Gillian Bradshaw: The Sand-Reckoner

Marcus had relaxed as he realized that he was in trouble for his conduct rather than his nationality. "When did I laugh at my master?" he asked mildly.

Straton's hand tightened on the slave's arm. "When he said he wanted to be an army engineer."

"Oh, then!" replied Marcus calmly. "It was you I was laughing atsir."

Straton stared in offended surprise, and the corner of the slave's mouth twitched. He was beginning to enjoy this.

"You were laughing at him from the moment you set eyes on him," he said. "And when he said he'd never made a catapult, you made up your mind he doesn't know a thing about them, didn't you? Let me tell you this: if Archimedes makes catapults, and if King Hieron's half as clever as he's supposed to be, then whoever the king has making catapults at the moment is out of a job. Do you gamble?"

"Some," said Straton, puzzled now.

"Then I'll lay you a bet on it. Ten drachmae to the stater he gave you- no, make that twenty! I bet you that if my master becomes an engineer for the king, then whoever's in charge of whatever he's set to do will be demoted or unemployed within six months, and Archimedes will be offered his place."

"You have twenty drachmae?"

"I do. Before you decide about the bet, you want to hear how I got it?"

Straton stared suspiciously a moment, then gave a snort of concession. "All right." He let go of the slave's arm.

Marcus leaned back against the chest. "We went out to Alexandria three years ago. My master's father, Phidias, sold a vine-yard to pay for the trip: he'd been to Alexandria himself as a young man, and he wanted his son to enjoy the same opportunity. Archimedes did enjoy it, too- Herakles, he did! They have this big temple to the Muses in Alexandria, with a library-"

"I've heard of the Museum," said Straton with interest. "Myself, all I know is how to read, and that badly, but I've heard that the scholars of the Museum of Alexandria are the most learned men on earth."

"It's a lunatic asylum," said Marcus disgustedly. "Full of a lot of Greeks drunk on logic. My master raced in to join them like a lost lamb that's finally found its flock. Made a lot of friends, did geometry all day, sat up drinking and talk, talk, talking all night; didn't ever want to go home to Syracuse. You saw fit to tell me I deserve a thrashing for the way I talk to my master: let me tell you, I've earned the right to talk to him anyway I like! I could've stolen every copper he had and run off with it, anytime, and he wouldn't even have noticed until three days later. Instead, I looked after him and tried to make one drachma do the work of two. Phidias had given us money to last us a year- though with the prices they charge in Alexandria, it wouldn't have. First we spent that, and then we spent our return fare, and then we bartered and borrowed and sold bits and pieces, and then, after two years in the city, we were flat out of cash and in debt. I kept pointing this out to Archimedes until he finally paid attention and agreed to do some machine-making."

Marcus paused. "That's a common story, isn't it, apart from the geometry? Young man away from home for the first time, running wild in a big foreign city, faithful slave wringing his hands and saying, 'Oh, sir, remember your poor old father and come home!' All right, but here's where it gets uncommon. My master builds machines. Not ordinary machines, but machines so cunning and ingenious you could travel the world from one end to the other and never see anything like them. That's how we lasted two years in Alexandria: whenever we were short, he'd put something together and I'd go sell it. He'd been playing around with that for a while"- Marcus jerked his head at the wicker basket behind him- "but he'd never got around to seeing if anyone wanted a full-size one. Now he took it to a rich man we knew who'd recently acquired an estate in the Nile Delta and was looking for ways to improve his land. Zenodotos looked at the water-snail and fell in love- and that shows sense, because the water-snail is the most amazing machine Archimedes ever built, the most amazing machine I've ever seen in my life. Zenodotos instantly ordered eight of the things at thirty drachmae apiece. He agreed to supply us with all the equipment and the labor we needed to make them, as well as our keep while we were working and the traveling expenses to and from his estate."

"So we went up to his estate and set to work. When we got the first water-snail finished, people started coming around to have a look at it. Now in Egypt they've been irrigating since the creation of the world. They thought they knew everything there is to know about raising water- but nobody had ever seen anything like a water-snail. And everybody- I tell you, everybody- who had a bit of land in the Delta wanted one. I put the price up to forty drachmae, then to sixty, then to eighty: it made no difference. People still queued up to buy. And then, of course, the rich men in the queue didn't want to wait. They started coming up to me and slipping me a drachma and saying, 'See that your master does my order first.' That is where I got my money: selling the shavings of Archimedes' ingenuity."

"If it was so profitable, why aren't you still building water-snails?" asked Straton skeptically.

"Archimedes got bored with them," Marcus replied at once. "He always loses interest in his machines once he's got them working. He'd rather spend his time drawing circles- or, excuse me, cuboids. Of course, other people started making water-snails too, copying them from ours as well as they could. But still, everyone knew it was Archimedes' invention, and we were everyone's first choice of builder. We could have made a fortune, we could have! Instead, as soon as my master could afford to do geometry again, he found an enterprising fellow who was willing to pay a hundred drachmae for the design, handed our order book over to him, and went back to Alexandria to draw circles. I tell you, I could weep when I think of it. But listen! That's what happened the last time Archimedes applied himself to making machines. Now he's going to do it again. I'll bet on him against any engineer King Hieron ever heard of. You taking the bet?"

"Can I see this water-snail?"

Marcus grinned. "Certainly." Then, as the soldier moved toward the wicker basket, he added, "But I charge two obols for a demonstration."

Straton stopped in annoyance, one hand on the basket's lashings. "Your master lets you do that?"

"He lets me look after the money," said Marcus coolly. "Weren't you listening?"

Straton studied the slave a moment, then laughed. "All right!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry I laughed at your master and insulted your loyalty. You're a good slave."

"I am not!" declared Marcus fiercely. "I'm freeborn, and not slave enough to forget it. But I'm honest. You taking that bet or not?"

"Twenty drachmae to a stater? Your master to be offered his predecessor's job within six months?"

"That's right."

Straton considered. It was an interesting bet. And despite what the slave had said, he thought he'd win. The slave was, after all, loyal to his master, and the master hadn't looked all that impressive to Straton. Ten to one was good odds. "All right," he agreed. "I'll take it."

Archimedes himself appeared as they were shaking hands on it. He was holding a torch, which flickered brightly in the growing dark, and a small boy followed him leading a donkey. Straton gave his new acquaintance the look of appraisal normally reserved for racehorses, and was reassured. No, this tall and gangling young man in a dirty linen tunic and shabby cloak did not look like a formidable genius. He was much in need of a haircut, a shave, and a bath, one knee was covered with blood while the other was dirty, and his face had a vague and vacant expression. The Egyptian stater, thought Straton, was pretty safe.