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 military 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!"
Zeno protested.
"Part of that resurgence is taking place right now, in Alexandria. And it may well prove to be the most important part. Think of Alexander. His empire did not outlast his final breath, but he spread Greek culture throughout the world. These soldierly oafs may soon be forgotten, but it may be that they have, all unwitting, changed the nature of philosophy, which is a far greater wonder than any conquest. Come along. Gabinius will give us letters of introduction to this Scipio fellow. I know plenty of people in the Museum. You want to be a great historian? We'll be at the center of history!"
CHAPTER SIX
"A walking ship?" Selene looked from one Roman to the other. Their expressions seemed earnest. "I can see that I have stayed away from the Museum too long. Does a ship that walks have some advantage over the more familiar sort that sails or is rowed?" She hoped for some equally ironic response, but they seemed to consider her question seriously. Irony, she had learned, was a subtlety beyond the ken of the Romans. And as for humor—she almost shuddered—what struck the Romans as funny struck most people with horror.
"It doesn't exactly walk," Marcus Scipio said. "In fact, it is more of a rotary motion, rather hard to describe, really—"
"Perhaps," Flaccus said, "a demonstration is in order." Like Scipio, Flaccus was a senator, one with a more literary bent than his friend. The other Romans considered Flaccus lazy and lacking in martial vigor. Only a Roman would have considered him so. With her own eyes Selene had on one occasion seen him kill four enemies with six swift strokes of his short sword. Marcus had upbraided him for the two wasted strokes.
"Yes," she sighed, "a demonstration." The philosophers of the Archimedean school, who had risen from obscurity to preeminence with the arrival of the Romans, dearly loved to show off their new toys.
They trooped from the palace and entered the huge royal litter, which carried them the short distance down to the royal harbor. Since her last visit, a new ship had arrived. It certainly looked strange, with the bizarre addition of wheels to its sides, but how such a thing could walk escaped her. She saw also that it was equipped with the new, single steering oar mounted at the extreme end of the stern, instead of the pair pivoted at its sides in the familiar fashion.