"Then you'll have to do it without carpenters. I won't tie up my labor force in something so complicated it'll fly to pieces the first time you try to shoot it."
With tight lips and trembling hands, Zopyros rasped: "My dear Lithodomos, if you'll just enable me to build one full-scale model, all these questions will be answered. The workings of the machine will be obvious even to—to everybody."
A flush crept up Lithodomos' face, and his voice rose. "You was going to say, obvious even to a half-wit like me, wasn't you? Wasn't you? Well, look here, Master Genius, all your so-called intellect don't mean a polluted thing. It's the practical people like me who have the say. That's why I'm boss. Think you're so cursed clever, because you've been to school, eh? All that did was ruin whatever common sense you ever had. You're like that fool Simon, with his twenty-talent armored chariot."
"But—"
"Shut up, you dog-faced slave!" screamed Lithodomos. "You speak when I tell you—"
"By God, I will not shut up for a stupid ox like you—"
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried Archytas, thrusting himself between the furious men.
The voices of the three blended into a single uproar. The noise brought all the work in the Armory to a halt. Smiths let pieces cool on their anvils as they gaped up at the gallery, where Archytas was dutifully trying to keep Zopyros and Lithodomos from assaulting each other.
Just then Philistos, followed by a secretary, arrived in the Armory. Seeing the spectacle on the gallery, he limped up the stairs, frowning. As soon as he came in sight, Zopyros and Lithodomos stopped shouting at each other and began haranguing Philistos. Zopyros tried to explain the workings of his engine, while Lithodomos shrieked:
"This young know-it-all is insolent and insubordinate! Fire him! Fire him! Fire him!"
Philistos, leaning on his crutch-headed stick, waiting until the two ran out of breath. Then he said:
"Zopyros, were you going to build a small or a full-sized model?"
"A full-sized one, sir. Most of the problems of construction have been solved, so to save time—"
"You shall build a small model, to a scale of one third. Lithodomos, see that he gets at least one good carpenter, to build this model. And both of you are fined one day's pay for disorderly conduct, and for making spectacles of yourselves in front of the workmen. Next time it will go harder on you. Good day."
He turned and made his slow way to the stair, his stick tapping. Zopyros and Lithodomos exchanged one last scowl before Zopyros went down to the main floor to complete his plans.
The flowers bloomed and faded on the long Sicilian hillsides. As the days of spring marched towards summer, Zopyros completed his small model, powered by an ordinary bow. On trials it proved satisfactory, except that the trigger mechanism often jammed. After much weary hammering and filing, having new parts cast, and changing the design, he finally got even that balky mechanism to work.
One day when he was out on the range, shooting arrows from the model and painting small numbers on the trough, Archytas asked: "What are you doing, man?"
Zopyros explained: "This is so you can tell how far your missile will fly."
"Why not put the numbers on the ratchet wheel of the windlass shaft?"
"The windlass rope stretches with use, so a given position of the ratchet wheel doesn't necessarily mean that the slide will be in the same place next time."
"It's your baby, old chap, and I wouldn't dream of trying to bite off any of your glory. But ..."
"But what? If you have a suggestion, make it."
"Wouldn't it be better, instead of this awkward ratchet wheel, to have a straight bronze rack along one side of the trough? Then mount a pawl on that side of the trigger assembly. As the slide is pulled back, the pawl will ride over the teeth of the rack, clickety-click, until you reach the tooth representing the distance you wish to shoot. Then slack off the windlass, and—"
"I see, I see! That would eliminate any question about stretching the windlass rope. Of course, other elements vary, too. The bowstring stretches, and the bow itself tires when bent many times in succession."
"Well, you would at least get rid of one variable. Wiry not try it?"
"I will. And I shan't need a new model; I can install the rack and the pawl on this one."
The third year of the ninety-fifth Olympiad began, when Euthykles was Archon of Athens. The hillsides turned brown again in the blistering heat of the dry Sicilian summer. Scorching, dust-laden south winds dimmed the sun to a disk of mountain copper, like that on the roof of Saphanbaal's cave, and coated the Arsenal workers with dust until they looked as if they had been dipped in flour. Zopyros reported to Archytas:
"Your rack-and-pawl system works fine. But I find I need a pair of racks, one on each side of the trough, and a pawl on each side of the crosshead to engage them. With only one rack, the unbalanced stress warped the whole engine out of line."
"Good. Now I suppose you want me to twist Lithodomos' balls until he assigns men for your big model, eh?"
There were more quarrels with Lithodomos, with shouts and threats and inconclusive endings. Zopyros said: "Dear Herakles! Why doesn't the big boss send the accursed fool on a diplomatic mission?"
Archytas shrugged. "That's human nature, old boy. There's at least one Lithodomos in every organization. If we got rid of him, we might get a worse in his place."
"That I should like to see!"
"Have a care what you say, or the gods may give you what you ask."
In the month of Boedromion*(*Approximately September), Zopyros demonstrated his final full-scale model to Dionysios. Nobody else paid much heed, since Zopyros had been shooting on the archery range for over a year. The tyrannos, however, watched the demonstration with keen interest. He gave commands:
"Shoot one plethron ... Fine! Now shoot a plethron and a half ..." When it was over he said: "You have done it, Zopyros. Can you make me fifty of these things?"
"Given the men and materials, sir, I certainly could."
"You shall have them. Henceforth you shall be in the production division, under Pyres. Wear your best tunic at the next engineers' banquet, three days hence. Finally, you shall have another raise in salary as soon as the treasury can afford it."
"Thank you, sir."
"There was something else ... How soon can you have several catapults completed?"
" 'Several' is an indefinite number, O President; but I think we can have five or six within a month."
Dionysios fingered his shaggy beard. "These weapons require men especially trained to use them."
"Yes, sir! The crews will have to learn by doing, so to speak."
"How big a crew will be needed for each catapult?"
Zopyros thought. "In testing them on the range, here, I find eight or ten about right. In case of need, two men could load and shoot the engine, but that would give a very slow rate of shooting. You also need extra men to move the engine on and off its rollers, to aim it, and to relieve the cockers when they tire."
"That brings up another question. How would you move a number of catapults to a distant place?"
"Zeus on Olympos, sir, I hadn't even thought! Let's see—these things weigh eight or ten talents each, I suppose. That's too much for a mere traveling cart."
"As the unfortunate Simon discovered," said Dionysios.
"Exactly. I suppose one should have a set of four-wheeled ox wains built, with low bodies. Otherwise, we might have an upset."
"See my wainwright about that; get some wains started. Now, somebody will have to command the crews. We'll start with a single crew and expand as you complete more catapults. Can you recommend anyone for the post of commander?" As Zopyros hesitated, Dionysios added: "I have brave soldiers, wise philosophers, eloquent poets, and jolly jesters in my entourage. I have nobody, however, who combines the qualities of soldier and mechanic, as these new weapons demand. I will not ruin so promising a thing by appointing some gilded incompetent." (Zopyros choked down a biting remark about Lithodomos.) "So, whom would you suggest? Would you like the job yourself?"