"We've been told of how Titus Norbanus conducted his part of the battle between Hamilcar's army and that of the deposed advisors; Also of his progress down the Nile before he set off eastward," Zeno said.
"He's shown a flair for generalship nobody expected," Flaccus admitted. "Put the fear of Jupiter's thunderbolts into the Egyptians. And if an untried boy like Norbanus can do that, what will the seasoned Roman commanders be like, eh?"
He led them from his rather lavish quarters at the now-familiar legionary pace into an adjacent courtyard that had been converted into an exercise yard for the Romans. There they found another Roman dressed in full battle armor practicing sword work against a wooden post. By now the Greeks were familiar with the legionary sword drill and were no longer astonished at the subtle use of the shield andlightning jabs of the gladius.
"Marcus, I've brought friends," Flaccus said.
The other man stepped back from the post and sheathed his sword. He removed his helmet, revealing a face as hard-planed as any they had ever seen. This man looked like the final refinement of the Roman soldier ideal. He was sweating abundantly, but his breathing was slow and steady and he spoke easily.
"Welcome. You look like a pair of seasoned travelers. What brings you to us?"
Flaccus made introductions and told Marcus of their mission.
"Excellent! The Senate is showing some sense for a change. You should hear the men they usually send here with dispatches. I ask them how the rebuilding of Rome is progressing and they say, 'it's going fine,' or 'slowly,' or something like that. They always resent being used as messengers and are anxious to be with the legions."
"Aren't you?" Izates asked.
"Not really. I've been fighting all my life, and there will always be plenty of campaigning to do. We're doing important work here, and it will prove crucial in the years and campaigns to come."
Zeno eyed the much-splintered post. "I confess I'm rather surprised to see a soldier of your years and experience practicing at the post like a recruit."
Marcus grinned, almost softening his harsh face. "My father put a wooden sword in my hand and a wicker shield on my arm and set me at the post when I was seven years old. I've done this drill more days than not every year since. You'd be surprised how sloppy your sword work can get if you neglect post practice. Sparring with an opponent is more enjoyable, but you lose your precision if that is all you do."
"Let him get started and he'll talk about fighting all day long," Flaccus told them. "Marcus, I've promised these two a tour of our facility. Would you care to guide them?"
"Of course! I'd like nothing better."
"You see?" Flaccus said. "This is the one thing he likes even better than fighting. The Archimedean school is his pride and joy. He'd rather test a new machine than celebrate a triumph."
"Actually," Marcus said, "there's no reason why I can't do this and celebrate a triumph as well, eventually. Come along." They set off, the two Romans unconsciously falling into lockstep.
"Archimedes has been a rather obscure figure," Izates said. "Of course, everyone knows the story of how he discovered the principles of buoyancy and displacement, and his geometric discoveries, but his school here has been practically unknown."
"That's because the heads of the Museum have been as Plato-addled as most philosophers," Marcus said. "Well, I put an end to that. Gave the school top priority and sent out word that any bright, invention-minded philosopher who wanted to actually do things instead of just ponder and babble could come here and accomplish wonders. More arrive every day."
"An extreme approach," Izates said, "but effective. Someone should have done this long ago."
"But you are a philosopher yourself," Flaccus said. "Aren't you shocked to see this sort of behavior?"
Izates made a rude noise. "Philosophers? A batch of Academics, Sophists, Peripatetics, Stoics and the like? I'm a Cynic and we love to see other philosophers get a boot in the rear sometimes." He cackled. "This time it's a big, hobnailed Roman boot and it must have hurt!"
They entered a newly constructed courtyard the size of a stadium, filled with a dazzling array of machines powered in every imaginable way: wind, water, falling weight, springs, twisted rope, as well as plain old muscle power, both human and animal. Scrambling slaves worked inside giant wheels or trotted on treadmills or hauled on ropes. Men turned enormous augers, pumped bellows, ran ropes through arrangements of small wheels, cranked toothed wheels and bars through various bewildering motions.
"You do things in a big way," Zeno noted.
"This facility is just one of eight we have here," Marcus said. "This one is the biggest, because here we try out the biggest machines."
"Many of these machines seem to be intended to overcome fortifications," Zeno said.
"Exactly," Marcus replied. "Now that we are back in civilization, we'll be taking a great many fortresses and walled cities. Everything I know of the subject says that besieging cities is the very worst form of warfare. It drags on and on; besiegers and besieged starve and fall to pestilence and ruin the land all around. Anything that will shorten a siege must be a good development. I want to make our sieges short."
"A laudable goal," Zeno said.
"I should think so," Marcus agreed.
"Perhaps our friends would like to see some of the subtler devices," Flaccus suggested.
They went to a smaller and far quieter courtyard where small teams of men and a few women worked in the shade of long porticoes. Here they crafted strange instruments of bronze and glass. Some peered through lenses at objects placed below and made drawings of what they observed. Marcus took his visitors to one of these, a seedy-looking little man who was filling reams of papyrus with drawings of: insects, shells, feathers and other things.
"This is Myron," Marcus Scipio told them. "His is the realm of the incredibly tiny."
The man grinned at them. "I have discovered another world, and it is all around us. Look here." He gestured to the broad lens upon his table. Something incredibly tiny rested just below it, affixed to a thin straw. An arrangement of mirrors cast a bright, reflected light upon the thing. They bent close and saw the thing enormously enlarged. It was, or had been, a living creature, with a bewildering array of minute legs, feathery antennae and banded body segments.
"What is it?" Izates asked.
"A shrimp!" the man said triumphantly. "There exist whole worlds around us, invisible to our gross organs of perception! But with the instruments we develop here we may see and study them."
"And what is gained by the study of tiny shrimps and such?" Zeno asked.
"Knowledge!" Myron said, his beady eyes blazing. "By observation of even the tiniest of things, we can divine the secrets of nature! Nothing is so small as to be insignificant."
"I see," said Izates. "Knowledge for the sake of knowledge. There is something almost Platonic in the concept. The Platonists are always going on about the purity of thought. You'd think they would appreciate this, even if it means that you have to pick things up in order to look at them."
Myron made an explosively rude noise with his lips. "Those futile buggers would never dirty their hands."
"It is also possible to make fire with these lenses," Marcus said, eager as always to point out practical uses for things. This called for a demonstration, and Myron showed them how a lens of the proper shape could focus light to a tiny point, and beneath it tinder of various materials first smoked, then burst into flame before their astonished eyes.
"Dark-colored tinder takes fire more swiftly than light-colored, for some reason," Myron pointed out. "There are many properties of light and matter that we have yet to discover."
"One seldom gives light much thought," Izates mused. "Either it is there or it isn't. Bright light reveals more than dim light." He pondered a moment. "But if the light of the sun produces heat, why does that of the moon not do the same?"