Tyrant

  ‘The fact is that there’s something I have to tell you in person. I hate people who send messengers when they don’t have the guts to say something to someone’s face.’

  ‘What on earth are you on about?’ Biton took a jug from the table, with two ceramic cups. ‘Drop of wine?’

  Leptines shook his head. ‘I don’t want anything.’

  ‘Well then, what’s the matter? Who are these people who hide behind messages?’

  ‘Him.’

  ‘Dionysius?’

  Leptines nodded.

  ‘What has he said?’

  ‘He’s ordered me to retreat, to abandon Lilybaeum. He said the fleet is too much at risk here. He wants me to take it to Selinus, but in doing so . . .’

  ‘You’ll leave me completely alone. Is that why you’ve come here in the middle of the night?’

  Leptines nodded again. ‘He hasn’t said anything to you?’

  Biton shook his head.

  ‘See? He hasn’t even bothered to warn you. This is too much. It’s absolutely unjustifiable!’

  Biton tried to calm him. ‘My message will be getting here tomorrow, or the day after. Communications are always precarious in time of war, you know that.’

  ‘That may be, but it doesn’t change matters any.’

  ‘What’s his reason?’

  ‘He says we’re outnumbered three to one.’

  ‘That’s a good reason.’

  ‘And for this reason I should leave my friend with no one covering his arse?’

  ‘You have no choice, Leptines. We are officers of the Syracusan army before we are friends, and Dionysius is our supreme commander.’

  ‘In the Company, we’ve always covered each other, and helped each other in every way. When we were lads and one of us was attacked by one of the other gangs, we’d run to help, at the price of having our faces bashed in. This has always been our rule, and I’ve never forgotten it.’

  Biton sipped a little wine, then put the cup on the table and leaned back into his chair. ‘Those were the days, my friend,’ he sighed. ‘We’ve come a long way since then. We’ve enjoyed many privileges at Dionysius’s side: beautiful women, beautiful houses, beautiful clothes, the best food and drink, power, respect . . . Now he’s asking us to do our part for the successful outcome of this war and we must obey him. He’s right. If you stayed here, you’d only be massacred. You must save the fleet, save it for another more favourable circumstance. It’s only right. We’re soldiers, by Heracles!’

  ‘But why doesn’t that bastard have you leave as well?’

  ‘Because it took so much money and so much blood to conquer this island that giving it up without a fight would be an admission of complete ineptitude. Dionysius can’t afford that. Motya will fall, but after heroic resistance. We can do no worse than her own inhabitants; we defeated them, didn’t we?’

  Leptines couldn’t say a word; he was biting his lip.

  ‘Go now. It will be light soon, and you’ve got to set sail as soon as you can. The sooner you leave, the better.

  Leptines hesitated, as if he just couldn’t make up his mind to go.

  ‘Clear out, admiral,’ Biton encouraged him. ‘And let me sleep another couple of hours. I have a lot to do tomorrow.’

  Leptines got to his feet. ‘Good luck,’ he said, and left.

  Himilco showed up at Motya seven days later with one hundred and fifty battleships and thirty thousand men. Biton had only twelve ships and two thousand men. They were overwhelmed after four days of strenuous resistance. His body was impaled on the causeway.

  Dionysius, who risked being cut off from Syracuse, had no choice but to withdraw from his inland campaign. He reached the city after fourteen days of forced marches and found the fleet already at anchor in the Great Harbour. Leptines, who had arrived some time before, remained aboard the Boubaris and would not come to shore.

  An explicit order from Dionysius finally summoned him to the Ortygia fortress.

  ‘I’ve been told that in my absence you’ve visited Aristomache. Is that true?’

  ‘Not only. I visited your son as well.’

  ‘Is it true or isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ admitted Leptines. ‘You don’t trust me?’

  ‘I don’t trust anybody.’

