Tyrant (23 page)

‘It won’t be necessary to tell them anything,’ Daphnaeus cut him short. ‘We don’t need the Acragantines. What’s more, I don’t trust their Campanian mercenaries: they were once in the service of the Carthaginians and now they’re fighting against them; they may very well cross back over in the middle of the battle. Tomorrow we will attack and we will overwhelm those barbarians. Then, as soon as we have the opportunity, we’ll attack the fortified camp on the west and chase them all back into the sea! I’ve nothing more to say. You can go. There will be no bugle call; the wake-up signal will pass from man to man. The password is “
Nike
”. Good luck.’

Dionysius retired to his tent, changed into a dark cloak and left camp on the western side together with Leptines, with the excuse of making the rounds of the guards. But as soon as he was outside the others’ field of vision, he and his brother began running through the thick holm-oak forest which led up to the base of the escarpment that Acragas’s walls were built on. When he was close enough, he ordered Leptines to stay behind to cover his return. He then called up to the sentry who was marching back and forth, patrolling the walkway. ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Hey, you!’

‘Who goes there?’ replied the sentry.

‘I’m a soldier from Syracuse. I’m alone. Let me in, I have to talk to one of your chiefs.’

‘Wait there,’ said the man, and went to call the officer on duty.

‘What is it you want?’ demanded the officer, leaning slightly over the parapet.

‘Let me in, fast,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve come from Syracuse and I have to talk to one of your commanders.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Dionysius.’

‘Is there anyone in the city who knows you?’

‘Yes. A very reputable man named Tellias.’

‘Walk to your right, down to that bush over there,’ said the officer. ‘There’s a postern behind it; I’ll send someone to open it. My men have got you in their sights: any false move and you’re dead.’

Dionysius did as he was told and soon found himself inside the city, in the presence of a group of high-ranking officers.

‘Who sent you?’ demanded one of the generals, a man of about forty with a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in what looked more like parade armour than battle gear.

‘No one. I’ve come of my own initiative.’

‘What?’ exclaimed the officer, then turned to his fellows. ‘I don’t like this. He could very well be a spy. I say we lock him up until we find out more about him.’

‘I’ll vouch for that boy!’ rang out a voice at their shoulders. It was Tellias who advanced, panting, towards the base of the walls, the front hem of his garment balled up in his hand so he wouldn’t trip on it. His bulk made the climb slow going. The four generals turned to face him. ‘How can it be . . .’ gasped Tellias, wiping his brow, ‘that you don’t recognize him? It’s Dionysius, the hero who brought the refugees of Selinus all the way here, and who fought like a lion under the walls of Himera. Talk, boy, our valiant commanders are all ears.’

No one breathed a word: the prestige and authority of the man who had enrolled nearly a thousand mercenaries at his own expense sufficed to command their full attention.

Dionysius began to speak: ‘Are you sure there are no spies among you?’ he asked.

‘How dare you . . .’ retorted the officer who had spoken first.

‘The boy’s right!’ protested Tellias. ‘Let’s continue this meeting in the Temple of Athena, where no one can hear us. Many cities have fallen due to treason! There’s no need to be shocked.’

Inside, the temple lamps had already been lit for the night and the little group gathered in a quiet corner of the cella, behind the statue of the goddess.

‘In reality,’ Dionysius started up again, ‘I guess you could call me a spy of sorts.’ The group stared at him incredulously, but Tellias motioned for him to go on. ‘That’s right, a friendly spy. My commanders have not yet arranged to send you a delegation to coordinate our actions, so I thought I’d come and let you know how things are going. Our army is nearly fifty thousand men strong, all well trained and armed. You’ll be able to see our fleet tomorrow from the bastions: about thirty triremes and ten transport vessels.

‘Tomorrow, before dawn, Daphnaeus plans to attack the Carthaginian division out in front here to the east and wipe them out, so we can then concentrate our joined forces around the fortified camp. I suppose that’s when he’ll ask for your help.’

‘Your behaviour merits the harshest of punishments!’ exclaimed another officer, older than the first, tall and wiry, wearing black leather armour decorated with silver studs. Dionysius had never seen such elegant generals in his whole life. ‘You’ve taken a dangerous initiative without consulting your superiors. You’ve risked being captured by the enemy and revealing important military secrets, you’ve—’

‘I’ve done what was right to save this city,’ Dionysius interrupted him with a peremptory gesture of his hand, ‘risking my own skin and no one else’s. Because I’ve already seen two cities fall, and I don’t want Acragas to suffer the same fate. Do as you like, I’ve warned you. If I had command of the Acragantine army, I’d order a raid: you could take the troops camped out in front of the city from behind as we are attacking them from the front; between us we’d annihilate them. It would be sufficient to leave one unit to garrison the walls, because after we’ve finished off the eastern camp, our joint forces will take on the fortified camp west of the city as well. If the Carthaginians stage an attack to take advantage of the reduced number of defenders remaining in the city, we’ll come up behind them and crush them against the base of the walls.

‘That’s what I’d do. But the responsibility is yours. I just wanted you to know. If you have nothing else to ask me or no messages to give me, I’ll be going back to camp before they realize I’m gone and put me in shackles. I don’t want to miss the action tomorrow.’

‘I say we arrest him!’ said a third officer, certainly an old-fashioned aristocrat from the way he wore his long hair styled into a bun at the top of his head. ‘We’ll hand him over to his commander once the war is over and we’ll see if he still feels like showing off.’

Dionysius drew up close and glared at him. ‘You just try,’ he said.

Tellias stepped in again to relieve the tension. ‘
Hegemones
, please, there’s no need for such serious measures. You’ve received the informal visit of an allied officer, that’s all. What’s so strange about that?’

‘Attack from behind as soon as we’ve engaged the enemy,’

said Dionysius then, backing off and staring each one of the generals in turn straight in the eye. ‘Attack, without waiting a single moment. Farewell.’

He turned to go, but then spun around and stopped in front of Tellias. He gave him a long look, and his old friend understood that there were many things that he wanted to say and that he couldn’t say a single one.

Tellias slapped him on the back. ‘Go now. We’ll have plenty of time to talk once all this is over.’

Dionysius walked off without a word, as he did when his heart was burdened. Tellias quietly listened to the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls of the great sanctuary.

‘How did it go?’ asked Leptines when he appeared before him like a ghost.

‘Badly,’ replied Dionysius.

H
IMILCO HAD BEEN
promptly informed of the intentions and of the strength of the confederate army, and he immediately sent out reinforcements. Iberian and Campanian mercenaries went to take position during the night, marching in silence through the woods that stretched between the city and the sea.

Daphnaeus had meanwhile drawn up his army on the Himera river before the break of dawn. He ordered the men to cross the river and to approach the enemy camp.

The column advanced, then fanned out wide, lining up in eight rows for a frontal attack. Daphnaeus himself, on the left, gave the password, which flew through the ranks until it reached the far right end of the formation. As the word ran its course down the lines, each man would raise his shield and lower his spear, so that a wave of bronze and iron surged across the length of the impressive array.

A long, tension-laden silence followed as they waited for the thin red line edging the eastern horizon to widen and shed its light on the earth, making the ground visible. Daphnaeus had told his men that the attack signal would be given when they could see their shadows, and so each man stared hard at the ground before him, waiting with increasing dread for his shape to take form.

All at once their shadows leapt out, long and distinct, and at that same instant the bugles blared and the officers launched the war cry that was repeated in a roar from the ranks. The mighty phalanx charged.

The prolonged wailing of war horns responded from the opposite front, and the Carthaginian army stormed forward as well. They were led by the Iberian and Campanian mercenaries, veterans of countless battles fought under any number of standards. The Iberians wore metallic plates over their white tunics and red-combed leather helmets on their heads. The Campanians donned thick leather cuirasses and helmets topped by spectacular three-feathered crests, and carried large painted shields. Shouting as they advanced, they shot stones from their deadly slings and let loose wave after wave of arrows. The phalanx would raise their shields to ward off each new attack of hail that rained down on the heavy bronze, and then push on, seeking impact.

