Tyrant

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  When he fell a cry of exultation rose from the enemy ranks and dismay invaded the Syracusans, who began to retreat without breaking their formation. But their withdrawal soon turned into an open rout. News reached Dionysius almost immediately, and his heart sank. He saw his men falling left and right, the enemy charging in pursuit, determined to spare no one on their path. He was about to turn his sword upon himself when Aksal arrived on horseback, screaming like an infernal fury and brandishing an enormous axe. He chopped down all those who got in his way then leaned over the side of his horse, grabbed his master by the arm and hoisted him on to the steed’s back. He sped towards a little hill located at a distance of about one stadium, where a rear observation post had been sited, garrisoned by Philistus who was waving a Syracusan standard.

  Aksal leapt to the ground, turned Dionysius over to the men of the meagre garrison and blew hard on his horn. The long lament echoed through the valley, flew over the field of the massacre and rallied the scattered soldiers.

  Dionysius remained on his feet under the standard for hours to gather his men, to bolster their spirits and to draw them up in a square formation for the final defence. Only when darkness fell did the slaughter cease, and at that point, strangely, he heard the Carthaginian war horns sound the retreat and saw the victorious army withdraw well beyond the line of battle.

  Only then did he let himself go, and he crumbled to the ground, unconscious.

  When he opened his eyes again, he sought Aksal, but no one knew where he had gone. Philistus had his men search everywhere for him. They called out his name with all the breath they had, combing the countryside all around, without success.

  He appeared just before dawn, on foot, staggering with fatigue and covered with blood, holding the corpse of Leptines in his arms.

  The men ran towards him and helped him lay the commander’s lifeless body on the ground before his stunned brother.

  Aksal approached Dionysius and said: ‘Carthaginians go away.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Philistus. ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘Yes. They going away.’

  It was true. Himilco’s army, after winning a crushing victory were inexplicably withdrawing.

  Dionysius ordered a pyre to be built, and had his brother’s body washed and laid out. Then he drew up the troops for their last salute.

  When their shout had died down he dismissed them. ‘Go now,’ he said in a firm voice. ‘Leave me alone.’

  The soldiers lined up and marched off in a column. A small group remained behind under Philistus’s command to protect him. They withdrew to a certain distance.

  Dionysius took a torch and lit the pyre. He watched the flames licking at the wood, stoked by the dry branches. They crackled louder and louder and surrounded the body of the fallen warrior in a blazing vortex.

  Philistus, who hadn’t dared watch at first, now turned his eyes to the fire raging in the darkness. In the light of the flames he saw a shadow, a man on his knees, bent in half and sobbing into the dust.

  31

  PHILISTUS RECEIVED THE terms of the peace proposal twenty days later. The message, which came from Panormus, was drawn up in Greek and bore the signature of Himilco and the Great Council of Carthage. It said:

  Himilco, commander of the army of Carthage and governor

  of the Epicraty of Panormus, Lilybaeum, Drepanum and Solus,

  to Dionysius, archon of Sicily, Hail!

  Our two peoples have fought too many wars, causing each other only bloodshed and devastation. Neither of us has the strength to destroy the adversary; let us thus resign ourselves to accept the situation as it stands. We won the last battle and you still have five thousand of our citizens in your hands. We thereby ask, as was formerly the case, that the city of Selinus be acknowledged as ours, along with the territory of Acragas up to the Halycus river, while the city of Acragas itself will remain yours.

  You will return our prisoners and pay one thousand talents for war damage.

  You will recognize our borders as definitive, and we shall recognize yours, as we shall recognize the authority of Dionysius and his descendants over the territory defined in this treaty.

  Philistus took the dispatch and asked to be announced at the Ortygia fortress, where Dionysius had been closed up for days, refusing to see anyone.

  Aksal barred his way. ‘Boss no want anybody.’

  ‘Tell him that it’s me, Aksal, and that I must absolutely speak with him. It is a matter of the utmost importance.’