  ‘No, you don’t, do you? Not even Biton, right? You couldn’t even trust him. But he stayed behind in that stinking hole to guard Motya for you and to die for you. They impaled him, did you know that? They left him there to rot until the crows and the gulls had picked his bones clean. You didn’t trust him, did you? Answer me, by Heracles! Answer me, blast you!’

  ‘Don’t you ever dare see my wives again in my absence.’

  ‘Is that all you have to say to me?’

  Dionysius ignored his question and continued. ‘Himilco has left Panormus directed east, towards Messana. I believe he wants to cross the Straits and attack us from the north. Take the fleet out as far as Catane. Stay offshore, and do not let yourself be drawn into a fight. You will attack only on my orders.’

  Leptines stood and walked towards the door.

  ‘I’ve had five more quinqueremes built for you.’

  Leptines stopped a moment without turning, then opened the door and went out.

  Dionysius covered his face with his hands and remained alone, in silence, in the middle of that vast room.

  Leptines met Philistus at the harbour, where he was taking his leave of a delegation of foreign guests that was returning home. He barely nodded at him.

  ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ protested Philistus.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ replied Leptines.

  ‘If you’re angry with me, tell me why.’

  ‘I’m not angry with you. It’s that damned bastard of my brother. You’ve created a monster.’

  ‘We, if anything. We have created a monster. Dionysius has risen to power thanks to all of us. But I don’t think you want to discuss the corruptive effects of power.’

  ‘No, I’m hungry. He didn’t even invite me to dinner.’

  ‘I’ll invite you.’

  Leptines hesitated a moment. ‘Was it you who told him I’d gone to see Aristomache?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Philistus.

  ‘Is that any way to tell me?’

  ‘You asked me a question. I answered.’

  ‘Why did you tell him?’

  ‘Because it would have been worse if he had learned it from someone else.’

  ‘I would have told him myself.’

  ‘I doubt it. I can see the look on your face when you speak of Aristomache.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more.’

  ‘Will you come to dinner though?’

  ‘If you don’t ask me any more questions.’

  ‘All right.’

  They went to Philistus’s house and the servants brought water for washing, and cool wine. Dinner was served on the terrace because the weather was still quite good, despite it being late autumn.

  ‘He gets worse every day,’ said Leptines suddenly.

  ‘I wouldn’t say so,’ replied Philistus.

  ‘You wouldn’t say so? What are you saying? He left Biton alone at Motya, without any reason in this world for doing so. Our lives matter nothing to him, all he cares about is staying in power. And as far as Aristomache is concerned . . .’

  ‘You said you didn’t want to talk about that . . .’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. As far as Aristomache is concerned . . . I feel that marrying two women at once was an act of extreme arrogance that can only provoke humiliation and frustration in both and . . .’

  ‘I wouldn’t have said you were so tender and sensitive. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t feel that is true at all,’ retorted Philistus. ‘Dionysius is very attractive, he’s strong as a bull and he’s one of the most powerful men in the world. Women find these things appealing, believe me. And if you want my advice . . .’

  ‘I don’t.’

/>   ‘I’m going to give it to you anyway. Heed my words well. Women get bored when they’re closed up in their own quarters, it’s only normal. Imagine being shut up between four walls for most of your life . . . And so they instinctively seek out distraction, and when they find someone to converse with, they tend to exaggerate their feelings and problems, making them bigger than they are. While in reality, they may be bothered by nothing much at all. Those two girls have everything a woman could desire: a husband who’s like a god, who has more than enough strength and virility for both; they have a beautiful home, jewels, children, food, handmaidens, readings, music. When they appear in public they’re at the centre of attention of thousands and thousands of people, they’re admired like divinities . . . there’s nothing that flatters a woman more than the admiration of others.’

  ‘Aristomache is unhappy,’ retorted Leptines. He turned away, pretending to watch a pair of triremes which were docking at the shipyard.

  Philistus fell silent, apparently concentrating on the roasted bass he had been served. Even Leptines did not open his mouth for some time.

