Tyrant (35 page)

Doricus set off with his army three days later. His objective was the Siculian city of Herbessos, in the interior. Before reaching the city, he sent a delegation forward to proclaim that since the Sicels had always been subjects of Syracuse in the past, their land was to be considered Syracusan territory. The city’s inhabitants replied that they would never comply with a similar demand, and talk went back and forth for several days without great progress. Doricus temporized as he awaited the imminent arrival of Dionysius and his mercenaries to deliver the decisive attack.

One night, as he was inspecting the guard posts along the perimeter of their camp, Doricus was surrounded by a group of armed men hidden behind a hedge, and killed along with his escort. The officers of the general staff who were faithful to Dionysius were promptly murdered as well. The remaining Syracusan officers assembled the army and had the heralds proclaim the tyranny abolished and the exiled Knights recalled. They promised the assembled troops that all the barbarians in Dionysius’s service would be cleared from the city, and that the tyrant himself would be captured and brought to justice. He would be sentenced to the punishment he deserved.

The army, presented with an accomplished fact, approved the order of the day and marched back in the direction of Syracuse, soon reinforced by numerous cavalry contingents; the Knights had obviously been forewarned of what was to occur.

Philistus was the first to be informed of the mutiny and he immediately realized that they were not dealing with a spontaneous or improvised event: the prompt arrival of the banished Knights from Aetna, the ready proclamation of the officers and the attack directed at Ortygia were all part of a well designed plot, and perhaps the worst was yet to come. He sent a fast rider to notify Dionysius at once and began preparing the complex plan for defending Ortygia to the bitter end. In the meantime, he activated all his contacts in order to have a complete rendering of the situation; within three days he had all the information he needed.

All bad.

The Knights, from their refuge at Aetna, had contacted Rhegium and Messana, who had agreed to send out a fleet to blockade both of the city’s ports. But they had even gone further: a delegation had arrived as far as Corinth, the metropolis of Syracuse, and had convinced the government to send a strongman with the task of restoring legality to her daughter city. The force that would accompany him was not impressive from a military perspective, but from the ideological point of view, this was a death blow. Since the metropolises never limited the independence and political choices of their colonies, direct intervention in the guise of an envoy who was to settle internal questions was seen as an outright condemnation. The man chosen by Corinth was one Nicoteles, a tough, war-hardened general with unashamed sympathy for the oligarchs. He had only one weak point, it was said: he drank straight wine, a dangerous habit for a Greek, and especially for a soldier; the Greeks were accustomed to diluting their wine with three or five parts water.

Dionysius had returned with his mercenaries at a forced march and closed himself up into his fortress. He blockaded the isthmus and had a chain drawn across the outlet of the Laccius harbour at night. Aksal followed him everywhere and even slept stretched out at the threshold of his master’s bedroom, on the ground. The murder of Doricus, who had been a dear friend since childhood, had broken Dionysius’s morale and invaded his spirit with dark pessimism.

The attacks on the isthmus walls began very soon and went on for days and days, relentlessly, severely trying the defences and the mercenaries’ resistance.

Dionysius held council with his most trusted friends: Philistus, Leptines, Iolaus, Biton, Heloris and two or three other members of the Company. The atmosphere was oppressive.

‘The situation is clear to us all,’ began Philistus. ‘I don’t think we can get out of this one.’

In fact, there was no solution apparent to any of them. The only proposals being advanced concerned where they could flee to and how they could find refuge.

Heloris, seeing that Dionysius sat still on his stool without saying a word, had the impression that he was resigned to the inevitable. He wanted to somehow lighten the atmosphere, but the line he came out with was destined to poison their relationship from that day on. ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘that the only way to get a tyrant to abandon his place is to pull him out by the feet.’

Philistus lowered his eyes, Leptines grimaced. Neither the word ‘tyrant’ nor the image of himself being dragged dead through the fortress like a slaughtered animal must have pleased Dionysius much. They saw him pale with rage and they feared, from the look in his eye, that he would lay hand to his sword. But nothing happened. He spoke as if nothing had been said, with a firm, steady voice.

‘The time has come for you, Leptines, to depart immediately, before the Rhegines and Messanians arrive and blockade the ports. Go to Sparta, to Lysander, and strike a deal. The Corinthians are his allies but they’ve never given him anything but headaches. What’s more, they are much wealthier and more powerful than the Spartans; we can use the jealousy and mistrust this situation engenders to our advantage. The war is over and they have thousands of men who know how to do a single thing: combat. That in itself could be destabilizing and cause problems for Sparta. So we can help them out here, at least in part: engage as many of them as you can and come back as quickly as possible. Is that clear?’

‘I think so,’ replied Leptines.

‘I want no uncertainty. I must be absolutely sure that you will do as I have asked. Well then?’

‘Of course. Consider those men already here.’

‘I won’t be giving you any letters, that would be too dangerous. You will speak directly in my name. You are my brother: it’s as if I myself were speaking.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ confirmed Leptines again.

‘Fine,’ concluded Dionysius. ‘Philistus . . .’

‘Speak.’

‘The mission I shall entrust you with is no less sensitive. You will leave on a merchant ship as soon as you can and sail west. You will go ashore at a sheltered spot on the coast and make your way on muleback to the Carthaginian border . . .’ Philistus shifted on his seat with an apprehensive gesture, but Dionysius seemed not to notice, and continued: ‘There you will contact the Campanian mercenaries in Himilco’s service who garrison the Carthaginian province and offer to hire them . . .’

‘What? You’re talking about the animals that massacred the Selinuntians and the Himerans! They’re bloody beasts . . .’

‘They are war machines, not men. They would have slaughtered the Carthaginians in the same way had they been fighting for us. We’ve already spoken about this and I’ve told you what I think. Now listen well: the Campanians must be bored to death sitting there guarding the provincial borders, and would jump at the chance of delivering a good pounding. Well, we’ll give them the opportunity. Offer them whatever you want, as long as you bring them over to our side. As soon as you have made the deal, inform me and I will send an officer to take command. Get ready to leave now. Trust me: we’ll be out of this trap and will have turned the situation around before the end of the winter.’

‘And if these missions should fail?’ asked Heloris.

‘Then we will fight to the end. We will fight with such vigour that when I fall no one will have any cause for celebration, so great will be the number of dead to mourn, burn and bury in this city. None of you are obliged to follow me. Whoever wants to can leave. I can take care of myself, especially if bad goes to worse.’

Philistus nodded solemnly. In his heart of hearts, he thought that it was all futile and that they would all end up dead, but he said: ‘I’ll leave as soon as I’ve gathered the money and had a ship prepared.’

Leptines left three days later and Dionysius accompanied him to the port. ‘Have you ever seen that man again?’ he asked his brother as he stepped on the gangway to go aboard the ship that would take him to Sparta.

‘Which man?’

‘The man who told you to follow me to Acragas.’

‘No. I’ve never seen him since.’

‘Who do you think it could have been?’

‘I have no idea. I thought you had sent him; I figured you knew him. I didn’t think about asking who he was. But why are you asking me now?’

‘Because it’s a mystery that I can’t explain, and I don’t believe in mysteries. Problems, yes, but problems can be solved . . . Go now. Do what I’ve asked of you and do it well. Have a good journey.’

Leptines put a foot on the gangway, then turned back. ‘Listen . . .’

‘What?’

‘Do you really think we can make this work? I mean, wouldn’t it be better if . . .’

‘Just what has got into your head? What in Hades are you saying?’

‘It all seems . . . useless to me . . .’

Dionysius grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Listen, by Heracles! Do you remember when we were lads and the gang from Ortygia shut us up in the warehouse down at the harbour and were getting ready to give us a thorough thrashing?’

‘You’d better believe it!’ replied Leptines.

‘And wasn’t it you, that time, who said we would never give up, for any reason?’

‘True . . .’

‘And how did it end up?’

‘I climbed up on your shoulders and got out through the roof. I ran to call for reinforcements and . . .’

‘So what are we doing now?’

Leptines shook his head. ‘Right . . . But somehow I’m afraid the situation is a little different this time.’

‘It’s exactly the same. Only the proportions and the positions have changed. We’re the bosses of Ortygia now . . . and we’ll win, just as we did then. I’ll prove that I’m the man destined to lead not only Syracuse but all the Greeks of Sicily and Italy against their mortal enemy. But I need to know that you believe in me. Every day and every night that I’m locked up in this fortress, inspecting the battlements, I have to be certain that you’re on your way with reinforcements. That you’ll be arriving at any moment, understand? Well then? What do you say?’

‘Oh, sod the world, dammit!’ exclaimed Leptines, using the same slang expression they would use as boys when they had stone-throwing fights with their adversaries from the well-to-do side of town.

‘Sod the world,’ agreed Dionysius. ‘And now piss off.’ He himself cast off the mooring line. The trireme slipped towards the centre of the harbour, then turned slowly around, driven by the oarsmen, and stood out to sea.

Philistus left the next day on a little trading vessel, carrying enough silver coins in the hold to pay for the enrolment of five thousand men.

Just in time: the joint Messanian and Rhegine fleet appeared soon thereafter, drawing up their battleships to blockade the Great Harbour and the small harbour.

Nicoteles’s army entered the next day from the Catane gate, amidst an exulting crowd, and took up position on the isthmus midway between the city and Ortygia.

Dionysius was alone. Biton and Iolaus had been sent inland to keep the situation under control there. Heloris no longer enjoyed his esteem, and the young officers of the Company did not have enough experience or nerve to speak with him as an equal. He roamed the dark halls and corridors of the fort at every hour, and often went to check the warehouses down at the port and measure the stores, which were diminishing at a frightening rate, day after day, while the besiegers never let up, launching continuous waves of attacks from dawn to dusk.

His mercenaries began to desert, one at a time at first and then in small groups. Dionysius managed to catch two of them in the act, with Aksal’s help. He had the fall-in sounded, illuminated the inner courtyard with dozens of torches, and had them crucified before the arrayed troops. But he realized that he could no longer hold them there by terrorizing them, that any little thing would likely provoke the dissolution of his army. And then they would tear him apart. He – the tyrant – would be killed and dragged out by the feet as Heloris had predicted, butchered like an animal, exposed to the scorn of the people, left unburied, prey to dogs and crows . . .

As he spent one long night up on the walls of the isthmus, wrapped in a heavy woollen cloak, he thought he saw a stocky, bald-headed man walking hurriedly in the direction of the port and he startled. ‘Hey, you!’ he shouted. ‘Stop!’ But the man continued walking as though he hadn’t heard him and vanished into the darkness. He vanished completely, as if he had never existed. Dionysius thought he was seeing things; exhaustion, tension and lack of sleep were playing mean tricks on him. He thought of Arete, of Tellias, of Doricus and the people he had loved. All dead. It was his turn now. He thought of the wild girl who had perhaps returned to her shelter up there, at the source of the Anapus; she certainly had no memory of him. Or perhaps she’d lost her way, or been captured and sold as a slave . . .