Free The Orpheus Descent by Tom Harper Page A

triangles,’ I said doubtfully.
    Archytas reached into a chest and took out a handsome eight-string lyre, with a tortoiseshell sounding box and double-scrolled arms. He cupped it to his breast and plucked two strings in succession.
    ‘This is a note, and so is this.’ He plucked again, this time both strings simultaneously. ‘Together, you get harmony – a third thing that unites its component parts.’
    The chord rang with a kind of sad beauty. ‘But what does that have to do with mathematics?’
    ‘Music
is
mathematics.’ Archytas played the chord again. ‘Look at the strings. If you measure them, you’ll find that the first harmonious pair is made by making the second string four-thirds as long as the first. The next harmonious pair is on the ratio three to two, and the octave comes by doubling the length.
    He wrote the ratios on a wax tablet. 1
:
2
–
2
:
3
–
3
:
4
.
    ‘I thought you weren’t interested in numbers.’
    He plucked a few more notes, improvising a short tune. It reminded me of the deathless music the wind chimes had made in the forest.
    ‘The universe is motion, and everything that moves makes a sound. If we could hear it all, and understand the formulas that govern it, there’d be a lot more harmony in the world.’
    ‘Is that what Agathon wanted to learn about?’
    The music died away. Archytas laid the lyre back in its box.
    ‘Agathon thought there was more, and I was hiding it from him.’
    ‘Were you?’
    A grave look. ‘The beauty of mathematics is that you can’t hide anything. There are no rituals or mysteries. Each step comes logically from the last. Anyone can see it if he takes the time to think it through.’
    ‘But you parted on bad terms.’
    ‘Not when he left. When I found out what he’d done—’
    Just then, the door banged open and Euphemus walked in.
    ‘Good news,’ he announced. ‘I’ve hired mules to take me as far as Rhegion.’
    Obviously, he expected me to make something of it. I just stared.
    ‘Thurii’s on the way.’ Another pause. ‘If you want to find your friend there, you’re welcome to come with me.’
    Everything I owned was fishbait – including my purse. ‘I can’t afford … How are you paying for it?’
    He showed me a palmful of gold coins, heavy archers minted in Persia.
    ‘Did you rob someone?’
    ‘I keep them sewn into my belt for when things go wrong. Which they usually do, in my experience.’
    ‘No wonder you were so heavy to drag out of the sea.’
    ‘And now I’m showing my gratitude. Do you want to come?’
    I hesitated. There was so much more I wanted to ask Archytas – and having to endure Euphemus’ company on the road was a dismal prospect. But …
    There are two ways
, says Parmenides,
and one is impossible
.
    ‘I’ll come.’
    Archytas was out to dinner that night. Euphemus angled for an invitation, but Archytas artfully outmanoeuvred him. I spent the evening in my room with a lamp, trying to make sense of Parmenides. I couldn’t concentrate. I kept listening for Archytas’ return, but all I heard was an empty house: a slave singing, water splashing out of the well, a broom knocking the wall as it swept out some corner.
    The place I began is where I shall return.
    Somewhere in the house, the wooden duck quacked. I rubbed my eyes. I’d been staring at the same column for the last twenty minutes, thinking about Agathon. I rolled up the scroll and laid it on my chest.
    The goddess visited me again that night, holding my hand as we flew over the golden sea. She told me something, but the rushing wind snatched the words away and I didn’t hear. She wanted me to repeat it; when I couldn’t, she got angry. She let go of my wrist, and I was falling, falling, falling towards the water, until I hit the mattress and jerked up in the dark, silent house.
    Then it was morning, and everything was forgotten in the rush to be ready. I had nothing to pack, but Euphemus seemed to have bought enough new clothes and