  ‘Tell me something,’ Philistus finally said. ‘Was something going on between you and Aristomache before Dionysius asked for her hand?’

  ‘You think I’d tell you, if it were true?’

  ‘Why not? Have I ever hurt you?’

  ‘We’d play together, when we were children, in the courtyard between our houses. Dionysius was away that year, he’d gone to my uncle Demaretus’s house in the mountains to be cured of an insistent cough.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘That’s all.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Eleven. I was eleven, she was nine.’

  ‘And you promised each other eternal love.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Philistus sighed. ‘By Zeus, you’re the second most powerful man in Sicily, you command a fleet of nearly one hundred and fifty battle ships and twenty-five thousand men. You’ve killed hundreds of people in your life and wounded countless others, you’ve fucked hundreds of females of every size, shape and colour . . .’

  ‘Let it go,’ interrupted Leptines. ‘It’s better this way . . . I . . . have to go. Thank you for dinner.’

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ replied Philistus. ‘Will I be seeing you?’

  ‘No, not for a while. I’m leaving with the fleet.’

  ‘Good. That’s less dangerous than cultivating certain thoughts.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Leptines.

  ‘You know very well what I mean. Good luck.’

  Leptines gave a little nod of his head, then went down to the harbour and boarded the Boubaris.

  Himilco moved on to Himera, and her inhabitants surrendered spontaneously. Less than one-fifth of the original population had been restored, and they had no intention of attempting to resist such a fierce, implacable enemy.

  The Carthaginian army proceeded towards Messana and pitched camp about twenty stadia outside the city. The Messanians evacuated their wives and children, sending them to the mountains when they had relatives or friends there, or to their farms in the country. They then drew up their forces at a narrow pass between the mountains and the sea, determined to bar their enemy’s way. But Himilco sailed beyond that point and landed the army directly in the harbour. The city was practically undefended and fell without a fight to massacre and pillage. Only about fifty able-bodied men in all managed to escape by swimming across the Straits to Rhegium. This feat appeared so extraordinary that it would later become an athletic competition held on every anniversary of the first crossing, accompanied by a ceremony in honour of Poseidon, the god of the sea.

  Himilco took personal command of the ground troops and led them south towards Catane, leaving the command of his immense fleet to his admiral, Mago.

  Not even a violent eruption of Mount Aetna managed to hold them back. A huge flow of lava stretched all the way down to the sea, raising a column of steam even more awesome that the plume of smoke that rose from the volcano. Himilco claimed that he feared nothing and had the army pass behind the fiery mountain, reaching the coastal road near Catane and joining up there with the fleet.

  Dionysius decided to go forth and meet the enemy. He gathered all the available forces and recalled Leptines’s fleet. Before leaving, he stopped to say farewell to his wives, both together, to avoid jealousy. But he knew that his Syracusan wife Aristomache was pregnant again and he showered her with loving attentions. ‘Take care of yourself, I’m very eager to see our child.’

  ‘Are you?’ she replied, smiling. ‘Are you eager to see him? I’ve already felt him move.’

  ‘When is the birth expected?’

  ‘In six months at the most.’

  ‘Then he will be born in peace time. If the gods heed my pleas.’

  Doris, the other wife, brought little Dionysius for a kiss from his father, and she whispered in his ear. ‘I’m sure that Aristoma-che’s child will look as much like you as he does.’

  Dionysius looked at her with a strange expression and Doris lowered her eyes.

  He kissed both of them on the mouth, then tried to kiss the child, but the little one burst into tears. ‘Why does he cry whenever he sees me?’ asked Dionysius, irritated.

  ‘Because he never sees you,’ replied Doris. ‘Because of your beard and your armour.’

  Dionysius nodded in silence and left, escorted by his mercenaries.

  He called the first meeting of his staff in his tent, at a short distance from enemy lines. His father-in-law Hipparinus took part, along with Iolaus, who commanded a division of assault troops, Philistus, Leptines, who had returned from Catane, and the commanders of the Italian allies.

