"You're crazy."
Arbala shook his head, grinning like a madman at his wife, Sashan. "No, I'm a genius."
"You're crazy, and you're delusional." Despite her words the woman had a tolerating smile on her face as she followed her husband through their small house towards his "workshop" - a back room with walls partially reinforced with wood from the dense coniferous forests surrounding their home city of Iolar Geimhread.
"I am a genius, like my ancestors were. I have told you I'm the descendent of the great Thresis, haven't I?"
"Only every day for the past two years." The couple pass by a complex-looking assembly of wood and bronze that doesn't look like it can do anything useful; Sashan shakes her head good-natured. "And for about a year and a half before that, as I recall, and every time you 'invent' something. Like that hands-free stew mixer we just pasSED, which I might point out, doesn't work."
"Well, you seemed concerned about my knocking holes in the walls for the pulley system. Also, I couldn't afford a horse for the turning circle."
"Again with the horses. You try to stuff them into every invention. We've done fine without them so far."
Arbala grinned wider. "But we can always do better! And with that in mind, I have improved upon my glorious ancestor's most lasting legacy-" He reached a hand out to push the door to his workshop open.
"-accidentally maiming innocent bystanders?"
The door flung wide, and the self-professed inventor gestured grandly at a familiar-looking shape sitting on the toolbench inside. "No, my lovely if trying lifemate - intentionally maiming innocent bystanders."
Doing her best not to laugh at his pronouncement, Sashan took a close look at the device. Solid wooden stock, a steel crossbar, thick cord ... "You built a scale model of Thresis' siege bow?"
"In a way, yes. A fully-working model, no less." He picked it up, grunting softly at its weight. "Not the most ... wieldy of weapons, but the destruction it can wreak! ... Pass me that crank over there?"
Curious now, Sashan moved to the near corner and picked up the oddly-shaped bronze crank, passing it to her husband. Arbala fitted its unusual shape precisely to the wooden stock, hooked an end around the thick cord, and with the nose of the weapon planted on the ground began to wind back. After a few minutes of straining effort, he had the bowstring locked into a hook on the bow itself, and unattached the crank.
"Alright, so it tires out unathletic men who spend too much time tinkering indoors and not enough time at work so their long-suffering wives can eat."
"Not ... only that ..." The inventor gulped air, arms quivering from their unhappy experience with hard labour. "... pass me an arrow?"
"You mean these things?" The woman picked up one of the projectiles and looked at it curiously. "You've chopped it almost in half. What good is it to an archer now?"
"To an ... archer ... none." He plucked it from his wife's fingers and fitted it to a groove on the scaled-down Thresis Bow. "To an Arbaler?" Grunting again, he lifted the heavy weapon to his shoulder, sighted and- snik-THOCK! -drilled the cut-down arrow up to its leather fletching in the reinforced wall. "It is of great use."
Sashan, after taking a moment to recover from the shock of the sudden shot, moved over to the wall and eyed the deep-set arrow. "I don't see any other arrows in here. Or holes. Dare I hope you used one of your mistresses* for target practice?"
Grinning, Arbala gently put the prototype down. "No, but I was tempted to enlist the help of that muscled young fellow* you seem so fond of. Alas, I ended up using a lowly tree outside the city."
"Mmm." Smiling as well, his wife moved back to him. "I won't ask how you got that thing past the sentries without a lot of uncomfortable questions." Then something clicked behind her eyes, and the smile faded. "Arbala ... dear ... that's real steel in your invention?"
"Well, yes. The wood around here is really terrible for any sort of bows, and bronze is too soft-"
Sashan grabbed him by the shoulders, voice shrill. "Where did you get the sort of money to afford steel?!"
He blinked, taken aback. "Uh ... I, uh ... sold the house. Sort of."
The woman went absolutely white, then a dangerous shade of red. Arbala talked fast. "We're about to become rich beyond our wildest dreams, dearest loved one! The military will pay through the nose to get their hands on my design, and I am going to have a mansion built for us - on the flanks of a cliff overlooking the Bay of Khemal!"
Sashan's expression softened, and her frightened grip become a warm embrace. "Ooh, I knew it wasn't a mistake to bind with you for that big, beautiful brain of yours ..."
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* While Syracians typically choose one lover to live out their lives with - the choice formalized in a symbolic "binding" ceremony - there is no prosciption on adultery. In fact, a couple often holds a friendly rivalry over who can get the greatest quantity and quality of "on-the-side" lovers.