Then my younger daughter died. I am no mainland Hellene, to toss girl babies on rubbish heaps; I grieved almost as much as if this child had been a boy.
Lastly I found myself more and more pressed for money. I had contracted to build the statue for two hundred talents, not including the cost of materials. At the time of signing the contract, all my calculations showed that I should clear a profit of at least twenty or thirty talents, which would make me independent for life.
However, delays and accidents and miscalculations drove my costs up and up, beyond my estimates. For one thing, I had computed my costs on a basis of the level of wages prevailing in Rhodes at the time of the signing. But the withdrawal of several hundred men from our small labor force had the effect of raising the wage level, even though a number of workers came from the mainland.
Strive and save as I might, it looked as though I were going to end up several talents in debt. At interest rates of ten to twelve per cent per year, I did not dare to get into the clutches of the moneylenders unless I could forsee a quick repayment, as by a big new contract. However, no king or republic seemed eager to give me such a contract until I had finished the Colossus, on which I had been working so long that few believed I should live to complete it.
My friends were sympathetic, but they had their own worries and expenses. The few thousand drachmai they could have raised would hardly have made a dent in my obligations. My father-in-law, Genetor, had the money to rescue me, but he had become queer in his dotage. One could not compel him to talk about any single subject long enough to get an aye-or-nay from him.
I will not detail the bitterness of those final months of construction, when I trailed from one magnate to another, seeking a loan at low enough interest—say, eight per cent to allow me to work off my debts. They were politely regretful, but none would risk an obolos until he saw whether the statue stood when the mound was taken away. Then, if all went well and I would put up my foundry as security, he would see. The ordinary moneylenders, like Elavos the Syrian, wanted fifteen to twenty per cent, because my real property did not even come near to covering my debts.
At last, twelve years after I had begun, I stood on the peak of the mound. With my own hands I riveted into place the last of the gilded spikes of the god's crown of solar rays. I stepped back and swept my hand to indicate the scaffolding and the mound.
"Take it away, boys," I said.
"A cheer for the best boss that ever was, and the greatest statue that has ever been made!" bellowed Kavaros.
"Iai!" cried the men. Since their pay was in arrears, I suspect that it was as much their fear of the Kelt's fist as their admiration for me that elicited the cheer.
Then they began to shovel the earth into baskets. Standing silently by the great graven face, with a curiously lost feeling, I uttered a silent prayer that the god should find my offering good.
It was a cool evening in Pyanepsion, when the full moon was breaking through the clouds, after the first rain of the season. Kavaros and I were on our way home from a meeting of the Seven Strangers, of which the Kelt had just become a member on my nomination.
We were both a bit drunk. The talk of the evening had run to famous suicides, such as that of the Assyrian king, Sardanapalos, who is said to have burnt himself up with his palace, treasure, wives, and concubines when the Medes defeated him.
As our way took us past the square of the Colossus, we stopped to look at the statue. Kavaros said:
"Is he not the grand sight now, with the moon shining on his golden crown and all?"
I said: "Do you remember that woman I once got involved with in Egypt?"
"I am after hearing about her, sir. What about her?"
"She gave me one useful piece of advice."
"And that was?"
"When I had finished the statue, to climb up to the head and jump off, because I could never look forward to a greater moment. In fact, I think I'll do it right now, while my resolution holds."
"Sir, I do hope you are not saying that serious-like!"
"I've never been more serious, old boy. Any fool can see that I shall be ruined. I have struggled every way I can think of, short of selling myself into slavery, to get out of this snare of debt, to no avail. I am sick of it, and my main task is done. To the afterworld with everybody! They'll be sorry when I'm gone."
I started purposefully up the remains of the mound. Kavaros threw himself in front of me, crying:
"You will not, sir! I will not let you! It is just that you are feeling bad tonight. You need another drink; Grania can get us one at my house. Please, sir—"
I dodged around the Kelt with the agility that had served me on many a hockey field in my youth. Kavaros seized my cloak, but I shed the garment and ran on to where the fall of bronze drapery rose from the earth. With Kavaros pounding after me, I grasped the rungs of the maintenance ladder and scampered up like a monkey.
"Come down, Master Chares!" cried Kavaros. "You can have everything I own, only do not be doing this foolish thing! If you do not come down, I will climb up and pull you down!"
"You can't! You're afraid of heights. Take care of my family, will you?"
I resumed my climb. Kavaros stood in perplexity for a few heartbeats, then ran out of the square.
When I reached the crook of the statue's left arm, my racing heart and laboring breath reminded me that I was, after all, a middle-aged man. I paused to rest. The cool air and the exertion had cleared the fumes of wine from my head.
As I sat there holding the handgrips, my conduct did begin to seem absurd. After all, I was still eating and drinking regularly, I had a loving family, and nobody was threatening me with torture or slavery. The money matters might somehow work themselves out. Besides, if I died in debt, my sons would inherit my debts, and what sort of legacy was that to leave them?
I swung back over the ladder and began to descend. When I got to the level of the statue's knees and glanced down, however, I saw that several figures were grouped about the foot of the ladder. Thinking them Rhodians aroused by Kavaros, I continued my descent.
The next time I looked down, though, the figures seemed too still for my taste. Rhodians would have been gabbling and crying out to know if I was all right.
"Kavaros?" I called. There was no answer.
I lowered myself a few more rungs, till I could see their upturned faces. Although the moonlight was strong enough to make recognition possible, I saw nobody whom I knew. They were just a group of men in nondescript clothes.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"Come on down, O Chares," said a creaky old voice.
"Is that you, Tis"
"Come down and see."
"Do you think me mad? If you want to talk, do so now."
Instead of replying, the voice spoke in Egyptian. Two men sprang to the base of the ladder and began to climb, with blades glinting in the moonlight.
I drew my large dagger and reached down to strike at the first. The man parried my thrust with his short sword. Then he swung himself to one side of the ladder, allowing the other man to crowd up abreast of him. Both of them thrust and hacked at me until I was forced back up the ladder.
Rung by rung they drove me up. I shouted: "Help! Rhodians! A rescue! Help!" But, what of all my climbing, my voice came out as a feeble croak.
My assailants were well-trained killers. Whenever I made a stand, the leading man held me in play with his longer blade until the other could lend his weight to the attack. My efforts to kick them in the face or stamp on their fingers only got me a wound in the calf.
I reached the statue's left arm again, bleeding from a cut on the forearm and another on the leg. I cried: