Tyrant (11 page)

‘Acragas is the border city now,’ continued Tellias as if Philistus hadn’t spoken.

‘That does not mean they will attack.’

‘Yes, it does. Tell me: what do you think Dionysius is doing in Messana?’

‘He’s helping the refugees, as he always has done.’

‘Perhaps, but he’s certainly getting himself into trouble as well. Word has it that many of the survivors are regrouping for a counter-attack. If they manage it, you can be sure that Dionysius will be among them. He’s a hothead; he’s bold, he’s reckless, he’s not happy unless he’s picking a fight with someone . . .’

‘A man of courage, a dreamer, a patriot, perhaps . . . a hero?’ suggested Philistus.

‘The Carthaginians will certainly react if they are provoked.’

‘True enough; that can’t be excluded, but it’s not a foregone conclusion. Wars cost money, as I’ve already pointed out.’

‘What time will you be leaving tomorrow?’ asked Tellias.

‘Early, at daybreak.’

‘Fine. I’ll be there, even though I detest farewells. I’ve had a bed prepared for you. The servants will accompany you with a lantern. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Tellias,’ replied Philistus, getting to his feet and following one of the servants, who led him to his quarters.

Tellias remained alone under the portico, watching in silence as the wedding fires went out one after another, until the city was totally in the dark.

They said goodbye at the door. Arete threw her arms around Tellias’s neck and hugged his wife; she seemed loath to leave them. ‘If you could see what I feel in my heart right now,’ she said, ‘you would know how much I care for you and how grateful I am to you for having treated me like a daughter. I would give anything to be able to repay your generosity!’

‘Just getting rid of you will be a nice gift on its own: you are the most impertinent, petulant . . .’ grumbled Tellias in an effort not to break down.

Arete went from tears to laughter. ‘That’s just why I’m going! Be good, my pot-bellied friend!’

‘You too, little one,’ replied Tellias, his eyes shining.

‘I’ll keep you informed,’ said Philistus in parting.

He accompanied the girl to the southern gate, which was already open at that hour. They continued past the monumental tombs that flanked the street. Arete pointed them out to her companion, telling him about the famous athletes, philosophers and rulers who were buried there, all things she had learned during her stay in the city. Every now and then, they turned around to contemplate the acropolis, illuminated by the rays of dawn, and the acroteria of the temples that stood high above the walls. The shrill notes of a bugle on the tallest tower saluted the sun’s rising.

The view was even more glorious from the ship, as it began to pull away from the coast. The temples on the hill, and the Temple of Athena on the acropolis, rose up over the city as if the hand of a god were lifting them up to the sky. On the west side, they could clearly see the still unfinished sanctuary of Zeus: the grandiose pediment crowded with despairing figures, the giants bearing the immense rooftop on their shoulders.

‘Do you really think the city is in danger?’ asked Arete.

‘No, I really don’t think so,’ replied Philistus. ‘Acragas is invincible.’

‘Then why is Tellias so stricken?’

Philistus looked away for a moment so she would not notice his apprehension. ‘He was sad about you going away, that’s all. And a little worried, too: a voyage by sea is always risky.’

Arete fell silent, watching as the most beautiful city that man had ever built slowly faded into the distance and vanished over the ridge of the waves that washed against the ship as the wind carried it away. She suddenly said, as if speaking to herself, ‘Will we ever see her again?’

Philistus pretended he hadn’t heard, this time.

They reached Gela as night was coming on and they dropped anchor at the mouth of the river from which the city took her name, represented on her silver coins as a bull with a human face. The city had been built on a rocky cliff which stretched out both to the east and to the west and was defended by formidable walls made of huge blocks of grey stone. Gela was the metropolis of Acragas, and had been founded by colonists from Rhodes and Crete nearly three centuries earlier. The city had also been the birthplace of Gelon, he who had won over the Carthaginians at Himera, unleashing such undying hate and thirst for vengeance in Carthage that three generations later she had struck back.

There in the city of Gela slept Aeschylus, the great tragic poet, and Arete wanted to visit his grave before darkness fell. It was a modest tomb, topped by a slab bearing a brief epigraph:

Arete was moved as she read the inscription. ‘Not a word about his glory as a poet!’ she commented. ‘Only about his valour in war.’

‘They don’t make his kind any more these days,’ observed Philistus.

They set off again the following morning before dawn, after having refurbished their water supply, and sailed towards Camarina, where early that afternoon they spotted the Temple of Athena emerging from the red rooftops of the city.