  Aksal disappeared inside and reappeared after a short time, gesturing for Philistus to enter.

  Dionysius was sitting on the audience seat. He had dark circles under his eyes, his skin was ashen and his beard and hair were dishevelled. He looked as though he’d aged ten years.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb you,’ said Philistus, ‘but I have no choice. The Carthaginians propose peace.’

  Dionysius reacted to those words. ‘Of their own initiative? You didn’t make the first offer?’

  ‘I would never have taken the liberty without informing you first. No, the proposal comes from them.’

  ‘What do they want?’

  Philistus read him the message, saw that he was listening attentively, and continued: ‘I would say it’s a very reasonable proposal, given our current state of inferiority. We can discuss the war damage. The Carthaginians are always willing to haggle over money matters. But the most important thing is their official recognition of your authority and your claim to this territory, extending to your descendants. This is fundamental; you mustn’t miss this opportunity. Think of your son. You know well that he doesn’t resemble you, or his uncle. If you leave him a solid state, with recognized borders, life will be much easier for him, wouldn’t you say?’

  Dionysius let out a long sigh, got to his feet and walked towards him. ‘Yes, perhaps you’re right. Let me read it through one more time.’

  They sat together at a table. Philistus placed the sheet in front of him and waited as he read it.

  ‘You are right,’ Dionysius said finally. ‘I will follow your advice. Prepare the official protocol and enter into negotiations for the war damage. We don’t have all that money.’

  ‘Maybe we could make concessions as far as territory is concerned. Inland, perhaps one of the Siculian districts that’s not vital to our economy.’

  ‘Yes, that is a possibility.’

  ‘Well then . . .’

  Dionysius was silent, absorbed in thought.

  ‘Well, then, I’m leaving,’ said Philistus, and seeing that he wasn’t getting an answer, rolled up the sheet and headed towards the door.

  ‘Wait,’ Dionysius called him back.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nothing . . . nothing. You can go.’

  Philistus nodded his head and left. For a moment he thought he was about to say something personal. But perhaps he still needed time . . .

  Three years passed, during which Dionysius seemed little by little to resume his old habits, dedicating himself to government matters and to the political training of his first-born son, with very little satisfaction in truth. The young man preferred to organize parties with his friends, inviting artists, courtesans and poets, and he always seemed embarrassed when his father summoned him.

  His mother Doris, who had become quite heavy over years of inactivity, tried to defend him. ‘You’ve always been too harsh with the boy; you frighten him.’

  ‘I’m trying to make a man of him, by Zeus, a man of state, if I can manage it,’ replied Dionysius.

  ‘Yes, but how are you trying? Never a gentle word, never an affectionate gesture.’

  ‘You can worry about simpering over him. I’m his father, by Heracles, not his mother! You’ve succeeded in making him a spineless, incapable . . .’

  ‘That’s not true! He has good qualities, and if you gave him a task to accomplish, any kind of responsibility at all, he could prove it to you. Anyone can see that all your affection goes to Arete,
the daughter of that . . .’

  ‘Shut up!’ ordered Dionysius. ‘Not another word! Arete is my child like all the others. She’s just the youngest and she is an adorable little girl. I have the right to have some satisfaction from this brood!’

  Their discussions invariably ended up in quarrels, with Doris bursting into tears and closing herself up in her rooms for days with her maids and lady companions.

  Philistus, on the other hand, became his intimate adviser and, although Dionysius would never completely admit it, his friend. The only one he had left to him.

  Having definitively settled the western borders and their relations with Carthage, Philistus began attending to relations with Sparta, which had always been Syracuse’s protecting power. When she once again waged war against Athens, he sent ten ships to take part in operations in the Aegean, with Dionysius’s approval. It was an act of duty, not an intervention with expansionistic ambitions.

  Dionysius seemed increasingly interested in literature, an old juvenile passion of his, while he continued to remain hostile towards philosophy. He had the city theatre enlarged and had his plays performed there, usually to great applause. Knowing who the dramatist was, the public was eager not to offend him.

