Archytas whistled; Platon peered behind the shield. "At least," said Platon, "you needn't worry about the shield's falling off the wall. It's solidly nailed in place, now."
Zopyros continued: "I meant the thing only for demonstrations. But on this journey I went all the way to Macedonia. The Macedonians stood around like dumb oxen as I demonstrated—all but their Prince Philip. Although he's still a boy, he took a keen interest in my devices. He swore that someday he'd have a whole company armed with these portable catapults, which he calls crossbows. What have you been working on, Archytas?"
"Oh, mostly mathematics. But here's an amusing device." Archytas indicated a post that stood on a base. A bellows on a low table was connected with the bottom of the post by a tube made of a crane's windpipe. From the top of the post, another tube extended out horizontally for two feet. On the end of this tube was mounted a little wooden model of a bird on the wing.
Archytas stooped, grasped the handles of the bellows, drew them apart, and then closed the bellows with a mighty downward push on the upper handle. There was a hiss of air. The bird moved. Bird and tube whirled round and round like the spoke of a wheel, while the bird's wings fluttered. As the hiss died away, the bird slowed and stopped.
"Zeus on Olympos!" cried Zopyros. "That's clever, Archytas! Let's see—the air travels up the post, and goes along the tube, and is expelled from this hole in the bird ... We should be able to find some practical application. How would it be to have a galley whose rowers, instead of pulling oars, pump bellows—"
"Good gods, what's that?" cried Platon, starting. A mournful toot sounded from the mass of jars and tubes at one side of the study.
"That means dinnertime," said Archytas. He explained the automatic signal he had developed for the elder Dionysios. Platon said:
"I could use one of those, to signal the start of my classes. You must give mc a drawing and a description, so I can have one made to spur the laggard student." As they went in to dinner, Platon continued: "Speaking of students, I wish that young chap from Stageira, that Aristoteles, were here. He's keen to know everything and classify everything, even machinery."
"You mean that skinny young know-it-all?" said Zopyros. "The one who thpeakth with a lithp?"
"That's the one. I left him studying under some of my colleagues. He swears to become a philosopher himself someday, albeit I doubt if he has the needed spiritual insight." Platon swung his feet up on his dining couch and rested his elbow on the cushion. As the servants began filing through with platters, he said: "OH I see you still do yourself well, Archytas."
"A man must have at least one vice, and gluttony is the least harmful to one's fellow mortals."
Platon dug into the repast piled up on his individual table. When hunger had been somewhat allayed, he said: "May I make a request, Archytas?"
"What, best one? Ask and you shall receive."
"Traveling hither, Zopyros told me some of his early adventures, when you and he worked for old Dionysios. May I ask that he continue? You, Zopyros, had just reached the place where that Phoenician sea captain had freed you from slavery."
Zopyros sighed. "After I left Asto, I spent three years searching for Korinna, stopping betimes to earn a little money by engineering. But I never did find her. Evnos the ransomer also searched vainly on my behalf. By the way, Archytas, have you seen the old fellow lately?"
"Yes; he came through Taras but a few days ago."
"How is he?"
"As usual, he swears that each ransoming journey will be his last. If he ever docs retire, he won't know what to do with himself. You and I, O Platon, write noble philosophical treatises on how to improve this cruel and wicked world; but Evnos actually does something about it."
"I should like to hear more of Zopyros' tale, if you please," said Platon.
"Well," said Zopyros, "the boy—my stepson—did turn up."
"Where?" asked Platon.
"In his father's home in Carthage. When he was sold after the fall of Messana, the slave dealer asked him who he was. The child—he's clever, you know—said he was the son of Elazar the building contractor in Carthage. The dealer, knowing a good thing when he saw it, got in touch with Elazar and squeezed a stiff ransom out of him."
"Then what befell the lad?"
"He grew up, married, served in the Carthaginian army, and inherited Elazar's business when the old man died. If he'd been reared in Hellas, he'd have become a famous athlete. He has the body for it. But in the Phoenician lands they consider outdoor games and sports childish."
"Barbarians!" muttered Platon.
"There's something to be said on their side, too. Anyway, I've seen Ahiram—he went back to his Phoenician name—a couple of times when business took me to Carthage. He's gracious to his stepfather but has practically forgotten our adventures with the witch and the slavers. lie's almost forgotten his mother, too."
"Then your daring abduction of the boy accomplished nothing, after all?"
"I wouldn't say that. If he'd been living with his father during the Carthaginian civil war that followed the siege of Syracuse, he might well have been passed through the fire to Baal Hammon. As it was, he was safe in the slave dealer's hands at that time and, when next his people offered such sacrifices, he was old enough to escape that fate. Perhaps the gods have a plan for human lives after all."
"How about the rest of your wife's family?" asked Platon.
"Her father Xanthos died of overexertion in belatedly trying to flee Messana, while Glaukos was slain in fighting the Carthaginians. Korinna's mother Eirene was separated from her daughter in the flight. She found refuge with kinsmen but died soon afterwards—of a broken heart, they told me. It was Xanthos' fault for trusting that oracle rather than his common sense. Nearly all the Messanians who had fled the city earlier survived. It was my fault, too, for not having taken Archytas' advice and quit Dionysios' service before that last campaign."
"And Korinna's fault for going back to Messana," said Archytas, "and Dionysios' fault for starting the war, and Himilko's fault for capturing Messana, and so on. It's an endless and useless philosophical exercise to try to pin the blame for any one event on one particular person."
"And have you never married again?" said Platon.
"No. I've never really given up hope of finding her, although I admit it's not logical."
Platon clucked. "You're positively un-Hellenic! The superior man should not allow such a sentimental attachment to interfere with his civic duty of begetting legitimate children—"
"Is that so?" snapped Zopyros in a sudden flare of irritation. "How about your Archeanassa? You preach for years and years on the beauty of a pure, spiritual love between man and man, and then you yourself fall madly in love with a middle-aged hetaira ..."
Zopyros broke off when he perceived that Platon was becoming angry. Archytas deftly turned the conversation to his mathematical discoveries. As the servants washed and dried the diners' hands, Zopyros gave Archytas a searching look and said:
"Old boy, you're hiding something from me."
"I don't know what you mean!"
"Oh yes, you do! I can tell by the way you try to cover up your smiles. I haven't known you forty-odd years for nothing. Now out with it!"
Archytas sighed. "I never could conceal anything from you! Indeed, I do have a surprise for you." He whispered into a servant's ear.
Soon the door from the women's apartment opened. Korinna entered, followed by Archytas' wife Klea. Although Korinna's hair was gray, she was still shapely and handsome. Archytas and Klea had spared no effort to fit her out. A stole of thin yellow byssus covered her gown of fine purple linen, and a starry silver tiara sat on her hair. Zopyros rose slowly, his mouth open. Archytas, hugging himself with glee, explained: