Tyrant (16 page)

They departed a few at a time, just as they had arrived. One by one or in small groups, they took different routes of return so as not to engender suspicion.

Philistus had not spoken during their meeting, hanging back to listen and to watch. He approached Dionysius now. ‘It’s hard to believe that there’s not one bad apple in the bunch.’

‘No one has ever been disloyal to the Company,’ replied Dionysius calmly.

‘The stakes have never been so high. We’re talking about the destiny of the city, and perhaps of all Sicily,’ observed Philistus.

‘In any case, it’s a risk we have to run. We can’t turn back now.’

Philistus fell silent for a spell, watching the last men mounting their horses and riding off down the dusty road. He asked: ‘When are you going to let Hermocrates know?’

‘Tonight one of my men will set off on horseback for Selinus.’

‘Will he agree to it?’

‘Without hesitation. There’s nothing he wants more. Returning to Syracuse is his obsession, and it would be mine as well if I found myself in his situation.’

‘Have you thought of how you’ll coordinate your actions with his? Everything must happen at exactly the same moment.’

‘We’ll use dispatch riders. But in any case, we know exactly how long it takes an army to get from Selinus to Syracuse.’

‘That may be, but mark my words: this will be the crux of the whole enterprise. Dedicate your utmost attention to this problem. The rest will fall into place. When will it happen?’

‘In exactly fifteen days’ time. We’ll attack at dawn. By sunset it will be all over.’

Philistus drew close. ‘Dionysius,’ he said, ‘you know that I’m a man of letters, not of arms. I’d be more of a hindrance to you than anything else in this. Tell me what I can do for you.’

‘Nothing. Watch what happens and ponder, so that you can pass it on to those who will come after us. This is your task. What will remain of us – after we’ve crossed the threshold of Hades – will be not the truthful account of our deeds, but the image that history has shaped of us. Go now, before it becomes dark.’

Philistus nodded slightly, tossed his cape over his shoulders and walked over to his horse.

Hermocrates received Dionysius’s message written in code on a
skytale
in the Spartan tradition. Intense agitation gripped him as soon as he had read it. The tone of the message made it clear that this was an opportunity that might never offer itself again; it was essential to act at once. Although the situation demanded attentive reflection, Hermocrates allowed himself to become overwhelmed by a fierce desire to see his city once again and to reclaim his rightful position. He would take revenge on those scoundrels who had taken advantage of his absence to revoke his most inviolable rights, defaming and disgracing him in front of the people.

He tallied up the number of men available immediately: just over a thousand warriors, ready to move at his orders. The others were off in various locations conducting raids on the Carthaginian garrisons, and it would take a day or two to bring them back to base.

‘I can’t wait for them,’ he announced. ‘They will have to set off as soon as they return and join up with me in Syracuse.’

‘I think you’re making a mistake,
hegemon
,’ protested one of his officers named Cleantes. ‘Why such haste? Wouldn’t it be best to wait and move out with all the troops at once, in full force?’

‘No. I’m told that this is the most opportune time. It’s now that we must move.’

‘As you wish,’ replied Cleantes. ‘You know you can count on me. But I can’t believe that waiting a couple of days would change matters much.’

Hermocrates seemed to hesitate, doubt worming its way into his mind. He was troubled by the thought of jeopardizing the outcome of the entire venture because of a single ill-considered decision. Then he suddenly seemed to have found a solution.

‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘This is what we’ll do: I’ll leave immediately. You’ll follow me at a forced march with the second contingent. You won’t need to leave more than one thousand men here at Selinus. The rest you’ll take with you. Not just the heavy infantry; bring the peltasts as well, and the assault troops.’

‘No cavalry?’

‘We won’t need them. We’ll be fighting on the streets, down the alleyways . . .’

‘I’m not sure how many I can round up,’ admitted Cleantes. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘You do that. I know I can rely on you. Wish me well, my friend. My future hinges on the success of this endeavour, as does yours. But so does the future of the city, and perhaps of all Sicily.’

‘Good luck,
hegemon
,’ said Cleantes. ‘Let us hope that our allies in the city are just as sure about what they’re doing.’

The sun had not yet risen when the bugler sounded the fall-in the next morning, and before long one thousand hoplites and a hundred light infantrymen had mustered at the centre of the agora.

Hermocrates was clad in full armour; he reviewed the troops in the dark, then made a short speech.

‘Men! The task which awaits us this time is much more arduous and grievous than any we have undertaken thus far: we are returning to Syracuse. But only a part of our fellow citizens are with us. The others will fight us, to the death, perhaps, and we may have to kill them. I’m afraid we have no choice. Once we have returned to Syracuse and reclaimed power, we shall wage war against the barbarians and drive them out of Sicily, but not before we make them pay for the bloodbaths at Selinus and Himera. One day, our wounds will heal and our restored prosperity will help us forget the past.

‘But now we must achieve the task before us. We will be racing against time, and I refuse to hear the words “I’m tired” from any of you! We’ll be marching from the first light of dawn until dark, stopping only briefly at midday to eat. We must find ourselves at the western gate of Syracuse in seven days’ time. You’ll be marching light; the carts will be carrying your shields. The password is “Arethusa”. May the gods assist us. I have nothing more to tell you.’