  The expedition in the Aegean had a terrible outcome: the Athenians sank nine of the ten Syracusan ships and the admiral leading them preferred to take his own life rather than sail back to Laccius with a single ship.

  Politics in Greece had become so complicated that it was difficult to guess how things would develop from one season to the next, let alone from one year to the next.

  The Thebans had introduced a new military formation called the ‘oblique’ array – invented by two of their generals named Pelopidas and Hepameinondas – that was so effective that they managed to defeat the invincible Spartans, once their allies, at a place called Leuctra. Startled by a similar success, which was wholly unimaginable, the Athenians passed over to the side of Sparta, their old enemy, in an effort to contain the Thebans.

  Things were going badly, and would have got much worse if it had not been for Dionysius’s intervention. The massive use of Celtic mercenaries and of his siege machines had great success and overturned the situation. Athens went so far as to dedicate a golden crown to him. Rumour had it that the king of Sparta, Agesilaus, after having seen Dionysius’s ballistas and catapults in action for the first time, exclaimed: ‘By the gods, a man’s courage is no longer worth anything nowadays!’

  The bestowal of the golden crown provided Dionysius with a unique opportunity: he obtained Athenian citizenship and, through Philistus, laid the basis for a treaty which bound his State in an alliance with Athens, ending belligerency that had lasted virtually fifty years, from the time of the Great War when the Athenians had besieged Syracuse.

  Dionysius was accepted now with great honour in all the metropolises, recognized and celebrated as the champion of western Hellenism against the barbarians. His slips in the past in this regard were eclipsed or forgotten. He returned to Syracuse in the autumn of that year, the sixtieth of his life, and was resolutely determined, this time, to dedicate himself to preparing his son to succeed him.

  Dionysius II was twenty-eight years old now, and a grown man. Up until that moment he had never proven himself in a challenging situation. He had always lived in luxury, giving himself over to the pleasures of wine, food and sex, and he had never enjoyed his father’s esteem. He was cultured and well educated, but feeble and irresolute.

  Philistus tried to defend him as well. ‘You mustn’t judge him so severely,’ he said to Dionysius. ‘Any son of a father like you feels crushed by the comparison. He grows up feeling inadequate and incompetent, and this continually puts him in a bad light. He realizes that, but at the same time he feels less and less capable of showing what he’s worth. It’s a vicious circle that has no end.’

  ‘So what should I do?’ asked Dionysius. ‘Give him kisses and pat him on the head? By Zeus, if he doesn’t want to become a man I’ll force him, by fair means or foul!’

  But these were only words. In reality, Dionysius was convinced that no one could succeed him, that no one was up to such a task. Philistus was tempted at times to suggest that he restore the government to the people, but he held his tongue. He knew full well that, although a democracy might be capable of governing a city, it would never be able to handle a State of such dimensions, with outposts all the way in Epirus, Illyria, Umbria and Padusa. It was respect and fear towards one man alone that held together the complex. A government of citizens would never be likewise feared nor respected by other citizens’ governments in subjugated cities.

  Perhaps the situation would have remained stable, with the political, economical and cultural equilibrium that Dionysius had managed to create, had news not come from Africa that threw him into a state of great agitation.

  Philistus was urgently summoned and he rushed to the fortress. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked as soon as he was in the door.

  ‘Plague has broken out in Carthage.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘And this time it seems to be exterminating a good number of those bastards.’

  ‘I understand how that may please you.’

  ‘That’s not all. The Libyans are in revolt.’

  ‘That’s not new either. Why are you so excited?’

  ‘Because it’s our opportunity to finally chase them out of Sicily.’

  ‘You said you wouldn’t be trying again.’

  ‘I lied. I intend to try again.’

  ‘You signed a treaty.’

  ‘Only in order to gain time. A man like me can never give up his plans. Never, understand?’

