?"

Flaccus made introductions and told Marcus of their mission.

"Excellent! The Senate is showing some sense for a change. You should hear the men they usually send here with dispatches. I ask them how the rebuilding of Rome is progressing and they say, 'it's going fine,' or 'slowly,' or something like that. They always resent being used as messengers and are anxious to be with the legions."

"Aren't you?" Izates asked.

"Not really. I've been fighting all my life, and there will always be plenty of campaigning to do. We're doing important work here, and it will prove crucial in the years and campaigns to come."

Zeno eyed the much-splintered post. "I confess I'm rather surprised to see a soldier of your years and experience practicing at the post like a recruit."

Marcus grinned, almost softening his harsh face. "My father put a wooden sword in my hand and a wicker shield on my arm and set me at the post when I was seven years old. I've done this drill more days than not every year since. You'd be surprised how sloppy your sword work can get if you neglect post practice. Sparring with an opponent is more enjoyable, but you lose your precision if that is all you do."

"Let him get started and he'll talk about fighting all day long," Flaccus told them. "Marcus, I've promised these two a tour of our facility. Would you care to guide them?"

"Of course! I'd like nothing better."

"You see?" Flaccus said. "This is the one thing he likes even better than fighting. The Archimedean school is his pride and joy. He'd rather test a new machine than celebrate a triumph."

"Actually," Marcus said, "there's no reason why I can't do this and celebrate a triumph as well, eventually. Come along." They set off, the two Romans unconsciously falling into lockstep.

"Archimedes has been a rather obscure figure," Izates said. "Of course, everyone knows the story of how he discovered the principles of buoyancy and displacement, and his geometric discoveries, but his school here has been practically unknown."

"That's because the heads of the Museum have been as Plato-addled as most philosophers," Marcus said. "Well, I put an end to that. Gave the school top priority and sent out word that any bright, invention-minded philosopher who wanted to actually do things instead of just ponder and babble could come here and accomplish wonders. More arrive every day."

"An extreme approach," Izates said, "but effective. Someone should have done this long ago."

"But you are a philosopher yourself," Flaccus said. "Aren't you shocked to see this sort of behavior?"

Izates made a rude noise. "Philosophers? A batch of Academics, Sophists, Peripatetics, Stoics and the like? I'm a Cynic and we love to see other philosophers get a boot in the rear sometimes." He cackled. "This time it's a big, hobnailed Roman boot and it must have hurt!"

They entered a newly constructed courtyard the size of a stadium, filled with a dazzling array of machines powered in every imaginable way: wind, water, falling weight, springs, twisted rope, as well as plain old muscle power, both human and animal. Scrambling slaves worked inside giant wheels or trotted on treadmills or hauled on ropes. Men turned enormous augers, pumped bellows, ran ropes through arrangements of small wheels, cranked toothed wheels and bars through various bewildering motions.

"You do things in a big way," Zeno noted.

"This facility is just one of eight we have here," Marcus said. "This one is the biggest, because here we try out the biggest machines."

"Many of these machines seem to be intended to overcome fortifications," Zeno said.

"Exactly," Marcus replied. "Now that we are back in civilization, we'll be taking a great many fortresses and walled cities. Everything I know of the subject says that besieging cities is the very worst form of warfare. It drags on and on; besiegers and besieged starve and fall to pestilence and ruin the land all around. Anything that will shorten a siege must be a good development. I want to make our sieges short."

"A laudable goal," Zeno said.

"I should think so," Marcus agreed.

"Perhaps our friends would like to see some of the subtler devices," Flaccus suggested.

They went to a smaller and far quieter courtyard where small teams of men and a few women worked in the shade of long porticoes. Here they crafted strange instruments of bronze and glass. Some peered through lenses at objects placed below and made drawings of what they observed. Marcus took his visitors to one of these, a seedy-looking little man who was filling reams of papyrus with drawings of: insects, shells, feathers and other things.

"This is Myron," Marcus Scipio told them. "His is the realm of the incredibly tiny."

The man grinned at them. "I have discovered another world, and it is all around us. Look here." He gestured to the broad lens upon his table. Something incredibly tiny rested just below it, affixed to a thin straw. An arrangement of mirrors cast a bright, reflected light upon the thing. They bent close and saw the thing enormously enlarged. It was, or had been, a living creature, with a bewildering array of minute legs, feathery antennae and banded body segments.

"What is it?" Izates asked.

"A shrimp!" the man said triumphantly. "There exist whole worlds around us, invisible to our gross organs of perception! But with the instruments we develop here we may see and study them."