‘Camarina has always been hostile to Syracuse, even during the war against the Athenians,’ Philistus explained to Arete. She was leaning against the ship’s railing, watching the city sparkle in the bright sun.

‘The cities of the Greeks are like seagulls’ nests perched on the cliffs along the coast,’ observed Arete, ‘surrounded by lands inhabited by barbarians who do not understand our language or worship our gods. We should unite and help each other in time of need, and yet our cities are often at odds. Sometimes we even act as mortal enemies! We consume all our energies in continual conflicts, while the true enemy is looming at the horizon and there’s no one capable of stopping him . . .’

Philistus was once again impressed and surprised by the girl’s observations. It was unusual for a woman to be on such familiar terms with political topics. Perhaps that was the aspect of her personality that had won Dionysius’s heart. He answered: ‘It’s their very nature that makes it difficult for them to understand each other, much less to form a true alliance. You said it well: they are scattered settlements, established by communities who have come from many different places. They only unite when they are forced to do so by a danger so great that it threatens their very existence. But by then it’s often too late. It’s a pity, because when the Greeks of Sicily have joined together they have achieved great victories.’

‘Do you think unity is still possible?’

‘Perhaps. But what we need is a man who is capable of convincing all these cities that unity is essential for survival. Using every means possible, even force, if necessary.’

‘Such a man would be a tyrant in his own city, and would be seen as such by all the others,’ objected Arete staunchly.

‘There are times in which people must give up a part of their own freedom if life itself is at stake, and the survival of entire communities. Can’t you see that? There are situations in which the people themselves are willing to grant exceptional powers to a man who is truly worthy.’

‘You seem to be thinking of someone in particular as you’re saying those words,’ said Arete, without looking away from the little city that was disappearing amidst the foaming waves.

‘I am. That man is already among us, and you have met him.’

‘Dionysius! Are you thinking of Dionysius?’ exclaimed Arete, finally turning to face him. ‘But that’s absurd. He’s only a boy.’

‘Age doesn’t mean anything. What counts is courage, intelligence and determination, and those are qualities he possesses to the highest degree. You can’t even imagine the enormous sway he holds over people, and how many men not only admire him but would be willing to do anything for him.’

‘I can imagine it very well, actually,’ replied Arete with a smile.

It took them two more days to reach Syracuse, where they docked on the southern shore of the Great Harbour. Philistus sent a couple of men into the city to buy food at the market and get water. He himself stayed on board with the girl, knowing that Dionysius expected constant and prudent attention on his part. He noticed that Arete seemed unnerved when she first saw the city, and could not hide a marked agitation.

‘Do you know someone here?’ Philistus asked her.

‘I spent my childhood here,’ replied Arete, trying to control herself.

‘Really? Then perhaps I know your parents.’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied the girl, and went to sit at the aft deck to put an end to the conversation.

Philistus said nothing else, and occupied himself with the provisions. He gave orders for dinner to be eaten on board; no one was to go ashore.

Before the sun set, she sought out her escort again. ‘Can you see his house from here?’ she asked.

Philistus smiled and pointed at a spot in front of him. ‘Look straight up there, above Achradina, where the theatre is. Now follow an imaginary line to the causeway of Ortygia. See the terraced house with the trellis, about halfway down the road?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Well, that’s where Dionysius lives.’

‘Are his parents there?’

‘They’re gone. His father, Hermocritus, died during the Great War, when the Athenians were laying siege to Syracuse. His mother followed him to the tomb just a short time later; she died of an incurable illness. At sixteen he found himself having to care for his little sisters, who are all now married in other cities, and his brother Leptines.’

Arete asked nothing more, but never took her eyes off the red roof tiles and the trellis until the sun vanished over the horizon.

Two more days passed before they came within sight of Mount Aetna, still hooded with snow. So tall, with its curl of smoke. The gulf was a wonder, set against a coastal plain full of olive trees and grapevines that were just starting to sprout tender springtime leaves.

Naxos stretched out along the coast. The first colony of the Greeks in Sicily, her biggest temple still stood on the spot near the beach where the city’s fathers had touched land, led by Tucles, her founder. Philistus explained that an altar to Apollo, Leader of Men, stood in the agora; he was the god said to guide colonists leaving their homeland in search of fortune on distant shores. All of the delegations sent to Greece to consult the Oracle of Delphi set off from that very altar, the oldest sacred place on the entire island.