Tyrant (46 page)

‘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.

L
EPTINES'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!’

Another roar exploded from the crowd below as the troops frenetically cheered on the third and most formidable ramming by the
Boubaris.
Leptines charged like a bull, in his usual manner, forgetting all else.

A bronze mirror flashed several times to signal Dionysius’s order, but Leptines must have been blinded by the raging battle, by the glare of so many weapons and by the reflection of the sun on the waves. Or perhaps he simply did not want to obey and pretended not to have seen.

‘Bugles!’ shouted Dionysius. ‘Use the bugles, sound the alarm, he’ll understand!’

The bugles blared and from the ground their sound seemed earth-shattering, but they were nothing in the din of battle out at sea.

‘Retreat!’ yelled Dionysius, infuriated, from the top of the hill. ‘Retreat, you bastard! Out of there! Get us out!’

But it was too late. Mago’s naval armada was unfurling all of its vast power between the attacking vanguard of the Syracusan fleet and the rest of the ships still lagging behind. The Carthaginian admiral had so many vessels that he could divide his contingent into two fleets, one of which attacked the Syracusan ships still at sea, while the other ships fanned out like pincers, headed towards Leptines’s squadron, still busy sinking the last Carthaginian galleys.

At that point, Leptines realized he was in a trap. The circle of enemy vessels was already closing in and his quinqueremes were being crushed in the vice. There was no room to manoeuvre, and the sea battle became a ground battle, with soldiers jumping from one ship to the next, joining in violent combat with the adversary crews and infantry aboard. Leptines fought like a lion with his sword and axe, throwing overboard anyone who dared to climb onto the flagship. ‘Get out of my ship, you dirty bastards,’ he screamed. ‘Off my ship!’

The desperate struggle raged on, and, although the little Syracusan squad was completely surrounded, Leptines managed to open a passage. His men took control of an enemy vessel placed crosswise and sank it from the inside by hacking the keel to pieces with their axes, so that the
Boubaris
could slip out of the opening and rapidly pick up speed. The other surviving ships managed to stay behind her, actually sinking another three enemy vessels in the process. But the outcome of the battle was sealed. The rest of the Syracusan fleet was forced to fight in conditions of sharp inferiority, and the crews were demoralized by the flight of their admiral and by the absence of a flagship leading them.

Leptines himself narrowly escaped capture by racing out to sea and making a wide turn outside of the sights of the enemy. The Carthaginians won an overwhelming victory, but, not content with this success, they launched a number of light craft full of men armed with harpoons who ran through all the sailors who were trying to swim to the safety of the shore.

Dionysius helplessly witnessed the disaster. He saw his fleet chopped to pieces, his men massacred as they floundered amidst the bloodied waves. By dusk, the coast was full of cadavers and wreckage.

The losses were enormous: over one hundred ships and twenty thousand men.

Leptines arrived in the middle of the night and was brought to his brother’s tent, where a stormy meeting of the general staff was going on.

Dionysius would have liked to strangle him, but when he saw him spattered with blood, wounded in the right shoulder and left thigh, his face bloated with an eye swollen shut, his skin blackened by smoke and flames, his lips split, panting, his features contorted and nearly unrecognizable, he could neither move nor say a word.

The other officers stopped speaking as well, and for several long moments there was a tomb-like silence in the tent of the high command. Philistus approached Leptines with a jug and poured him some water; only then did they realize that no one had so much as offered a drink to the supreme commander of the fleet who had fought like a hero the whole day long and had returned in the middle of the night to take his place among the other combatants.

Leptines gulped down the water, then collapsed to the ground. Dionysius gestured to Aksal, who picked him up and carried him to his tent.

Dionysius went to call on him before dawn. He was burning with fever and his face was even more swollen, but he managed to whisper: ‘I’m sorry . . . I wanted . . . I wanted . . .’

‘I know,’ replied Dionysius. ‘You’ve always been this way, and you’ll never change. I’m the stupid one, the one who keeps trusting in you. I should murder you, I should have you executed for insubordination . . .’

‘Do it,’ replied Leptines with difficulty. ‘I don’t care about dying.’

‘I’ve already lost Doricus and Biton,’ said Dionysius, ‘I can’t lose you too. Sleep now. Try to get better . . .’

‘What have you decided?’ gasped Leptines.

‘The allies think we should attack Himilco’s army.’

‘They’re right.’

‘They’re wrong. If we are defeated, Syracuse will be lost. We’ll retreat back behind our walls.’

Leptines said nothing, but Dionysius could hear him weeping as he left.