Hermocrates took his spear and marched away. The men, drawn up four-across in long columns, followed him. One of the officers struck up a marching song, but the commander set such a fast pace that they all became too winded to sing and the march continued in silence for the rest of the day.

D
IONYSIUS PUT HIS
men on the alert three days before Hermoc-rates’s planned arrival; they were to be ready to intervene at his signal. The plan was to occupy the western gate in the Achradina district and hold it until Hermocrates and his men had entered. At that point, they would split up into two units. The first, commanded by Dionysius, and composed of lightly armed skirmishers, would clear the streets of the patrols. The second, led by Iolaus and Biton, would keep a passage open for the heavy infantry led by Hermocrates, who would occupy the agora.

They would then attack Ortygia and arrest the leaders of the opposition party. The people would be called to Assembly by the heralds and informed of the change in the political situation in the city.

Dionysius had not reckoned, however, with Hermocrates’s haste to reach Syracuse as soon as possible. His march had been so fast that he had achieved a sizeable advantage over the second contingent, led by Cleantes, which had left more than a day later. Although they soon managed to make up for this delay, they still lagged far behind the first contingent, so that as Hermocrates approached the city, Cleantes’s troops were at a full two days’ distance. Cleantes had sent scouts ahead on horseback to discover how far Hermocrates’s advance guard had progressed and to alert them to the distance that separated them, but the mission was unsuccessful.

The first contact between Dionysius and his father-in-law was in code:

Hermocrates was once again gripped by doubt. He who had never hesitated his whole life before the enemy was assailed by uncertainty at the very moment of conducting a military coup against his own city. He realized that if he waited too long, the presence of his troops would certainly be noticed and the alarm would spread throughout the city. Perhaps the entire army would come out against him and engage his one thousand men in pitched battle, dooming them from the start. He couldn’t risk the wait: he sent a coded message back to his son-in-law saying that he would be at the western gate at the established time and date; that was, the next day at dawn.

But the leaders of the city government had been informed of suspicious activity west of the city and had sent out sentries to various points of the territory, along the shores of the Anapus and on the hills, to preclude any surprises.

Hermocrates succeeded nonetheless in eluding them by moving his troops in silence, under the cover of darkness; they took up position at a very short distance from the western wall. When given the go-ahead signal, they rushed in through the gate, finding Dionysius and the men of the Company drawn up as expected, fully armed and ready to fall in at Hermocrates’s orders.

Father and son-in-law embraced. ‘We’ve finally done it!’ exclaimed Hermocrates. ‘We’ll attack the agora together, and from there we’ll assault Ortygia. If we succeed in occupying the island, we’ll have control of the dockyard and harbour as well. The rest will fall into place. Are your skirmishers ready?’

‘Certainly,’ replied Dionysius. ‘Here they are.’ He presented about fifty peltasts armed with bows, arrows and short swords and carrying small Thracian half-moon-shaped shields.

‘You go ahead with them to clear the road for us. Get any patrols out of the way before they can give us trouble.’

Dionysius nodded and dashed forward with his men.

Hermocrates started his men off at a run, drawn up six-across as the width of the streets allowed.

As Dionysius advanced with his peltasts, the whole district seemed strangely quiet. There was not a living soul out on the streets. A stray dog might wake up suddenly as they passed and start barking, but no one seemed to respond to that growing chorus of alarms; doors and windows remained bolted shut. Dionysius kept on running as his heart grew heavier with anxiety; he was worried over the excessive ease of their advance and by the total absence of any guard patrols making their rounds. He was almost tempted to stop, to turn back and convince Hermocrates to desist, but then he thought he was fretting over nothing, that the calm was due to the early hour. They’d surely find most of the patrols between the dockyard and Ortygia.

The colonnade which marked the entrance to the agora loomed up before him all at once, just one hundred feet away. They had to cross the vast square designated for assemblies in order to make their way across the causeway that joined Ortygia to the mainland. The columns glowed whitely in the dim light of the coming dawn, shrouded in the mist that rose from the sea.

Dionysius motioned for his men to stop and flatten themselves against the walls of the houses at the sides of the street. He called Biton and Iolaus forward and sent them to reconnoitre the area. ‘Stay close to the walls and in the shadows until you reach the colonnade; if you don’t see anything suspicious, whistle and we’ll follow. We’ll garrison the entrance and the exit to the agora until all the heavy infantry has passed, then we’ll rejoin the head of the formation and advance so we can open the road to the causeway and cross over to Ortygia. Understood?’

They nodded and set off without making the slightest noise. Dionysius waited, his heart pounding, until they had reached the colonnade. At the same time, he strained to hear the cadenced step of the hoplites advancing under Hermocrates’s command. A few moments later, he heard Biton’s whistle: all clear.

Dionysius ran forward with his men.

‘There’s no one anywhere,’ said Iolaus.

‘That’s good, but keep your eyes open.’

Dionysius divided his men into two groups. ‘You come with me,’ he said to the first lot. ‘We’ll go to the Ortygia exit. The rest of you stay here with Biton and Iolaus and wait for Hermocrates to arrive with his men. When they’ve all moved through, join me at the head of the column and we’ll advance together again.’