He ordered that funeral rites be celebrated, with immediate burial for those miserable remains. He sent other men out into the fields, where the last bloody battle had taken place, with instructions to gather the bones of the Syracusan soldiers fallen during the unfortunate attempt to succour Himera, the bones of the men that Diocles had abandoned on the battlefield. Stripped of their weapons and anything else of value, they were still recognizable by the bracelets – made of a willow branch split in two lengthwise and carved inside with the warrior’s name – which they wore braided on their wrists like the soldiers of Sparta.
He had a pinewood coffin made for each one of the fallen warriors with his name branded upon it, and sent them back to their homeland for proper burial. It was a momentous gesture, and not only from an ethical point of view. Hermocrates was certainly aware of its political impact on the people of Syracuse, from whom he still expected an official decree recalling him to his city. This act made the differences in moral stature between him and his adversary Diocles, their democratic leader, appear clamorous. On one hand, the exiled leader – never defeated, and stripped of command exclusively for political reasons – had vindicated the honour of Syracuse and of all the Sicilian Greeks by bringing their sons fallen in battle back to the city which had humiliated and disclaimed him. On the other hand his rival Diocles was disgraced by his failure to stop the barbarians from annihilating two of the most illustrious cities of Sicily. What’s more, Diocles had ignominiously fled the battlefield, abandoning the allies to the most ferocious retaliation. And he had left the bodies of his soldiers unburied, allowing their desecration, condemning their troubled souls to wander perpetually at the threshold of Hades.
The news that Hermocrates was bringing home the remains of their sons who had fallen in combat aroused intense emotion in the people of Syracuse, who gathered in Assembly to decree a solemn public funeral. The proposal was advanced that Hermocra-tes’s civic rights be immediately restored.
Diocles, who had kept at a distance until then, aware of what a wretched situation he found himself in, stepped forward as the matter was being discussed and asked for the floor.
A hush greeted his unexpected appearance: a tomblike silence fell over the Assembly.
7
‘SYRACUSANS!' BEGAN DIOCLES. ‘I know what you are feeling. I too had friends who fell at Himera and yet I did not stop to collect their bodies . . .’
‘Because you’re a coward!’ exclaimed one of the men present.
‘Silence!’ commanded the president of the Assembly. ‘Allow him to speak.’
‘I did not stop,’ continued Diocles, ‘because it would have meant risking the lives of other comrades who were still alive. I wanted to bring them back to you safe and sound. And in doing so I saved the lives of many refugees who would have otherwise been slaughtered
‘But how many others did you abandon to their destiny?’ shouted another. ‘People who believed in us, who trusted us. You dishonoured us all!’ He pointed his finger at him as he pronounced those words, and Diocles saw that the bracelet on his wrist bore the symbol of the dolphin, worn by those of the Company which Dionysius belonged to.
The president of the Assembly called those present to order, and Diocles continued his speech. ‘I had no choice, believe me! The city was lost: no one and nothing could have saved her from the assault of sixty thousand men. That bloodthirsty barbarian would not have raised the siege until every last Himeran was exterminated. At least I saved their women and children, and many men as well. But I have not come here to defend myself from your accusations. I acted in good faith and I fought courageously. My comrades can testify to this. I am here instead to exhort you not to allow Hermocrates to enter the city . . .’
A murmur of disapproval ran through the Assembly. Some cursed, others called out insults.
‘I know that at this moment he seems like a hero to you. A valiant man who has challenged the barbarians, who has camped among the ruins of Selinus, who has brought back the bones of your sons. And perhaps he is a hero. But he is also an adventurer, a man whose only aim is to take power. Syracuse is a democracy, and democracies have no need of great public figures, of heroes. Democracies need ordinary people, they need citizens who do their duty every day and who serve their homeland. If Hermoc-rates’s exile is revoked, will our free institutions survive? He is followed by Himerans and Selinuntians, along with a group of Asiatic mercenaries he pays with Persian gold; these men are loyal to him, not to a city or an institution, and they’re prepared to do anything for him. If his only purpose was to restore our dead to us, why has he brought along thousands of warriors?’
‘Because he’s assembling an army to drive the Carthaginians out of all Sicily,’ echoed another voice, Philistus himself this time.
‘I know whose side you’re on!’ thundered Diocles. ‘And we know well that your friend Dionysius has married Hermocrates’s daughter.’
‘I am Dionysius’s friend and I’m proud of it!’ exclaimed Philistus. ‘He is a courageous man who has always fought without regard for his own life, exposing himself to danger and to death on the front lines. Can anyone be called to blame for remaining faithful to his friends?’
Diocles did not answer, and resumed his speech to the Assembly. ‘Have you perhaps forgotten the arrogance of the aristocrats? If you allow Hermocrates to enter the gates of this city, you may be sure that he will bring your old masters back to power; those who had you whipped if you did not work their fields like beasts from dawn to dusk, those who didn’t even deign to look you in the face if they met you on the street, those who only married into each other’s families as if they belonged to a different breed of men!’