"And what is gained by the study of tiny shrimps and such?" Zeno asked.

"Knowledge!" Myron said, his beady eyes blazing. "By observation of even the tiniest of things, we can divine the secrets of nature! Nothing is so small as to be insignificant."

"I see," said Izates. "Knowledge for the sake of knowledge. There is something almost Platonic in the concept. The Platonists are always going on about the purity of thought. You'd think they would appreciate this, even if it means that you have to pick things up in order to look at them."

Myron made an explosively rude noise with his lips. "Those futile buggers would never dirty their hands."

"It is also possible to make fire with these lenses," Marcus said, eager as always to point out practical uses for things. This called for a demonstration, and Myron showed them how a lens of the proper shape could focus light to a tiny point, and beneath it tinder of various materials first smoked, then burst into flame before their astonished eyes.

"Dark-colored tinder takes fire more swiftly than light-colored, for some reason," Myron pointed out. "There are many properties of light and matter that we have yet to discover."

"One seldom gives light much thought," Izates mused. "Either it is there or it isn't. Bright light reveals more than dim light." He pondered a moment. "But if the light of the sun produces heat, why does that of the moon not do the same?"

Flaccus smiled. "You see? You haven't been here two hours and already you're thinking like an Archimedean philosopher."

Next they visited the yard they were most eager to see: the workplace where the flying machines were built. Marcus led them to a portico where artists studied the wings of birds and crafted wonderfully lifelike models of these wings, with every feather cleverly in place, held by bitumen.

"The eagle is the noblest of birds," Zeno said. "I would think that its wings would be the finest for flying."

"That is what I thought," Marcus said. "After all, the eagle is the sacred bird of Jupiter and therefore most suitable to fly for Rome. The Egyptians here insist that the ibis would be better. But it turns out that bird wings are not the best model for emulation. Our most successful flying devices have wings modeled after those of bats."

"The bat is a lowly creature," Izates said, "little more than a rat with wings. Surely a man should fly with something not quite so ignoble as a model."

"I'll let Timonides explain," Marcus said.

Timonides turned out to be yet another of the obsessive philosophers, his particular obsession being the properties of flight, whether those of birds, bats or insects. He showed them models built of reeds, papyrus and parchment, and explained how the unique musculature, skeletons and feathers of birds gave them their power of flight.

"This is not reproducible in a form usable by humans," he said, "although the wings of soaring birds have given me many lessons in how the wings of my gliders should be contoured. But it is the structure of bat wings that offers the greatest possibilities for imitation. A bat's wings are made up of thin struts with a membrane of skin stretched between them. This we can copy with wood and fabric. It is both light and strong."

"But they can only glide?" Zeno asked.

"Alas," Timonides said, "the propulsive, flapping actions of the wings have proven thus far impracticable. However, our fliers have discovered many unsuspected properties of the air above us that allow them to soar for extremely long times. We do not understand these properties as yet, but in time they must yield to our research. We may yet learn to fly as freely as birds."

"Gentlemen," Flaccus said quietly. Immediately all conversation stopped and the sounds of work stilled. The Greeks turned to see that a young woman had entered the courtyard. She appeared to be pure Hellene and she wore a simple, modest gown of Greek design. Her only adornment was a thin fillet of plaited silver bound about her brows. All bowed, the native Egyptians among them going to hands and knees and touching their foreheads to the ground.

The young woman walked straight up to Marcus Scipio and was about to speak when she caught sight of the Greeks and paused. Marcus introduced them to Princess Selene, consort of young King Ptolemy.

"Welcome to Alexandria, my friends," she said.

"My lady is too kind," Zeno said. "However, it is clear that you have business with our host. Please do not let us detain you. We will withdraw."

She nodded appreciation of his tact. "We will speak at dinner this evening."

They stood aside a few paces while the princess and Scipio spoke in low but urgent tones.

Izates inclined his head toward the two. "Bad news, do you think?"

"The queen perceives her situation as precarious and sometimes allows small matters to upset her. It is probably nothing."

Zeno gave the pronouncement no more respect than it deserved. These Romans would tell him nothing of real importance. He did, however, notice that Flaccus had used the word "queen," which Selene did not rate by any recognized standards. The Romans wanted her to be sovereign of Egypt for their own purposes, so as far as they were concerned she was queen.

He noted another thing: Selene and Scipio spoke with their heads close together, and from time to time she touched his arm lightly. The gesture was trifling, yet performed thus in public, by a de facto sovereign to her supposedly subordinate ally, it spoke volumes. Zeno wondered what Marcus Scipio's enemies in Rome would pay to hear about this.