"Not so well as I should like. I used to think research was frustrating; well, production is worse! When you get some timber and bronze to work with, you find that your men have taken sick, or have been moved to another project, or have disappeared. Then when you get the men lined up and ready to work, you find that your materials have been stolen by some other engineer, or won't do the job. When at last you get both men and materials ready, it's a holy day and no work may be done."
"That's life, my boy. How many catapults are completed?"
"We tested Number Eighteen today. That's not counting the defectives that were broken up for salvage. But catapults aren't my main worry right now."
"What is?"
"The missiles, of all the silly things! You'd think if the Arsenal can turn out a complex engine like a catapult, we could make a simple thing like a catapult dart. But we've got a labor dispute."
"Oimoi!"
"You see, a dart isn't exactly an arrow, nor yet is it a javelin. It's a weapon with some of the characteristics of both. So the fletcher's claim they should make the darts, and the spear makers that they should, and each gang threatens to stop all work unless its men get the job. I don't think they'd actually strike, being too much in fear of Dionysios, but they slow things up. I'd been hoping to get to work on the design for an improved catapult; but all my time has been taken up with this polluted management—threatening and wheedling and bullying and soothing a lot of overgrown children, plague take them!"
"So now you know what a boss does with his time," said Archytas.
"Speaking of Phoenicians," said Zopyros, "guess whom I saw today!"
"Whom?"
"Captain Asto, my old friend from the Muttumalein. He's in town on the first voyage of the new season."
"I should like to meet him. He sounds like a good man."
"I wanted to invite him here tonight." Zopyros glanced towards the kitchen, where Korinna was washing dishes, and lowered his voice. "But you know Korinna's feelings towards Phoenicians. In fact, this brought about the first real dispute of our married life. I argued. I showed her how illogical it was to condemn the poor man, after he'd been so nice to us on the Muttumalein. But it did no good. If I were a proper Hellenic husband, I should have said: 'Woman, serve my friend, and no nonsense!' But somehow it didn't work out that way."
"My dear fellow, you ought to know better than to argue with an emotion! Trying to change somebody's feelings by logic is like trying to kill a lion with a fly whisk. I don't say it couldn't be done, but I shouldn't recommend the method."
"Well, Master Know-all, how would you change somebody's opinion?"
"First, make the person like you. Then, because he thinks you're a good fellow, he infers that your ideas must be right. It's crazy logic, but that's how the minds of mortals work."
"That's all very well for you, who drip charm as a wrestler drips oil. But Korinna won't come around to my way of thinking, just because she's my beloved wife. She has a mind of her own. It might be different if we had a bigger house, with separate women's quarters and servants to do the dirty work. Then she wouldn't even see my guests."
"You could afford a bigger place," said Archytas, glancing around. "Not that this isn't very nice, you understand. Didn't your father settle some money on you?"
"I've only received the first installment, and I don't want to throw my little capital to the winds."
"Well, you always were a man to squeeze every drachma until the owl hooted for mercy."
"Yes, I have all the unattractive virtues: thrift, accuracy, sobriety, industry ... I suppose people are born with either charm or character, but rarely both. I fear the gods gave me character only."
Archytas grinned. "Meaning I'm a dissolute charmer?"
"No; you're one of the rare exceptions, blessed by the gods with both."
"That's good of you, old boy! Good enough for us to pour another drink. To the gods, by whose grace we were born free, not slave; men, not women; Hellenes, not barbarians!"
The market place was packed with Syracusans. As the sun rose out of the Ionian Sea, its vermilion beams crossed the Little Harbor and pierced the city, shining into narrow streets and over red-tiled roofs, painting the white walls orange. Dionysios, wearing his iron corselet over his tunic, mounted the dais in the market place. The rising sun flashed a brilliant red-gold on his armor. It glanced from the helms and cuirasses of his guards, as they stood in double rank around the dais; it glowed on the statues of polished bronze and painted marble on plinths around the market place.
"O Syracusans!" Dionysios began. "Long have I warned you of the threat from the west. I have told you of the vile moneygrubbers, sitting at their counting tables with twitching fingers and greedy eyes, who plot to destroy our precious Hellenic civilization ..."
"Here we go again," muttered Zopyros to Archytas.
After his usual rant against the Phoenicians, Dionysios spoke of the iniquity of allowing these human vermin to rule over several Greek cities in western Sicily: "... the very gods must be grieved and ashamed to see these baby-burning barbarians insolently lording it over Hellenes—Hellenes! The only truly civilized people on earth; the gods' chosen race; the enlighteners of the world! This abomination, this monstrous perversion must not be! It shall not be!"
Dionysios paused to allow his claque to work up a cheer. He continued: "I, Dionysios, have therefore sent a just and moderate demand to the so-called Senate of Carthage, that they free these cities at once. My demand, although couched in courteous terms, was rejected with scorn and insult. What policy remains us?"
The claque set up a rhythmic cry of "POLemos! POLemos! POLemos!" Soon thousands were chanting "War! War! War!" until the noise became deafening.
At last Dionysios raised his arms for silence. As the noise died away, Zopyros muttered in Archytas' ear: "So now we know!"
"My people!" cried Dionysios. "You have spoken! I, your leader, can but obey!
"The struggle may be hard. The foe, if timorous, is crafty and treacherous. If the cowardly Carthaginians have no stomach for cold steel themselves, they have money—vast piles of it—wherewith to hire hardy mercenaries: Numidians, Ligurians, Iberians, and other barbarians.
"But, whatever the danger, whatever the sacrifice, we shall vanquish! Carthage has been weakened by a plague. They will not be able to defend their Sicilian satellites. The glory will be great, and the booty even greater! 16 Hellenes! 16 Syrakosioi!"
As the crowd broke up and streamed away, Zopyros and Archytas headed for Ortygia and the Arsenal. An hour later, Zopyros was directing the work on his catapults when Archytas came to him and said in a low voice:
"I hear that mobs have formed to attack and plunder the Phoenician metics. You'd better get home to protect your family."
"Could you come with me?"
"Of course. Wait till I get my sword."
The streets of Syracuse near the bridge to Ortygia were strangely deserted. Doors were closed, windows shuttered. From a distance came a subdued roar, which rose and fell. The two men walked swiftly, speaking in low voices and looking apprehensively at the blank walls on either side of them.