Philistus reacted. ‘Do not heed his words, citizens! They are only meant to distract your attention from his ineptitude, from the dishonour he has cast upon us by leaving our allies at the mercy of the enemy, fleeing by night like a thief, abandoning the bodies of your sons unburied, prey to dogs and vultures. I am asking you instead to welcome Hermocrates between the walls of this city. He was unjustly dismissed from his charge while he was fighting far from home at the head of our fleet; he was denied return to his city although he had committed no crime. Hermocrates is the only hope for this land, the only leader capable of expelling the Carthaginians from the island, the only man who can avenge your sons!’
His words stirred the crowd. Many of them rose to their feet shouting at Diocles: ‘Get out of here! We want our dead! You’re only envious of a better man!’
Many of the others remained in silence, however. Diocles’s speech had had a certain effect on them.
In the end, the magistrates decided to put the order of the day to a vote. Two points were to be decided: the celebration of a public funeral at State expense to honour the dead brought back to their homeland, and granting Hermocrates permission to return to the city.
The first motion was approved, the second rejected, once again by a small margin of votes.
A group of citizens proposed a third motion that sentenced Diocles to exile for his incompetence in leading the army and his pusillanimity in facing the enemy. The proposal was approved by a wide margin, as if the citizens felt guilty about denying the most valorous of the sons of Syracuse the right to return and sought to somehow compensate by banishing his main adversary.
Hermocrates had been rejected by his city once again, in such a short span of time; the fact that Diocles had been condemned to exile gave him no joy. He was brought the news by a delegation from the Assembly, and the man who spoke in the name of his fellow citizens did so reluctantly, with profound discomfort, and he felt even worse when Hermocrates did not answer, but simply nodded his head in silent scorn.
It was Dionysius who spoke. ‘You can take the coffins with the remains of your fellow citizens and give them the funeral honours they deserve. The sooner you go the better.’
The convoy departed then and there and reached the city in less than an hour. The coffins were lined up in the agora
so that each family could identify their kin. When the man’s willow bracelet had been found, the name of the fallen warrior had been branded on to the wooden coffin. When it had not been possible to give a name to the body, the word ‘unknown’ was written instead. When a single coffin collected the limbs of several persons, the word ‘many’ had been marked on the wood.
The return of these remains intensified the suffering of the parents and relatives, and every corner of the city was filled with wailing and lamentation that whole night. The next day the funeral was held. Pyres were lit outside the city, to the south, and when the fire had consumed what the dogs and predators had spared, the bones and ashes were returned to the families so they could be deposited in their tombs.
Arete participated in the funeral, alone, because among the dead was a cousin who had always been very dear to her. As she set off for home, just as darkness was falling, she became aware that someone was following her, and she picked up her pace.
She suddenly realized that only a slave or a prostitute would be out walking alone on the street at that hour. Without turning, she began to walk even faster, nearly breaking into a run in her anxiousness to reach the door of her home and close herself in. The footsteps following her became quicker and heavier, like the pounding of her heart. Then, all of a sudden, they disappeared.
Arete stopped and finally looked back. No one. She drew a breath and turned quickly to the left, but as soon as she had rounded the corner she bumped into a dark-cloaked figure and could not help but scream.
‘Sshh! Siopa!’ threatened a commanding voice.
‘Dionysius!’ gasped Arete, recognizing him.
His head and face were covered by a hood and he said: ‘Keep going and don’t stop. I’ll be behind you until you reach home.’
She hurried along the roads of the Achradina district until she reached the house with the trellis. The grapevines had already come into leaf and so had the fig tree that was practically growing out of the wall next to the door. Arete took the key from her bag, opened the door and let her husband in. She double-locked the door behind her and threw her arms around his neck in a long embrace. He held her tightly without saying a word.
‘Do you want dinner?’ asked Arete.
‘I’m really not hungry.’
‘How did my father take it?’
‘Badly. What did you expect?’
‘What will he do now?’
‘I think we’ll return to Selinus. There’s no other place we can settle.’
‘This time I’m coming with you. It makes no sense for me to stay here.’
‘Yes it does.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your father wants you to stay here in Syracuse.’
‘So what? I’m a married woman. I don’t have to listen to my father. It’s your permission I need, not his.’
‘I agree with your father. As long as we’re in Selinus, it’s too dangerous.’
‘You are a bastard,’ said Arete with tears in her eyes. ‘You don’t love me, not even a little bit?’
‘Let’s not start fighting again,’ replied Dionysius in a conciliatory tone. ‘You know very well that you’re the person I love most in this world. And that’s why I’ve decided that you can’t come with me. But listen . . . there’s something that I shouldn’t be telling you, but I’ll say it anyway: I don’t think we’ll be staying far away for long.’
‘Why?’ asked Arete, drying her tears.
‘Your father is returning to Selinus but I’ll only be following him in the first part of the journey. I have to meet some people who will help me prepare for his return to the city.’
‘His return? But how?’
‘It’s better that you don’t know. Believe me, it’s just a question of days, less than a month, surely. And after that, we’ll never be separated again. You’ll grow bored with me, I promise.’