  Philistus lowered his eyes. ‘I imagine it would be useless to remind you that Carthage has been debilitated by plague and rebellion many times in the past, and each time she came back stronger and more determined than ever.’

  ‘This time is different.’

  ‘Why is it different?’

  ‘For two reasons. First of all, those curs killed my brother and they’ll have to spit blood until I say “Enough”. Second, I’m sixty years old.’

  ‘That should make you sensible and dedicated to wise administration. War is always bad business.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I mean to say that if I don’t carry through with my plans now I never will. As far as my son is concerned, it’s best you don’t even mention him. I’ve made my decision. We will attack next spring with our army, fleet and artillery. We will attack with the greatest army that has ever been seen and we’ll tear them to shreds.’

  ‘And where are you counting on finding so much money?’

  ‘You worry about that. Must I always teach you everything? Borrow the treasures from the temples: the gods will apply a reasonable rate of interest, I’m sure. Tax the Company. Ours here in Syracuse and in the other cities as well. They have plenty of money.’

  ‘I wouldn’t try either of those options, if I were you. You’ll come out looking sacrilegious. And as far as the Companies are concerned, you know full well how powerful they are. There’s the risk that they’ll make you pay this time. Even here in Syracuse. They may have pardoned your purges, or they may be temporarily overlooking them, but when it comes to money they don’t make allowances for anybody.’

  ‘Do you want to help me find this money or not?’

  ‘All right,’ said Philistus. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  ‘This time we’ve been given our golden opportunity! This time we will carry it off, believe me, and all of Greece will honour me. They will raise statues to me at Delphi and Olympia, dedicate inscriptions to me in public places . . .’

  He was dreaming. Now that he had been accepted at the highest levels by the metropolises, he – the one from the colonies, treated with scorn and arrogance for years, ridiculed for his awkward literary endeavours – wanted to crown his life’s achievement by becoming the leading man in the Greek world.

  Nothing could dissuade him.
By the beginning of the summer he had mustered an enormous army: thirty-five thousand foot soldiers, five thousand horsemen, three hundred battle ships and four hundred transports.

  His army swept through Sicily: Selinus and Entella welcomed him as a liberator, Eryx surrendered to him, as did Drepanum, where he stationed the fleet. But he had to stop at Lilybaeum. The Carthaginian fortifications were so imposing, their defences so tough, that any attempt at an attack would have ended in failure, or worse, in defeat.

  The season was drawing to an end and Dionysius prepared to return to Syracuse. He intended to leave almost the entire fleet at Drepanum to head off any possible attack from Africa, but he received a piece of news that made him change his mind: a secret dispatch announced that a fire had broken out at the island of the admiralty in Carthage and had nearly destroyed the shipyards.

  The partially artificial island of the admiralty was one of the wonders of the world, the only structure that Dionysius envied his great rival. Perfectly shaped in a circular form, in the middle of a vast lagoon, its covered docks could host more than four hundred battle ships. At the centre was the admiralty building which gave the island its name. It was said that the most jealous secrets of the Carthaginian navy were conserved there: the routes of gold and of tin, and those that led to the remote Hesperides, at the extreme confines of the Ocean.

  The legendary trophies of the most daring exploits of navigation were displayed there, even those from the journeys of the caravaneers who had gone so far as to cross the sea of sand that led to the land of the Pygmies. Some claimed that the maps of lost worlds were preserved in those inaccessible archives. It was even rumoured that most of the Carthaginian harbours were designed to reproduce the ancient capital of Atlantis.

  If the island had truly burned down, then Carthage had lost her heart and her memory.

  ‘The gods are with us,’ he said to Philistus. ‘See? I’ll leave a hundred ships at Drepanum; that should suffice. And next spring, as soon as the weather turns good again, we’ll be back to deal the decisive blow. We’ll concentrate all our efforts on artillery; we’ll build more machines, I’ll have new ones drawn up . . .’ His eyes shone as he spoke, brimming with enthusiasm, and even Philistus began to believe that the venture that had occupied forty years of his life might at last be happily concluded.