The Seven Hills (11 page)

Despite the multiplicity of legislative and judicial bodies, the Roman system seemed to function with great effi
ciency. Zeno was especially impressed with the courts. Trials
were for the most part speedy and fair, the judges impartial
and the lawyers well versed in all the intricacies of the law.
He remarked upon this to Gabinius.

"We've built up our system to be the best in the world," he said, "but don't be deceived. Wait until you see two important, powerful men at odds in court. Then things are not
so equitable, as when some small businessman is being tried
for fraud, or a border dispute between minor landholders is settled. It's difficult to impanel an impartial jury when everyone is a client to someone of greater importance, and really wealthy men are seldom above a little bribery when their interests are at stake."

This concept of clientage was new to the Greeks. It turned out that, like so many Roman practices, it dated back to the primitive days of chieftains and warriors, when small peasants put themselves under the protection of a
greater landowner and followed him in war. This simple relationship had grown into a complex system of interlocking
obligations that included monetary and legal aid, support
in the Forum, whether in trials or elections, even the obliga
tions of death and funerals. Slaves upon manumission became clients of their former masters, and clientage was hereditary. Among Romans, no relationship was more important than that of client and patron.

Gabinius had insisted that the two Greeks move into his new house and had given each a token—a small medallion embossed with a shield of Mars—symbolizing yet another status:
hospes.
It was a word that translated as "guest-friend." It meant that, when visiting each other's city, each was obligated to provide the other with hospitality, with support in court should such prove necessary, with medical
care when ill, even with proper funeral rites should a
hospes
die while visiting. This relationship was also hereditary. Should a descendant of Zeno or Izates visit Rome, he could present the token to any descendant of Gabinius and claim hospitality.

"The Romans have to have everything spelled out," Izates groused when he and Zeno were alone. "Everything involves mutual obligations and everything is hereditary."

"Maybe this is one reason for the Romans' success," Zeno
remarked. "It is the great stability of all their institutions. They leave little to the whims of individual men."

"Such institutions are probably necessary because the Romans have little natural, innate sense of dignity and civility. They must have these long-established guidelines to keep them civilized."

Zeno laughed. "You always find some way to denigrate the Romans. Nothing they do ever impresses you."

Izates considered this. "That is true. I am equally skeptical of the apparent virtues of Greeks and Jews. It is part of being a Cynic. Men are full of themselves, blown up with self-importance. It takes only a little thought to find the secret inadequacy behind their vauntings. Men have feet of clay."

"Feet of what?" Zeno asked. Izates explained that the saying was from an ancient tale of his own people, about a brazen idol that rested upon feet of clay and how its weak
ness was exposed. Zeno protested that Izates' ancestors mis
understood the nature of the gods and their images, and Izates told him that he was missing the point. Their discussions frequently ended this way.

Now, as they inspected the impromptu shipyard and training facility, Roman method, discipline and thoroughness were once again on full display.

A small forest of masts had grown up along the shore, and men were engaged in hauling on ropes that erected these masts in artificial keels, then hauling long yards up the masts and unfurling the big, rectangular sails. Sailing masters shouted orders to the sweating sailors-in-training, making them swing the yards about so as to catch quarter
ing winds. Experienced sailors conducted classes in how to
tie the many knots required by seagoing craft.

"These are skills ordinarily learned by every sailor when
he goes to sea as a boy," Zeno said. "Here grown men are trained in vast numbers, just as newly recruited soldiers learn their trade in training camps. But, there is a difference." Here Zeno paused dramatically.

"What might that be?" Izates wanted to know.

"In training camps the Romans teach skills in which they
are already expert. Here," he waved an arm, taking in the huge facility, "they are teaching a multitude of skills that they do not even possess themselves!"

Izates looked at him blankly, then he turned slowly to
scan the madmen's naval base. "This exceeds even a philoso
pher's tolerance for the absurd."

"You need a capacity for wonder. And this is not their most improbable accomplishment of late. That rogue gen
eral of theirs has the Museum accomplishing marvels, if half
the tales we've heard are true."

Izates shuddered. "Philosophers behaving like mechan
ics! Disgusting! Speculations about the
nature
of matter and
the properties of movement are quite proper. But this Roman has them actually
building
things! They should be stripped of the status of philosophers and degraded to that of mere workmen." He turned aside and spat.

"But how can their ideas be verified without creating the
machines and actually testing them?"

"It is unworthy," Izates insisted. "They should content themselves with simply thinking about such things. To sully the purity of thought with the manipulation of gross matter is a desecration!"

"Romans like to accomplish things, not just think about
them. For a Cynic, you are notably respectful toward philo
sophical pretension."

"A true Cynic respects only purity and virtue. All else is vanity."

"And the supposed purity of philosophers is nothing but snobbery," Zeno said.

"Snobbery?" Izates said in a quiet voice. "How does rev
erence for the purity of thought and logic translate into snobbery?"

"It isn't purity to which most philosophers aspire," Zeno explained. "It's respectability. Most of them are impoverished men of less than noble background, and they want
desperately to be accepted as peers of the aristocracy. That's
why they can't stand the thought of philosophers getting their hands dirty."

Izates peered narrowly at him. "Now it's you that sound like a Cynic."

Zeno grinned. "I was born one. You had to study. Besides," he turned serious again, "think of it! They've built a boat that can take men beneath the water and back to the surface safely!"