Arete shook her head.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I do believe you,’ she replied, ‘and that’s why I’m afraid. Returning like this has to mean blood.’
‘No, that’s not said. We’ll arrange it so that it’s all over with quickly. Your father doesn’t want bloodshed and the city has already seen heavy losses. But it’s his right to come back: the decree that sentenced him to exile was unjust. What’s more, Syracuse is without a leader at the very moment that the Carthaginians are preparing a new invasion.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We have our informers.’
‘In the city they’re saying that if the Carthaginians come back it’s your fault, because you’ve installed an army at Selinus and have stirred them up by carrying out acts of war.’
‘What do you think?’
‘That they may be right, at least in part.’
‘We’ve only done what we had to do, and I’m amazed that you of all people, who witnessed the horrors they’re capable of, are saying such a thing.’
‘Women think differently than men do. You men only think of revenge, of honour, of showing your bravery as warriors, but all you’re doing is perpetrating hatred and encouraging ill will. You seek glory, we grieve our sons, our brothers, our fathers and mothers. I dream of living in peace in this house with you, of seeing friends and cooking for them under the trellis on summer evenings, watching the ships entering the harbour. I dream of raising children, and seeing our grandchildren one day. I know they’re not important dreams, but it’s all that I hope for.’
Dionysius grasped her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘The women of Selinus and Himera had dreams too, didn’t they? And someone turned them into bloody nightmares. And even the refugees who have been spared their fate have a dream:
to return to their homes and live there the rest of their lives. All of our cities are on the coast, and they’ve been founded in the only suitable places for living. If they are destroyed, we have no alternative: we will vanish as though we never existed. Is that what you want, Arete? Do you want the Greeks of Sicily to disappear like phantoms? Do you want our cities to be reduced to heaps of debris, dens for wild beasts?’
‘No . . .’ Arete replied weakly. ‘I don’t want that. But I’m tired of living in anxiety. In the fear that every time there’s a knock on the door, there will be someone there to give me the news that will break my heart.’
‘Then we have to drive the barbarians off the island. It’s the only way we can live in peace and build a future for our children. Your father and I will lead the uprising from Selinus. But time will have to pass before that happens and we can be together and enjoy life a little . . . and love.’
Arete’s eyes welled up again. ‘I know that there’s nothing that I, or anyone else, can say that would make you change your mind; you or my father. It’s incredible that the only men who count in my life agree on everything that makes me miserable . . . it must be my destiny.’
Dionysius smiled: ‘If you want to know the truth, it’s not quite that way this time.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Your father still knows nothing about my plans.’
‘I . . . don’t understand.’
‘He’ll be told in due time.’
‘That scares me even more. It sounds like utter madness.’
Dionysius touched her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. When the time comes, it will all be over in a few hours.’
Arete stared at him in dismay; there were a thousand things she had to tell him, reasons to dissuade him, doubts, anxieties, fears. She managed only to say: ‘Shall I make you some dinner, then?’
‘Dinner?’ repeated Dionysius.
‘Yes or no?’
‘No,’ he replied. He took her into his arms and carried her upstairs to the bedroom.
Hermocrates struck camp three days later, and many Syracusans drew a sigh of relief when they learned that the column was headed west. No one noticed Dionysius breaking away from the others, later, on horseback. He was directed towards
a place in the interior where he had arranged to meet some men from his Company. His most trusted friends were among them: Iolaus, Doricus, Biton and Philistus.
Diocles had already left Syracuse, obeying the Assembly’s orders. He disappeared without leaving a trace and was never heard from again. Perhaps he was content with his success in keeping Hermocrates out of the city, or perhaps he was overcome with shame and wanted to live out his years like any ordinary man in some obscure place.
Hermocrates and his men marched for nine days until they came within sight of Selinus, where many other warriors awaited them. They were all ready to follow their commander to the ends of the earth.
Dionysius in the meantime had arrived at the site of the secret rendezvous: an abandoned tufa quarry on the road to Catane. His friends, all members of the Company, joined him a few at a time; Philistus arrived last. When they had all gathered, Dionysius posted sentries all around and began to speak.
‘The Assembly’s decree was scandalous,’ he began, ‘and Her-mocrates’s exile is a monstrous injustice. No formal charges have been made against him; it’s just slander and suspicion that are keeping him out. In reality, he is the best of us all, a brave man whose only offence is having served his homeland faithfully. At the price of harsh sacrifice, without ever asking for anything in exchange! But this is not the point. We know for certain that the Carthaginians are preparing a new campaign for next year, and they’re determined to wipe us all out this time, even Syracuse.’
‘How can you be certain?’ asked one of the men.
‘Let me explain that,’ intervened Philistus. ‘One month ago a Carthaginian legation went to Athens to ensure that the city government would be continuing their war against Sparta. Why do you suppose they did that? It’s quite simple: if the Athenians keep the Spartans busy in the Aegean Sea, Sparta won’t be able to come to our aid as she did seven years ago. Carthage will be free to attack; and you can be sure that she will.’