The Story of Archimedes, Bathtaker - Chapter 4

Archimedes explores the greatest library in the world

The doors of the library swung inwards. Archimedes stumbled mid-knock as his hand passed through the open doorway, connecting instead with the small wrinkled head of the old man who had appeared from within.

‘What the damn hell?’ the old man held his cheek. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

 Archimedes realized that he had barely spoken a word in the two weeks since he had departed Syracuse. Now, exhausted by sleepless nights at sea, and in shock from his traumatic arrival, he struggled even to give his name to the librarian whom he had just punched in the face.

‘Archie- Archimedes!’ he finally stammered.

The old man hesitated. Still rubbing his cheek, he screwed up his face as though trying to remember something. Archimedes noticed bare feet sticking out the bottom of the old man’s deep red robe. His feet were as wrinkled as his bald head.

The librarian snapped his fingers ‘Archimedes!’ he exclaimed. ‘Phidiases boy from Syracuse!’ The man now smiled warmly, gazing at Archimedes’ right shoulder.

Archimedes nodded. He wiped a trickle of blood from his upper lip and cleared his throat. ‘Yes sir,’ he managed to say.

‘You certainly make an entrance lad! Come in, come in! I am Eratosthenes, chief librarian of Alexandria’. He stepped aside and Archimedes shuffled over the threshold.

For a moment, Archimedes forgot that he was aching all over and covered in blood. Sunlight flooded the vast space, streaming in from a circular opening at the center of a painted dome ceiling. The rectangular hall was lined with tall sturdy shelves jutting out from the walls. Each shelf contained hundreds of tightly packed scrolls of parchment. In the middle of the patterned tile floor, a dozen red-robed librarians sat at desks, poring over stacks of paper or speaking to one another in hushed tones.

Eratosthenes continued to chatter as he closed the brass doors behind Archimedes. ‘Yes I’ve known your father for a long time, long time. I taught him for a while in Athens. He didn’t care much for mathematics or geography but he loved the stars. Follow me please…’

Eratosthenes led Archimedes to a ladder, which he climbed with surprising speed for such an ancient looking person. Archimedes struggled up the ladder too, and found himself on a long balcony overlooking the hall of librarians.

Eratosthenes was already padding away past further desks and shelves. When Archimedes caught up, the old man was still babbling on.

‘… largest collection of writings in the world. Any region, any language, we collect it. Any ship that docks in Alexandria has all scrolls immediately confiscated. If we’ve seen the scroll before, we return it. If not, we keep it and make them a copy...’

They reached the far end of the balcony. A few chairs were gathered near a wide desk cluttered with parchment in the corner. Eratosthenes plonked himself into a comfortable looking armchair. 

‘…travelling librarians seek out foreign documents. Last month one of our operatives returned with a rubbing of the stone tablets that Moses brought down from Mount Sinai.’

The old librarian smiled pleasantly at the space slightly left of Archimedes elbow. ‘In fact, if you look on that desk, you’ll find an account of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, by Berossus. Would you fetch it?’

Archimedes found the pages on top of the messy desk. He gathered them and offered them to Eratosthenes, who did not move. ‘Er… are you going to read it sir?’

The old man chuckled. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t done much reading since I lost my sight.’

Realisation dawned on Archimedes. Now he understood why Eratosthenes had made no comment on his travelworn appearance.

‘That’s why you’re here my boy! Take a seat and start at the beginning. I assume you can read Koine Greek?’

Archimedes could read Koine Greek, but he had been hoping to get some medical attention, or at least have a bath before he started work in the library.

Eratosthenes’ kind expression did not change. Archimedes groaned softly, sank onto a hard, straight-backed chair, and began to read aloud;

              ‘I, Berossus, visited the gardens of Babylon two years before the death of the Macedonian king, Alexander.’

‘Fifty-five years ago!’ interrupted Eratosthenes. Archimedes went on;

‘The garden was a wonder of architecture and horticulture. I explored the winding paths. Majestic trees towered above me. Exotic creepers draped the tiered stone walls.

‘The real genius of the gardens was in the method of irrigation. Water was pumped to the uppermost tier via a pipe containing a twisting screw. From here, it was directed to aqueducts that snaked throughout the grounds.’

He paused to mop up another dribble of blood that had escaped his nose. Eratosthenes was smiling patiently at the opposite wall of the library. Archimedes sighed resignedly, and continued to read.