The Arrows of Hercules
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Arrows of Hercules». Краткое содержание книги:
“Exciting and quite believable adventures.”—Classical World
“Rousing piece of fiction...pace is rapid and unrelenting.” —The Arizona Republic
A pair of soldiers stood at attention on the far end of the bridge. As Zopyros and Archytas stepped out upon the resounding planks of the bridge, Zopyros grasped his companion's arm.
"Look at that!"
"Those chains?"
"Yes! They start here—and go through those holes in the wall over there—" Zopyros, becoming excited, rushed about the bridge like a dog on the scent. "Dionysios must be able to haul the bridge up whenever he doesn't want visitors. Oh, plague! Why didn't I think of that?"
"I say, Zopyros!" cried Archytas, becoming excited in his turn. "Look at this gate affair that slides up and down!"
Zopyros rushed to examine. Where the island met the water, he saw massive stone fortifications. Beyond the drawbridge the walls were pierced by a lofty gateway, which tunneled through the masonry. A pair of heavy wooden doors stood open at the far end of the tunnel; while at the near end, instead of a pair of hinged wooden door valves, the passage was controlled by an openwork portcullis, which was made of iron-sheathed timbers and which slid up and down in a slot in the masonry.
Zopyros became so fascinated by these novel mechanisms that, in striding about and craning his neck to see better, he bumped into one of the soldiers of the guard.
"Ē!" roared the man, recovering his balance and aiming his spear at Zopyros' midriff. "What in the afterworld do you think you're doing, you collared rascal?"
"Excuse me," said Zopyros, feeling very cold inside as he gazed at the spearhead. "I was so interested I didn't see you—"
"Maybe you'd like a few ten-days in the House?" snarled the other soldier, also bringing his spear to the stabbing position.
"Now, now, it's too nice a day to quarrel," said Archytas. "You see, boys, my friend is such a genius that half the time he doesn't see what's going on around him. I'm sure the price of a drink will make up for his clumsiness ... Now could you tell us how to get to the house of Philistos?"
"Where's your pass?" growled the first soldier.
"Must we have passes?" said Zopyros.
"By the gods, you two are new here, aren't you?" said the second soldier. Listening to their accents, Zopyros guessed them to be Campanians, Lucanians, or perhaps half-barbarous Sikels from the interior of Sicily. "Of course you have to have a pass, or else an escort." The speaker turned his head and bawled: "File leader Segovax!"
The Celt appeared from the guardroom, wearing the panoply of one of Dionysios' non-commissioned officers. The sweeping mustache and the long sword, however, betrayed his barbarian origin.
"By the horns of Cernunnos!" he cried, wringing their hands. "If 'tis not the brave Tarentine lads! Are you here to get a job from himself, too?"
"Perhaps," said Zopyros, smiling warmly at the sound of a friendly voice. "We thought we'd call on Philistos first, since I used to know his son."
"That's the clever Hellene for you, always thinking ahead. Master Philistos is the second man after himself." He turned his head and shouted: "Egnatius! Escort duty!" He turned back. "When you are settled, come and see me for a bit of a talk and a drop of wine."
The escort guided them through a maze of fortifications and past Dionysios' palace and the temple of Apollon and Artemis. In front of the temple stood a heroic statue of a nude Apollon bending his mighty, bow. They trudged past barracks and other governmental buildings for half the length of the island. About them was a constant bustle as the dictator's soldiers and civil servants came and went. At last, near the huge Olympieion, they stopped before one of the few private houses on Ortygia and rapped.
The doorkeeper swung open the heavy door. Behind him stood Philistos, a heavy-set man in his forties, with the first streaks of gray in his beard. He leaned on a crutch-headed walking stick. To Zopyros' questions he answered:
"No, my son is not here. He is in Athens, studying under Gorgias. You claim to have known him in Taras, eh? Have you a token to prove it?"
"I'm afraid not, sir," said Zopyros.
"Well, it doesn't matter. For the next ten-day my house will be full of kinsmen, gathered for the religious rites of our clan. So I could not invite you to stay here in any case. However, the President is granting audience this afternoon. I am on my way thither and can introduce you to him."
Following the limping Philistos and the escorting soldier, Zopyros and Archytas retraced their steps around the temple of Apollon and Artemis to the palace. The palace of Dionysios resembled an ordinary square Greek courtyard house, except that it was larger and was made of stone instead of mud brick. The escort spoke briefly to the two soldiers who stood sentry go at the doorway.
"Raise your arms," said one of the sentries, stepping forward.
"Do you want our swords?" said Archytas politely. "We'll save you the trouble of finding them."
He laid his bag of belongings on the ground, reached up under the hem of his chiton, and unbuckled the scabbard strapped to his thigh. Zopyros did likewise. At the sight of the smallswords, the soldiers and Philistos scowled suspiciously.
"You see," said Archytas smoothly, handing over his sword, "we have just arrived in Syracuse and have no place, yet, to leave our gear."
The soldier who had spoken nevertheless ran his hands over the bodies of the Tarentines. There was a muttered conference among the three soldiers, which ended when one of them said:
"All right, take them in, but warn the big boss."
Inside, a fountain played in the courtyard, its drops flashing rainbow gleams in the sunshine. More soldiers stood at attention behind well-polished shields, while several audience-seekers waited silently in the shade of the portico around the courtyard. Beside the fountain, on an ordinary chair, sat Dionysios, looking up at a small man who was talking earnestly to him.
Dionysios shifted his level gaze as the new arrivals entered. He called: "Rejoice, Philistos! Come and see what you think of this tax proposal."
While the three men put their heads together, Zopyros studied Dionysios. The President of Syracuse, he called himself, although everybody knew that under his rule the form was all that remained of the democratic constitution. Dionysios was a full-fledged tyrannos, whose power rested upon the fortifications of Ortygia and upon his tough mercenary troops.
Dionysios was a strikingly handsome man, about thirty years old, with regular features and clear gray eyes. He was as tall as Zopyros, mightily muscled, and clad in a simple but spotlessly clean white tunic. His dark hair and beard were shaggy. Zopyros remembered the story that Dionysios insisted on either trimming them himself, or having them singed with a hot coal, for fear of letting even a barber close to him with any sharp implement. His movements gave the impression of vast controlled power. One minute he would be sitting as still as a rock, listening; the next, he would blur into motion as he jumped up and strode about. A secretary sat nearby, writing busily, at a table piled with waxed wooden tablets and rolls of papyrus.
The little man with the tax proposal was through at last. The next petitioner showed a toy-sized model of an armored four-horse chariot, with roof and sides covered over with iron scales. After listening, Dionysios said:
"This looks promising, O Simon. Make me a set of detailed drawings, with estimates of weight and cost. Then we shall go on from there. Rejoice! Who's next?"
The escort stepped forward and spoke in low tones to the tyrannos. At last Dionysios beckoned, and the two young engineers approached his chair.
"Are you the son of Megabyzos?" he abruptly asked Zopyros. "Yes, sir."
"I know of him and should be glad to have him work for me. What chance of getting him to come?"