"And what have they accomplished thereby? They can see nothing because the boat is entirely sealed. They can
stay underwater only a short time and merely risk drowning
for nothing."

"But it has never before been done by mortal men," Zeno
protested.

"Then it is novelty for the sake of novelty and therefore just a vulgar show, meant to impress the credulous mob."

"No, it is meant to sink enemy ships and seems to have performed the task well."

"Nonsense!" Izates performed one of the more common
Greek rude noises. "Men have been sinking ships since before
the time of Odysseus. The process is always much the same. Do the sailors drown more thoroughly because their ship was destroyed by an unseen craft? Does the ship sink more precipitately for being rammed by a submarine vessel?"

"As I understand it, the sinkings were accomplished more by a sawing action than by ramming. Apparently,
ramming is unadvisable in one of these ships. It makes even
the usual galleys leak, and this might be disastrous when you are submerged already."

"That is rank sophistry and unworthy of you. Military
toys!" Izates grumped. "As if the old-fashioned methods of
mutual extermination were not lethal enough already. Demetrius Poliorcetes loved to play with such grotesque machines and whatever became of him?"

"Not all the new inventions of the Archimedean school are military in nature," Zeno said. "There are men experimenting with mirrors and lenses who say they can vastly improve our study of the stars and heavenly bodies."

"Well, I suppose that is proper," Izates admitted grudgingly. He was keenly interested in astronomy. "As long as they leave the manufacture of these new instruments to craftsmen, and confine themselves to making observations and speculating upon them. I am skeptical of how much help these instruments shall prove, anyway. Our ancestors did well enough with only their own two eyes. How much does making a star seem bigger tell us? Their courses will remain the same. Their place in the heavens will be unchanged. The rising and setting of the major constellations will occur with the same regularity as was observed by the
astronomers of Babylon and Egypt thousands of years ago."

"But look at this!" Zeno said with a note of triumph that Izates recognized. His friend had been leading up to this all along.

"You've set an ambush for me," he grumbled.

Zeno drew a folded papyrus from the pouch at his waist. "This came from our friend Gabinius. It was among the most recent reports from Marcus Scipio to the Senate. Gabinius says that it is a mystery to him, but that we might find it amusing." He unfolded it portentously and began to read.

"Among the intriguing new developments are those of the Cypriote, Agathocles. I have written of him before: He is the experimenter with mirrors, who invented the device for observing around corners and over walls. This device proved very useful on the underwater boats.

"His newest creations involve parabolic mirrors and lenses of finely ground glass, which by some seemingly magical property cause distant objects to appear closer. He has used some of these devices to study the stars and the moon, and the astronomers who have looked through these things have been astonished. They say that, not only do the
stars appear nearer, but they can actually see more stars than are visible to our eyes alone. Agathocles says that he is frus
trated by the impurities and other imperfections in his
lenses, and works feverishly with his Babylonian glass work
ers to create clearer, more refined glass and finer grinding and polishing agents to perfect his lenses.

"I am sure that these things must have some sort of military application. Reconnaissance, both at sea and on land, comes to mind. I shall set Agathocles to work devising small, portable viewing devices."

Zeno refolded the parchment. "What do you think of that?"

Izates looked stunned. "Can this be possible?" he said, the sneer for once gone from his voice. "Not the device—
we've all seen how reflective surfaces distort, so why not
control the distortion to magnify? No, I mean, can it be true that there are more stars in Heaven than we can see?"

"No sense pondering on an empty stomach," Zeno said, pleased at having stunned his friend for once.

Numerous hawkers had set up booths around the mili
tary facility, and they went to one such and purchased bread,
cheese, fruit and large cups of wine. They took these to a stone jetty and sat on its rim, their feet dangling over the water, while they munched, drank and talked over the implications of this unprecedented news.

"From the earliest days of rational thought," Izates said,
"it has been believed that we could understand the world by
looking at it and analyzing what we see. But if this man Agathocles is correct, if his magnifying devices show what is truly there, then it means that there are things in the cosmos that we cannot see!"

"That seems clear," Izates agreed.

"And if this is true of the visible world, what of the
world as perceived by our other senses? Are there sounds we
cannot hear? Are there objects all around us that we cannot feel?"

"I see no reason why this may not be the case," Izates said.

"Consider: A man with only slightly defective vision cannot see many things that those of us with clear vision can. That does not mean those things are not there, merely that he can't see them. We cannot see the wind, but we can feel it and we can hear it. We know that dogs can detect
scents our own noses are not keen enough for, and they often
seem to hear sounds when we hear nothing at all."

Izates nodded. "Quite so, quite so. There may be a whole invisible cosmos out there, previously unsuspected. Perhaps
you are right, and we philosophers in our vanity have assumed upon an imperfect base of knowledge."

"This is a rather sudden shift of view," Zeno noted.

"A Cynic only needs his bottom kicked once to know
that he has been kicked. One learns to understand the world
as it is presented, not as an ideal dreamed up by a poet." He took a long drink, draining his cup, then he set it down. "Well. It is time for us to be going."

"Going? Where?"

"To Alexandria, of course! That is where the new world of philosophy is taking shape. Why should we want to be anywhere else?"

"But we came here to study the resurgence of Rome!"