Ink of Ages Fiction Prize

Circles in the Sand

It was Archimedes who was to blame. He was the one who’d started it off, the whole strange story. But then he’d been at the start of all their stories, one way or another. However far they travelled, whatever path they took, their journeys had all begun at the same point. With one old man and those circles in the sand.

The letter lay on his desk, two stark lines of ink against the white. We regret to inform … Another friend gone. Another fiery star lost in the dark. Grief twisted through him, sharp and familiar. However much you lost, it seemed there was always something left to lose. How many years had it been since that first letter? Twenty-seven years, twenty-eight? Numbers jostled defiantly in his head. He was growing old. And Auguste LeBlanc was dead. 

It had to be the heavy scent of roses making his head feel so hazy. A bee circled among the petals, its hum merging with the endless flow of words. The argument of the perihelion … the longitude of the ascending node …  The humming grew louder, drowning out the words. Then the bee was in the room, charting a course across his desk and making a leisurely orbit around the moons of Jupiter before alighting on the surface of the sun. Our mighty star, he thought, eclipsed by a single bee. He stretched a cautious finger towards the delicate mechanism, tracing a careful path through the tiny golden planets to nudge the small celestial body back into flight. He paused briefly then, as he had a thousand times before, laid a gentle fingertip on the smallest planet. The one that belonged to him.

The touch sent his mind spinning back to that terrifying autumn day, a quarter of a century earlier. The first of November, 1806. How could he have forgotten? He closed his eyes, the scent of the roses fading away …

He was back in the small study of their little house in Brunswick, looking blankly out into the fog. Waiting for the blow to fall. He’d made no secret of his hatred for Napoleon.

A terrible stillness had lain over the city since the Occupation. The Prussian army had been routed at Auerstadt two weeks before, their beloved Duke mortally wounded. He should have taken his new family and run. But where would they have gone? This was his home, the Duke more of a father to him than his own.

He glanced instinctively at the miniature orrery on his desk. It was of no practical use, being wildly out of scale, but it didn’t matter. The Duke had given it to him after the discovery of Ceres, the miniature planet, his first triumph.

Somewhere below him, Johanna was singing to the baby, the maid was clattering pots. The sounds of ordinary life, the world still turning. He’d wasted enough time. He laid a finger on the tiny planet and got back to work.

He was on the brink of a great discovery. A breakthrough so revolutionary that even he had doubts. The very thought amounted to heresy. And yet … once it was there, the idea wouldn’t let go. What if Euclid had been wrong? If more than one line could pass through that famous point on a given line? That space itself might be curved? The possibilities were world-changing. 

The sound didn’t register at first. He’d been deep in his own world, a place of delicate structures and towers of numbers. But the noise grew louder, crashing through his thoughts. The clash of boots on cobbles echoing along the empty street grew louder. It wasn’t until the rap on the door that he unfroze, the baby screaming somewhere in the house behind him as he took the stairs two at a time. He caught a glimpse of the maid’s chalk-white face before he moved her aside, took a deep breath and opened the door.

There were four of them, an officer and three men, all heavily armed. So this was how it ended. It was almost a relief to have his worst fears confirmed.

‘Herr Doctor Gauss?’ The officer removed his hat and swept an elegant bow. ‘Colonel Durand, Sixth Battalion at your service. It is an honour to meet you, sir. Is it convenient for you if we speak in French?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied, taken aback.

‘We have been asked to ensure your safety at this difficult time. I trust that you and your family are well?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied. ‘Who has sent you?’ 

‘General Pernety himself asked us to visit, Herr Doctor. He was most insistent.’ 

‘Are you sure you have the right person?’

The officer’s eyes shifted slightly, in the direction of Johanna, who had come to stand behind him, the baby sobbing at her hip. He leaned in slightly.

‘Does your wife speak French?’

‘A little. Why?’

The officer gave a slight cough. ‘The general said your young lady friend, sir, the one in Paris, was concerned for your safety. Asked for you to be given special protection.’

‘Then there has indeed been an error. I can assure you that I have no lady friends in Paris, young or otherwise.’ 

The man’s eyes flicked back to Johanna once more. ‘Of course not, Herr Doctor. Please accept our apologies for the disturbance. I’ll send a patrol past each day in any case. Orders are orders!’ 

He swept another bow and replaced his hat. They all snapped to attention and turned to leave. Then the officer turned back. ‘Nearly forgot,’ he said, reaching inside his jacket. ‘This is for you, sir. Definitely not from Paris,’ he added, winking.

It was an hour before the study door opened behind him. He was sitting at his desk, still holding the letter.

‘Joseph?’ he asked, without turning.

‘Asleep, finally. So, tell me. I’m desperate to hear more about your lady friend in Paris.’

He looked round at that. ‘I thought you didn’t speak French?’ 

She smiled at him. ‘I understand enough. And that kind of wink means the same in any language.’ 