  ‘I’ve decided to attack,’ he began. ‘We must inflict so much damage that they will be forced to return to Carthage for the winter. Their fleet plays a crucial role here. Without transports, such a huge army cannot survive.’ He turned towards Leptines. ‘You will attack the fleet from the open sea. Attempt to sink as many vessels as possible, but do not get carried away. Think through each move attentively and attack only when you are sure of succeeding. Above all, do not allow your forces to disperse, for any reason. We will draw up on the beach so as to give Mago the impression of being crushed between land and sea. But in this phase, you will be the one to engage the enemy. And don’t forget, there’s still a great disparity between their strength and ours.’

  Leptines bristled under those orders and recommendations. He was the commander-in-chief of the fleet and he knew what he was doing.

  Dionysius insisted. ‘Keep your ships in a compact formation, don’t let their numerical superiority give them the upper hand.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Leptines, barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  ‘Fine then,’ replied Dionysius curtly. ‘Good luck.’

  The day after, Leptines was at the head of a group of thirty quinqueremes cruising south of Catane. The rest of the Syracusan fleet, one hundred and ten triremes, followed five-across in a long column. All at once, they spotted the van of Mago’s fleet advancing along the coast in the opposite direction. There were about fifty units in all. In the distance, they could see the glittering spears of Dionysius’s warriors arrayed on the shoreline, across a front nearly one stadium wide.

  Leptines called the second-in-command and ordered him to signal to the rest of the fleet to form two lines of combat. Obeying the signals from the flagship, the commanders of the single units began to manoeuvre in order to draw up in a line with their bows pointing towards land.

  Leptines had noticed, in the meantime, that the Carthaginian ships were spaced rather far apart and were apparently having trouble with the ebbing waves along the coast. He realized that this was an unrepeatable opportunity to sink them and squash the enemy’s superiority. He ordered the quinqueremes to follow him.

  The second officer attempted a dismayed protest. ‘Commander . . .’

  ‘
You heard my orders,’ shot back Leptines. ‘We’re attacking. The others will follow.’

  ‘Commander, the others have not drawn up into formation yet, and our orders were to keep the ships together. I . . .’

  ‘We’re at sea here and I’m the one giving orders!’ shouted Leptines. ‘Ramming speed!’

  The officer obeyed and signalled to the drummer who accordingly accelerated the rowing tempo, striking the drum with great mallet blows. The Boubaris surged forward, ploughing through the waves with her three-pointed rostrum, followed by the other units.

  A look-out soon reached Dionysius. ‘Hegemon!’ he shouted. ‘Leptines is attacking the Carthaginians with the quinqueremes!’

  ‘No, you’re wrong. That can’t be,’ replied Dionysius, growing pale with rage.

  ‘Come see for yourself, hegemon.’

  Dionysius spurred on his horse and followed at a gallop to the top of a hill. As soon as he reached the top, his doubts vanished. ‘That bastard . . .’ he growled under his breath.

  24

  LEPTINES'S QUINQUEREMES PLOUGHED into the Carthaginian ships at full speed, shattering them to pieces. The Boubaris clove an enemy ship in two before it could manage to turn its bow seaward, then swung around in a wide circle and turned back, shearing off all the oars on the left side of another ship. Immobilized, all it could do was wait for the next blow, which struck the bow so violently that the timbering that supported the rostrum was stripped off completely. It sank in a few moments, taking all the crew down with it.

  From the shore, a roar arose from the Syracusan troops taking in the incredible clash as if it were a show at the theatre. But Dionysius was furious. To his left he could now see Mago’s fleet, advancing with an aft wind, decidedly intent on wedging itself between Leptines’s squadron and the rest of the Syracusan fleet, which was still far behind. He called Iolaus. ‘Signal for him to disengage, damnation! Have him disengage!’