Leukos the Accountant:
"OK, Hermesdora, I've got this."
[looks at one of the other men present]
"Hold my wine."
[takes a deep breath, starts gesturing in the air]
"Suppose that the wall of Taras is twenty feet* high. Further suppose that your hill is in the shape of a great ridge, a half-mile* or two thousand, four hundred feet long. This hill you have drawn is ten times the height of the wall, or two hundred feet high. In the natural course of things, a pile of soil that is made too steep will decline, earth tumbling down the sides until it lies at a certain angle... one might call it the angle of repose, haha. From the last fifty piles of dirt I've seen, I'd say that the angle between the side of the mound and the level ground beneath is, oh, between five and seven sixtieths of a circle. Let's call it six sixtieths... no, a little more, a little more than that and it's a three-four-five triangle."
"So, if your two hundred foot hill is the three side, then that means the four side will be two hundred and sixty seven feet long, and that's just the front side, double that for the back and you get five hundred and thirty four feet. We could shave a little off the front because it stops against the wall of Taras- let's say we can cut the thirty-four feet and call it five hundred. Pretend that a cross-section of your hill is a triangle two hundred feet high and five hundred feet wide. That makes it five myriad square feet in area, times two thousand, four hundred feet wide, times about half a
medimnos to fill a cube one foot on a side, is six thousand myriad
medimnoi of earth."
"Now, at our strongest, the army had six thousand, four hundred men- I think. The Messapii were milling about so much and coming and going so often that we could never keep the count straight two days in a row, I'm pretty sure at least some of the names on the rosters were just random fools, or the Messapii making a joke. Plus if you asked some of those Messapii to carry a shovel they'd probably accidentally beat themselves to death with the flat end. Call it six thousand men."
"So with six thousand men to move six thousand myriad
medimnoi of earth, each man must move a myriad of
medimnoi. That means
you, personally, moving- imagine a stack of big amphorae, each of them big enough to hold enough grain to feed a man for a month and a half. Imagine the stack being twenty, no, twenty-one amphorae tall-"
[Leukos points to the top of a nearby tree, about fifty feet high]
"And twenty-two amphorae wide, and twenty-one amphorae deep. Only they're not in amphorae. The dirt is on the ground. Take the dirt. Shovel it into a sack, walk the sack over to the pile, tip it over. Shovel it in, walk it over, tip it over. Walk a mile or two for each sackful, until the job is done. Day in, day out. For... how many days? Most of the farmland is far from the hill. We'd have to do a lot of walking. Figure we could make maybe twenty round trips into the fields and back each day, and I think that's
stupidly optimistic. Especially with- well, a
medimnoi of dirt weighs about three talents."
[for reference that is about 170 pounds or about 75 kilograms]
"Work at it for five hundred days, carrying twenty loads, twenty three-talent loads of dirt a day, and I'm pretty sure we'd all fall over dead on the first day from trying to run the Marathon race and carry a man's weight worth of dirt at a time, but if we didn't, we'd be done, or close to it. After five hundred days. Assuming no rest, and no days off for the weather. Rain or shine."
"So. Five hundred days, laboring like a Hercules- and seriously, I don't think
Milo could do even a day of such work, let alone you or me- but hauling dirt. And I didn't even mention the part where the Tarentines try to kill us, or the part where we're climbing up a hill on each trip, or the part where... I don't even know all the parts of how much of a pain this is!"
[sighs]
"I don't know about you, but if I were mighty enough to do
my share of a work that big, I wouldn't bother. I'd leap over the walls in full armor and drive the Tarentines before me like Achilles drove the Trojans. They'd probably spontaneously combust from me flexing at them or something. If the whole army was mighty enough to do that, the Tarentines would be dead, if only because we'd probably have ripped the city wall out of the ground with our bare hands and beaten them to death with it."