He held the letter out to her and she took it from his hand. He saw the astonishment grow on her face as she read. 

‘Do I have it right? Can this be true?’

‘I believe so.’

‘So all this time you haven’t been communicating with Auguste LeBlanc?’

He shook his head.

‘You have, in fact, been writing to a woman?’

‘Her name is Sophie Germain, apparently,’ he said. ‘Using a man’s name was the only way she could study. And I never saw it. I should have guessed,’ he added under his breath. ‘The small errors were there from the start. I should have seen the pattern.’

Johanna’s eyes narrowed. ‘Because she’s less clever than you?’ 

He reached out a hand, pulling her into his lap. ‘Not that, Jo. We always met as equals. And what she’s achieved has been astonishing given the obstacles she’s faced. But she’s completely self-taught – some gaps were inevitable. What is it now?’

Johanna’s dark eyes were alight with laughter. ‘So, what you’re admitting, in effect, is that you do have a young lady friend in Paris?’

His smile was wry. ‘I suppose I do. Are you jealous?’

‘Not in the least. But you should have seen your face when that officer spoke of your petite amie. And it was true all the time …’  

He bent to kiss her, but she pulled away. ‘I must check on Joseph. We’ve plenty of time – now you’re not being dragged off to prison.’

He was looking down at the letter by the time she paused at the door. ‘What I still don’t understand,’ she said, ‘is what Archimedes has to do with it? How can it be his fault? He’s been dead for two thousand years.’

‘One thousand, five hundred and ninety-four,’ he corrected automatically. ‘It’s always about Archimedes, in the end. That’s where Sophie’s story began. She read the story of Archimedes’ death in her father’s library. Do you know it? The story goes that a Roman general wanted to meet Archimedes and sent a soldier to fetch him. But the old man was working on a problem he was drawing in the sand and when he refused to leave, the soldier grew angry and drew his sword. His last words, they say, were, Noli turbare circulos meo. “Do not disturb my circles.” ’  

‘Anyway,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘the lesson Sophie took from the story was that if mathematics was worth dying for, it was what she’d live for.’

Johanna leaned back against the door and folded her arms. 

‘The lesson I take from that story is that very clever men are not always very wise.’ 

‘Indeed so,’ he said. ‘Well, if that’s all—’

‘What I still don’t understand,’ she interrupted, ‘is why she mentioned it now …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Oh no.’

‘Did I hear Joseph?’ 

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ Johanna said, straightening. ‘That’s what drove her out of hiding, after all this time? Sophie Germain thought that you were a modern-day Archimedes. In danger of being slain on our carpet because you were distracted …’ She broke off, chuckling. ‘And the worst of it is, she’s not entirely wrong. How long was it before you noticed the soldiers were coming?’ 

He raised his hands, acknowledging a hit, and she crossed the room to kiss his brow.

‘You know,’ she said softly, leaning her forehead against his, ‘you should abandon your numbers behind more often …’

Her voice was fading. He tried to hold onto her but there was only empty air. The smell of roses was back, sickly and overpowering. He found himself whispering, over and over, please don’t leave me, please don’t go …

‘Herr Professor? Dr Gauss – are you well?’ There was a worried expression on the student’s face. ‘Were you asleep? I was concerned.’

‘No, no, I’m perfectly well.’ He cleared his throat, pulling himself together. All he wanted was to be left alone. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’

He waited until the door closed then picked the letter up again. Two short sentences which hid a world of pain. Breast cancer, it said. It had been childbirth that had taken Johanna. We have plenty of time, she’d said. Would he have spent it differently if he had known they’d only had three years left? And that nothing would be the same after she’d gone.

He'd been wrong about Sophie, too. They’d been so different. She’d been happy to take great leaps into the dark, throwing out ideas complete with imperfections, whereas he wouldn’t publish anything until it was flawless. And where had it got him? Lobachevsky’s recent breakthroughs in non-Euclidian geometry had taken the world by storm and changed the face of science. It was almost identical to the work that had sat, unpublished, in his own diary for the last twenty-five years. If only he’d had a little more of her fearlessness, her willingness to make mistakes. What could she have achieved if she’d had his chances? What could he have done if he’d taken her risks?

But what delight they’d shared, Sophie and him. They’d both known that it wasn’t the answer but the search that mattered, that each conquest was only a prelude to the next challenge. She’d moved effortlessly with him through that other world.

Beyond the window, dusk was turning to twilight. Out in the courtyard, a blackbird began to sing. Unconsciously, his mind began to sort through the cadences, checking for repetitions. Seeking the shape beneath the song.

And then he stopped. Sat back in his chair and listened to the bright notes ripple through the still air. It was enough. 

The sky was turning to indigo now. He saw the first bright star appear on the horizon, brilliant against the blue. It was alone, but others would follow, in time.

Bon voyage, Sophie, he said softly. And closed the window.