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
"Please, godlike sir!" wailed Simon, catching Dionysios' hand and kissing it. "I can redesign—I can modify—"
Dionysios turned his back. As he strode off the archery range, he said to Lithodomos:
"Scrap it."
Then he was gone. Zopyros went back to work with the rest. Next day they heard that Simon had hanged himself in his room during the night.
A few days later Glaukos, Korinna's brother, arrived with a traveling cart from Messana to take his nephew home. Zopyros gave a party at a wineshop for Glaukos, with Archytas, Segovax, and Evnos as company. Tongues loosened by the best Falernian, they told the tales of their adventures in Africa. Evnos said:
"I can offer a bit of gossip about the President, which the rest of you may not have heard."
"Oh?" said Archytas. "I'm all ears." The others likewise urged Evnos until, after teasing them a little, he said:
"Dionysios has begun to look for another wife."
"Whatever happened to the first one?" asked Glaukos.
"The daughter of Hermokrates? You remember about six or seven years ago, in his first big campaign, when he tried in vain to raise the siege of Gela by the Carthaginians? Our aristocratic cavalry figured he was done for. They thought it would be a fine time to get even with him for ousting the oligarchs from power and killing off their leaders.
So they galloped home from Gela, sacked his house, and raped his wife."
"All of them?" said Glaukos.
"Probably no more than a troop; nobody kept count. Anyway, the poor girl killed herself before Dionysios got home with the rest of the army."
Segovax clucked. "A distressful thing. Wiry docs any man have to be doing rape, and so many women willing?"
"Well," continued Evnos, "since then he's made do with occasional dancing girls, although I must say he's as moderate in his venery as a Pythagorean. Now, however, he's getting dynastic ideas."
"They always do," said Archytas.
"So, wanting legitimate children to leave his city to, he's been shopping for a wife. He sent one of his cronies to Rhegion, but the Rhegines sent the man back with word that Dionysios might have the daughter of their municipal hangman if he liked."
"Oi!" said Zopyros.
"Oi indeed! He rarely shows anger; but they say that he was angrier at this than at anything that's happened since he came to power. He swore by all the gods he'd pay the Rhegines back for this insult, if it took the rest of his life. I do believe he hates them worse, now, than he does the Carthaginians."
"Speaking of cronies," said Zopyros, "does anybody know why he's made Lithodomos master of the Arsenal? The man doesn't impress me as qualified."
"I'm after hearing the story on that," said Segovax. "Himself has literary ambitions. He wants to write great plays and poetry, although your Greek poetry can't compare with that of our Celtic bards. You should hear them around the chief's* hearth fire in Gaul ... But anyhow, Dionysios thought if he could get some of the writing tools of the best writers of Athens—those who are dead and gone—the gods would somehow send him an inspiration. So he sent Lithodomos to Athens. And Lithodomos had a bit of luck, because he found a man who had the pen and writing tablets and harp of Master Euripides, and the desk of that other omadhaun—what's his name? Ai-some-thing."
"Aischylos?" suggested Zopyros.
"That's it, Aischylos. So this man had these things that belonged to the great writers—or at least he said they did—and Master Lithodomos bought up the lot."
Archytas asked: "Did these writing tools furnish the desired inspiration?"
Segovax shrugged. "I wouldn't be knowing. I don't hear that his honor has yet won any of them literary prizes they give in Old Hellas. 'Tis a pity I never learnt to write, because I'm thinking I could write poetry that would make your Homers and Anakreons sound like so many crows calling to each other to come and eat a dead corp they've found lying. Only they'd never give me a prize, first because I'm a foreigner, and second because it would be in the Celtic language I'd be doing it, the which they couldn't understand at all."
"It's never too late to start," said Zopyros. "Come around for a free writing lesson sometime."
"Thanks; maybe I will. Anyway, Dionysios was monstrously grateful to Master Lithodomos and swore to give him a good steady job the next time one opened up. And that is that."
Later, Zopyros said to Glaukos: "How are things at home?"
"She sends you her love, of course, and thanks you with all her heart for rescuing her boy."
"Yes, but how are the negotiations coming?"
"Slowly. Your father and mine are both trying to skin a flayed dog. They haggle over every detail like a pair of Phoenician jewelers."
"Plague! I wish I could speed, them up."
Glaukos smiled. "One can't live with women, and one can't live without them! My sister is impatient, too. Father smiles and says, that's why the parents have the say in such matters. If left to themselves, young people, urged on by their lusts, would rush into all sorts of foolish bargains."
By the beginning of Maimakterion*(*Approximately November.), the catapult was assembled in the Arsenal. Not wishing to have a crowd around to jeer if the device failed, Zopyros persuaded some of his workmen to try it out early on the morning of a holy day. They hauled the engine out of doors on rollers and set it up at the end of the archery range. With the windlass at the after end of the trough, they cranked back the bowstring, digit by digit. The mechanism creaked with the strain, and Prothymion the bowyer peered anxiously at his huge bow.
At last the string was behind the trigger. Zopyros pulled back the lever that raised the trigger from its slot, holding the bowstring in place. The workers eased off the windlass, until the windlass cord went slack. Zopyros unhooked the end of the windlass cord from the bowstring and laid one of his missiles in the groove. This was a standard javelin, to the after part of which three small bronze vanes had been added, like the feathering of an arrow. A notch had been cut in its butt to take the bowstring. He teased the dart back until its butt rested against the string. To one of the apprentices he said:
"I don't know how far this thing will carry. Hagnon, go to the far end of the archery range to warn away anybody who might be strolling there."
"What if the dart comes right at me?" asked the boy.
"Be ready to duck behind a target."
The apprentice ran off. Archytas said: "Won't you feel silly, old boy, if after all your precautions the dart carries only spitting distance?"
"That's what we're here to learn. Is everybody ready? Here goes!"
Zopyros thrust the handle of the lever forward. The trigger sank down in its slot. The bowstring, released, whipped forward. There was a sharp crash of creaking wood and cloven air. The frame of the catapult quivered like a harp string, while the missile soared away with a shriek.
"Valetudo preserve us!" cried Segovax. "The thing will be flying clear to Carthage!"
The dart curved down and buried itself in the ground beyond the row of butts at the far end of the range. Archytas said:
"By the holy tetractys, I'll bet that's gone three plethra! Half again as far as an archer can shoot! Have you another dart?"
"The big boss ought to see the next one, if he's up and about. Segovax, why don't you carry the message? The soldiers at the palace will treat you with less insolence than they would one of us civilians."
The apprentice, looking pale, approached. "Master Zopyros! Was that nice, to send that thing whizzing over my head and scare me out of my wits?"
Segovax returned, escorting Dionysios and his bodyguards. The tyrannos affably greeted all present. The crew wound up the catapult again. Again the engine crashed and the dart soared away.