The Temple of the Muses by John Maddox Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

of Periclean Athens, with its wilting Apollos and excessively chaste Aphrodites. Orpheus, caught in mid-note, was the very embodiment of music as he strummed his lyre. The beasts, obviously stopped at the moment they were about to spring, were carved with wondrous detail. The lion’s fanged mouth was just relaxing from a terrifying snarl, the wolf lapsing into doglike friendliness, the bear standing on his hind legs looking puzzled. In real life no one is ever attacked simultaneously by such a varied menagerie, but this was myth, and it was perfect.
    But Julia wanted to see the philosophers at their labors, so we went in search of some. The problem was that, when they aren’t talking, philosophers aren’t doing much at all. Mostly they stand around, or sit around, or in the case of the Peripatetics, walk around, pondering matters and looking wise.
    We found Asklepiodes in a lecture hall, speaking to a large audience of physicians about his discoveries concerning the superiority of stitching lacerations rather than searing them with a hot iron. One of the attendees ventured to question whether this was properly the concern of physicians, and Asklepiodes parried him neatly.
    “Before even the divine Hippocrates, there was the god of healing, Asklepios. And do we not read in the Iliad that his own son, Machaon, with his own hands tended the wounds of the Greek
heroes, even withdrawing an arrowhead in one instance?” I applauded this point vigorously, and there were learned murmurs that this was a valid point.
    From the lecture halls we passed into a large courtyard filled with enigmatic objects of stone: tall spindles, slanted ramps, circles with gradations marked off in inscribed lines. A few of the smaller instruments I recognized as similar to the gnomon that engineers use to lay out building sites or camps for the legions.
    “Welcome to my observatory,” said a man I recognized as Sosigenes, the astronomer. He grinned engagingly as Julia went through her now-customary gush of enthusiasm.
    “I shall be most happy to explain something of my studies, my lady,” he said, “but I confess that there are few things more useless than an astronomer in the daytime.” And this he proceeded to do. Sosigenes had a redeeming sense of humor that was notably absent in most of the philosophers there. I found myself actually listening attentively as he explained the purpose of his instruments, and the importance of recording the movements of the stars and planets in calculating positions in navigation, and in determining the real date as opposed to the slippery dates of conventional calendars. The reliable calendar we now use was the invention of Sosigenes, although Caesar took the credit by making it the legal calendar through his authority as Pontifex Maximus. I resolved to return to the observatory some night when he could explain more effectively the mysteries of the stars.
    In another courtyard we found the redoubtable Iphicrates of Chios, bossing a crew of carpenters and metal workers as they assembled a complicated model of stone, wood and cable. At our arrival he turned frowning, but smiled and bowed when he saw that Rome had come calling.
    “And what do you work on now, Iphicrates?” Amphytrion asked.
    “His Majesty has asked me to solve the long-standing problem of silting in the great canal that links the Mediterranean with the Red Sea,” he proclaimed proudly.

    “A daunting prospect,” I said. “But its solution would do much to facilitate traffic between the West and India.”
    “It’s good to see that someone from outside these walls has a grasp of geography,” he said.
    “It’s one of the things we Romans find important,” I answered. “What is your solution?”
    “The basis of the problem is that the canal is at sea level, and therefore a noticeable current flows through it from west to east, just as water enters the Mediterranean from the Ocean through the Gates of Heracles, and from east to west