Indignant at their chief’s decision not to fight, the Italian allies decided to return to their cities. In any case, it was hardly possible for so many thousands of warriors to be sheltered within the walls of Syracuse for any number of months.

Philistus did not sleep that night. He retired to his tent and wrote until dawn.

Dionysius found a city in mourning: the laments of the women who had lost their sons rose from the houses, black palls and leafy cypress fronds hung from the windows. Disparaging writings on the walls condemned the tyrant. In just a few hours, the memory of the dazzling victory of the year before had vanished. Now there was only the bitterness of defeat, the fear of an uncertain future, the searing grief for their young men lost.

Philistus returned to the city and withdrew to his house near the harbour, where he feared he might soon be seeing Mago’s fleet advancing unhindered to blockade the harbour and the shipyards. He sat at his table and began once again to write.

It was the worst disaster which had ever occurred in the history of Syracuse. The city had lost most of her fleet, and many of her citizens had perished among the waves, harpooned one by one like fish. Upon his return, the rumour went out that Dionysius had deliberately exposed the city’s troops to a risky battle at sea against such a superior force, while he hadn’t risked the life of a single one of his mercenaries. The men of Syracuse were free men, after all, who could have sooner or later demanded the return of democracy, while the mercenaries were the pillar upon which he had built his power.

Dionysius reacted swiftly and mercilessly, arresting all those who were merely suspected of spreading such rumours, even if the charge had been made by a single informant. Despite the military setbacks and the enormous sacrifices that he imposed on his citizens, Dionysius remained firmly convinced that he must remain their irreplaceable leader in the battle against their mortal enemy. At such a crucial time, with the city’s very survival at stake, internal dissidence must be struck down without hesitation. His brutal purges included quite a few members of the Company. The powerful association – which had always supported Dionysius in his climb to power – did not fail to send a warning in return: eight of his mercenaries were found murdered in different parts of the city, and two more inside the Ortygia barracks. All ten had been pierced through the heart by arrows bearing the image of a dolphin on their shafts, as if to say that the Company could arrive anywhere. Furthermore, the number of dead mercenaries was exactly equivalent to the number of Company members who had been eliminated.

Iolaus brought up the matter with Dionysius. ‘Beware,’ he admonished him, ‘they want you to know that you can’t touch them or they’ll make you pay. They wanted to prove to you that they can strike however and whenever they like.’

Dionysius said only: ‘I’ll settle up with them another time.’ He was in a foul humour and had no desire to talk about it; he realized that Iolaus was right, but wouldn’t admit it. The only sign of hope that he’d had in such a dark moment was the birth of Aristomache’s second child; he named his son Nysaeus.

The next day at dusk, Philistus left his work table and walked towards Ortygia to pay a visit to Leptines, who was still feverish and bedridden. He strode through the corridors of the fort, dimly lit by a few lanterns, until he reached his friend’s quarters in an isolated part of the southern wing. He approached the door to Leptines’s room and saw that it was half open. He cautiously drew closer, and heard the voice of a woman speaking softly.

‘Why do you always throw yourself into danger that way?’ she was saying.

‘Because it’s my duty. And because I have to prove to him that I don’t need him to . . .’

‘But you could have died!’ protested the woman’s voice unhappily.

‘I wish I had. My men all ended up at the bottom of the sea as food for the fish.’

‘No, please, don’t say such things . . .’ continued the voice.

Philistus moved away into another empty room that was being used for storage. He left the door open a crack and soon saw Aristomache leaving the bedroom. He recognized her despite the hood she wore to cover her face and head. He waited a while, and then entered Leptines’s room. ‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked.

‘Better,’ Leptines lied.

‘I’m glad. We need you back.’

Leptines’s mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘An admiral without a fleet? I don’t think I’d be very useful.’

‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. What happened was completely your fault. You may not like following your brother’s orders, but he was right this time, as he always is. The
Boubaris
, if you’re interested, is nearly intact. They’re fixing her up in the dockyards.’

‘How many ships are left?’ asked Leptines.

‘Thirty, sixteen of which are quinqueremes, including yours.’

‘Next to nothing.’

‘You’re right, unfortunately . . . Has the surgeon been by today?’

‘Yes, and he tortured me at length. I think he hates me.’

‘He’s a good doctor. He’ll have you back looking for trouble again in no time.’

‘I don’t feel like joking.’

‘Neither do I, but we mustn’t give up. We still have a chance. No one has ever succeeded in storming Syracuse.’

He stopped a moment on the threshold as he was leaving. There was something he wanted to say, but he didn’t dare. He thought it would be useless at that point. He said only: ‘Be careful, my friend, if you can manage it,’ and left.