"Yet your General Norbanus," Izates said, "is off acting like a conquering king, a new little Alexander, without guidance from the Senate."
"Just a temporary expedient," said Flaccus. "The dis
tances are vast and we haven't yet set up a proper communi
cation system. Sooner or later he'll return to Italy and his legions will be back under senatorial control. The whole reason for winning glory is so that he can stand for higher office, and he must lay down his command to take part in
the elections. It's all part of our scheme for keeping any one
man from grabbing too much power."
His words sounded confident, but both Greeks could see that this was a touchy subject, in Alexandria as at Rome. Norbanus was setting a dangerous precedent.
"Still," said Zeno, steering to a safer subject, "your government is an oligarchy. In our conversations with Gabinius, we learned that most senators came from a small group of families. The commons really have little say in their government."
"True," Flaccus admitted. "We are far from democratic and the senatorial order is a hard nut to crack, but men of outstanding merit get into the Senate, I assure you. I've
known consuls whose fathers were peasant farmers and who started their careers as common legionaries. It isn't easy, but
it can be done. We purposely don't make it easy. We don't want mere demagogues to rise to power, any more than we want aristocrats aspiring to royal dignity.
"Likewise, we don't allow senatorial families to produce generations of nobodies who live in idleness on inherited
wealth. If they can't produce men of courage and capability, they might as well join the class of merchants and business
men. The elections will assure that. Though not exactly democratic, they express the will of the people with a fair degree of accuracy. Cowards and bumblers do not get elected to the higher magistracies, no matter how noble their families."
"Admirable," both Greeks muttered, wondering how far
reality fell short of this ideal. From what they had seen thus
far, it came chillingly short.
"But I am sure you want to see what is going on here," Flaccus said, signaling for the slaves to clear away the remains of lunch.
"Aren't you going to look over the documents we've brought?" Zeno asked.
Flaccus glanced at the scrolls and tablets on the table. "Oh, I shall. Eventually."
Izates cleared his throat. "Um, if you will not think the observation too impertinent, you seem to have a rather Norbanus-like disregard for senatorial guidance."
Flaccus shrugged. "Really, there is no rush. I already
know what is in there. There will be a pompous official pro
nouncement from the Senate. Then there will be some letters from Gabinius and other friends and allies, telling us about the real political climate in Rome and what our enemies are plotting against us. Just the usual stuff. After all, what we do here in Alexandria is merely a sideshow. The real action just now is in Sicily and Judea and parts east
ward, soon to be followed by the real war against Carthage.
We really don't merit much senatorial attention."
Flaccus clapped his hands and a pair of young slaves came
running with his armor and weapons. "The queen insists upon these military trappings," he grumped as, with some difficulty, the boys got his old-fashioned, muscled cuirass buckled about him. "She wants everyone to be in no doubt where her support lies. The locals are frightened of Carthage, but they have learned to be truly terrified of Rome."
"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 and
lightning 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 sweat
ing 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 mes
sengers 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 impor
tant 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 discov
ered 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 bab
ble could come here and accomplish wonders. More arrive every day."
"An extreme approach," Izates said, "but effective. Some
one 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 Aca
demics, 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 civ
ilization, 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 littl
e 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 per
ception! 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 Pla
tonists 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," Mar
cus 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?"
Flaccus smiled. "You see? You haven't been here two hours and already you're thinking like an Archimedean philosopher."
Next they visited the yard they were most eager to see:
the workplace where the flying machines were built. Marcus
led them to a portico where artists studied the wings of
birds and crafted wonderfully lifelike models of these wings,
with every feather cleverly in place, held by bitumen.
"The eagle is the noblest of birds," Zeno said. "I would think that its wings would be the finest for flying."
"That is what I thought," Marcus said. "After all, the eagle is the sacred bird of Jupiter and therefore most suitable to fly for Rome. The Egyptians here insist that the ibis would be better. But it turns out that bird wings are not the best model for emulation. Our most successful flying de
vices have wings modeled after those of bats."
"The bat is a lowly creature," Izates said, "little more than a rat with wings. Surely a man should fly with something not quite so ignoble as a model."