The two armies crashed into each other with a fearsome din at half a stadium from the enemy camp. The sheer mass of metallic shields and spears in the hands of the Greeks mowed down the Libyans, Iberians and Campanians like an avalanche. The mercenaries had superior individual combat skills and greater experience, but were less resistant in a frontal collision with such a heavy, compact formation. The neck-and-neck contest went on at length as the battle became fiercer and more bloody, and then the Carthaginian line began to lose ground under the untiring drive of its adversaries. The ground was soon covered with the dead and wounded. The latter were finished off one by one by a spear thrust, as the men in the last rows advanced behind their comrades.

In the meantime, a huge crowd of warriors had gathered on the bastions of Acragas. They urged their allies on with great shouts and yells, as if those soldiers, immersed in the fury and uproar of battle, could hear them. But their yelling certainly reached the ears of the enemy at the fortified camp, stirring up discouragement and fear.

At a certain moment, when it had become clear that Himilco’s troops were falling back, the Acragantine warriors began to assemble around their commanders, demanding that the gates be opened so they could jump into the fray and wipe out their enemies once and for all.

‘What are we waiting for?’ they shouted. ‘Let’s move, let’s get this over with! Now’s the time!’

‘Let’s kill them all!’

‘We’ll avenge Selinus and Himera!’

The general called Cratippus tried to calm them down. ‘Silence!’ he exclaimed. ‘Be still and listen to me!’

The tumult seemed to die down, but the sound of the battle which rose all the way up to the bastions was driving the men into an uncontrollable frenzy; their excitement was plain in their faces, in their eyes, in their twitching limbs. They all wanted a chance to take part in these savage festivities, this killing party, before it was all over.

‘Heed my words!’ repeated Cratippus. ‘If we go out now, we’ll leave the city undefended and commit the same error that condemned Himera. Himilco could attack from the fortified camp while we are outside the walls and take Acragas in the first onslaught. Don’t you realize that?’

‘Shut up and let us get out on the battlefield!’ shouted one of the men.

‘What kind of commanders are you?’ grumbled another. ‘You won’t even lead your men into combat!’

As they spoke, news reached them that a sally was being prepared in the city. Thousands and thousands of armoured warriors carrying their shields and spears had gathered in a rowdy crowd, cursing and shouting, eager to drive the barbarians out of Acragantine territory. The warriors up on the bastions, who could see what was happening below, started yelling even more loudly, as if they were at the stadium or the hippodrome, and the din rose to the skies.

Fearing that he was about to lose control of the situation, Cratippus called over one of his adjutants, a young man of just over thirty named Argeus, and whispered into his ear: ‘Go straight to the headquarters of the Campanian mercenaries and order them to bar all the gates and establish garrisons. We cannot allow our men to rush out in disarray, leaving the city undefended. Move fast!’

Argeus ran off, pushing his way through the crowd that rained insults on him and those of his ilk: ‘Fucking cowards! You spineless dastards!’

It took some time for the order to be put into effect, and just as the first soldiers reached the swelling mob, announcing that the gates had been bolted and put under guard, voices sounded from the wall: ‘Look! Get over here, come and see this!’

At his words, there was a general rush up the access stairs to the sentry walkway. They leaned eagerly over the parapets: the Punic army was routed! The troops were running at full tilt towards the fortified camp. A cry of wild exultation broke out, but the clamour of their cheers soon mixed with disappointed cursing when it became clear that Daphnaeus was holding his men back, preventing them from chasing the enemy. He must have been afraid of falling into an ambush, wary of Diocles’s experience at Himera. If the men at the walls had been any closer, they would have heard Dionysius himself, drawn up on the right flank, still covered with blood from the slaughter, wildly yelling the same words they were yelling, exhorting the troops to push on and exterminate the enemy, down to the last man.